Reading the diaries had been as close to torture as a man could experience. The respect he’d felt for his father, the respect that had made him a dutiful son while his father was alive, had died a brutal death.
His only regret was that he hadn’t learned the truth while his father was alive, would never have the pleasure of punishing him for every hour of misery he’d put his mother through. Duty would have gone to hell. He might just have helped his father into an early grave.
He hoped with every fibre of his being that his father was in hell. He deserved nothing less.
Because now he knew the truth. And he would not be satisfied until he’d destroyed everything Salvatore Calvetti had built, crushed his empire and his reputation. Left it for dust.
The truth consumed him. His hate fuelled him.
It was perfectly feasible he had fallen asleep.
Except he’d never had a dream that made his heart beat as if it would hammer through his ribcage.
He rubbed the back of his neck and stared at the woman who had made such a confounding offer.
She looked ridiculous in her hen outfit, with the pink tutu, black leotard and leggings, and black ballet slippers. At least the other hens had made an effort, adorning their outfits with the sky-high heels women usually wore in his clubs. It didn’t even look as if Hannah had brushed her hair, never mind put any make-up on. What woman went clubbing without wearing make-up?
Indeed, he could not remember the last time he’d met a woman who didn’t wear make-up, full stop.
And she still had those ridiculous bunny ears on her head.
Yet there was something incredibly alluring about Hannah’s fresh-faced looks. Something different.
He’d thought she was different. He’d resisted her offer of a date a few short days ago because of it; because he’d thought she was too different, that she didn’t belong in his world.
Could he really have judged her so wrong?
What kind of woman offered her so-called virginity to a stranger?
And what the hell had compelled him to warn her groper off and not send one of his men in to resolve the situation? If he’d followed his usual procedures he wouldn’t be standing here now on the receiving end of one of the most bizarre offers he’d ever heard.
It had been watching that man paw her—and her dignity when rebuffing his advances—that had made something inside him snap.
The rules were the same in all his establishments, his staff trained to spot customers overstepping the mark in the familiarity stakes. The usual procedure was for one of his doormen to have a polite ‘word’ with the perpetrator. That polite word was usually enough to get them behaving.
Francesco might have little respect for the type of women who usually littered his clubs but that did not mean he would tolerate them being abused in any form.
In the shadows of his memory rested his mother, a woman who had tolerated far too much abuse. And he, her son, had been oblivious to it.
A rush of blood to his head had seen him off his seat, out of his office and onto the dance floor before his brain had time to compute what his feet were doing.
‘I have no idea what you’re playing at,’ he said slowly, ‘but I will not be a party to such a ridiculous game. I have given you your five minutes. It’s time for you to leave.’
This had to be a game. Hannah Chapman had discovered his wealth and, like so many others of her gender, decided she would like to access it.
It unnerved him how disappointed he felt.
‘This isn’t a game.’ She took a visibly deep breath. ‘Please. Francesco, I am a twenty-seven-year-old woman who has never had sex. I haven’t even kissed a man. It’s become a noose around my neck. I don’t want to stay a virgin all my life. All I want is one night to know what it feels like to be a real woman and you’re the only man I can ask.’
‘But why me?’ he asked, incredulous.
Her beautiful hazel eyes held his. ‘Because I trust that you won’t hurt me.’
‘How can you trust such a thing? I am a stranger to you.’
‘The only men I meet are fellow doctors and patients. The patients are a big no-no, and the few single doctors I know...we work too closely together. You might be a stranger but I know you’ll treat me with respect. I know you would never laugh at me or make fun about me being a twenty-seven-year-old virgin behind my back.’
‘That’s an awful lot of supposition you’re making about me.’
‘Maybe.’ She raised her shoulders in a helpless gesture. ‘I thought I was dead. When I opened my eyes and saw your face I thought you’d come to take me to heaven. All I can think now is what if... What if I had died? I’ve done nothing with my life.’
‘Hardly,’ he said harshly. ‘You’re a doctor. That takes dedication.’
‘For me, it’s taken everything. I’m not naturally bright—I had to work hard to get my grades, to learn and to keep learning. In the process I’ve been so focused on my career that I’ve allowed my personal life to go to ruin.’ The same groove he remembered from the other evening reappeared on her forehead. ‘I don’t want to die a virgin.’
Francesco rubbed his neck.
It seemed she was serious.
Of course, she could be lying. Having discovered who he was, this could be a clever, convoluted game to access his life and wealth.
Yet her explanation made a mad kind of sense.
He remembered the expression of serenity that had crossed her face at the moment she’d opened her eyes and looked at him, remembered her words and the fuzzy feelings they had evoked in him.
Something had passed between them—something fleeting but tangible.
There was no way Hannah could have known who he was at that moment.
One thing he did know was that she had gained a false impression of him. If she knew who he really was, he would be the last man she would make such a shameless proposition to.
Regardless, he could hardly credit how tempted he was.
He was a red-blooded male. What man wouldn’t be tempted by such an offer?
But Hannah was a virgin, he reminded himself—despite the fact that he’d thought virgins over the age of eighteen were from the tales of mythology.
Surely this was every man’s basest fantasy? A virgin begging to be deflowered.
‘You have no idea who I am,’ he told her flatly.
‘Are you talking about the gangster thing?’
‘The gangster thing?’ His voice took on a hint of menace. How could she be so blasé about it? Was she so naive she didn’t understand his life wasn’t something watched from the safety of a television set, played by men who likely had manicures between takes?
Scrutinising her properly, her innocence was obvious. She had an air about her—the same air he saw every time he looked through his parents’ wedding album. His mother had had that air when she’d married his father, believing it to be a love match, blissfully oblivious to her husband’s true nature, and the true nature of his business affairs.
Hannah raised her shoulders again. ‘I’ve read all about you on the internet. I know what it says your family are.’
‘And do you believe everything you read on the internet?’
‘No.’ She shook her head to emphasise her point.
Deliberately, he stepped towards her and into her space. He brought