He spread his hands. ‘At this stage, it’s only a suspicion. I don’t have the proof to back it up. But I’d advise you to take a close look at your business processes. When the ingredients are delivered, who checks them in and checks against the invoices that everything’s there?’

‘I’m not sure. So you think there might be fake invoices? Or Mancuso’s ordering more ingredients than he should, then taking the excess and selling it on elsewhere?’

‘Either of them is a possibility. And, when the ice cream’s made, how do you know where it goes?’

‘I don’t know. And I should know.’ She shook her head in disbelief. ‘I hate the thought that he’s doing this. Nonno trusts him.’

‘You don’t know for sure it’s him—and you can’t accuse him without having the facts.’

‘So it could be someone else in the business?’ She bit her lip. ‘Did you know Nonno gives all the staff an extra week’s wages at Christmas? And he does it at the end of November, so they have enough time to go out and buy Christmas presents and what have you.’ She sighed. ‘And most of the staff have been there for years. I hate thinking that I can’t trust anyone.’

‘Trust no one. It’s a pretty good business rule.’

She shook her head. ‘No, it’s not. It’s cynical and horrible.’

‘You’re being naïve, Caz.’

She rested her elbows on the table and put her face in her hands. ‘I can’t take this in. And how the hell am I going to tell Nonno?’

‘Wait until you have proof of who it is and what they’re doing. Then you can decide what to do next.’

‘God, this is such a mess. And you know I was looking at the invoices and what have you? Mancuso went to Nonno and complained about me—he says that I don’t trust him.’

‘Well, you don’t,’ Dante pointed out. ‘I take it Gino wasn’t happy about it?’

‘No. He actually came down to the shop to see me, yesterday, and told me that Mancuso deserves better.’ He’d warned her off Dante, too—not that she was going to tell him that.

‘Better tread carefully, Princess.’

‘“One may smile, and smile, and be a villain,”‘ she quoted bitterly.

‘So you really think Mancuso’s at the bottom of this?’

‘I don’t know. Part of me thinks he’s resentful because he feels he should’ve stayed as manager and I should just be a—well, a figurehead, someone who clip-clops around in designer heels.’

He stole a kiss. ‘You have to admit, you do do that.’

‘But there’s more to me than just my shoes. I don’t want to be a figurehead. I want to run Tonielli’s properly. And I want people to take me seriously.’ She sighed. ‘I guess I’m just going to have to make my peace with Emilio Mancuso. Somehow.’

‘Like I told you before, don’t rush into anything,’ he advised. ‘Be polite. And stay wary.’

Like Dante was, himself? she wondered. ‘Are you still going dancing with me on Saturday?’

He gave her a pained look, as if he hoped she’d forgotten about it. ‘I guess so.’

‘Good. Because, right now, I think I need that.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘I know a very good way of releasing tension.’

‘Yeah.’ Except she knew he wasn’t going to let her cuddle up to him afterwards. Or let her spend the night. And she needed to think things through: how she was going to persuade Dante to let this thing between them grow. From where she was standing, she thought it had potential. Huge potential. But he was stubborn, and until she could work out why he was so resistant to any kind of relationship, she was going to back off.

Temporarily.

Didn’t they say that absence made the heart grow fonder? Maybe abstinence would do the same. ‘I’d better leave you in peace. I’ll see you on Saturday.’ She kissed him briefly. ‘Ciao.’ And then she left, before her hormones weakened her resolve and she let him carry her to bed.

Carenza had hoped that she’d given Dante time to think about them. But over the next couple of days she had a nasty feeling that she’d overplayed her hand and he was having second thoughts. Especially about going dancing with her on Saturday night. Maybe dropping into his office unannounced with a box of gianduja, with some trumped-up query, might give her the chance to remind him that she was doing the mentoring, next session.

When she got to the restaurant, the manager told her that Dante wasn’t there. ‘But Signora Ricci may be able to help you,’ he said.

Dante’s secretary, Carenza presumed. He certainly hadn’t mentioned her; and Carenza had never been to his office in conventional business hours, so of course she wouldn’t know any of his staff. And Dante Romano was the kind of man who gave information on a need-to-know basis. He’d obviously decided that she didn’t need to know anything about his secretary.

Hesitantly, she rapped on the door. ‘Signora Ricci?’

The woman sitting at the desk was in her early forties and perfectly groomed. Carenza had a feeling that she might turn out to be the dragon secretary type, who’d protect her boss from every interruption.

Signora Ricci looked up from her desk. ‘Can I help you?’

‘I was looking for Dante.’

‘I’m afraid he’s not here. I can take a message, if you wish.’

‘It’s OK. I’ll email him.’ She paused. ‘But I did bring him this.’ She handed the foil-covered box to Signora Ricci.

‘May I say who left it?’

‘I’m sorry, forgive my manners. I’m Carenza Tonielli. His, um—mentee, I guess.’

‘Ah. You’re Carenza.’

Dante had talked to his secretary about her? What had he said?

She blew out a breath. ‘I know I’m taking up too much of his time. I just brought him some gianduja to say thank you for all the help he’s been giving me. It isn’t nearly enough, but …’ She spread her hands. ‘You can hardly send a man flowers, and taking him out to dinner, when he owns a chain of restaurants, feels a bit … well … wrong.’

Signora Ricci nodded.

Was that a slight softening in her face, or was it just wishful thinking? Carenza decided to take a chance. ‘Actually, you might be the person to help me. Have you worked for him for very long?’

‘About eight years. Why?’

‘Because I’ve known him for a month now and I still don’t have a clue what he likes—I don’t even know what kind of music he listens to. I know he’s my mentor and this is strictly business, but by now surely I should know more of what makes him tick?’

‘Not necessarily. He keeps himself very much to himself,’ Signora Ricci said.

And getting information out of him was like pulling teeth. ‘I want to do something nice for him, but I don’t know what. Maybe take him out somewhere nice.’ Carenza wrinkled her nose. ‘But he hates films, so he probably wouldn’t like the theatre much, either.’

‘He hates anything that he thinks is pretentious,’ Signora Ricci said.

‘You’re telling me. You should’ve heard him about the art I was going to put in Tonielli’s,’ Carenza said dryly. ‘So do you have any idea where I can find something really good to say thank you, something he’d never think of doing for himself because—well, he always puts himself last—but he’d really, really like?’

Signora Ricci gave her an appraising look. ‘You know, you’re not what I expected.’

Carenza had a pretty good idea what the older woman had thought of her. ‘A princess, you mean?’

Signora Ricci looked embarrassed. ‘Yes.’

‘I could shake him when he calls me that. Except he’s been really good to me. He didn’t have to help me, but he’s been brilliant. And patient.’

Signora Ricci raised an eyebrow and laughed. ‘Dante, patient?’

Carenza thought of the way he’d ripped off her knickers, and blushed. ‘Sometimes.’

‘Well, I’m Mariella.’ Signora Ricci extended her hand. ‘Nice to meet you, Carenza.’

‘You, too, Mariella.’ Carenza shook her hand warmly. ‘So, can you give me any ideas of the sort of things he likes?’

‘Did you know it’s his birthday soon?’

‘No. He never said a word to me.’ And Carenza had a feeling he was going to downplay it. Not because he had issues about his age, but because he never spoiled himself, never took time for fun. A crazy idea formed in her head; the more she tried to suppress it, the more insistent it became. ‘Can I ask you something mad—and ask you not to say anything to him?’

‘That depends,’ Mariella said carefully.

‘He’s been my mentor, teaching me how to be a serious businesswoman. I want to do a bit of mentoring in reverse, and teach him to have fun.’ Taking it much further than she’d planned for tomorrow night.

‘First, you’ll have to get him to stop working for long enough,’ Mariella said dryly.

‘This is where my mad idea comes in. Knowing Dante, he’ll be working on his birthday. So is there any chance you can move his meetings for that day and the next, and block out the whole time for me instead—but without telling him?’

‘And what exactly are you planning to do with him?’ Mariella asked.

Carenza told her, and Mariella smiled. ‘He’ll have a hissy fit on you.’

‘No, he won’t. You know how he hates people talking about him. When he finds out, he’ll be in an airport. Among loads of people. He’s not going to make a scene.’

‘You’re devious.’ Mariella gave her an approving look.

‘I’ll need his passport. I can hardly ask him to bring it with him. Oh, and there’s packing.’

‘I can sort that out for you,’ Mariella said. ‘Tell me what you need, and I’ll make sure everything’s ready in a case under my desk.’

‘That’s fantastic. Thank you so much.’

‘One other thing. He always spends his birthday evening with his family.’

Ah. Carenza hadn’t thought of that. ‘Then I guess I ought to run this by them first.’

‘I can’t give you his mother’s number. But if I accidentally leave my contacts book open on my computer and go to the toilet, I can’t help it if you’re incredibly nosey and look on my screen, can I?’

Carenza laughed. ‘And you say I’m devious?’ She gave the secretary a high five. ‘Thank you, Mariella. This is going to be perfect.’

CHAPTER NINE

TEN o’clock on a Saturday night. Before Dante had met Carenza, he would’ve been working. Maybe in his office, maybe helping out in one of the restaurants, but definitely working. If anyone had told him a few weeks ago he’d be going clubbing with her—and even looking forward to it, just a tiny bit—he would’ve laughed.

You’ll definitely like my dress. And my shoes.

He wondered just what she had in mind. Possibilities bloomed in his head. One thing he did know, he was going to enjoy peeling her dress off afterwards. And so was she.

It still bothered him, the way she’d kissed him goodbye and left on Wednesday. Casual as anything. As if he didn’t really matter to her. Which was ridiculous. He didn’t want a relationship with her. He didn’t want to let her close, let her loosen his control over his emotions.

And yet, if he was honest with himself, part of him was starting to wish for exactly that.

‘Get a grip,’ he told himself sharply as he climbed out of the taxi and rang her doorbell.

The chances were, someone as high-maintenance as Carenza Tonielli would take hours to get ready to go out. Admittedly, she’d never once been late for a mentoring session with him; but this wasn’t one of their normal mentoring sessions. He’d agreed to let her set the agenda tonight. And he didn’t have a clue where this was going to take them.

She answered almost immediately and Dante’s jaw nearly hit the floor. She was wearing the highest heels he’d ever seen, her dress was short and clung in all the right places, and her hair was loose and looked incredibly sexy.

‘Let’s forget the dancing. I’ll tell the taxi driver to go home.’ Even to him, his voice sounded rusty, thick with desire.

She just laughed. ‘No way. I’m looking forward to going dancing.’ Mischief sparkled in her eyes. ‘I told you you’d like my dress.’

‘I’d like to take it off you, even more.’

A dimple appeared in her cheek. ‘Later. You know, patience is a virtue. And a business asset.’

‘Oh, yeah?’ He had a feeling that they’d both be at fever pitch by the time he took her home. ‘Just tell me this club isn’t going to be full of sixteen-year-olds.’

She laughed. ‘Of course not. We’re both too old for that kind of place.’

‘So where are we going?’

‘Somewhere they play decent music.’

She clearly wasn’t going to tell him. Worse still, when he opened the door and ushered her into the taxi, by the time he’d got in she’d already given the driver directions to the club and was chatting to him as if she’d known him her entire life.

Carenza definitely had people skills. He’d take back everything he’d said about her being a spoiled princess who didn’t know her staff or care about them. She might have a carefree attitude, but she cared, all right. And she made the world around her sparkle.

The taxi pulled up outside a shabby-looking building. Not promising, Dante thought, but he was careful to keep his voice neutral as he asked, ‘When was the last time you came here?’

‘About three years ago,’ she admitted. ‘But I did check with Lucia. My best friend,’ she added. ‘Lu says it’s still the same.’

‘So why didn’t you go dancing with her?’

‘Because she’s six and a half months pregnant and she’ll have been tucked up in bed for—’ she checked her watch ‘—about the last two hours.’

He held the door open for her, paid for their admission, and his heart sank as he heard the music. It really wasn’t to his taste, but he’d promised to take her dancing so he’d just have to put up with it. He was relieved to discover that she’d been right about one thing; most of the people there were over twenty-five, so he didn’t feel completely out of place.

‘What can I get you to drink?’

‘Still water, please.’ His surprise must have shown on his face, because she smiled. ‘We’re dancing. I don’t want to get dehydrated.’

‘OK.’ He ordered their drinks.

When she led him onto the dance floor, he could see admiring glances from the men round them, and the envy on their faces when she made it very clear that she was with him.

This really wasn’t something he did. Ever. Even in his teens, Dante had been too busy working and trying to better himself to go clubbing. When he’d bought his first business, most of his time and energy had gone into building up the business a bit more and a bit more still. Sure, he’d dated and gone to the odd party, but he’d kept all his relationships casual and ended them before things got too emotionally involved.

Right at that moment, he felt completely out of his depth.

He wished he’d paid more attention during his teens. He had no idea how you behaved in a club.

Carenza seemed to know. She was smiling, waving her arms about and clearly having a good time. Half the people on the dance floor were doing the same moves that she was; clearly this was a song they all knew and there were set movements to it. He didn’t have a clue what they were. And he felt completely out of place here.

‘Come on, get with the beat,’ she teased. ‘I thought all Italian men had a good sense of rhythm?’

‘Not this one.’ He grimaced. ‘Can we go?’

‘We’ve only just got here, Dante.’ She stroked his face. ‘I know I said we’d leave if you really hated it, but you haven’t given it a chance. Just relax. Go with the flow.’ She drew him closer. ‘Follow my lead.’

Now that was definitely something he wasn’t used to doing, following someone else’s lead. But he watched what she did, copied the moves. And, to his surprise, he found himself enjoying it. The dancing itself he could take or leave, but he loved seeing the sheer joy and exuberance on her face.

So this was what made her tick. What made her shine.

A nagging little voice in his head pointed out that he wanted to make her shine like this, too. That he knew just how to do it.

He rested his hands on her hips and fitted his movements to hers; her smile grew just that little bit wider, and finally he found himself relaxing.

But then there was a cold feeling at the base of his spine. Automatically he turned round to see what was going on. A man by the bar was shouting at his partner; Dante couldn’t hear the words over the volume of the music, but there was an ugly look on the man’s face. An ugly look he’d seen too many times on his father’s face—just before he raised his hand to strike Dante’s mother. Dante’s antennae had become so finely tuned throughout those years that he could spot a situation like this right at the earliest stages.

He glanced round, but couldn’t see any bouncers anywhere.

Hell, hell, hell. He couldn’t just stand by and let this happen.

He leaned forward so his mouth was by Carenza’s ear. ‘There’s a problem—can you go to the door and ask one of the bouncers to come to the bar?’

She looked worried. ‘But, Dante—’

‘Just go, Caz,’ he said, knowing that he sounded abrupt but also knowing that there wasn’t time to argue; he needed to stop this happening.

He reached the couple just as the man raised his hand to hit the woman. ‘Is there a problem here?’

The other man looked at him, curled his lip and swore. ‘Keep your nose out. This is none of your business.’

His voice was slurred; he’d clearly been drinking, and the situation pressed every single one of Dante’s buttons. He’d been there too many times in the past, and if he could stop someone else being there, he damned well would. ‘Correction. It’s my business when a coward starts hitting a woman,’ Dante said. ‘Leave her alone.’

The man stared at the woman and then at Dante. His expression grew even uglier. ‘Are you one of her fancy men?’

‘I’ve never seen your partner before in my life, but that’s not the point. Hitting is wrong.’

The man swore again. ‘She deserves it.’

‘Nobody deserves to be hit. Violence doesn’t solve anything.’

‘Want to make something of it, then?’ The man took a clumsy swing at Dante.

Ha. He’d learned to block blows years and years ago. In a matter of seconds, Dante had twisted the man’s arm behind his back and pinned him against the bar. It would be oh, so easy to twist that arm a little harder, feel it crack, so the man couldn’t use it to hit her again. It wouldn’t be the first time Dante had done it.

But he felt the anger simmering through him and made a conscious effort to hold it in check—and to hold the man immobile rather than hurt. ‘That really wasn’t your best idea,’ Dante said coolly.

A burly man materialised beside him. ‘What’s going on?’

‘The guy’s drunk, and was about to hit this woman.’ Dante nodded at the woman who was cowering by the bar. ‘I think he might need a little time to cool down a bit. Police custody, maybe.’

The bouncer nodded. ‘I’ll deal with it. Thanks for stepping in.’

‘No problem.’ Dante stood to one side to let the bouncer deal with the drunk. ‘Are you OK?’ he asked the woman.

She was shaking. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘But he can’t go to jail.’ She shuddered. ‘Tomorrow …’

‘Look, you don’t have to put up with being treated like that.’ He took a business card from his pocket and scribbled the number of the refuge on the back. ‘Ring this number. Someone will help you. Have you got kids?’

She nodded.

‘They’ll help the kids, too.’

Her eyes filled with tears. ‘He doesn’t mean to be like that. It’s just the drink talking. He’s always sorry the next morning.’

‘And then you tell everyone you walked into a door?’ Dante asked, remembering his mother’s explanations. ‘There’s no excuse for hitting your partner. He needs professional help to get his drinking and his temper under control. Even if you don’t care what happens to you, think of what your kids are seeing. What it’s doing to them.’ He thought of what it had done to him, years of seeing his father hit his mother and knowing there wasn’t a thing he could do about it because he was too young and too small to stop him.

‘I … You’re right.’ She dragged in a breath. ‘I’m just so scared of what he’d do if I ever left him.’

‘That’s what the refuge is for. They’ll keep you safe. Ring them,’ Dante said.

Carenza watched as Dante scribbled something on the back of what looked like a business card, and ice trickled down her spine. But he’d come here to the club with her. He surely wouldn’t be chatting up another woman. She had no idea what kind of problem he’d seen, though clearly something had happened because the bouncer she’d spoken to by the door was frogmarching a man out of the club.

Dante turned around and saw her watching him; he left the other woman without a word and came over to her.

‘Everything all right?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’ But there was a tightness in his face that worried her. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

‘That guy—did he hit you or something?’ she asked.

‘No,’ he said shortly.

So what was wrong? Why did Dante suddenly look so angry? ‘Do you know that woman?’

‘No. Can we please just go?’ His voice was very, very curt.

She subsided and followed him out of the club.

As soon as they were outside, he made a phone call, then frowned. ‘The taxi can’t pick us up for thirty minutes. We’ll walk.’

She blinked and pointed at her shoes. ‘I can’t walk home in these.’ She could dance in them for a while, but if they’d stayed at the club for much longer she would’ve ended up dancing barefoot. And she certainly couldn’t walk back to her flat—or Dante’s—in them.

He stared at her, then impatience flickered across his face and he scooped her up, clearly intending to carry her.

And he was holding her way too tightly for comfort. ‘Ow, Dante, you’re hurting me,’ she said.

As her words registered he went white and immediately set her on her feet. ‘I’m sorry. I …’ He shook his head, words clearly failing him, and a muscle worked in his jaw.

Something was obviously very badly wrong.

‘I didn’t mean to hurt you,’ he said in a whisper.

‘I know you didn’t.’ She rubbed her side. ‘Dante, what’s going on?’

‘Nothing.’

It was the biggest, fattest lie she’d ever heard, but he clearly wasn’t going to talk. Not here. ‘Let’s just get away from the club,’ she said softly, and took his hand.

He walked beside her, but she had a feeling that he wasn’t seeing anything around them. He was lost somewhere else, and she had no idea what was going on in his head.

At the end of the street there was a bar. It wasn’t perfect but at least it would be quieter than the club. She dragged him inside, made him sit down with a glass of sparkling water, and rang the taxi firm she normally used to book a cab home. She reached across the table and laced her fingers through his, willing him to talk to her, but he’d gone absolutely silent. She’d never seen him like this before, and it really worried her.

When the taxi took them back to her place, Carenza knew that if she asked him up he’d refuse; he’d go back to his place and brood, and she had no intention of letting him do that. Whether he liked it or not, Dante was going to talk to her. ‘See me up to my front door?’ she asked.

‘Sure.’

Just as she’d hoped, his impeccable manners made him get out of the taxi first. Before she joined him, she shoved a large note at the driver. ‘As soon as I get out, drive off, please,’ she said quickly.

‘What about your change?’

‘Keep it.’ Money wasn’t important. This was.

‘Thanks, bella.’ The taxi driver did exactly as she asked.

‘What the … ?’ Dante began as the cab pulled away.

‘My kitchen. Now,’ she said firmly. He looked absolutely haunted, and no way was she going to let him go back to his place in this state.

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