Mistress By Blackmail: International Billionaires I: The Italians (18 page)

The man’s puzzled frown deepened. “He’s not going to be pleased.”

“That's the thing.” She smiled, with a sudden grim amusement at the effect the Great Man had on people. This guy was worried about being called on the carpet because of
her
surprising actions? Shouldn’t he be checking her bags to make sure she hadn’t stowed the silver along with every other wealthy item not tied down? Instead, it appeared he was worried she was going to piss La Rocca off because she wasn’t walking away beholden to him. Too bad. “I don’t have to please him anymore, do I?”

He stood for a moment, staring at her. “I guess not.”

Darcy rolled the suitcase behind her as she walked to the open door. Taking one last glance at the pristine, chilly penthouse, she assured herself this was for the best. How had she ever believed she could turn a cold bastard into a warm man? She’d tackled some tall mountains before, yet she’d never been fool enough to think she could shoot for the stars.

He moved aside as she passed. “Wait,” he mumbled. “I have your phones.”

She stopped and eyed the two items he held in his hand. Plucking the older version from his palm, she turned and walked down the hall without looking back. Not even once.

Into the elevator.

Down to the lobby.

Out into the street.

The security door slammed behind her, the doorman giving her a cheery wave before walking back into the foyer. Traffic was light so early in the morning, with only a service van parked by the sidewalk. Not even one person strolled past.

She was alone. Completely alone.

Darcy took a deep breath of chilly air. It must be the cold causing her eyes to tear. She blinked. Blinked again. The blinking didn’t help. Still, she resolutely turned and started to march down the street into her future.

“Finally.” A man suddenly stood in her path. A familiar face from her nightmares leered at her.

Shock ripped the tears from her eyes. Her heart thunked in a frantic beat while panic clawed in her throat. She hadn’t been allowed even a second to recover before she’d slid right into another disaster.

The demon of her past. Now in her present.

“No.” She wanted to run, to hide. But every one of her muscles froze.

His hand reached out and grabbed her arm. “I’ve been waiting for one whole week to get you alone. Damn security always around.”

“
No
.” Her spine went rigid at his touch. She would have screamed, but her throat was now thick with fear. She shuddered and tried to wrench away.

He was strong, though, and she was in shock.

The struggle was over in seconds. There was no one there to help. No one to intervene and keep her safe.

The van reeked of him. Cigarettes and rum and sweat.

Darcy clutched her backpack, shivering on the steel floor in the back and listening to his rants, his threats from the front seat.

She prayed.

T
he organ music
thundered as did his heart.

Marcus stood by his younger brother at the altar. The bridal party would start down the long aisle in a moment. The wedding guests chattered and gossiped under their breath, creating a low buzz of anticipation beneath the boom of the music. The cathedral was packed as expected. The joining of the aristocratic Casartelli family with the upstart, but so-so-wealthy, La Rocca clan was important. Everyone who was anyone had wanted an invitation. Once received, they would never have missed being included in the most exciting social event of the year in Rome.

His jaw tightened.

Time was running out. A decision had to be made. Uncharacteristically, he’d avoided, put off, dodged. However, he no longer had time to indulge. It was now or never. Stop this fakery of a marriage and lose a deal he’d been working on for months. Or keep his prestige and power and pride.

Agony burst in his heart.

Yet it wasn’t for the loss of his stupid pride.

It was for the loss of his
carita
.

For if he did this thing, if he stopped what he’d put in motion, then the loss of pride would be nothing compared to what would happen next. What would surely happen.

Darcy and Matteo. Together.

For the rest of his life, he would have to watch them loving each other. Watch them marry and have children. Watch them as they lived life.

While he lay in his cold, safe coffin slowly dying inside.

A trickle of sweat slid down his neck.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Matteo whispered at his side. “I’m the one getting married, not you.”

These were the first words spoken between them since the moments in front of Darcy, when Marcus had been filled with a territorial rage he hadn’t been able to contain. Now all he felt was overwhelming pain and defeat. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, right.” His brother snorted.

Their mother, in the front pew, frowned at them. Marcus could almost see the words in her head.

Behave. Both of you. Don’t make a fool of me.

Always about her. Typical.

“I’m worried about you, Great Man.” Matteo’s voice was quiet, but deadly serious.

He glanced over. Met two brown eyes filled with concern and love.

His brother’s gaze sliced him to the core. Ripped open the memories he held of this brother. This
piccolo fratello,
whom he’d met for the first time at twelve, when his mother had been forced to take him in after his papa’s death. Two-year-old Matteo had been the only source of love and acceptance he’d found in that chilly, unwelcoming home. His
fratello aveva
had latched onto him with hero worship. Had begged him to come with him to his football practices. Had cajoled him out of his dark, dingy bedroom in the basement to play and laugh in the Italian sunshine.

A memory pierced him.

Matteo’s small hand slipping confidently into his as they walked towards the park.

“What?” His brother’s forehead creased in worry. “What’s wrong?”

Marcus jerked his gaze away and closed his eyes.

He
was wrong. About everything.

His entire life was wrong.

Yet there was one thing he could do to make amends to the two people he loved in the world.

He could give them each other.

The decision was made.

“Come with me.” His hand shot out and latched onto Matteo’s arm.

“What are you doing?” His brother yanked back, but the pain and love and anguish running through his veins was a match for his younger brother’s astonished reaction.

He didn’t let go as he tugged a struggling groom off the altar.

The crowd’s buzz burst into a frenzy and he heard his mother’s sharp cry right before the solid wooden door of the presbytery closed behind them.

“Are you crazy?” Matteo’s face was filled with a mixture of shock and antagonism.

The confession stuck in his throat, yet he forced it out. He owed them. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t hear that.” His brother stared at him. “Those words are not in your vocabulary.”

He grimaced at the sarcasm. “I mean it. I am sorry for not being the brother I should have been.”

“Okay.” Matteo shrugged, trying for nonchalance. Yet his body was held tight. Tight with old disappointment. “This isn’t the time, though, to say your mea culpas. Anyway, it’s too late. Too late by years.”

“It is not too late.” He jerked around and started to pace the room, a frantic need to make it right pounding in him. “It is never too late.”

“We could have this conversation another time.”

“No.” He glanced at his brother, then away. The disillusionment he saw in the brown eyes hurt. Hurt like a punch in the gut. “We have to have it now.”

“Now is not the time for my cold-as-ice brother to have a meltdown.” The words held a certain fascination in them. “You losing your cool is something I’ve wanted to see for a long time. However, you’ve chosen the worst possible moment.”

His pride roared, but he shut it down. “I am not losing it. Actually, you could say I’ve come to my senses. Finally.”

His
fratello
leaned on the door and folded his arms in front of him. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m about to get married.”

Marcus wrapped a shaking hand around his sweaty neck. He looked at his brother, allowing him to see the turmoil, the emotions. “No, you are not. I’m calling off the wedding.”

His brother straightened and his mouth grew grim. “The hell you are.”

“I am.”

“You say you’ve come to your senses. That you’re sorry.” Matteo’s harsh laugh echoed in the cool, dark room. “Still, some things never change do they?”

“Matteo—”

“Get this, Great Man. You can’t stop it. I won’t let you. Viola loves me and I love her. There’s nothing you can do to change that.”

Rage flashed like sparks of explosives in his blood. His brother’s rejection of the sprite tore into his soul. Without thinking, he strode over and grabbed Matteo’s tux, slamming him against the door. “Liar,” he roared.

His
fratello
glared right back at him. “Here we are again. This seems to be your new modus operandi. Instead of cold commands, you’ve turned into a raving lunatic.”

Marc’s breath rasped in his chest, catching and cutting across the emotions emptying into his head and heart. The feelings swelled, overwhelming his tongue.

“Nothing to say?” His younger brother stared at him, his dark gaze direct and discerning. Whatever he saw, it stilled him. “No demands? No directions?”

“No.” He couldn’t hold the gaze. He was too raw inside. Too new at giving.

He felt his brother’s instant withdrawal.

But he couldn’t force himself to answer it. Show all of himself.

He let go.

“What have you done to my brother?” Matteo’s voice turned cool and mocking. “Has your body been taken over by an alien?”

“No.” He stepped away and forced himself to glance over. His throat closed when he saw the expression on Matteo’s face—one of contempt and scorn.

He deserved it. For years, he’d pushed his brother away. Ever since Juliana, he’d focused solely on his mission. To make more money than any other man. To amass more power. He’d avoided contact, it would have distracted him. He’d thought throwing money at the kid would be enough. Yet it hadn’t been, had it? Money was nothing compared to time and love.

He dropped his head and closed his eyes. “I know I don’t deserve a second chance with you. I understand.”

“Good. Like I told you, it’s too late.”

“Right.” He looked at his
fratello
. “But I can do one thing for you. One thing that will start to atone for my actions.”

Matteo stood silent before him.

“I can give you Darcy.”

A scowl crossed his younger brother’s face. “See. There’s another sin you have to answer for. What the hell do you think you’re doing messing with my—”

The hard rap at the door cut him off. They both stiffened.

“La Rocca.” Dante Casartelli’s deep voice shot through the closed door like a cold missile. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Go away.” Marc shot back with brutal inflection. “This isn’t your fight.”

“However, this is my sister.” The man’s words were edged with menace. “I will not allow you to hurt her.”

“
Merda.
I don’t have time for this.” Matteo turned to open the door, but Marc’s hand slammed down, stopping him.

“Marcus.” If it were possible, Casartelli’s voice had grown deeper and darker. “Come out right now or the deal is off.”

“To hell with you,” Marc yelled. “And the wedding.”

“So be it.” The deadly words were followed by the slap of the man’s shoes on the stone floor as he paced off.

His brother whipped around, pure hatred contorting his face. “You can’t stop this wedding and neither can Dante Casartelli,” he snarled. “No matter what, I’m marrying Viola.”

“You don’t have to. I’m not asking you to do it anymore.”

Matteo sneered. “What about the deal, though? What about your all-important deal with the Casartellis?”

“I am calling it off.”

The words clearly stunned his brother. He slumped on the door, his face blank. “What?”

“You heard me.” He stepped back, after noting Matteo was no longer making an attempt to leave.

“I heard. I don’t believe though.”

“Believe it.” He glared. “Believe it.”

A hushed silence surrounded them. The buzzing of the crowd penetrated, yet it didn’t cut through the breathless connection between them.

“You’d give it all up?” Matteo finally said. “Everything you’ve worked on for months?”

“
Si
.”

Shock ran across his
fratello’s
face. “But you told me it was ultra-important. That it would ensure the survival of Rocca for years.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” He waved the objection away. Weariness abruptly clawed inside him. The only thing he wanted to do was get this done with and find a place to hide. “The business doesn’t matter anymore.”

“The business doesn’t matter anymore
,
” Matteo stated the words as if he were speaking a foreign language.

Marc walked to the lone window. Faint light splintered through the stained glass. It slashed red and black across his hands as he leaned on the wall and placed his sweaty forehead on the cold marble. He felt as if he’d been whipped, tortured. His body was drained to the bone. His heart dead. His spirit crushed.

“The. Business. Doesn’t. Matter. Anymore.” His brother stated again.

“Right.” The word came out tired and soft.

The click of the door lock wasn’t enough to penetrate his lethargy. Why Matteo was locking them in rather than leaving him, he didn’t have a clue. He heard the footsteps approaching him, but he couldn’t seem to move. Couldn’t face his brother any longer.

A hand touched his shoulder and then gripped.

“Okay.” Matteo’s voice was husky with forgiveness. “Let’s talk.”

His throat tightened and he had to fight back unexpected and unwanted tears. “It’s pretty simple. I’m an idiot.”

“True.” His younger brother’s tone turned wry.

“But I figured it out in time.” The emotions ate at his soul, gnawed at his wasted dreams. “In time for you.”

“In time to save me from sacrificing myself for the family business.”

“
Si
.” He couldn’t bear the touch of another human right now. He lurched around, turning his back on his brother and taking two steps away. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything.”

“As usual.” The wry tone was edged with unexpected affection.

Wiping his hand across his sweaty brow, he forced a smile as he faced Matteo again. “You don’t have to worry about Viola or the Casartellis anymore. You only have to worry about Darcy.”

“Darcy.” His brother leaned on the stone.

“Correct.” The final words that would nail him in his coffin had to be given. “Find her and make her happy. For the rest of your lives.”

Matteo’s gaze was contemplative. “My impression was that you and she—”

“No.” The word came out harsh and tortured. Still, he managed to meet his brother’s eyes. “Not anymore. It never meant anything. She’s in love with you.”

“Is she?” A dark brow, much like his own, rose. “She told you this?”

“
Si
,” Marc muttered, the pain of losing her cutting, cutting into his heart. “Many times.”

“Yet you slept with her.” His brother said the words as if it mattered little to him.

He fisted his hands as the knot of regret twisted inside him. Regret mixed with a growing frustration that Matteo wasn’t running with the opportunity he’d given him. “It meant nothing.”

“She slept with you.”

“I’m telling you it’s you she’s always wanted.” The words hit him, blasting holes in what remained of his soul.

“So you forced her?”

“No,” he snapped. “Of course not.”

Then it hit him. The contrast in their voices. His brother’s voice was calm and distant. His was loaded with pain—even though he’d tried to keep it under lock and key.

He observed his brother, who was slouched on the marble wall as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Matteo’s eyes held…not joy at his release. No, they held a slight amusement. A growing knowing. Of something.

He cursed under his breath. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” his brother murmured. “In fact, I’m rather enjoying this.”

He should be insulted, yet he was too tired to object. “Fine. Have your fun. Just make sure to treasure her.”

He strode to the door, intent on leaving and taking care of what was left of this fiasco. But before he could turn the lock, a male hand, much like his own, slammed on the door. “Now it’s my turn to say you’re not leaving until we’ve had this out.”

“There is nothing left to say.”

His brother chuckled. “There’s plenty left to say.”

“I have nothing left.” Which was the truest statement he’d made in eons. Nothing left inside him. No more words to utter. Nothing except yawning darkness and a numb feeling of death overtaking him.

He leaned his head on the door and tried to breathe.

“Well, I have plenty to say,” his brother said cheerfully. “You can just turn around and listen.”