He would never forget the shy smile that had lit up her face when he’d plunked his tray down beside hers and asked if the seat beside her was taken.
She turned as he approached, as if she’d sensed his presence, that same invisible thread tethering them together that had always defied reason. Her spine rigid, her face set in a mask he couldn’t possibly decipher, she looked haunted. Guarded. Vulnerable. It awakened a primitive need to protect inside of him that was as instinctive as it was irrational.
“Santo,” she said huskily, unleashing that insanely sexy voice that had haunted his dreams. “I had no idea you would be here tonight.”
He came to a halt in front of her. Dug his hands into his pockets. “Delilah is hot on the idea of putting our boutiques in her hotels. Lazzero and I were on the way home from a golf tournament in Albany. She suggested we drop in.”
Her long lashes brushed the delicate line of her cheeks. “That’s exciting. Delilah has some of the biggest key influencers on the planet on her client list. It would be the perfect partnership.”
“We think so.” He held her gaze. “I was sorry to hear about your husband.”
She inclined her head. “Thank you. It was a shock. It’s taken me some time to process it.”
He would have bought her cool, collected act if it wasn’t for the white-knuckled grip she had on her clutch. The tremor in her voice that dismantled his insides. “Gia,” he said softly, stepping forward to sweep a thumb across her jaw. “Are you okay?”
She flinched away from his touch, a quick, reflexive movement that sent a hot rush of emotion through him. “I’m fine. You know I didn’t love him, Santo. What my marriage was and what it wasn’t.”
“I’m not sure what I know and what I don’t,” he growled, “because you walked away without a word.”
“Santo—”
He waved a hand at her. “You dropped off the edge of the earth for two years, only to show up here tonight. Forgive me if I had to ask the question. Old habits die hard.”
She anchored her teeth in her lush bottom lip. “I work for Delilah. I have for the past couple of years.”
He frowned. “You live here?”
She nodded. “You know I never wanted that kind of a life for myself. When Franco died, it was my opportunity to reach out and take everything I had been denied. Delilah,” she explained, “is an old friend of the family on my mother’s side. She offered to help me create a new life for myself. Gave me a job as a designer for her hotels and a place to stay. No one,” she stated evenly, “knows me as Giovanna Castiglione here, they know me as Giovanna De Luca.”
And she wanted to keep it that way. He struggled to wrap his head around that revelation. “And what does your father think of all of this?”
Her chin hiked, a tiny, but imperceptible movement. “He doesn’t know.”
He frowned. “What do you mean, he doesn’t know?”
“I mean he doesn’t know where I am. No one does, Santo. I left the life. I walked away.”
She’d left the life? Walked away? A surge of astonishment coursed through him. “You ran away?”
A fire darkened her emerald eyes. “I am a Castiglione, Santo. You know who my father is. What was I going to do? Tell him I wanted out? Tell him I was done? You don’t simply walk away from a life like mine. You run and you don’t look back.”
He ran a bemused palm over his jaw. “So let me get this straight,” he began. “You married a man you didn’t love because your father decreed it. Because your family means everything to you. And then, when your husband is gunned down in broad daylight outside of his casino, you walk away from that family and all the protection it affords to hide in the Bahamas, where you are open and vulnerable prey?”
“It’s been two years. There is no longer that kind of a threat.”
There was always a threat. He dealt with it as one of the world’s richest men. She faced it because of who she was. But apparently, he conceded dazedly, no one knew where she was.
He arched an eyebrow. “And what do you intend to do? Run for the rest of your life?”
“No.” Defiance was painted in every centimeter of her ramrod-straight spine. “I intend to live the life I’ve always dreamed of. I have everything I’ve ever wanted here, Santo. I’m never going back.”
He studied the visible tension etching the sides of her eyes and mouth. Two and two weren’t adding up to four here. Something was way off. But he didn’t have the opportunity to push it further because Delilah descended upon them with an effusive “Darlings” to talk about the pop-up retail she envisioned for the Elevate launch.
Gia had designed one of the retail spaces he’d admired earlier on his tour of the hotel, done in partnership with a French high-fashion brand. Delilah thought Gia and his own designers would be the perfect working combination, a suggestion Santo couldn’t refute because he’d loved the poolside boutique space Gia had created, an oasis that drew the hotel’s clientele in the highest heat of the day. She clearly knew how to meld two distinct brands into a show-stopping, utterly unforgettable space.
Unfortunately, his brain wasn’t functioning on all cylinders at the moment as he attempted to follow the conversation, because none of what Gia had told him made sense. Why did she look so terrified if she had the perfect new life? Why would she leave her family to live on her own in the Bahamas when the blood ties that had always bound her had been sacrosanct?
Why had she not come to him?
Four years of not knowing, of wondering why she’d left that morning, piled up in his head until he couldn’t think of anything else.
He needed closure—once and for all.
But first, he needed answers.
GIA PLEADED A headache and escaped the party shortly after her conversation with Santo and Delilah ended. She’d barely managed to keep it together during that encounter with Santo, terrified she’d say something she shouldn’t, reveal something she couldn’t. But the need to ensure he didn’t blow her cover had been paramount.
She’d thought she was safe. That she was finally free after all of this time spent creating a new identity for herself, avoiding any kind of a social life where she might have been recognized. Delilah would have comprehensively vetted the guest list. But Delilah couldn’t have known about Santo. No one knew. Apart from her mother and Franco.
She said good-night to Desaray, her babysitter, then went to check on Leo. Her son was fast asleep, his thick, long lashes shading his cheeks, his thumb stuck in his mouth, his sturdy little body curled in the fetal position in his cozy, white-framed bed. She smoothed a hand over his glossy blond hair and pressed a kiss to his soft, scented cheek.
He was so peaceful, her love for him so all-encompassing, he calmed her nerves. But she still couldn’t settle enough to sleep, so she changed and got ready for bed, then headed to the kitchen for some warm milk.
She had the feeling Santo hadn’t bought her story for a minute. That he’d thought it was as full of holes as she’d known it was. But she was also sure he would never