Reunited with Her Italian Ex Read Free Page A

need to make people realise how they can become involved. Now, I’ll show you to your room.’
    On their way up they passed two men having a noisy argument. One was clearly in command, yelling,
‘Capisci? Capisci?’
so fiercely that the other backed off.
    â€˜What does that word mean?’ Natasha asked curiously. ‘It really scared the other guy.’
    â€˜It means “Do you understand?”’ Giorgio laughed. ‘It’s really just a way of saying “You’ll do as I say.
Get it?
”’
    â€˜It sounds useful.’
    â€˜It can be, if you’re trying to make it clear who’s in charge.’ He grinned. ‘I’ve had it said to me a few times. Here’s your room.’
    Like the rest of the place, her room was elegant and luxurious. A huge window looked out over the river, where the sun shone on the water. The atmosphere seemed peaceful and she took a deep contented breath.
    When she’d unpacked she took a shower and began work on her appearance. For this meeting she was going to look her best.
    She was attractive so not too much effort was required. Her blue eyes were large and expressive. Her blonde hair had just a touch of red that showed in some lights but not in others.
    Natasha pinned her hair high on her head, suggesting businesslike severity. Usually, she preferred to let it flow, curved and luscious about her shoulders in a more relaxed way.
    But not tonight
, she mused, studying herself in the mirror.
Tonight I’m a businesswoman, here to earn a living.
    She fixed her hair firmly away from her face until she felt it conveyed the serious message she intended. Giorgio had warned her that the owner was a man to be reckoned with, but she could deal with that. She’d meet him on his own ground, a woman to be reckoned with.
    â€˜I did the right thing in coming here,’ she whispered. ‘Everything’s going to be fine.’
    * * *
    In Venice, a city where most of the roads were water, motor cars could only come as far as Piazzale Roma, the car park on the edge of town. In the glowing heat of a sunny day, Mario Ferrone went to collect his car, accompanied by his brother Damiano.
    â€˜It sounds like your hotel is doing really well,’ Damiano said. ‘You’ve got a great future ahead of you.’
    â€˜I think I just might have,’ Mario said, grinning.
    â€˜No doubt,’ Damiano said cheerfully. ‘After all, look who taught you.’
    This was a reference to Damiano’s successful career as the owner of several hotels. Mario had learned the trade working in many of them and had finally become ambitious for his own establishment.
    â€˜That’s right, I learned from the best,’ Mario said. ‘And having a place in Verona is a help. Several of us hoteliers have got together to promote the
Romeo and Juliet
angle.’
    â€˜The city of lovers,’ Damiano said wryly. ‘That should suit you. You’d hardly believe some of the tales I’ve heard about you.’
    â€˜Not recently,’ Mario said quickly.
    â€˜No, you’ve settled down these last couple of years, but before that I remember you gave a whole new meaning to the term “bad boy”.’
    â€˜Most of us do before we find the right woman,’ Mario pointed out.
    â€˜True. I wasn’t a saint before I met Sally. But you haven’t met your “Sally”, so what made you suddenly become virtuous?’
    â€˜Virtuous? Me? No need to insult me.’
    Damiano grinned. ‘So is it just a smokescreen?’
    â€˜No. I really have changed, not necessarily for the better.’
    â€˜Don’t say that. You’re much improved—quieter, more serious, more grown-up...’
    â€˜More suspicious and demanding, nastier sometimes,’ Mario said quietly.
    â€˜Hey, why do you put yourself down?’
    â€˜Perhaps because I know myself better than anyone else does. I’m not the