Italian Billionaire’s Unexpected Lover Read online

  Tearing her gaze away from Gianpierre, Luciana took in her surroundings and drew in a deep breath as she fought tears. It was beautiful. It was tranquil. The ocean was a brilliant blue in front of them, and the building’s height and location provided a bird’s eye view of the small, quiet town as it sloped down toward the water’s edge.

  Then, Luciana noticed the noise—or rather the lack of noise. There was a distant sound of traffic, but it was very distant, since mostly people walked in town. An occasional sound of laughter reached her ears.

  “It’s so peaceful,” Luciana said, then picked Natalia up so that the little girl was propped on her hip. Through the entire tour, Natalia hadn’t said a peep. She’d been quiet as a mouse and had watched Gianpierre with her large, round eyes rather than take in the home. “What do you think, sweetie? Do you think you would like living here?”

  The little girl took so long to speak that Luciana almost gave up on her saying anything. “Matri liked our home,” the little girl finally said as she wound her hand into Luciana’s hair.

  “She did,” Luciana said, smiling as she gave the little girl’s belly a rub. “Do you remember what else she liked?”

  The little girl shook her head no.

  “She liked the ocean. She loved to look at it. Do you think that she would like the view from this balcony?”

  The little girl’s gaze shifted to the ocean and she seemed to study it. Then, looking back at Luciana, Natalia nodded her head enthusiastically.

  “Do you think she would like it if you got to look at the ocean for her?”

  Natalia nodded again, and then returned her gaze to the ocean before laying her head on Luciana’s shoulder.

  Luciana turned to Signora Rizzo, and in a quiet, soft voice she said, “We’ll take it.”

  4

  Gianpierre

  “You sure you don’t want me to stay, capo?” Paolo asked.

  “No, no,” Gianpierre answered, though he cast a worried eye toward the darkening sky. A heavy storm was rolling in from the ocean. “Your niece is having her birthday party tonight, yes? You go. I’ve got this.” There was only a little bit of work to do, and then Gianpierre would be able to call it a night as well.

  Paolo clapped Gianpierre on the shoulder. “Se, Capo. Grazij.” Then, with a wave over his shoulder, he jogged out of the large courtyard. He didn’t make it all the way out before having to stop and talk to a matronly woman on her way in, though.

  Gianpierre squinted in an effort to discern who the woman was as Paolo pointed a long arm in his direction, but her features were lost to him in the failing light. He watched as Paolo turned and left, rushing to beat the coming rain. In contrast, the woman Paolo had spoken to marched toward Gianpierre without any concern at all for the brewing storm. As she neared, Gianpierre finally recognized her.

  “Bona sira, Signora Rizzo,” Gianpierre greeted her, wishing her a good evening. He didn’t ask her what her business was, trusting that she would get to it when she was ready. It had been three days since the unexpected showing of his apartment and he hadn’t heard anything else. He didn’t have a moving date, and he hadn’t even started packing. As for him and Luciana, she’d only been back to work one day, but it had been a very long day while they’d both avoided talking of the incident.

  “Bona sira,” Signora Rizzo said, brushing her short wind-whipped hair behind her ear. “Is this an okay time to talk, Signore Romano?”

  Gianpierre glanced at the sky, but if she was willing to talk to him in the growing nearly gale force winds, then he was willing to listen. Shrugging, he said, “Se, Signora. Should we go inside out of the weather?”

  Signora Rizzo leaned so that she could see around Gianpierre and peered at the taped off hole behind him. To the side sat a tarp. Even though it was anchored under heavy stones, its unweighted edges flapped wildly in the wind. Without the tarp, the catacombs below would be in danger of becoming flooded by the coming rain. “I’m interrupting your work. Let me help you as we talk.”

  Gianpierre took a breath in preparation to refuse her generous offer, but held his tongue when Signora Rizzo moved past him. Without waiting for a response, she put her large purse on the ground and set to work moving the large stones off the tarp so that the tarp could be moved. The fact that she was wearing high heels, a tweed skirt and snug dress jacket didn’t deter her at all.

  Gianpierre jumped in to assist, and soon they were fighting with the airborne tarp as they maneuvered it over the hole. Signora Rizzo did an admirable job of holding it in place as Gianpierre made fast work of putting the anchoring stones back around its edges. Once that was done, he finished the job by sliding an angled rod beneath the tarp. The point of the rod tented the tarp upward so that the water would cascade off rather than making a pool of water that would eventually dump the tarp and all its contents inside the belly of the catacombs beneath.

  Fat raindrops began to fall just as Gianpierre was finishing wedging the tenting rod between two rocks. Getting to his feet, he grabbed Signora Rizzo’s purse and hurried them both to stand under the covered walkway that surrounded the entire courtyard. Signora Rizzo’s gaze scanned the sixteen foot high stone archways, and her eyes crinkled at their corners as a smile pulled at her lips.

  “I always loved old places like this,” she said, reaching out a hand to trace the face of the nearest stone pillar. “I am so happy that you and your brothers are restoring the Romano del Mare rather than letting her crumble.”

  Gianpierre studied Signora Rizzo’s rapturous expression. It means so much to her. He had taken the Romano del Mare for granted. It had always been a part of his life, tucked away in the background. Over the years, it had become more of an afterthought than anything of importance, but, he realized, for the people who called Sicily their home, the Romano del Mare mattered. A lot. Seeing Signora Rizzo’s adoring gaze as she felt the ancient stones that made up the medieval one-time monastery was a humbling reminder to him that the brother’s decisions impacted lives far, far beyond just their own, and the work that they did to restore the Romano del Mare was a service to the entire region.

  “Seeing how you look at her, I am happy as well,” he said.

  Signora Rizzo turned her smile on Gianpierre, but then her eyes dimmed and her body stiffened as she transitioned into business mode. “Signore Romano, I understand now that with your many months of travel that you did not receive notice that the building’s new owners were moving to an owners model rather than a rental model. I am here to formally ask you if you would like to purchase the home that you have been renting. As you know, you have poured a lot of equity into the home with the various updates and the installation of a pool on the roof. It is equity that will be completely lost if you do not purchase the home for yourself. Even if you decide to later sell it, you will at least regain the value that you have already put into it.”

  “I don’t understand. Luciana—the woman you brought to view the property—has committed to purchase it.”

  Signora Rizzo flattened her lips and shook her head in a slow, sad no. “The bank refused her loan. I had to tell her today. She’s not approved for the purchase.”

  “They refused? Why?”

  Signora Rizzo shrugged and bobbed her head from side to side as if contemplating how much she should say. Giving in, she answered, “I called the bank to see if I could smooth things over, but they said that she’s lived here for too short a time and that she’s only been employed for two weeks. On top of that, the bank understands that her employment only continues for as long as your work continues. They consider her too much of a risk. In addition to that, buying your place was going to be a financial stretch for her anyway.” Signora Rizzo squared her shoulders. “So, Signora Romano, would you like to buy the apartment? It has been your home for over ten years, after all.”

  “No, no… It has been my home base, not my home. It is simply the place that I come back to. It is not the place I live. I live wherever the work takes me, and the wo
rk seldom takes me here. I am due in Dubai right now.”

  “And yet, you’ve continued to hold on to this apartment for ten years…”

  “But it was always temporary. It’s a rental, nothing more,” Gianpierre said, throwing down his hands in emphasis. “I have too many opportunities pulling me away to other countries. I cannot be tied down to Sicily right now. It’s not time yet.”

  “Se, Signore. Se,” Signora Rizzo said in acceptance of his words.

  Gianpierre’s voice and stance softened. “What will become of Luciana and the little girl? Did Luciana get approved for enough to find another place she will like?”

  Signora Rizzo pursed her lips and shook her head. Tsking, she said, “No, Signore. The bank would not approve her for any loan. She is too new, and her work history here is too short.” She shook her head some more. “It is so sad. The little girl has terrible nightmares, and Luciana sometimes finds her searching the house in the middle of the night. When she asks the little girl what she is looking for, the little girl tells her she saw her Matri in her dreams and she’s looking for her. It’s why Luciana wants to find them a new home. She’s hoping it will help the little girl recover from watching her mother die.”

  “She saw her Matri die?” Gianpierre’s mind reeled. He imagined himself experiencing something so tragic when he had been her age, but it was unfathomable.

  “Se, se. Little Natalia was in the car with her when they were hit by a huge truck. It twisted the car and then…” She tsked some more as she stared out into the heavy rain.

  “How long was she in the car with her after her Matri died?” He didn’t want to know the answer, but his mind demanded the terrible truth.

  Signora Rizzo lifted her haunted eyes to meet his. “An hour, maybe. She was trapped. They had to cut the car open. It took time for the equipment to reach them.”

  Gianpierre put his face in his hand and leaned back against the pillar. His problems were becoming smaller and smaller in comparison to the rest of the world’s, but this was one problem that he could do something about.

  Dropping his hand, he said, “And you have already told Luciana that she has been denied a loan by the bank?”

  “Se, Signore.”

  “Call on her tonight and tell her that you’ve gotten word from the bank that there was a mistake and that they will be approving her loan. Tell her it is enough to cover the purchase of my home—my apartment,” he corrected, unwilling to refer to a place where he lived at most two months a year as his home.

  “Signore?”

  “I will call the bank tomorrow and will tell them that I will back the loan, but Luciana is not to know that.”

  Signora Rizzo smiled brightly and gave Gianpierre an approving pat on the arm. “Se, Signore!”

  5

  Luciana

  “Se, Signore. I’ll hold,” Luciana said with her cell phone pressed to her ear. She nudged her sunglasses up her nose. She didn’t need them on such an overcast day, but she’d spent the last hour fighting tears. Signora Rizzo had visited her at home last night to tell her that the bank had approved the loan after all, but when Luciana had called the bank as soon as it had opened this morning to confirm that it was true, the bank had told her no. She was still denied the loan—any loan. Now she was back to square one of trying to figure out how to provide Natalia with a home that she could find happiness in.

  “Signorina Vivaldi, I am sorry to make you wait. I am Signore Glordano, the bank presidenti,” said the reassuring, patient voice of what sounded like an older gentleman.

  Luciana tried to hide a sniffle. “It’s no problem, Signore.” She couldn’t imagine what else they had to tell her. How many times did she need to be told that they didn’t deem her a good financial risk?

  “There has been a mistake.”

  “It’s okay. They’ve already told me that I don’t qualify for a loan.”

  “But that is the mistake. You have been approved for the original loan amount that you requested.”

  “What?” Luciana couldn’t believe her ears.

  “My sincerest apologies, Signorina. There was a mistake, but your line of credit has now been approved.”

  New tears flooded Luciana’s eyes, but this time they were tears of joy.

  “Come in later this afternoon and we will finalize the paperwork. I’ve given instructions for you to be directed to my office, and I look forward to seeing you.”

  Luciana’s heart skipped a beat. “This afternoon?” The bank would be closed by the time she got off work. Gianpierre had been pushing them into longer and longer hours. “I’m not sure that I can get away from work.”

  “This evening, then. Whatever time works for you. I will send you a text of my personal mobile number. Let me know that you are on your way, and I will meet you here. No time is too late.”

  Luciana pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it in disbelief. Possibly it was a cultural difference between Sicily and America, but she had never had a bank official be so nice to her. “Se, Signore! Gratzij! Gratzij!”

  Clicking off of the call, Luciana jumped up and down in place and then did a little dance. Gianpierre’s crew watched her and laughed, but it was in good humor with camaraderie.

  “We can get Gianpierre’s place!” Luciana exclaimed unintelligibly in a muted squeal. It was loud enough to give her glee someplace to go while not being so loud as to telecast her business to everyone within hearing distance. As far as she knew, none of Gianpierre’s regular crew knew what had happened between them. They didn’t know that she was trying to buy his home, and they sure as heck didn’t know that she had walked in on him while he was naked.

  To be honest, Gianpierre had barely spoken ten words to her since that night. She’d taken the next day off—per Gianpierre’s direction—and then had returned to work the day after as usual. She’d tried to talk to him about the incident twice, but each time he would bark out an order to someone on his crew and they would be off to investigate some new corner of the catacombs. This time, though, Luciana had news about the catacombs herself. One of the workers had found yet another room that had been filled with dirt. Its structural integrity was unknown, and its contents were unknown.

  “Where is he?” Luciana said aloud as she scanned the courtyard. Gianpierre was traditionally the first one on-site and the last one to leave, but today he was late. “Michela,” she called out, flagging down one of Gianpierre’s regular crew. Crossing the courtyard, Luciana was careful where she stepped and looked for any tell-tale signs that the ground was dipping.

  “Se?” the Sicilian beauty asked, setting her hammer and chisel aside and standing up. She was reshaping the stone bricks to ensure the best fit possible. No filler was to be used between the rock bricks in many places and maximum surface-to-surface contact was imperative for the bricks to lock in place with a good pressure and friction hold.

  Luciana had shaken hands with the woman once not long after being hired on as Project Manager. She would never make that mistake again. Michela had gotten goosed in the ribs by another worker just as their hands were locking. Startled, Michela had clamped down on her grip, and Luciana had thought that Michela had broken her hand. It was clear that Michela was all woman, but beneath her soft, feminine features was work-hardened muscle.

  Luciana couldn’t help but wonder if her and Gianpierre had ever been a pair. The woman was stunning with high cheekbones, long, thick black hair and eyes that had a mesmerizing, smoky darkness that was not quite black and not quite brown. As for Gianpierre, he was certainly handsome enough to turn any woman’s head. It would make sense that Gianpierre would find companionship with one of the people he travelled with most. Despite that, she’d never seen either of them look at each other with even a hint of that kind of familiarity. Luciana was the only one he ever seemed to look at with heat in his eyes, but it was hard for her to accept that she was not part of a convenient trend.

  “Michela, have you or any of the others heard from Gia
npierre this morning?”

  “Ahh, se. He’s there,” she said, pointing past Luciana before returning to her work.

  Luciana turned around to see Gianpierre making his way across the courtyard. He was wearing his usual work-worn jeans but also wore a navy blue suit jacket over top.

  Sex on a stick. The words were in her head without her invitation, and the intensity of her desire for her boss caught her off guard. Her cheeks heated, and she looked away, desperate for him not to see her blush.

  Squaring her shoulders and hugging her tablet to her chest like a shield, she hurried forward with quick, sure steps. Gianpierre would talk to her this time. She’d make him.

  As she neared, Gianpierre lifted an arm in preparation of waving someone over, but Luciana countered with a stern, “Sir.” His attention shifted to her and she stepped close, so close that for him not to acknowledge her would require him to be bluntly rude. “Sir,” she said again.

  “It’s fine—” he said at the same time that she said, “There’s been a development in the catacombs.”

  “What?” Gianpierre asked, his brows lifting.

  “Paolo discovered a room behind a blocked entrance. The room might be full of dirt and debris, or it might be open and susceptible to cave in. It needs further evaluation.”

  “Paolo!” Gianpierre called out, lifting his gaze to look out over Luciana’s head.

  Luciana was tempted to raise up onto the tips of her work boots to make it harder for him to see past her but resisted the urge. “Paolo is already down in the catacombs, sir.”

  Gianpierre leveled a cool gaze on her as she used the word “sir” yet again.

  She cleared her throat. “Gianpierre,” she corrected and then felt her cheeks heat again. The magnetic pull of his bright blue eyes on her made her memory flash with seeing him naked… gloriously naked. His lean body had been perfection, and the muscles that were hinted at beneath his clothes had not been a lie. If he had been crafted out of clay by a master’s hands, he could not have been any more handsome and virile. “I will take you down into the catacombs to him.”