The Chatsfield: Series 2. Кейт Хьюит
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he needed this merger with the vastly successful O’Connor Foods brand to break into the more lucrative global market, and namely, America.
That would take him away from the bitter memories of his childhood and young adulthood. It would civilise the Delucca name, make him invulnerable, and in time no one would ever remember that Delucca had once been one of the Mafia’s most notorious names.
O’Connor’s voice came from behind him. ‘Keelin is a beautiful woman. Well educated. She’ll be an asset on your arm as you move forward and expand.’
Gianni’s mouth tightened as the kind of domestic scenario he hadn’t ever envisaged took root in his mind, much to his disgust. He didn’t want O’Connor to see the myriad emotions he was feeling in his eyes, so didn’t turn around. ‘You think that I can’t find a wife of my own choosing?’ Not that he’d contemplated it!
Liam O’Connor laughed dryly. ‘Delucca, I have no doubt that you could click your fingers and find a wife in seconds. Your reputation—’
Gianni swung around then, cutting the other man off. He forced his voice to sound calm when inside he felt hot, irritated. ‘Be very careful, O’Connor.’
The other man stood up from behind his desk and came around it. He was tall and imposing. Handsome, with a head of thick silver hair. The older alpha male squaring up to the younger one, even if Gianni was taller, younger and infinitely more handsome than O’Connor ever had been. Gianni knew all about alpha males; he’d squared up to the most alpha of them all: his father.
O’Connor spoke bluntly. ‘No other company can give you the instant sheen of respectability that we can, merely by association. If we merge, people trust our name enough to automatically trust you. Your products will be on shelves across the world within months. I am offering you the chance to prove your commitment to both your brand and your family name. You don’t need me to tell you that the people you will be dealing with will be more likely to put their trust and investment in a family man.’
Again the unspoken rang as loudly as a bell in the room: And in someone who didn’t have links to the underworld, or who had the damaging reputation of a playboy. Damn him. O’Connor was right. So how badly did he want this? Badly enough to embark on a union he’d never wished for? For the sake of a deal? Social acceptance? Professional respectability?
But it’s the deal of a lifetime, whispered a little voice.
Wanting to assert his position more, Gianni pointed out, ‘That may very well be the case but don’t forget that your own business will be reinvigorated by a new association with a luxury Italian brand of products, the first merger of its kind.’
O’Connor inclined his head with a spark in his eyes. He obviously didn’t like to be reminded that his motives weren’t exactly altruistic.
And then Gianni asked abruptly, ‘Why is it so important to you that marriage to your daughter is part of the deal?’
The spark in O’Connor’s eyes was quickly veiled as he said easily, ‘She’s our only child and heir. I’m an old-fashioned man, Delucca. I want her future to be secure, and through her and you, we keep our name alive.’
Gianni felt a niggle of suspicion but then something caught his peripheral vision and he looked past O’Connor to where a group of framed photos were hung on a wall. He walked over. There were pictures of O’Connor with various celebrities, including two American presidents, and then presumably his wife—an attractive woman with strawberry blonde hair and green eyes.
And below them all was an image of a young woman on a horse, head back and wide generous mouth open, clearly laughing. Slim shoulders. A snug T-shirt hugged generous firm breasts. He could just make out a narrow waist, gently flaring hips. Taut thighs. She was stunningly beautiful. Almond-shaped green eyes, lighter than her mother’s. Vibrant red hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. Pale skin with flushed rosy cheeks. Freckles.
Something deep in Gianni’s gut clenched at her unadorned beauty. Even though she wasn’t remotely his type.
He barely picked up on the faintly smug tone in O’Connor’s voice when the man said, ‘That’s my daughter, Keelin. So have you come to a decision?’
Gianni didn’t answer out loud. He didn’t need to. They both knew the answer.
KEELIN O’CONNOR SURVEYED the lavishly decorated hotel room in the exclusive Harrington Hotel in Rome. Almost nothing was visible because glossy shopping bags covered every surface. As a shopping novice, she hoped she’d gone far enough, not really knowing what constituted gross levels of consumerism beyond what she saw on some trashy reality-TV programmes of the rich and famous.
Her fiancé—who also happened to be a complete stranger—was due any minute and she hated that the palms of her hands were sweaty with nerves when her blood still boiled with anger and humiliation at what her father expected her to do.
‘You can’t be serious.’ She’d looked at her father two weeks ago and battled a very familiar sense of angry futility.
Liam O’Connor’s expression was as hard as flint. ‘I am.’
Keelin had spoken slowly as if to make sure she wasn’t in the middle of a nightmare. ‘You’ve sold me off in some marriage deal to a complete stranger—’
Her father slashed a hand through the air. ‘It is not like that. Giancarlo Delucca is one of Italy’s most innovative entrepreneurs. Italian food and wine exports are booming and in the space of only three years the Delucca name has gained respect all over Europe, not to mention tripled its profits, which is unheard of at the moment.’
‘So what the hell does that have to do with me?’
Her tall father had put his hands on his desk and leant forward. ‘What it has to do with you, my girl, is everything. I want a merger with this man to secure the future of O’Connor Foods and as my daughter you are part of the deal.’
Keelin’s hands curled to fists but she’d barely noticed her nails digging into soft skin. ‘This is archaic.’
Her father straightened up and said scathingly, ‘Don’t be so naive. This is about business. Giancarlo Delucca is a young man, and good-looking. Rich. Any woman would be delighted to have him as her husband.’
Keelin had responded bitterly. ‘Any woman, perhaps, with about two brain cells to rub together.’ She’d ignored her father’s darkening expression and tried to call up the little she knew of Delucca from her overheated brain. ‘Doesn’t he have links to the Mafia?’
Her father replied tautly. ‘His father had links to the Mafia. And he’s dead. That’s all in the past now. Delucca is determined to put it behind him and prove to people that he’s respectable. That’s why he’s willing to marry and settle down.’
Keelin laughed but it sounded strangled and semi-hysterical. ‘Lucky me!’
Liam O’Connor’s grey gaze, so different to Keelin’s own green one, narrowed on her. ‘Haven’t you always wanted me to involve you in the business?’
‘Yes,’ she’d said huskily, emotion a tight ball in her chest to be reminded of how comprehensively she’d been shut out. ‘But as the person who stands to inherit the O’Connor brand. Not as some chattel to be sold off to the highest bidder.’
Her father’s mouth had tightened. ‘You’ve hardly given me the confidence that you can be trusted to inherit anything, Keelin.’
Futile anger rose in a dizzying rush and, terrified emotion might leak out of her eyes, she’d stalked over to the large window which showcased an impressive view of a soaring modern bridge, named after the great playwright Samuel Beckett, over the River Liffey. Dublin had sparkled benignly in the spring sunshine.
But