Blackmailed Bride, Innocent Wife. Annie West
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‘I am Dario Parisi.’
The words echoed in her ears like a death knell. Why hadn’t she guessed before? The Italian accent, the outrageously handsome face, the arrogance, the air of discreet elegance only serious money could achieve. The hatred in his eyes.
But who’d believe he’d cross the globe to confront her in person? He’d been persistent. Now it seemed he was obsessed.
Alissa bit her unsteady lip. Looking into the intense burn of that stare was like looking into the scorching fires of hell. Dangerous, unforgiving and inescapable. She already knew this man was without mercy or finer feeling.
He had a reputation for ruthlessness and success the Press adored. In business he was without rival, letting nothing stand in his way when he wanted something. And in love…he had a reputation for being just as ruthless in acquiring and discarding gorgeous women.
‘I’m delighted you remember my name,’ he drawled, the sting of sarcasm making her wince. ‘I thought perhaps you’d put it from your mind.’
How could she when it had been imprinted on her consciousness every day? Her grandfather had been determined to marry her to Dario Parisi, alternately extolling his virtues and threatening her with retribution if she didn’t obey. He’d taken special delight in reading out reports in the Italian papers describing Parisi’s phenomenal success and his merciless tactics.
Her shivers grew to a shudder. A huge spider seemed to tap-dance down her backbone. She gritted her teeth and stood straighter, willing the trembling to recede.
It didn’t matter how powerful he was, or that years of threats had turned Dario Parisi into a name to fear. He was just a man. Wealthy, ruthless, determined, but he had no power over her.
‘You could have told me your name straight away. Or didn’t it suit your desire for melodrama?’ She refused to look away from that accusing glare. ‘Was I supposed to faint at the realisation I was in your presence?’
Alissa wouldn’t let him see how close she’d been to doing precisely that. Her heart pumped double time and her body was rigid from an overdose of adrenalin. But she had to stand up to him. She’d learned that was the only way to deal with a bully.
He scowled and Alissa experienced a fillip of delight that she’d chipped his superior air.
‘But then,’ he said in an easy voice as if she hadn’t spoken, ‘it’s not surprising you remember the name of the man you were supposed to marry.’
‘We were never—’
‘Ah, but we were, Alissa.’ He spoke her name like a slow, lethal caress, his emphasis on the sibilants giving it a whole new, provocative sound. ‘It had been agreed.’ The heat left his eyes, replaced by chilly hauteur.
‘Not by me!’ She drew herself up to her full height, glaring unabashed into his dark stare. ‘Surely the bride has something to say in such circumstances.’
He shrugged those broad shoulders in a movement that was pure Italian male. She hated it.
‘Not necessarily,’ he murmured.
She stared.
Not necessarily.
That attitude summed him up. He was just like the old man: manipulative, domineering and chauvinistic. Yet he was only in his early thirties. What was it about Sicily that produced men like that, all ego and testosterone?
‘In this century women have as much say in who they marry as men. And I didn’t want to marry you.’
Shards of ice rayed out from his frozen glare.
‘You thought I was eager to wed you?’ His accent thickened, the only sign of emotion as he stood ramrod-straight. ‘You think I delighted in the prospect of marrying a Mangano? That I wanted a bride of that tainted blood? A spoiled, irresponsible troublemaker who…’ He reined in the thread of vitriolic accusation, his mouth flattening in a hard line of contempt.
‘You know why I countenanced the match. It had nothing to do with desire for such a wife as you.’
That put her in her place! Alissa felt at a complete disadvantage, bedraggled and shivery, bruised by the sheer force of his personality. She dragged in a breath and slid clammy palms down her damp skirt, searching for a poise she was far from feeling.
‘No, you wanted the Sicilian estate I’d bring as dowry. A crumbling castle and overgrown vineyards.’ It was unbelievable that he set such store in stones, mortar and soil. Enough to agree to an arranged marriage to a woman he’d never met. Enough to collaborate with Gianfranco Mangano, the man he abhorred.
Dario Parisi was a tycoon with more wealth than he could spend in a lifetime, and still he wanted more. Her grandfather had been the same. They’d vied for the same property, using it and her to further their bitter feud.
His nostrils pinched and his jaw tightened till his neck corded with tension. Those were the only indicators of his struggle to restrain his fury. His face remained impassive, his gaze unreadable.
He obviously had a right royal temper, yet he knew how to control it. If it had been the old man, he’d have lashed out by now, incensed at her for standing up to him.
‘I can’t believe you bought Jason off.’ She paced away from him, needing distance from his imposing presence. ‘It must have cost you.’
‘Your boyfriend is easily tempted.’ Dario’s gaze didn’t leave her face, yet she had the uncomfortable feeling his attention trawled over her. Heat rose in her throat and she turned to pace again, avoiding that skewering stare.
‘Obviously Mr Donnelly didn’t feel your…charms were enough to entice him to go through with the deal.’
Her charms! Didn’t he realise Jason was gay? But then Jason didn’t wear his sexuality on his sleeve.
‘You came all the way from Sicily just to stop my marriage?’ She paused to shaft a glance at him. ‘You must hate the Manganos very much.’ The shudder ricocheting through her had nothing to do with her wet clothes.
He shrugged, and this time the movement was anything but insouciant. ‘Your family stole from mine. Cheated mine. Deprived me of my birthright, thieving not only my family’s home but also the opportunities that should have been mine. Did you ever think of that as you enjoyed your comfortable life? Did you spare a thought for those whose misfortunes laid the foundations for your luxurious lifestyle?’
Fury radiated from his glittering eyes, the steel-grey of a drawn sword. His posture was aggressive, like that of a man poised to destroy.
Alissa opened her mouth to tell him her life hadn’t been one of luxury, but of punishment and fear. Yet he wouldn’t believe her. He’d seen her grandfather’s home, the grandest in that district of Victoria. He’d believe what he wanted to believe.
Just as the local townspeople had found it convenient to believe Gianfranco was a devoted old man who lavished care and luxury on his granddaughters. Far easier than facing the truth, that the pillar of society was a miserly sadist who spent a small fortune entertaining dignitaries to build his prestige but who thought nothing of sentencing his granddaughters to a week of bread and water for the slightest disobedience.
‘Well? Nothing to say?’
She looked up into heavily lidded eyes, ignoring the flutter of tension in her stomach as she met his scathing glare. It wasn’t her fault Dario Parisi was caught up in the destructive vendetta between their families.
‘I’m not responsible for my grandfather’s actions.’
‘So you admit he did wrong?’
Alissa’s lips firmed at the recollection of Gianfranco’s crimes. The memories were so vivid she found her hands clasped together, white-knuckled and shaking.
Carefully she unknotted her fingers and let her