“He doesn’t, Papa,” she whispered and the sound seemed to echo in the plush suite. “If he says he has evidence, he does.”
A frown crossed Nick’s face then and Rico knew he had the man’s attention.
“What is it you want?”
“I’ve already told you. I want what your family stole from me five years ago.”
Nick shot a look at his daughter. “I think you stole something from me, as well.”
He hadn’t stolen Teresa, Rico thought. He’d let his heart rule his head for the first and last time in his life. And just look where that had gotten him.
“Fine, then,” he said. “Call it an exchange. You return my property and I will return yours.”
He knew he was being insulting and he just didn’t give a royal damn.
“Property?” Teresa hissed the word as her back went poker straight and her shoulders squared as if for battle. She lifted her chin and looked up at Rico. “I’m no one’s property. Least of all yours.”
He inclined his head in a nod. “Don’t bother being offended. I’m not interested in keeping you.”
She reacted as if she’d been slapped.
Rico ignored her. “You can go as soon as I have the Aztec dagger back in my possession.”
Not only had Teresa used him and then vanished, she’d done her disappearing act right after the centuries-old dagger had gone missing from Rico’s collection. He knew, thanks to information his P.I.s had gathered, that Teresa’s brother had stolen it from him. And he wanted that dagger. It was a ceremonial dagger, used in the Aztecs’ religious sacrifices, that Rico’s great-great-however-many-greats-grandfather had found in an archaeological dig more than two hundred years ago. Not only was it ancient and a piece of history—it had been handed down in his father’s family for longer than anyone could remember—and Rico would have it returned.
Once he had that—and his personal revenge on Teresa—he could be done with her and the past.
As if Nick wasn’t in the room with them, Teresa took a single step closer to him before stopping herself. Staring up into his eyes, she said, “I got a divorce five years ago. I hired an attorney in Cancún and he filed the papers. He sent me the final decree.”
“It was a fake,” he said sharply.
Rage escalated as he remembered her attorney, a good friend of Rico’s, coming to him, telling him about Teresa’s divorce plans. Because that attorney had owed Rico, he’d given his allegiance to him rather than his client. Together, they’d faked a divorce decree and let her believe the marriage had been dissolved. Of course, he had tried to use the address she gave the lawyer to find her. But she had disappeared again, losing herself somewhere in Europe.
There had been a few times over the last five years that Rico had regretted his decision. But at the time, he’d been too tormented by the way she’d left. Too furious at the way she’d used him only to vanish, to let her go. And still too…enamored of her to allow that disappearance to be final.
Now he was glad he’d done it. For the satisfaction of seeing her shock, if for nothing else. She had thought herself in charge. Assumed that she had left him behind in her tangle of lies.
Even now, he knew she was wondering how he’d found her here. How he’d managed to pluck her from the hundreds of guests currently staying at the Castle.
It hadn’t been hard.
As owner of the hotel, he had access to the guest registry and finding Teresa had been surprisingly easy. She’d signed in under the name Teresa Cucinare—Italian for “cook.” Once he suspected her of the thievery, he had zeroed in on her, then confirmed his suspicions with a quick talk with the front desk.
When his employee had described Teresa Cucinare as drop-dead gorgeous with wide brown eyes and a dimple in her right cheek, Rico knew he had her.
Five years, three months and ten days.
Not that Rico was counting or anything. But he knew down to the damn minute when this woman—his woman—had disappeared.
He’d spent a lot of time thinking about what he would say to her. What he would do when he finally found her. And now here she was and all he could do was stare at her.
He finally allowed himself the time to simply drink her in. From the top of her head down her incredibly lush and curvy body to the tips of her red-painted toes, displayed so nicely in her high-heeled sandals.
Hunger roared to life inside him and smothered even the rage and frustration that had been Rico’s constant companions these last five years. She’d married him. Used him. And then left him looking like a damn fool. There was no forgiveness for that, Rico told himself.
But damn, she looked even better now than she had when they were together. Clearly, the last five years hadn’t been difficult ones for Teresa Coretti.
Coretti.
When he’d married her, he’d had no idea that her last name was infamous throughout Europe. He’d discovered that much later, after she had gone. He’d been able to follow her trail as far as Italy, but after that, it was as if she’d gone up in a puff of smoke. She was as adept at protecting herself as the rest of her family was. The police had never been able to pin a crime on the Corettis and Rico hadn’t been able to find her, no matter how many P.I.s he’d hired in so many different countries he’d lost count.
But all of that was over now. He had her. Here. At his place. And damned if she’d get away from him again.
“Rico—”
Her voice was low, breathless, sexy enough to jolt through him like a bolt of lightning. Damn, Rico hated to admit—even to himself—that he was still affected by her. Five years and he still wanted her more than his next breath.
But this time that want, that need, would be assuaged on his terms.
“Been a long time,” he finally said, keeping his gaze fixed with hers.
“I know—”
“What amazes me—” he spoke quickly, interrupting whatever she might have said “—is that you had the guts to show up here.”
“If you’ll let me explain…”
“Why? So you can spout whatever lies you’ve rehearsed for this occasion?” He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“Now, I think we can all discuss this in a civilized manner.”
Rico’s gaze darted to Teresa’s father. Dominick Coretti. Head of a family of thieves and no doubt the man who had taught his daughter her precarious sense of honor. Studying him, Rico had to give the man credit. Caught red-handed, Nick Coretti looked unflappable. As if nothing more important had happened than his champagne had gone flat. This despite the fact that everyone in the room knew that he’d been outmaneuvered.