Consequence of His Revenge(23)

“She’s been trying to pay me back, sending money to an account supposedly owned by Benito Castiglione.”

Arturo’s brows went up. “There’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time. He died, didn’t he? Years ago?”

“Yes, but that’s why—” Dante felt like a gullible idiot, trying to defend her. “Where would she even get that name to throw it at me?”

“Old paperwork of her father’s?” Arturo guessed. “They’re a resourceful bunch. I’m just glad I was able to stop you losing more than a few grand in trinkets this time.”

“Sir?” The event planner who had organized this evening’s festivities approached with trepidation. “Would you like to give your speech now?”

Not even one little bit. Dante felt as though noxious fumes filled his lungs, but he made himself go through the motions of finishing his evening, ignoring the avid looks from the staff and honored guests, smoothing over whatever ripples his small scene with Cami had created.

All the while, he was mentally combing through the moments when Cami had challenged his view of her, searching for the point where he turned from man into mark. The very beginning? When she helped his grandmother? Kissed him? Fell apart under his touch in the hot tub?

He grew more and more furious with himself, more ramped for the inevitable confrontation when he arrived back in his suite.

“She’ll have cut and run with the goods,” Arturo said. “Which is good. You don’t want her hanging around, trying to convince you of her innocence.”

He had been convinced. That was the problem.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Arturo shadowed him all the way to the door of his suite. Dante dismissed him with a snarl of impatience.

What had transpired between him and Cami was many things, but it was above all private. He pushed in and knew before the door had shut that the suite was empty.

What he didn’t expect was to find her gown on the floor of the lounge, as though she’d shed it the second she’d entered, heels kicked off beside it. The jewelry he’d given her was on the coffee table. The only shoes missing by the door were her knee-high boots.

As he climbed the stairs, he discovered there was little satisfaction in finding all the lingerie he’d given her still in the drawers and all her new dresses, some still unworn, hanging in the closet. Even the pretty scarf with her name painted in calligraphy, which he’d bought while they enjoyed the town’s street fair of local artists, was still here.

Her well-worn backpack, her battered laptop and her toothbrush were gone, but the hotel shampoo was still here. She’d taken only what was undeniably hers.

He ran his hand down his face, wondering whether he’d given her too much credit or not enough.

His phone pinged and an email notification came through, advising him Cami had just sent a transfer—in the amount she’d been sending to Benito.





CHAPTER EIGHT

One month later...

DANTE SAW THE email notification and knew without opening it that it was another payment from Cami. Her third.

He rejected it exactly as he had the other two. Damn her! Every time he almost managed to push her from his thoughts—

Who was he kidding? She was there all the time, acting as a bar of comparison that made every other woman who crossed his path too short or too tall, too polished or too loud, too quick to make assumptions, too slow to get to the point. Too insincere and not able to laugh. Not possessing a laugh he could stand to hear.

Those were the days. At night, he woke so hard he hurt, dreams of making love to Cami dissolving into the harsh reality that he was alone in his bed and would never feel her beneath him again.

Leaning his knuckles on his desk, he gritted his teeth and told himself it was over. Let her go.

His PA buzzed through. “Signor Donatelli has arrived.”

“Send him in.” Dante clicked off his phone and moved around his desk to greet his guest.

They were distantly related through the marriage of Vito’s sister, but often crossed paths in business. Gallo had worked with the Donatelli investment bank several times, so he and Vito were well acquainted and enjoyed a comfortable friendship.

“Are you holidaying? This is a long way to come for a house call,” Dante said as they sat down with fresh espresso.

“It’s a delicate matter.” Vito steepled his fingertips. “One I thought best handled in person. It’s taken a lot of digging and once I had an answer, I asked Paolo to confirm it. I wanted to be absolutely sure before speaking to you.”

Vito’s cousin was the president of the bank, which attested to the seriousness of the matter. Dante frowned.

“This is about the Benito account?” Dante sat back, trying to relax, but it was impossible. “I don’t think I want the answer any longer.”

Let sleeping dogs lie, he had thought each time he recalled that Vito had not been in touch. Dante didn’t want to know that Cami had followed in her father’s footsteps with skimming whatever she could from him by stringing him along as his reluctant mistress.

What had she gained, though? That was the part that drove him craziest.

“I am quite sure you do not,” Vito said, tight smile revealing the ruthless man well disguised behind a picture-book family that included a stunning American wife and two young children. “But Paolo and I cannot, and will not, allow our bank to be used for crimes.”

Vito’s wife had been implicated in one herself. That’s how the pair had met. She’d been exonerated, but it was the type of smudge that had only made the Donatellis that much more vigilant with their bank’s reputation.

“Paolo is speaking with the authorities today. This is a courtesy call, since you were the one who made us aware of the situation.”

An image of Cami behind bars flashed in his mind. “What will it cost me to quash it?”

The words left Dante’s lips before he could stop them, but the idea of Cami going to prison was beyond anything he could stomach. He shot to his feet as though he could physically reach her through the email in the phone he’d left on his desktop, somehow shielding her.

“We can’t, Dante.” Vito’s tone was both quietly regretful, in deference to their friendship, yet impassively hard. “This sort of thing could take down our bank. He has to be stopped.”

“He?” Dante spun. “We’re talking about Cami Fagan. Aren’t we?”

“She’s the victim, yes.” Vito nodded. “But Arturo is the criminal who has been representing himself as Benito and taking her money.”

* * *

How the hockey playoffs were still on when summer tourists were invading the city, Cami didn’t know, but she didn’t complain. She needed the tips, and this working-class pub, with its big screens and loyal regulars, was brimming with generous fans.

She was tending bar and still run off her feet. At least they mostly drank beer, which meant about a million draft pours, but not a lot of time-consuming mixed drinks. Wings and margaritas night was a nightmare.

Either way, dropping a full tray of clean glasses was not helpful.

She did it anyway, when she turned from the pass-through and saw Dante at the end of the bar, looking right at her. He wore a leather jacket, sunglasses and a five o’clock shadow. His mouth was a grim line that sent a numbing sear of adrenaline shooting to her fingertips and toes.

I’m not ready, was her only thought before the tray hit the floor in front of her toes. The smash crescendoed above the din, and shards of glass peppered her pant legs.

The crowd roared as if she had scored a goal.

Her shift partner in the narrow space, Mark, said, “Nice job, kid,” and reached past her for the second tray, then continued filling orders, double-time.

Cami did what many a server had done in such battle conditions. She swept the glass into the space behind the garbage bin, silently promised a proper clean up later, put the broom away, washed her hands and got back to work.

She was shaking like she’d been through a war, though. Or was still on the battlefield. What was he doing here?

Trying to ignore Dante was impossible, but she gave it a go, continuing to work, but taking a moment to get Mark’s attention. “See that guy at my end of the bar? Can you serve him?”

“You got it, kid.” Mark was a student friend of her brother’s, which was how she got the job. “He wants to know what time you’re off work,” Mark said after providing Dante a beer.

“Half past get out of my life,” she muttered, but didn’t expect Dante, or even Mark, heard her. The music wasn’t audible over the din of voices and sportscaster calls, and the servers were yelling to be heard across the narrow, scarred wooden top of the bar.

She would have to talk to Dante at some point, though. She had faced that two days ago, when she had used an over-the-counter test and learned her life would be intertwined with his forever.

Or not. It was still early days. Things happened, not that she wished for a miscarriage, but that was pretty much how her life always seemed to go, especially if something good had come along.

Was an unplanned pregnancy “good”? She hadn’t had time to process it, just knew that either way, it was a disaster of some proportion. She had expected to have time to put a plan in place before she had to face him. Never in her wildest dreams had she expected him to come looking for her. Why was he even here? She so wasn’t ready to talk to him yet!