The Revenge Collection 2018. Кейт Хьюит
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get used to it. Lights out was at ten-thirty so there was plenty of time to sleep.’
Elena fell silent, the only sound her breathing as she continued at the pace he’d set.
‘How did you cope?’ she finally asked.
‘Prison?’
She nodded.
‘I was fortunate that my lawyers were able to negotiate getting me into a minimum security prison so it could have been a lot worse. I won’t lie; when I first walked through the doors I was sick with fear of the unknown but you adapt and it becomes...normal. But you know what kept me going?’
She didn’t answer. Probably she knew what he was about to say.
‘It was the thought of getting my revenge on your father. That’s what got me through each day.
‘But let’s not spoil our time together on a subject we’ll never agree on,’ he continued, suddenly feeling like a heel for spoiling the peace that had settled between them. ‘How are you finding the pace? Do you want to go slower? Faster? As we are?’
In reply, she accelerated, running ahead, her ponytail swishing behind her, her bottom swaying beautifully.
He laughed and increased his own pace to catch her. ‘One day we’ll have to have a proper race.’
‘You’ll beat me,’ she said with certainty.
‘That’s not like you to be so defeatist.’
‘It’s called realism. I’m as fit as you are but you’re more powerful. The only way I could beat you is if you were ill, which would make competing pointless.’ She threw him a sly look. ‘I’m certain I could beat you in a straight fight though.’
‘I thought you were being realistic.’
‘Wrestling and boxing were staples of our television viewing when I was a child. I copied their moves and used them on my brothers. They haven’t beaten me in a one-on-one fight since I was eight.’
‘You don’t think they were going easy on you?’
‘Not since the first time I beat them.’ She flashed an evil grin. ‘I wasn’t averse to using pinches and scratches in sensitive places when it suited me. In that respect I had an advantage—my father would have killed them if they’d used the same tactics back at me.’
He grinned at the image. ‘Didn’t your father mind you fighting?’
‘He thought it was funny to see his macho boys beaten by a girl. It’s how I gained his respect.’
‘You had to act like a boy to get it?’
By now they were crossing the Ponte Santa Trinita, back across to their side of the river.
‘It was all of them,’ she surprised him by saying. ‘Not just my father. My earliest memories are of my brothers treating me like a doll. It infuriated me. My father thought it was funny to see his little girl pounding her fist into his youngest son’s face. But it worked to his advantage.’
‘How?’
‘It gave him a legitimate reason to home educate me—he couldn’t send me to an all-girls private school if I was going to beat everyone up. My brothers went to school and had healthy social lives while I was kept locked away.
‘Do you think I’m exaggerating?’ she asked into his silence.
‘No. I’d already guessed as much.’
‘It was the excuse he needed. He wouldn’t have let me go to school however I behaved. I was still a female and even though I had proven myself physically, I needed protection from the big wide world.’
‘He wasn’t disappointed his princess turned into such a tomboy?’
‘Not in the slightest. There was no chance of me catching any boy’s eye if I was dressed in filthy ripped jeans and exchanging punches with them every five minutes.’
Gabriele laughed but he didn’t find it in the slightest bit funny.
‘If he kept you hidden away so much, why did he let you join the company?’
‘To keep me close and under his wing. My brothers and I always knew we would join the family company in one capacity or another and my father always knew he couldn’t wrap me up in cotton wool once I’d come of age.’ She stopped running and held a hand to her waist, kneading at a stitch with a pained face. ‘He does love me, you know.’
‘I know.’
‘And he’s changed a lot in his attitude towards me since I started working for him.’
‘That’s because he’d assumed you’re immune to men seeing as you hadn’t even had a boyfriend in twenty-five years,’ Gabriele said astutely. ‘Your father assumed his tomboy would be his princess for the rest of his life.’
‘It’s not like that.’
‘Isn’t it? Your mother died when you were a toddler. Your father closed ranks on all his children but especially with you. He kept you protected far beyond what any normal person would consider to be appropriate and all because you were a girl. If you’d been a boy your childhood would have been different and you knew it, so you became a boy to please him because you thought that’s what he wanted.’
She shrugged, gave the side of her belly one last massage and set off again.
‘Not quite. I saw that men were considered better than women and I would never be respected unless I made sure I never behaved like a girl. I didn’t want to be a whore and I knew I could never be a Madonna so I became something entirely different that could never be interpreted as one or the other.’
‘You do know that being a woman doesn’t make you subhuman?’ he said. He hated to think Elena had grown up believing that the only way she could have any respect was by being other than she was.
Did she even know who she was?
‘Of course I know that.’
‘Women are no more whores or Madonnas than men are misogynists or feminists. We all have our own capabilities and desires that are ours alone.’
She didn’t answer, seemingly concentrating on the pathway ahead of them.
Now that the sun was up, the streets were getting busier with workers bustling to their places of employment, dog walkers and other early birds.
‘We’re nearly home,’ he said, spotting a trattoria that was open for business. ‘Let’s get a coffee.’
They took a seat on an outside table and gave their order, both ordering a cappuccino and a chocolate pastry twist. The owner brought them a glass of water each with a, ‘You look like you need it.’
Elena wiped her forehead with the back of her wrist. As far as Gabriele could tell, it was the only sign of perspiration on her, whereas his T-shirt was damp.
‘How often do you see your father?’ he asked conversationally. She’d spoken to him daily since their first morning in Florence when Ignazio had offered to fly his jet to Florence and rescue her.
She’d played her part beautifully, insisting she didn’t need rescuing and that she was blissfully happy with her new husband.
When she’d hung up the phone, she’d looked at Gabriele and said, ‘I really hate you.’
‘I hope one day you understand that I’m not the monster you think I am,’ had been his entire response.
Other than that, for a couple who considered each other criminals, they got along surprisingly well.
Now she said, ‘I see my father about as much as you see your mother. I take care of Europe while he deals with Asia and South America with my brothers.’
‘Who runs the North American