The Revenge Collection 2018. Кейт Хьюит
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‘They never used to be. When we emigrated your father created many divisions in the US. They’ve all been closed down and moved elsewhere—Brazil’s his favoured place of business now.’
‘And your point is?’
‘How often does your father visit the US? When was the last time he set foot on US soil? When did any of your brothers last visit?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t keep tabs on them.’
Their cappuccinos and pastries were brought out to them. As soon as they were alone again, Gabriele continued with the conversation.
‘Does your father ever mention visiting the US?’
‘No.’ She swallowed a bite of her pastry and fixed narrowed eyes on him. ‘What is it with all the questions?’
‘Has it never occurred to you that there may be a reason your father doesn’t visit the US any more?’
‘No, and I would appreciate it if you would stop trying to poison my mind against him.’
‘I don’t want to poison your mind,’ he said quietly. ‘All I want to do is open it.’
Her green eyes suddenly fixed on him. ‘Does this mean you believe that, whatever happened between our fathers, I had nothing to do with it?’
Her words resonated. ‘Does this mean you accept that I was innocent?’
‘I asked first.’
He took a long sip of his cappuccino, staring at the face that was becoming as familiar to him as his own.
‘I don’t know,’ he answered heavily. ‘It’s inconceivable to me that you could not know of your father’s criminality...’
She closed her eyes slowly, her shoulders slumping.
‘But,’ he continued, ‘the more I get to know you, the harder I find it.’
‘You have doubts?’
‘Many of them.’
‘I can’t persuade you either way, can I?’ she said sadly, then shook her head and looked back at him. ‘I believe in your innocence.’
He found his throat closing, making a response hard. ‘Why?’
‘The more I get to know you, the more I know you wouldn’t go on a vendetta for no good reason. You believe my father to be the guilty party and a part of you still thinks I’m involved too.’ Her eyes were steady as she said, ‘But it doesn’t excuse what you’ve forced me to do. Nothing will ever excuse that. I might believe in your innocence but don’t think for a minute that I forgive you because that will never happen.’
‘I haven’t asked for your forgiveness. If your innocence is proven then I will apologise and hope for it,’ he answered evenly. ‘But let us not get carried away—you yourself admit the proof of your innocence doesn’t exist.’
* * *
Elena stood under the hot stream of the shower and waited for the heavy pour to soothe her wounded heart. Until that morning, they’d both studiously avoided any conversation about her father or family in general and she wished she hadn’t risen to the bait. She didn’t want to spend their marriage at loggerheads and discussion simply opened raw wounds.
What she hated Gabriele for the most was the doubts he put in her mind.
The daily calls to her father had become excruciating. It didn’t matter how often she told him everything was great, he didn’t sound convinced.
What she hated hearing in his voice was the underlying panic. Because she couldn’t trust it. She appreciated her marriage had been a shock to him but she definitely had the impression it was more than that; that her marriage to Gabriele scared him.
And try as she might to think otherwise, she couldn’t help but wonder if he had been involved in Alfredo’s fraud.
He wouldn’t have set him up. She was certain of that. Not her father.
But what did she really know of his business dealings in South America and Asia? They were kept separate from the division she ran.
And Gabriele’s question of when her father had last visited the US...
She truly couldn’t remember. When she’d been a child he’d made regular trips there, often accompanied by one or other of her brothers, but she could not remember the last time any of them had mentioned a visit there for whatever reason.
Were they afraid to step foot on US soil? And if so, why?
Surely, she reasoned, if the US authorities suspected him of anything they could get an international arrest warrant?
But according to Gabriele, all the evidence was in the basement of the Nutmeg Island chapel, which the authorities couldn’t touch without hard evidence.
How would her father react if she were to ask him for the chapel code...?
God, she loathed herself for doubting him. Hated that she had to bite back the question every time she spoke to him. Hated that she feared his answers.
And she hated that the images of those photos played so greatly in her mind.
There was a whole history between the two families that had been all but erased. All she’d ever seen of it was a blurred outline; all the colour and vitality within the outlines faded into darkness.
And she really hated that it made her wonder what else she’d been kept in the dark about.
MANTEGNA’S HEADQUARTERS WERE located on the outskirts of Florence, in a sprawling complex that covered two square miles of land set in a basin in the Tuscan hills. Elena’s first glimpse was as they drove over the crest of a hill. There it lay beneath them, gleaming in the midday sun.
Gabriele had decided to drive, and he brought the small sports car to a stop so she could admire the view.
Dozens upon dozens of futuristic buildings and hangars were encircled by a testing track. In the centre of it all was the famous electric-blue main building itself, shaped in the diamond Mantegna logo with the silver M dashed across it, its roof shining and glossy under the sun.
Mantegna Cars had manufacturing plants the world over but here was its heart.
‘Have the renovations finished now?’ she asked.
When Gabriele had been halfway through his prison sentence, work had begun, to much fanfare, on expanding Mantegna’s European headquarters to make them his worldwide HQ. It had been a defiant gesture that had told the world Gabriele would not be skulking away and his business would continue to thrive and innovate. Having been unaware of her own father’s involvement—supposed involvement—in the fraud, believing her father to be an innocent bystander in the Mantegnas’ criminality, she’d thought it showed a lack of class.
But you never thought your father was completely innocent, did you? That twisting you experienced in the pit of your belly whenever you heard details of the investigation and the trial were testament to that.
Coldness ran up her spine and she clasped her hands tightly together.
What kind of daughter was she to even consider her father being capable of such a thing?
‘The bulk of it was completed a month ago,’ he said, oblivious to her inner turmoil. ‘We’ve had a few teething problems but nothing major. When we launch the Alfredo next month, everything will work perfectly.’
The supercar that would be a tribute to Gabriele’s father and an event that had the world’s motor press salivating with anticipation.
‘How did you do it?’ she asked in wonder. ‘The boss