She flushed, ashamed of the lie.
‘Antonio was my son for eighteen years,’ he went on in a tone of sad yearning. ‘He was a boy of great promise. One thing I can do is fill in those years for you, if you’ll allow me.’
Her heart sank. Bella would have wanted that. Any daughter who’d loved her father would. She could feel Dante fiercely willing her to agree, hanging the threat of prison over her head if she didn’t. There was no way out.
‘I have very little time left, Bella,’ Marco added softly. ‘Will you help me to spend it well, correcting a wrong that weighs heavily on my heart? Think of me, if you will, as a treasure chest of memories you can open now, but will be forever closed once I’m gone.’
It was too persuasive an appeal to deny. ‘All right. I’ll try it,’ she conceded, surrendering to the inevitable once again. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have thrown your…your failing health in your face. It just seems that…’
‘Death keeps cutting through your life?’
She nodded, feeling too uncomfortable to say anything more.
‘It’s different with me, Bella. My journey is simply drawing to a close. Only this business with you remains undone.’ He smiled encouragement at her. ‘Let’s finish it together.’
She managed a wobbly smile back. ‘I hope it will be good for you, Mr Rossini.’
‘Good for you, too, my dear.’
Not in a million years, Jenny thought darkly.
She threw a defiant look at Dante, not really caring about his reaction to her performance since Marco was satisfied with the end result. Besides, she was too drained of feeling by this traumatic meeting to worry about him at this point.
‘It will be all right, Isabella. I promise you,’ he said quickly, determined on soothing her fears.
He’d stand between her and any trouble. Jenny had no doubt about that. But he couldn’t promise it would be all right for her. It never could be. The deception was tearing her apart. The bitter irony was she had thought surviving a term in a women’s prison would be harder.
Bad choice.
Bad, bad choice.
Jenny Kent was more in danger of losing herself here than anywhere else.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘YOU like living dangerously?’
The angry threat in Dante’s voice was like a hammer beating on Jenny’s head, which was already aching from the stress of the meeting on the terrace. Lucia had joined them there. Lucia had shown her to this suite so her new cousin could freshen up before lunch. Dante, of course, had tagged along to ensure everything was ‘all right,’ and once they had entered the appointed room, he’d very purposefully ushered Lucia out, closing the door firmly behind her, intent on securing a private tête-à-tête with the puppet who’d done her own little dance with his grandfather.
Jenny gritted her teeth and turned to face him, determined on standing the ground she had just established with Marco Rossini—an independent person who’d make her own choices. Trapped here she might be, but she wasn’t going to bend to Dante’s will anymore. She met his blazing gaze with stubborn defiance.
‘I adapted to circumstances. Isn’t that what you wanted of me?’
‘You saw a chance to extract yourself from the situation and you took it,’ he fired at her.
‘I’m not what he wanted,’ she retorted fiercely. ‘I couldn’t be, could I? You should have foreseen that, Dante. You disappointed him.’
‘No. I have never disappointed my grandfather,’ he declared with vehement conviction. ‘One of his wishes didn’t come true. You don’t look like Antonio. That was unavoidable, but you can and will supply everything else he needs from you.’
‘I said I’d try.’
He crossed the room to where she stood at the foot of the bed, towering over her with intimidating power. ‘You were trying to twist your way out of this. Don’t try it again or I’ll make you pay for it.’ His eyes bored into hers. ‘Believe me, I’ll make you pay for it.’
She believed him.
He was as much tied to this deception as she was, and failure was unacceptable.
Dante Rossini didn’t fail.
The force of the man in such close proximity made her quake inside. It was like being blasted by an electric energy that jangled her nerves, kicked her heart into a faster beat, tore at her muscles, leaving them quivering. She stared back at him, refusing to let him see any weakness in her, silently fighting her lonely fight to survive him as well as everything else.
‘Nothing more to say?’ he mocked.
She swallowed convulsively, trying to get some control over her throat muscles. Her mouth was as dry as the Sahara Desert, making it impossible to speak, so she simply shook her head. He didn’t want to hear anything she might say, anyway.
The threatening tension on his face slowly relaxed. The laser-like heat in his eyes simmered down. His mouth actually quirked into an ironic little smile.
‘On the whole, you did quite well out there. Not the warm response I told you to give, but the emotional tears were good. Nonno was moved by them. He liked your independent stance, too.’
The approval, coming straight on the heels of his attack, turned Jenny’s mind to mush.
‘Just don’t hold that line too hard,’ he went on. ‘You’ve made your point. You’re not about to suck up to a grandfather who hasn’t been a grandfather to you. That’s okay. It’s an attitude he respects, but soften it with kindness. And courtesy.’
She nodded.
He huffed an exasperated sigh. His eyes snapped with annoyance. ‘We’re back to the silent treatment, are we?’
It goaded her into a challenging glare and reactivated her vocal chords. ‘Less grief for me if I remain a submissive doll who doesn’t buck your authority.’
‘Huh!’ he scoffed. ‘Submissive is the last word I’d apply to you! I’m not fool enough to believe something meek and mild resides in the fortress you’ve built around yourself. You can fly the white flag as much as you like but I know…’
He stepped closer, raising her tension level to screaming point. His hand gripped her chin, fingers pressing into the curve of her cheek, and his eyes were glittering with heat again, not angry heat, not threatening heat, more a very male sexual heat wanting supremacy over a woman. He was touching her, touching her aggressively, and she was paralysed with panic.
‘I know rebellion is seething behind it,’ he said with arrogant certainty. ‘And maybe the best way to quell it is to storm your defences and seduce you into wanting to stick with me.’