Page 20 of Unrelenting (Ruthless Temptations #1)

EIGHTEEN

Lucia

When Lorenzo asked me to come with him to Rome, I thought I was in for a long drive. Instead, I find myself high above the traffic in his luxurious Sikorsky helicopter because, of course, he has access to one. He shares it and a private jet with his brothers, apparently.

His world is so different from mine, yet I don’t feel intimidated by Lorenzo’s wealthy. Perhaps it’s because he doesn’t act like a jackass just because he has more money than everyone else.

I mean, he’s cocky, but that comes from knowing women are attracted to him and not because he throws his cash around.

This morning I saw a side of Lorenzo I can’t help being drawn to.

As he showed me around Casa di Lupo, I was impressed by his in-depth knowledge of the place.

It’s not just an investment for him, it’s his passion.

He’s clearly interested in every aspect of the wine-making process and how the hospitality side of the business is run.

His enthusiasm for his project was obvious, and it was cute to see him all puffed up with pride when he gave me his mozzarella to try. I swear he blushed when I told him how good it was.

His invitation to work with him caught me off guard. We haven’t been together that long. I’m not sure I even consider us a couple yet.

We aren’t really dating, not in a conventional sense, and we barely know each other. That doesn’t seem to deter Lorenzo. He’s already confidently stamping his ownership on me.

Not wanting to dissect how I feel about his insistence that I’m his, I focus on the incredible views below. I’ve only been in a helicopter once before, when I took a sightseeing trip in New York.

This is nothing like that. Instead of soaring above an iconic cityscape, we’re travelling over hills, lakes, fields and forests. It’s breathtakingly beautiful.

We’ve been in the air for just under an hour when Lorenzo taps my shoulder. “We’re almost there.”

He points to a large two-story villa in the distance. It’s set in a massive garden, surrounded by fields.

“What is this place?”

“My mother’s house.”

My heart jolts and my eyes widen. “You brought me to your mother’s house?”

“Don’t worry.” Lorenzo grins, seemingly happy to have ambushed me. “She’ll love you.”

Whether she loves me or not, I wish he’d given me some warning. I am not prepared for this. Though Olivia’s dress is stunning and makes me feel incredibly sexy, it isn’t appropriate attire to meet the mother of the man I’m…what….fucking?

I guess there isn’t much I can do about it now. It’s not as if I can run home and change.

As the helicopter sets down on an immaculate lawn at the back of the house, I run my fingers through my hair and try to calm my nerves.

Lorenzo gets out of the helicopter first and helps me to jump down. Taking my hand, he leads me toward the house.

When my heels keep sinking into the grass, he surprises me by scooping me up, bridal-style and carrying me.

“Lorenzo!” I hiss, heat rising to my cheeks. “Put me down.”

“In a minute.” He drops a kiss on my lips. “I like carrying you.”

Embarrassment swamps me as a man comes out of the house to greet us. Tall, muscular and clean-shaven, he’s wearing a black suit and tie.

Something about the way he carries himself tells me he’s ex-military. There’s a stiffness in his walk, a wariness in his gaze, as if he’s on high alert. He tilts his head to one side, watching as Lorenzo approaches with me in his arms.

Thankfully, when we reach the paved terrace that runs along the back of the house, Lorenzo sets me on my feet.

“Renzo!” He opens his arms and he and Lorenzo hug, slapping each other hard on the back the way men do. He breaks out of the embrace and turns to me. “And who is this lovely lady?”

“This is Lucia Lazaro. Lucia, this is my old friend Marco Morganti.”

Marco takes my hand and kisses the back of it. His eyes glint as he glances up at me. “A pleasure, signorina. ”

He’s as much of a flirt as Lorenzo. “Did you two attend the same charm school?”

Marco laughs, a deep, rumbling sound. “We went to the same school but charm was not one of the subjects they taught.”

He clicks his fingers, and a young woman steps through the French doors leading into the house. Carrying a pink paper bag and a white box wrapped with a red ribbon, she’s wearing a uniform of a black skirt and a white blouse.

“The things you asked for, Signore.” She smiles shyly at Lorenzo as she holds out the two items to him.

“Thank you, Chiara.” He returns her smile, and the poor girl practically melts on the spot.

Her cheeks redden and she stammers something unintelligible before turning and fleeing.

Lorenzo smirks, fully aware of the effect he has on women. I elbow him in the ribs.

“What?” he asks innocently.

Marco, who’s been watching us intently, clears his throat. “Your mother’s in her bedroom. Agnesca is with her.”

“And the maid who was supposed to watch over her last night?”

“Gone. Her replacement will be here in a couple of hours.”

I have no idea what’s going on, but it sounds as if something is wrong with Lorenzo’s mother. It makes me even more uneasy about being here, but I don’t protest when Lorenzo puts his arm around my waist and steers me into the house.

The villa is enormous. Its entrance hall reminds me of the lobby of a fancy hotel. With its marble flooring, gold mirrors and chandeliers, it’s grand. It feels a little impersonal.

As Lorenzo leads me up the wide staircase and along a corridor, the house becomes a lot cozier. There’s thick carpet on the floor, and the walls are painted in a pale yellow.

We walk to the end of the corridor to an enormous double door. A beautiful floral pattern is carved into the wood.

A few seconds pass before the door opens and we’re greeted by a short, white-haired woman with a ruddy complexion. She throws her arms around Lorenzo and they share a warm hug.

For a moment I think this is his mother but then she steps aside and I see another woman, sitting on the bed, propped up by several pillows.

Pale and thin, she’s dressed in a white satin nightgown. Her long brown hair is poker straight. When she sees us a smile touches her lips.

“These are for you.” Lorenzo passes the white box with the pink ribbon to the older woman.

“Thank you, Signore Lorenzo.” The woman pats his cheek affectionately. “I will go get lunch started.”

She nods a greeting to me as she passes.

“Our housekeeper, Agnesca.” Lorenzo explains before turning his attention to his mother. “Mamma!”

While he hurries across the room to greet his mother with a kiss on each cheek, I hover by the door. Lorenzo turns and waves me over. “This is my friend, Lucia.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Signora Volante,” I say, feeling a little overwhelmed.

“Pfft! It’s Beatrice.” She pats the bed next to her. “Sit. Let me get a good look at you.”

I perch uncomfortably on the edge of the bed as Lorenzo’s mother examines me closely.

“Such a pretty girl.” She looks up at Lorenzo and smiles. “Do you have news?”

“News, Mamma?”

“Yes. I thought with the unexpected visit and you brought Lucia…”

She glances between her son and me, a hopeful expression on her face. I realize she thinks we have an announcement to make.

“No, Mamma, no news. We came to check you were alright after what happened last night.”

“Last night?” She frowns. “Oh, you mean the fire? That was nothing. I forgot the burner was on, that’s all.”

“It’s not nothing, Mamma. You could have been hurt.”

“But I wasn’t,” she protests.

“Regardless, you shouldn’t wander around at night.”

“But I couldn’t sleep,” Beatrice argues. “I needed some warm milk.”

“Then ask one of the staff.” Lorenzo is trying hard to be patient with his mother but it’s clear he’s worried about her.

Beatrice scowls. “I can heat my own milk, Lorenzo. I’m not a child.”

“I know you’re not, but some things are best left to the staff.” Lorenzo sighs as his mother pouts. He hands her the gift bag. “Here, I brought you some yarn.”

Beatrice looks into the bag and smiles, her entire face lighting up.

“Oh, good. I’ll make you a teddy bear.” She rakes through the contents of the bag. “And one for your brothers. White for you. Red for Damiano, I think and blue for Gabriele.” She looks up at Lorenzo, her expression hopeful. “Have you seen Gabriele?”

“Not for a while.”

“He doesn’t visit anymore.” Her blue eyes, so similar to Lorenzo’s, glisten with tears. “He isn’t dead, is he?”

“No, Mamma, he’s not dead.”

“You’d tell me if he died?”

“Of course I would, Mamma,” Lorenzo assures her, “but he’s not dead. He’s fine.”

Beatrice relaxes back against her pillows. “I just worry, that’s all. I worry about all my boys.” She sits up again. “I don’t want any of you to die. My baby boys. Do you work, Lucia?”

The sudden change of subject catches me off guard. “Uh, yes, I run my own restaurant.”

“Oh, good.” Beatrice sounds relieved. “You can take care of Lorenzo. Make sure he eats right.”

“I have no trouble feeding myself,” Lorenzo says. “It’s not Lucia’s job to take care of me.”

Beatrice nods. “Have you seen Gabriele?”

I glance at Lorenzo as she repeats the question she asked less than a minute ago. He just smiles and shakes his head. “Not lately, Mamma.”

“Oh.” She turns away. Reaching across to the nightstand on the other side of the bed, she grabs a box of chocolates that’s sitting there. As she struggles into an upright position, her nightdress shifts a little, and I glimpse a scar at her collarbone. “Here, Lucia. Have a chocolate.”

She offers me the box, and I take one, popping it in my mouth. The chocolate is divine. Smooth and creamy, it has a salted caramel center.

Beatrice smiles when I murmur appreciatively and holds the box out to Lorenzo.

He shakes his head. “I don’t want to spoil my lunch. Agnesca is cooking.”

“Oh, are we having lunch? I’m not dressed.”

“We don’t mind,” I tell her. “Come as you are.”

“Oh, I couldn’t.” She bites her bottom lip. She’s quiet for a moment and then turns to Lorenzo. “Have you seen Gabriele? I’m worried about him.”

Lorenzo sighs. He puts a hand on my shoulder. “Why don’t you see if you can find the kitchen? Ask Agnesca to send a tray up for my mom.”

“Of course.” I get up from the bed. “It was nice to meet you, Beatrice.”

She doesn’t acknowledge me. She knows as well as I do that I’ve been dismissed so Lorenzo can have a serious chat with her.

Beatrice seems like a lovely woman, but it’s clear there’s something wrong. She looks fragile, and she has trouble with her memory.

I wonder what scars she bears other than the one I spotted on her collarbone.

There are rumors that her husband was a total bastard. Perhaps he beat her. People say Damiano killed him, but I don’t know whether that’s true.

I head downstairs and wander along a maze of corridors, enjoying the art on the walls. Someone has a fondness for flowers done in watercolor. I like the pictures. They make the house more cheerful.

Eventually, I find the kitchen which, of course, is spectacular. Marco is there, lounging against a countertop while the housekeeper stands at a large farmhouse table whipping up some cream. There’s a stand mixer on the counter behind her, but she does it by hand.

“Agnesca.” Marco stands to attention as I enter the room. “Have you met Lucia?”

“No, not properly.” The old woman wipes her hands on her apron and comes to shake my hand. “Are you and Lorenzo together?”

“I guess so.”

“Good.” She gives me an appraising look. “That boy needs to settle down.”

I’m not sure Lorenzo is ready to settle down. I’m certainly not, but Agnesca means well so I smile and nod anyway.

“He asked if you could send a tray up for Beatrice.”

“Yes, of course.”

Agnesca hurries back to the stove to stir whatever she has cooking in a large pot.

“Something smells good.”

“It’s a simple spaghetti alla gricia. It’s Lorenzo’s favorite.”

I store that information away from another time.

“Perhaps you can cook it for him some time,” Marco says. “Did you know Lucia runs a restaurant, Agnesca? Gianetta’s, in Florence.”

It’s disconcerting that a man I only just met knows this about me. I guess Lorenzo mentioned me. The older woman turns around.

“Oh, I’ve been there. The Tortelli di Patate was to die for.” Her comment makes me smile. Most people rave about the Bistecca alla Fiorentina so it’s nice to hear she enjoyed our pasta. Agnesca shakes her head. “I wish Lorenzo had warned me.”

“Warned you about what?” Lorenzo asks as he saunters into the room.

“That your friend runs a restaurant.” Agnesca’s tone is scolding. “I would have made something better.”

“What could be better than spaghetti alla gricia?” I ask to set her mind at ease. “It’s such a treat not to have to cook.”

“Agnesca makes the best spaghetti,” Marco says.

“She does, but sadly I am going to have to miss out,” Lorenzo says.

Disappointed, I turn to him. “We’re not staying for lunch?”

“You are, but I have matters to attend to. Marco will take you home when you’re ready.”

Giving me no time to argue, he kisses my cheek and strides from the room. I stand there in stunned disbelief for a minute.

Did he really just leave me here with a couple of complete strangers? I hear the front door slam shut. Yes, it seems he did.