* * *

Chapter One

Arturo Bachi smiled at his guests as he raised his glass. “Tomorrow the final apartment in the Villa Patrizzi will go up for auction, and I’ve been assured by the seller that it will finally be mine. So, friends and fellow investors, let’s drink to Lake Como’s finest and most exclusive hotel—the future Hotel Bachi!”

His friends cheered and applauded him, and Arturo stepped off the stage to talk with his guests. After an hour where it seemed he’d shaken hands with everyone in Northern Italy, he was relieved when his best friend, Peter, spirited him away.

“Fortitude and strength,” Peter grinned at his friend as they sat down at the edge of Arturo’s estate, overlooking Lake Como’s gentle waves. Further across the water, an alpine town nestled into the mountains softly lit up the night.

Peter had snagged a bottle of Scotch for them, and they lit cigars. Peter smiled at his friend’s satisfied expression. “So close, now, Turo. Can you see it coming together quickly after the sale is settled?”

Arturo nodded. “I can. Everything is in place: the construction teams, architects. Everyone is just waiting for my go-order. God, Peter, it seems like finally, my dream is coming true.” His green eyes shone with excitement. “I was rethinking the name though. Hotel Bachi seems…a little self-indulgent.”

Peter shrugged. “Not necessarily, but I take your point. The main thing is—we’re close. Do you think the apartment will sell for much?”

Arturo shook his head. “It’s tiny; only four rooms. I’m going to turn it into a suite with the adjoining apartment. I think I’ll get it for a steal; the Board has set a price limit, so after we secure it, we’ll be able to afford to go ahead with every design feature as planned.”

He sighed as he continued, “A part of me wishes that I’d used my own money, then I wouldn’t have to answer to anyone about budgets. But my accountant wouldn’t let me.” He shot a mock-scowl over to his friend, who shrugged good-naturedly.

“I just didn’t want you to go broke, buddy. With this and your other hotels around the world…you’re stretching yourself, and you know it. You can’t rely on your trust fund to keep you afloat. Philipo could withdraw it at any moment.”

Arturo sighed. His uncle Philipo had been made executor of Arturo’s father’s will because Arturo was too young to take over the company after Frederico died. Soon after, the grieving teenager had tumbled into alcohol and drugs, and since then, Philipo had handed out Arturo’s inheritance in regulated increments. Arturo would inherit the bulk of his inheritance—nearly a billion Euros—at age forty. He both admired and resented his uncle for his decisions, but his caution had forced Arturo to leave the wild life behind and work towards his own fortune. Property had been Arturo’s chosen career path and, with his natural talent and flair for it, he had earned his first billion Euros by the time he was thirty.

Now at thirty-nine, he was on the cusp of adding this inheritance to his own fortune and becoming one of the world’s richest men. Arturo lived for his work, but he also enjoyed the trappings of his wealth, and it didn’t hurt that he was considered one of Italy’s—perhaps even one of the world’s—handsomest and most eligible bachelors.

A face that could look warm and friendly one moment, and dangerous and brooding the next, his teenage beauty had matured into a more masculine and sculptured face: his large green eyes ringed with thick, midnight-black lashes; his brows dark and heavy; his beard trimmed but not overly fussy; his sensual mouth just a hint too full; his wild black curls untamed. It had to be said—Arturo Bachi was sensational, and he knew it.

He had no time for relationships and was always honest with his many conquests, but Arturo never slept with the same woman twice. Not since Flavia, his sweetheart in college. He had loved Flavia with all his heart: she was his future, his true north, his love. And Flavia had loved him for himself, not the rich, handsome boy born into wealth and opportunity, but the goofy, fun-loving boy with the big heart and poetry in his soul.

They were inseparable until that one fateful night when Arturo had been ten minutes late to the party, and Flavia had been taken by another man, one with hate in his heart and murder in his soul.

They had found Flavia a week later, stabbed multiple times, her body dumped in the lake. Arturo had run to the lake as soon as the news hit the radio; he had made it just in time to see her brought up onto the bank, her long, dark hair wrapped around her body, her usually dark olive skin so grey and wan. The water had washed the blood away, but Arturo could clearly see the stab wounds in her stomach—vicious, brutal. He had fallen to his knees and screamed until his friends Peter and George had come to get him.

Arturo thought of Flavia now, her kind, brown eyes shining up at him. As usual, her image turned his mind to imagining how scared, how terrified she must have been as her killer took her life.

God. An involuntary groan slipped out, and Peter glanced at his friend. “You okay?”

Arturo nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Peter, who had always been able to read Arturo’s mind, looked at him with sympathy. “Flavia?”

Arturo nodded. “Maybe…Hotel Flavia?”

Peter sighed. “Arturo, as sweet as that gesture would be, it’s not going to help you allow her to rest in peace. It’s been twenty years, buddy.”

Arturo nodded, knowing Peter was right. His eyes slid across the lake to George’s villa. George Galliano, his other friend on that night. A friend no more.

“Hey.” Peter nudged his shoulder. “Stop wallowing. Let’s get back to your guests.”

Arturo threw back the rest of his Scotch, his gaze returning to the almost empty villa across the lake: Villa Patrizzi that he owned 99 percent of right now. Tomorrow, it would belong to him entirely.

He couldn’t wait.

Hero Donati looked around the tiny apartment. She had persuaded the realtor to let her in, even this late at night, so she could be prepared for tomorrow. This place was perfect: tiny, compact, but with a balcony that looked out over the lake where she could sit and sketch or read or just…be.

Peace. Serenity. How often she had wished for that feeling over the past two years. Here, she could imagine regaining at least some of it.

Back at her hotel, she checked her bank account for the hundredth time, making sure the money was transferred and ready for the auction tomorrow, then she went to soak in the tub. She wound her long, dark hair up onto her head. I really ought to get this cut, she thought. Her hair hung down past her waist now; she hadn’t been to a hairdresser since she didn’t know how long. She risked a glance in the mirror, but then looked away again. Her dark eyes still had that haunted look she had grown accustomed to, but she could no longer bear to look at herself for long.

Hero Donati had been adopted at birth by an Italian-American businessman and his wife who already had one daughter, Imelda. Hero’s birth mother had been a young Indian student at one of Milan’s colleges who had become pregnant by her Italian lover and had given her child up for adoption, unable to care for the baby herself. From her mother, Hero had inherited a dark beauty—a beacon for so much male attention that Hero learned to deliberately downplay her appearance. She became intentionally tomboyish, wore thick-rimmed spectacles, and had remained resolutely single until she met Tom.

Tom, with his merry grey eyes and blonde hair, hadn’t put the moves on her at all. Instead, they routinely sat together in classes at their college in Chicago and made fun of all the rich kids. Tom, working class from Wisconsin, had become her best friend, and then one night, her lover. They married the day after graduation, and Beth had been born a year later, the family settling in Chicago.

Hero had become a mother and wife, and to her shock, she loved it. Hero worked on her doctorate while raising Beth, and she and Tom had been blissfully happy together; even Hero’s sometimes-fraught relationship with her adoptive family had improved. Beth was a radiant ball of utter joy and love, and even Hero’s sister Imelda, who didn’t have a maternal bone in her body, adored the young girl.

Three years, four months, and six days later, it all came to a brutal end. The family had been driving to Wisconsin to spend Christmas with Tom’s family when a drunken driver slammed into their Volvo at high speed. Though three-year-old Beth was killed instantly, Tom lingered in a coma until pronounced brain-dead on day five. His parents had made the decision to turn off his life-support, because Hero couldn’t; she was also in a coma and not expected to survive.

When she woke three months later, she wished she hadn’t. Not one word could describe the depth of her heartbreak. Both her worried parents and Tom’s bereaved parents tried to reach her, but no one could. On her behalf, they sued the drunk driver’s employers and secured Hero a settlement just shy of eleven million dollars, but even so, Hero couldn’t even begin to think about starting again.

For months, she stayed at home in the apartment she had shared with her husband and daughter and let life go on without her. Eventually, it took two incidents to shake her out of the fugue.

The first episode still seems unbelievable to Hero. One night, rather than sit home wrapped in Tom’s sweater with Beth’s favourite ‘blankie’ nuzzled next to her face, something snapped inside Hero. She put on her tightest dress and all her makeup and went out to a nightclub in the city. Drinking herself into a manic mood, dancing, making out with strangers, she fully intended to fuck someone just to numb the pain, but she chose wrong—so, so wrong. As soon as the man got her into his car, he turned violent, and Hero fought for her life, quickly escaping only after punching her attacker hard in the balls.

She caught a cab home, and inside her apartment, Hero spent the rest of the night alternating between sobbing and screaming.

One of her neighbors had called Imelda. “I think Hero needs you.”

Imelda, who had never been an overly warm person, stripped Hero off and put her in the shower. Feeding her oatmeal, strong coffee, and sleeping pills, she put her adoptive sister to bed and stayed with her while she slept it off.

The next day, Hero dutifully listened to Imelda’s harsh pep talk. Imelda didn’t mince her words. “I don’t care what you do, Hero, but do something. Go off on a world trek, open an art gallery, go teach in China. But you need to snap out of this. Tom and Beth are dead.”

Hero had turned on her sister. “Do you think I’ve forgotten, Melly? I know they’re fucking dead! I wish I were, too. Jesus.”

Imelda regarded her coolly. “Then do it. Kill yourself. Be that selfish. Mom and Dad need that on top of losing Beth. Do it.”

Hero had stared at her sister, dumbfounded. She knew Melly was just trying to shock her out her funk, but at that moment, she hated her sister. Hated. “I have to get out of this damn country.”

“Good. Do it. Bye, now.” Imelda had walked out, calling back over her shoulder. “And if I see you again, it’ll be too soon.”

Fucking bitch.

Hero was angry now, but her anger had become a cold, silent thing that ate away at her soul. She would escape. She would go back to Italy; she still held citizenship there, after all. Maybe she would try and find her mother or her father—her birth parents. Maybe. She just knew she couldn’t stay in Chicago a moment longer.

Banishing those thoughts of the past as far as she ever managed to, Hero climbed out of the tub and headed to bed. Tomorrow she would bid for that small apartment in the Villa Patrizzi. She would win it. And then she would move into it. And maybe. Maybe. Maybe then she could restart her life.

Chapter Two

The great terrace of the Villa D’Este in Cernobbio was packed with Lake Como’s elite: the women gorgeous, the men handsome in their designer suits, as they drifted around, champagne in hand, socializing before the auction began.

There was only one lot in this auction and as Arturo arrived, he went to find the auctioneer and to shake his hand. “I’m looking forward to this, Claudio.”

The older man nodded. “It certainly has the feel of an event, Signore Bachi. I have a feeling you will be a very happy man by the end of today.”

As Arturo started toward Peter, who he could see across the room, he was frequently stopped by both attractive women and admiring men, all wanting a few moments of his coveted attention. By the time he finally reached Peter, who was rolling his eyes and smirking, Arturo’s confidence was sky-high.

“Peter, my friend, this is a good day.”

“Cautious optimism, Turo,” Peter said, his Canadian stoicism at full power. Arturo grinned at his friend.

When they’d met at Harvard, they quickly found they had the same irreverent sense of humor. Peter had been the man-whore of the college, and he relished his role; Arturo had Flavia and was deliriously happy. It had been only after Flavia was murdered that Peter showed his serious and loyal side. He never left Arturo’s side during the funeral and the subsequent murder investigation within which Arturo was a natural suspect. Luckily for him, he had a strong alibi; the reason he was late to the party that day was he had been helping a young mother change a burst tire in the pouring rain. The woman happened to be the daughter of the local newspaper owner, and when Arturo was questioned, she came forward immediately.

Peter Armley was a year older than Arturo, already forty and still resolutely single. Unlike Arturo, he was picky about who he slept with and always called them back, even if just to say goodbye. He was on good terms with most of his former girlfriends and had even dated a couple for significant periods of time. A tall man, an inch shorter than Arturo’s six-six, Peter could easily pass as a Roman citizen wearing a toga and laurel wreath in the Coliseum. His handsome face looked to be hewn from rock, but when he smiled, his blue eyes shone with warmth. His close-cropped brown hair was always neat, and his suits were Saville Row.

A math genius, he was recruited by Philipo to be the company’s financial director—and to look after Arturo’s finances. Arturo teased his friend about being his ‘accountant,’ but it really was down to Peter’s handling of the finances that Arturo was the man he was now.

“Listen,” Arturo told his friend, “I just want you to know, that if everything goes well with this auction, it’s entirely down to you, Pete. You picked me up out of the sinkhole. I love you, brother.”

“My pleasure.” Pete smiled and looked at his watch. “Twenty minutes.”

Arturo nodded. “Gotta go pee before it kicks off. Hold my champagne.”

He made his way into the villa and found the restroom on the second floor. It was quiet up here, and Arturo relaxed in the moment’s peace before the auction started. Stepping out of the restroom, he made his way back towards the stairs and then stopped.

At the far end of the hallway, a woman was staring out of the window, her features in profile, and Arturo’s heart nearly stopped. Her long, dark hair, falling in soft waves, was pulled over one shoulder, and she looked so sad it made Arturo’s chest hurt. Her resemblance to Flavia was so uncanny that everything in Arturo’s body screamed at him to go to her.

She was wearing a white dress that ended just above the knee; the dress molded to her body, her full breasts, the soft curve of her belly, the long legs. Seeming to sense his scrutiny, she suddenly looked up at him, and Arturo’s chest tightened at the depth of sadness in her lovely, dark eyes. He wanted to know what was making this beautiful woman so unhappy and how to make her smile again.

“Buongiorno,” he said softly. She blinked at him, those big doe eyes a little startled at his speaking.

“Buongiorno.” A soft, American-accented voice. Her lips were plump, pink, and parted slightly, and Arturo felt his body respond, becoming aroused by this mysterious stranger.

They stared at each other for a long moment before she turned away. “Scuzi.” She disappeared back into the hotel, and Arturo stepped forward, ready to pursue her, but then he heard Peter’s voice from the stairs.

“Turo? They’re ready. Let’s go.”

Arturo hesitated, his heart still thumping hard again his chest. God…what a fucking beautiful woman…he had to know who she was.

“Turo? Come on. Hotel Bachi awaits.”

A half hour later, Arturo was no longer thinking of the beautiful woman, nor was he in a good mood any longer. “How the fuck did that happen? It did happen, right?”

He’d been outbid. He, Arturo Bachi, had been outbid. The apartment was sold and not to him. He could feel the stares of his friends, colleagues, and investors as he tried to process what had just happened.

Bidding had started off as expected, somewhere in the low hundred-thousands and had quickly shot up to almost a million. Arturo had shot a smug look at Peter, then at George Galliano, who raised his champagne glass at him, somewhat sarcastically.

Then it had all gone to hell. Just as the auctioneer was about to bring down the hammer, there was a new bid. Two million. A hush ran through the crowd. Arturo rocked back in shock and scanned the attendees to see who the new bidder was, but he or she wasn’t giving themselves away.

“Two-five,” he shot back.

Three million.

Peter was looking alarmed, shaking his head at Arturo. The top end of their budget for the apartment was only one and half million, and in any case, the apartment was only worth a tenth of that.

“Four million,” Arturo called it, and Peter made a disgusted noise.

“Turo, no.”

Five million. Another, louder gasp in the crowd and a hum of astonishment. Peter grabbed Arturo’s arm as the auctioneer looked at him. “Signore Bachi?”

“Arturo, if you do this, I’m out. I mean it, I quit. You cannot do this. It’s reckless, and you’ll be humiliated. Whoever this is…obviously money is nothing to them. Let it go. We’ll figure out something else.”

Arturo stared at his friend helplessly. Peter wasn’t kidding, but it was Arturo’s dream that was slipping away.

“Signore Bachi?”

Everyone was staring at him. Peter’s eyes were fierce, and finally Arturo shook his head, his heart sinking. “No.”

Another hum of gossip, and then the hammer came down. “Sold for five million euros.”

“To whom?”

“Yes, to whom?

“Who bought it?”

The questions came thick and fast. The auctioneer held his hands up. “I’m sorry, my friends. This is a buyer who wishes to remain anonymous.”

Arturo felt a rising anger. “They won’t be anonymous for long,” he said, grimly, and Peter sighed, mostly from relief.

“Let’s get out of here, Turo. I’ll buy you a drink.”

On their way out, and despite his anger, the thought of the beautiful woman drifted through his mind again, and he looked around, disappointed when she was nowhere to be found. He could do with an angry fuck right now.

Even as he thought it, he felt a wash of shame. No. She wasn’t someone he could forget the next morning. Something about her spoke to him in more than just desire; he felt connected with the deep sadness in her lovely face.

He was still thinking about her as he got into Peter’s Lamborghini who drove them back to the bar in Como he and Peter owned, and he found, strangely, his anger had dissipated quicker than he would have thought.

He had to see her again—that much Arturo knew. He had to see her again…and soon. Because more than anything now, on this day of disappointments, he wanted to see her smile.

Chapter Three

Hero’s hand shook as she signed the documents which would make her the owner of the Villa Patrizzi apartment. Five million euros. Holy hell. She’d had no idea she would go that high for what was essentially only four small rooms, but as the bidding went higher, it had become imperative that she secure it. It seemed impossible that she wouldn’t.

Of course, that was when she saw who she was bidding against. Him. The man she had seen upstairs; the man whose physical beauty had sent her body into a frenzy of arousal after just one look. His green eyes, brooding and dangerous, his dark curls…his incredible body in that exquisite suit…Jesus. As they had stared at each other, all Hero could think of was what it would be like if he were to approach her, touch her, fuck her right there against the window. God, she had gotten wet even thinking about what was underneath his clothes.

And immediately she was ashamed. She’d never felt that way about anyone—even Tom. She had loved Tom with every cell in her body, but they had been best friends before they were lovers.

But the look in the man’s eyes had been a mirror of her feelings, she could tell. She only had to say the words…fuck me…and she knew without a doubt, he would not have hesitated.

And she wanted to punish him for making her feel like that, making her feel so disloyal to Tom’s memory, for taking that away from her. So, she bid a ridiculous amount to beat him to the apartment. And won. It was a Pyrrhic victory at best. Five million was a massive chunk of her settlement—and the apartment was definitely not worth it.

She pushed the thought away as she shook hands with the auctioneer. “Would it be possible for you to call me a cab, please?”

“Of course, Madam. Please wait here and make yourself comfortable.”

Hero sat back and tried to steady her shaking hands. Maybe she’d go out to eat tonight, walk through the town, mingle with the tourists, try to feel like a human being again. The paperwork on the apartment would go through quickly now, and she would be able to move in by the end of the week.

Not that she had anything to move in apart from her clothes, her art supplies, and her books. She would have to find a record player somewhere and some vinyl: Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holiday, maybe some Paolo Conti. She could see herself sitting out on the balcony overlooking the lake, her watercolor paints in front of her, listening to Billie. That, to Hero, was her idea of heaven. Maybe lunch: fresh bread, some cheese, a bag of sweet, juicy peaches. Cold white wine. The image was so appealing she found herself smiling to herself, and when the auctioneer came to tell her the cab was waiting, she found herself shaking his hand far more enthusiastically than she meant to.

Back at her hotel, she changed out of the form-fitting dress and back into her usual uniform of a grey-marl T-shirt and jeans. She glanced in the long mirror, noting that she should really try to dress better.

You look beautiful no matter what you wear. Tom’s words came back to her.

Her eyes filled with easy tears, and she dashed them away impatiently. Stop wallowing. She should go out into the city now, do some window shopping or maybe actual shopping. I have a new home. Time to get to know it.

She grabbed her bag, slung it across her body, and left the hotel room.

It was late by the time Peter left Arturo at the bar and went home. Arturo, buzzy on a few vodkas, sat outside at one of the small tables, smoking a cigar and people watching. People-watching and brooding over his loss today. Damn it. Peter had talked him down from bribing the auctioneer to tell him who had purchased the Villa Patrizzi apartment.

“Dude, don’t be dumb. Wait a couple of weeks until the person moves in, then knock on the door.”

“What if they have no intention of moving in? What if they just bought it to fuck with me?” An idea came then. “Fuck, I bet it was George.”

Peter sighed. “Don’t even go there, man. This feud you two have…it’s gone on for far too long.”

Arturo’s eyes narrowed. “He fucked Flavia, Pete. He fucked my girlfriend and then told me about it after she’d been murdered.”

Peter nodded, his blue eyes serious. “I know, Turo. But…we all lost Flav, too. You knew he had feelings for her—and admit it, you did flaunt it in front of him.”

Arturo looked away from his friend’s gaze. “I was young and stupid.”

“And so was he.”

Arturo shook his head. “It’s gone too far now, Pete. Why did he have to tell me? I already had the image of Flavia, dead, gutted, and then he gave me another of the two of them together.” His pleasant buzz wavered dangerously at the memory.

“Turo, stop,” Peter warned. “Move on. George didn’t buy the apartment. I saw him leave before the auction began.”

Arturo sighed. “Fine. But he could have sent a proxy…” His friend’s dark look finally broke through his moody, drunken haze. “Okay, I’ll stop.”

Peter looked at his watch. “Man, I have to go. I’ll come over in the morning. We’ll talk about what we do next.”

So now Arturo rose from the table, throwing down money for the drinks, and took off into town. He wandered aimlessly around the side streets for a time, but as he turned down an alleyway to double back to his car, he caught sight of a woman walking in front of him. He enjoyed the sway of her hips, the curve of her waist, her rounded, perfect ass. She only wore a gray T-shirt and jeans, but the way she moved…

She stopped and turned to look into a bright shop window, and Arturo felt his pulse quicken as he saw her profile.

It was her. His white dress girl from the Villa D’Este. For a moment, he just watched her. God, she was beautiful—achingly, heartbreakingly so. He walked up behind her and met her gaze in the reflection in the window. He read so much in her lovely eyes: sadness, resignation—heat.

Neither of them spoke for a long moment. Then Arturo risked snaking his hand around her waist and letting his fingers stroke her belly through her T-shirt. Her eyes widened, and he paused, wondering if he’d made a terrible mistake and misread things completely. But then she leaned back into his body, and her hand crept around to cup his cock through his pants. Arturo groaned and pressed into her more intimately. He swept her hair to one side and pressed his lips to her neck.

She turned in his arms and gazed up at him, her eyes wary but full of desire. He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “Bonne noche. I’m—”

She cut him off with a swift, hard press of her lips to his.

“No names.” Her voice was a low, gruff whisper, but it sent thrills through his body. He nodded and offered her his hand. She took it, only hesitating a little, and slowly he led her back to his car. He turned to her, confirming. “Yes?”

She nodded, and he opened the passenger door for her. What are you doing, man? You don’t even know her name! But he hushed the inner voice and slid into the driver’s seat. He gently brushed a lock of her hair over her ear. “Guess what we’re going to do?”

A smile. At last, a smile. Small, hesitant, but a smile. He couldn’t take his eyes off her exquisite face. He leaned in to kiss her again, lingering over it before starting the car and heading towards his villa.

Chapter Four

Hero, for the second time that day, couldn’t stop trembling. What the hell are you doing? She asked herself over and over. So many feelings were rushing through her but none of them were as strong as the need to fuck this man. When he had appeared behind her, and she’d seen his eyes searching her face in her reflection, she had known what would happen.

When he had been so daring as to touch her belly—how the hell did he know it was her most sensitive erogenous zone?—she was lost. His lips were against her neck, and she felt herself wanting to touch him. His cock, twitching at her touch, was hot, thick, and long through his pants, and Hero quivered with desire.

Now, as he pulled his car up to the entrance of his villa, she could scarcely take anything in but the man beside her and the way he held her hand as they walked into the vast mansion, straight up the staircase to his bedroom. When he touched her again, drawing her into his arms and kissing her so passionately, her head swam.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard, beautiful one.” His deep, mellifluous voice sent shivers through her—God, this man was pure sex.

“Don’t wait, please, fuck me now.” She said breathlessly, and he grinned, triumphant. He pulled her T-shirt over her head and swiftly freed her breasts from her bra, taking her nipple into his mouth and sucking so hard she thought she might pass out from the pleasure.

Stopping only to whisk off her jeans and panties and lay her on the bed, the man stripped off his own clothing quickly. Hero couldn’t take her eyes off his body: hard pecs, washboard stomach, and his cock, standing so thick and proud against his belly.

He smiled at her admiration, fisting the root of his cock. “This is all for you, sweet girl. Spread those beautiful legs for me and let me see your delicious cunt.”

Hero did as he asked, and with a groan, he dropped between her knees and buried his face in her sex, licking and teasing her, lashing his tongue around her clit until it was rock hard, then dipping his tongue deep into her cunt until she was weeping with pleasure.

As she came, he slid a condom over his cock, moved to cover her body and thrust his straining length deep inside her, making her cry out. He pinned her hands to the bed, his eyes never leaving hers. “Cosi bella, così bella…” So beautiful.

There were so many emotions in his eyes as they made love that Hero felt like a stranger in her own skin, as if she had always been meant to meet this man, make love with him, be here tonight—spend this particular night with him.

Her orgasm hit her hard, and she arched her back, pressing her belly against his, her breasts against his chest. The man buried his face in her neck, kissing, sucking, biting at her skin as he groaned through his own climax, and she shivered as she felt him come. His lips trailed down her spine. “Excuse me for a moment, bella.”

She heard him go into the bathroom, obviously to deal with his condom, and she lay spent, her eyes closed, letting her body recover. She felt as if her skin were on fire, and when he came back to bed, the feeling of his fingertips stroking a circle around her navel made her eyes roll back in her head.

Arturo chuckled. “You have a very sensitive belly, pretty one.” He slid his thumb into the deep hollow and began to finger-fuck it, making her moan with pleasure. He chuckled as she came again, sighing and laughing softly.

“God, what you do to me…” Her eyes were shining, and he was happy to see that the sadness in them was lessened.

“Tell me your name, lovely girl.”

But she shook her head. “No names. This is perfect just the way it is.”

“Then, let us call each other…” He cast around for two names, then spotted the book on his nightstand. “Beatrice and Benedict. From Much Ado About Nothing.”

He was surprised when her face flamed red. “What?”

“Nothing. You like Shakespeare?”

He nodded. “Very much. You?”

“Some. I studied him at college, but I have to say, I prefer more modern writers.”

Arturo smiled. “Such as?”

“McCarthy, Angelou, Arundhati Roy. Haruki Murakami.”

Arturo smiled. “I’m also a fan of Murakami. Favorite book of his?”

“Kafka on the Shore.”

“Same.”

She looked skeptical, and he held his hands up. “I swear, Principessa.”

“I’ll believe you.” They gazed at each other for a long time, then she raised her hand to his face and cupped his cheek. “You’re really beautiful.”

Arturo grinned, inclining his head. “Thank you.”

She giggled at his confidence. “I forgot Italian men had no time for false modesty.”

Arturo propped himself up on his elbow next to her. “Forgot? You don’t live here?”

“I didn’t. I just relocated here. I was born here, but I’ve spent most of my life in the States.”

“Whereabouts?”

“Chicago.”

He smiled. “Nice town.” But he noticed the sadness was creeping back into her eyes. He bent his head and kissed her. “Beautiful girl, what is it? Why do you look so sad? What is your pain?”

She stared at him for a long time then sat up. “I have to go.” She reached for her clothes and began to put them on.

Arturo was bemused by the sudden change in atmosphere. “Did I say something wrong? Or do something wrong?”

She shook her head, looking as if she were close to tears. “No.” She stopped, hesitated and then pressed her lips to his for a second. “You’re perfect,” she whispered, leaning her forehead against his, closing her eyes. “But that’s why I have to go.”

He felt her tears on his cheek and cradled her face in his hands. “Don’t go. Stay. Stay with me.”

She shook her head. “I can’t.”

Arturo felt an ache in his chest. He didn’t want this night to end, didn’t want her to go away from him. “At least let me drive you back home.”

She hesitated, those dark brown eyes wary but then nodded. “Thank you.”

They didn’t speak as he drove her back to her hotel, but Arturo held her hand, and she didn’t pull away. At her hotel, he walked her to the door. “Can I call you?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Tonight has been…a revelation. Please, let’s leave it as perfect as it has been.”

Unhappy, he took her in his arms and kissed her. “I will never forget you. If you change your mind…my name is Arturo Bachi. Everyone here knows me. You only have to call.”

She kissed him again, lingering as if to memorize the feel of his lips against hers. “Goodbye, Arturo Bachi. I’ll never forget you either.”

Reluctantly, he let her go, watching her walk into the hotel and out of his life. He got back into the car and felt utterly bereft, even—he was astonished to find—a little heartbroken. She was the most amazing, sensual woman, and he wanted to know everything about her—and never let her go. He hadn’t felt like this since Flavia…and maybe not even then. Guilt crept in, but he couldn’t deny his feelings. His white dress girl, his ‘Beatrice’ had woken something in him he didn’t think he’d ever felt before.

Arturo shook himself and started the car. As he drew away from the hotel, every meter he drove further away from her hurt more. But she had been clear—it wasn’t meant to be.

“Fuck it,” he said miserably, and pressed down hard on the gas pedal.

He’d seen the girl at the auction, and his breath had been taken away. At first, he thought he was hallucinating. Flavia…but no, this girl was petite and curvy, whereas Flavia had been tall and willowy, and although he hated to admit it, this girl was even more achingly beautiful than Flavia.

He’d been absorbed in the auction at the time and hadn’t seen her slip away. Imagine his surprise when he’d followed Arturo through the streets of the town and watched as they’d found each other.

Following Arturo’s Mercedes, he watched them go into the Villa Bachi, saw Arturo’s bedroom light go on. They were fucking. Of course, they were. There wasn’t a woman in Como that Arturo hadn’t fucked; why would this girl be any different?

Because she was a newcomer. He could tell by the way she walked through the town, studying everything as if it were new. He wondered if she had family close or friends. When Arturo had driven her back to her hotel, he followed her into the hotel, heard her ask the receptionist for the key to Room 45.

Room 45. That was good to know. He wondered how long she was staying, how much time he had to carry out his plan.

He so wanted to see Arturo’s face when they called him to tell him his beautiful one-night stand was dead. To see his grief when they told him she’d been killed in the exact same way as his beloved Flavia twenty years ago.

Chapter Five

“Where the hell are you?” Imelda’s already strident voice echoed through the speakerphone in Hero’s room. Hero, dressing, rolled her eyes.

“What do you care, Melly? You told me to go off by myself.”

“I didn’t mean it, you know that. God, Hero, we’ve been worried sick.”

Hero had to raise her own voice to make Imelda listen. “I’m in Italy. Lake Como.”

There was a pause on the end of the line, and when Imelda spoke again, her voice was calmer. “Oh. Good.”

“I’m doing what you told me, going ‘Wild’ like Reese Witherspoon, but instead of hiking, I’m hanging out with the Clooneys. Satisfied?”

“You’ve met George and Amal?”

“No, doofus, I’m just saying. I picked a place on the map, and it’s here.” She paused for effect. “I bought an apartment.”

“What?”

Hero was smugly satisfied with her sister’s stunned response. “Tell me you just did a comedy jaw-drop, Melly. Please tell me you did that.”

“Stop messing around, Hero. Did you really buy a house, or are you just yanking my chain again?”

Hero sighed. “No, I really did. I think I pissed off some rich muckety-muck who had his eye on it, too. I outbid him.” That rich muckety-muck, by the way, Imelda, whose cock drilled me to his bed last night and whose kiss I can’t stop thinking about.

Again, Imelda was silent. Hero, tugging on her socks, listened to the sound of her sister’s breathing. “Mel?”

“Well,” her sister’s voice was softer now, “that’s very positive. Nesting. Making a home. What are you going to do there?”

“Read, write, paint, enjoy the view, eat everything in sight, get as fat as all get-out.”

“All good things.”

Hero’s eyebrows shot up. Usually, if Mel saw Hero had put on even a pound, she had her in the gym before she did anything else. “Lots of carbs, Mel.”

“I know you’re just trying to make me crazy, but seriously, I think this will be good for you.”

Another long silence. “You know, you could always come visit, Melly.”

Hero waited for her sister’s response and was surprised when she said, “You know what, Hero? I might just take you up on that.”

Hero was stunned. She and Imelda had never been close, never been the sort of—adoptive—siblings who hugged each other or visited regularly. Imelda’s visits had been even less since Beth died, although she still managed to harangue Hero by phone regularly. Hero felt a strange shift in their relationship now.

“You are always welcome, Melly. Always.”

Her sister cleared her throat. “I’ll call you soon. Don’t disappear again.”

And the phone went dead. “And goodbye to you, too.” Hero dumped her phone in her bag. Today she was going to spend all day out of the hotel, not because she had any particular place to go, but because she was terrified that Arturo Bachi would turn up at the hotel to find her—and she didn’t have the strength to resist him.

She closed her eyes now and relived the previous night: his hands on her body, his lips against her skin, his huge cock thrusting ever deeper inside her…she shivered with pleasure. That the man was an expert in bed was undeniable; he knew exactly what she liked without even asking, her body completely under his control. She could get lost in those eyes of his…

“Stop it.” She opened her eyes and took a deep breath in, pushing all thoughts of Arturo away. She knew men like him. Arrogant, rich, thinking they could buy anything they wanted. Yes, he’d clearly wanted her, and yes, he’d had her—but only because she had wanted him, too, at least for a night.

Those wild, dark curls, that hard body…

“Nope, nope. Nope.” Besides, when he found out it was she who’d outbid him at the auction, he’d certainly lose any desire to be friendly towards her.

Hero pulled on her Chuck Taylors and grabbed her purse, strapping it across her body, and grabbed the room key. She would go out, find somewhere to buy art supplies, and have a look around for furniture for the apartment.

She would not, she told herself, not think of Arturo Bachi for one more second. She wouldn’t. She really wouldn’t…

Arturo found himself preoccupied as he sat in a meeting with Peter and the board members. He kept thinking of her soft hair, her pink lips, the fresh scent of her skin, the way her clit tasted in his mouth…

Peter nudged him. “Turo? What do you think?”

“Of what?”

Peter glared at him. “Ludo is making a proposal.”

Arturo looked apologetically at the older man. “Ludo, forgive me, I’m sorry. Could you repeat the question?”

Ludo, an old friend of Arturo’s father, smiled kindly at him. “The hotel. I’m proposing we renovate the apartments in the Villa Patrizzi and then sell them as separate units. We should see some profit, and then we can use that to seek out another property to turn into the hotel.”

Arturo shook his head. “No. I want the Patrizzi. We need to get that apartment.”

Peter sighed. “Turo…we simply do not have the budget to buy the purchaser out.”

“Mio Dio!” Arturo exclaimed in frustration. “It’s only five million! I’ll put it in myself.”

“No.”

Arturo narrowed his eyes at his best friend. “And you’ll stop me how?”

Peter met his friend’s gaze steadily. “I can’t. But if that happens…I’m gone. Turo, I mean it. This is not what this conglomerate agreed to. We all put in the same amount of cash; we all take the same risks; we all reap the same rewards. That agreement is watertight. Five million for one apartment is nonsense, and we don’t have to make the same mistake as that buyer. What Ludo is proposing is the best way forward.”

Arturo sat in silence before glancing around the room. He could tell the others agreed with Peter, and he knew his best friend was right. Still…

“Fine. I’ll begin the search for some new premises.”

He saw Peter visibly relax. Good. Let him think he’d won.

But Arturo knew in his bones, Villa Patrizzi would one day be the site of his dream hotel. If the apartment’s buyer wouldn’t sell to him, then there were other ways to force them to sell or to quit the place.

Arturo hid a smile. He was going to make their life hell—and his business partners were going to help do that, whether they knew it or not.

Hero was aware of the man gazing at her as she sat outside the café. She shot a look at him, and he smiled at her, friendly and warm. She looked away, and then sighed as she saw him out of the corner of her eye, get up to approach her.

Just leave me alone.

But she had been raised to be polite, and when he was by her side, she looked up and gave him a pleasant smile. “Hello.”

“Bueno giorno, signorina. George Galiano.”

She shook the offered hand. “Hero Donati.”

George indicated the other seat at her table. “May I sit for a moment?”

Hero stifled a sigh and nodded. “Please.”

He was tall, not as tall as Arturo, but broad-shouldered and slim-hipped. His brown hair was short and neatly styled, his beard trimmed and shaped. His dark brown eyes searched hers. “I hope you don’t think I’m intruding, but I believe I saw you at the auction yesterday. For the Patrizzi apartment?”

“Yes, I was there.”

George chuckled lightly. “It was quite the scandal. That apartment was expected to go to Arturo Bachi. We all expected it to go to him, but then, as you saw, a mysterious buyer swooped in and snapped it up. After the auction, I saw you going into the auctioneer’s office. Coincidence, yes?”

Hero sipped her coffee. “Mr. Galiano, do you have a question you want to ask me?”

“You bought the apartment.”

“Yes.” She didn’t see how it was his business, but she wasn’t going to lie.

George’s handsome face split with a wide grin. “Then, Miss Donati, I owe you a drink.”

That stumped her. “I take it you and Mr. Bachi are not friends?”

“Not any longer. Excuse me.” He addressed the nearby waiter. “Could we have some champagne?”

George Galiano was charming to be certain, but Hero wouldn’t trust him in any situation. Still, as far as a pleasant acquaintance went, he was certainly easy on the eye and amusing to talk to. His rancor towards Arturo, she discovered, went deep.

“We were friends,” he said, “a long time ago.” He sighed, regretfully. “We were in the unfortunate position of being in love with the same woman, and it didn’t end well for any of us.”

“So, now you hate each other?”

“For my part, it isn’t hate. Only too much has passed between us for us ever to go back.”

Hero felt a little uncomfortable. “But you’re glad he lost the apartment?”

“Call me petty, but yes. Arturo has had too much influence in this town for far too long. It was time he was taken down a peg or two.”

“That’s not why I bought the apartment. I had no idea Arturo Bachi even existed before yesterday.” Although I sure found out who he was last night…

A giggle bubbled up, and she hurriedly covered it with a cough. George didn’t seem to notice. “So, you are staying in our lovely town?” he asked.

“For the foreseeable future, yes.”

He smiled. “Then perhaps you would allow me to show you around sometime?”

Hero hesitated, then nodded. “Perhaps.”

“Good.” He drained his champagne and reaching for her hand, kissed the back of it. “If you will excuse me, lovely lady, I have a meeting to get to. It was good to meet you.”

“You, too.”

Hero watched him walk away, getting into a chrome-clad Bentley. Flashy. That was the sense she got from him, and although Arturo also flaunted his wealth, Hero got the impression that he was a little less…what? Ostentatious?

She sighed. Who cared? It wasn’t as if she had any reason to be involved with either of these men anymore. She drained her coffee, left her untouched champagne on the table, and rose to walk around the town.

She had absolutely no idea of the effect she had on men, he decided. He walked a few yards behind her with other people strolling between them, but he could see male heads turning as she passed by. Her long hair was pulled up into a messy bun at the nape of her neck and her outfit was an obviously well-loved, fraying T-shirt and blue jeans that clung to her shapely hips and legs. She was stunning.

Flavia had been equally beautiful, but far younger—only eighteen—when he’d killed her.

He still remembered everything about that night and how perfectly he planned it. It was a costume party at the Villa Charlotte. She’d agreed to meet him outside at the gate leading to the lake. She had been dressed as a wood nymph, her dress floating around her and her beauty enhanced by the moonlight. The perfect ‘O’ of her mouth as he slid the knife into her. The horror and pain in her eyes. He’d held her as she bled out in his arms.

Ssh, ssh, my pretty one. It’s all over now…

She hadn’t spoken, but the ‘Why?’ was in her eyes.

Because you loved him…

Her eyes closed for the last time as the last of her blood pumped from the many stab wounds, and he had quietly set her adrift on the lake, looking like Ophelia: her body soaked in her blood, her hair streaming about her head.

Damn it. His cock was hard again. Control, he told himself sharply. It’d been twenty years since Flavia, and now it was time to remind Arturo Bachi that anytime he dared to fall in love, he would lose everything until one day he’d get the message.

He had no idea if Arturo would fall in love with this new girl, but he sensed that something was different about her—something special. He hoped Arturo would fall in love with this beautiful woman.

Because it would make it so much more satisfying when he killed her.

Chapter Six

As she was drying off after her shower, Hero heard a soft knock on the door and knew instinctively who it was. She’d been imagining him as she’d stood in the steamy heat, picturing his hard, naked body wrapped around her from behind…

Wrapping the towel around herself, she walked over to the door and asked, “Who is it?”

“Arturo, principessa. Forgive me. I couldn’t stay away.”

Smiling, Hero opened the door and looked up at him. “Hello again.” He was wearing a navy sweater and blue jeans and looked boyish and beautiful.

For a second, she just stared at him, then stood aside to let him in. As he moved past her, she closed the door behind him and then deliberately let her towel drop. Arturo groaned.

“Bellissimo…” He dropped to his knees and gripped her hips, pulling her directly into him, and Hero went willingly. “Bella, bella, bella.”

His low voice reverberated against her clit, and she moaned softly as his tongue lashed around it. There was something so erotic about being naked while he was still dressed. Arturo tumbled her to the bed, pushed her knees to her chest, hooking her ankles over his shoulders, and took his time to go down on her. His fingers bit into the flesh of her thighs, his tongue was relentless as he brought her to orgasm, leaving her breathless and panting.

His mouth moved up to find her nipples as he unzipped his fly. She helped him free his cock, stroking the length of it before guiding him inside. God, she wanted him so badly. She clung to him as they fucked, each thrust harder and more ferocious. They were clawing at each other like animals, the bed shifting under their movements, the headboard banging relentlessly on the wall, but neither cared.

Their need for each other was feral. Arturo fucked her into the most glorious orgasm of her life, and Hero screamed out his name, again and again, delirious with pleasure. He fucked her again on the floor, then once more in the shower, and when he came, he pumped thick creamy cum deep inside her belly, and she arched her back, pressing her breasts against his chest.

They didn’t speak. Their lovemaking went on into the early hours, and by the time he kissed her goodbye, she was exhausted but satisfied. She almost asked him to stay but knew it would be a mistake.

Still, when he pressed his lips to hers and whispered, “Tomorrow?” she nodded, knowing she would need her fix of him again.

It was only later, when she was alone, that she realized they’d forgotten to use a condom.

Arturo drove home, smiling. God, she was intoxicating, and now he knew her name. Hero. Hero Donati. No wonder she’d been bemused when he’d named them ‘Beatrice and Benedict’ from Much Ado About Nothing. He’d been so close to the truth, only one character away. He hated leaving her at the hotel; he wanted her in his bed always, but he knew he had to tread carefully. She was clearly a flight risk.

At home, he opened his laptop and typed her name into the search engine. Nothing. He added ‘Chicago’ and pressed Enter. He would have missed the entry entirely if he hadn’t scrolled down the page. A death notice.

Thomas and Beth Lambert, beloved husband and daughter of Hero D. Lambert. Funeral to be held at St. Maria of Sacred Heart, Thursday, 5^th January. No flowers, please. Donations to Chicago Children’s Hospital.

A shock ran through Arturo. She had been married? Had a child? Reeling with the shock, he searched further until he found the newspaper report.

Father and Daughter Killed in Horror Smash.

Chicago: A father and daughter were killed Christmas Eve when a drunken driver crashed into their Toyota in heavy snow at Kenosha. Schoolteacher Thomas Lambert, 30, and his three-year-old daughter, Beth, were fatally injured, with the child pronounced dead at the scene. Mr. and Mrs. Lambert were transported to the nearest emergency room where Mr. Lambert died five days after the crash. His wife, Hero Lambert, 26, remains in a coma in critical condition. The driver’s blood alcohol content was found to be five times the legal limit.

A drunk driver. In one second, Hero’s life was destroyed. Arturo felt sick and a little guilty for invading her privacy. If she had wanted him to know…

No. He just wouldn’t tell her what he knew; that was best for now. If his plan to seduce her worked, then he would let her tell him in her own time.

He closed his eyes. The thought of Hero, lying in the wreck of a car, screaming for her lost husband, her darling daughter, made his chest hurt.

She looks so much like Flavia…is that the reason? He shook his head, sighing, and closed the laptop. Comparing the two women would not help matters.

He went to bed, hoping to get a couple of hours of sleep before he had to go to work, but his dreams were troubled with an image of Flavia’s dead body floating away from him, and his Hero, his lovely Hero, being stabbed to death in front of him by Flavia’s killer.

In a foul mood because of his nightmares, Arturo went into his office, stalking down the hallway right past his assistant’s desk without saying anything.

“Peter called.” Marcella followed him into his office, used to ignoring his moods. “He says he’s found a few promising options for the new hotel. He wants to know if you just want to put the Patrizzi apartments straight back on the market as is or go ahead with the refurbishments.”

Arturo sat down heavily in his chair. “Tell Pete to call me, please. I want to refurb the whole place. Might as well make some profit off it.”

“Thank you. By the way…good morning.”

Arturo did smile then. “Good morning, Marcella.”

“Grouch.”

“You’re fired.”

Marcella grinned. “Want coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

“Well, you know where the coffee pot is.”

Arturo laughed. American-born Marcella had worked with him for years and had been his confidante and his friend—almost his sister. When he got too arrogant, she would just stare at him, do the pencil-tapping thing, until he backed down. She told him to fuck off to his face when he was rude to her; she brought him hot tea and pastries when he was down.

“Marcie…can I ask you something?”

Marcella, who was halfway out of the door, stopped and studied him. “Work or pleasure?”

“Pleasure.”

“Ooh, gossip. Ask away.” She flopped into the chair opposite him and crossed her long legs.

Arturo cleared his throat. “I met someone.”

Marcella’s eyes opened wide. “No. Way.”

Arturo held up his hands to forestall her excitement. “It’s complicated.”

Marcella sighed. “When isn’t it with you? Did you fuck her yet?”

Arturo looked away sheepishly.

“Turo.” Marcella stretched out his name, berating him. “Woo a girl first. I know that monster in your pants has a mind of its own, but jeez…” She laughed but then looked at him, her eyes serious. “Do you like her?”

“I do. But I don’t even know her—rather, she doesn’t want me to know anything. I…might have gleaned some facts on my own.”

“Stalker.”

“I don’t want to invade her privacy or overstep her boundaries. But I did find out something pretty major about her. Should I tell her that I know?”

Marcella shook her head. “No. That would freak her out, believe me. We women live in a world where any…invasion…however well-meaning or sweet…could mean something bad. Something like violence. So, no, Arturo, don’t tell her. If she wants you to know, she’ll tell you.”

“Thanks, Marcie.”

“Who is she?”

“That,” he said, nodding, “is what I intend to find out.”

Three things happened in a very short space of time that morning. Hero found a pharmacy and bought a box of condoms. They’d left it unsaid, but if Arturo turned up at her door again tonight, she knew she wouldn’t be able to resist him. She considered a pregnancy test, but it was way too soon for that. Of course, she would have to find a doctor to test for STDs, and she berated herself. How stupid was she to have risked her health for a quick—albeit spectacular—fuck?

The second thing was her realtor called and told her the paperwork for the apartment had gone through. “Congratulations. You can move in whenever you want.”

Hero thanked her and told her she’d be in to pick up the keys that afternoon. “I hear you’ve pissed off Arturo Bachi,” the realtor said with a chuckle. “Good. He deserves it.”

Hero swallowed hard. “You know him?”

“Oh, I know him. He might pretend not to know me, but I know him.”

So, Arturo had slept with her realtor. Great. Hero thanked her again and ended the call. What the hell was she doing? She had been in town less than a week, and already she had screwed one of the biggest man-whores around.

But she couldn’t stop thinking about him, and she found that her guilt over ‘betraying’ Tom’s memory grew less and less. He’d want her to be happy, right? It didn’t mean Hero didn’t miss her husband every single moment, because she did. But moving to Italy was supposed to be a new beginning in every way.

Hero pushed all thoughts aside and went to the art shop she had found on her travels yesterday. The store was empty except for the proprietor, a young woman about Hero’s age, whose tightly curled hair was piled on top of her head. She grinned at Hero. “Hello again. Couldn’t stay away?”

Hero smiled at her. The woman had an English accent, and her name badge read Fliss. She was small, tinier even than Hero, and she wore a 50s-style tea dress with pink flamingos on a turquoise background. Hero liked her immediately.

“I was window-shopping yesterday. Today I’m intending to spend money.”

Fliss laughed. “Good to hear. What are you looking for?”

“Everything.”

Over the next hour, Fliss showed her around the store, and Hero immersed herself in picking out fat, round pastels in every color, a set of professional watercolor half-pans, and pencils in every hardness. She and Fliss talked about their mutual love of art—like Hero, Fliss was the product of art college.

“I was doing my doctorate, but that’s on hold for the moment.” Hero told her, and Fliss looked interested.

“Listen, it’s been a while since I got to talk about art like the geek I am. I’m closing for lunch in ten. Want to grab a bite to eat?”

Hero smiled. “I’d love that.”

Fliss took her to a small trattoria down a small alley. “This is one of Como’s best-kept secrets,” she said in a low voice. “The tourists don’t know about it. It’s cheap, but my God, the food is so, so good. I recommend the rabbit stew with polenta.”

Over lunch—and Hero took Fliss’s advice and almost swooned when she put the first delicious bite into her mouth—they shared their stories.

Fliss had moved to Lake Como after a school trip when she was young. “I swore that I would do everything in my power to be able to live here. I got lucky. My parents are reasonably well-off and gave me my first capital to start my business. When I told them I wanted to bring it over here, their first reaction was, “Oh, great, when can we visit?”

Hero smiled, feeling a little envious. “Have you got any siblings?”

“Three brothers, all older, all a major pain in my arse. They’re all scientists. Can you believe it? But,” and she leaned forward conspiratorially, “I was the only one to graduate with first-class honors.”

Hero laughed. For the first time in forever, she felt like more than a jaded twenty-eight-year-old who had already been a wife, a mother, and a widow. For once, she felt…relaxed.

“Damn, look at that man.”

Hero blinked and turned towards where Fliss was looking. A man was dumping an armful of papers onto a stand, and Arturo Bachi’s face was on the front of each one. Hero’s Italian was good enough to read the headline. “Bachi Upset at Patrizzi Sale!”

Whoops. She turned back to Fliss who was eyeing Arturo’s picture with lustful glee. “Do you know him?”

Fliss shook her head. “No, but I hear stories. He’s quite the wonder schlong.”

Hero felt her face burn, and Fliss saw her expression. “You okay?”

“I’m good. Listen, I’ve had a great time. Can we do this again?”

Fliss grinned. “You bet.”

They swapped numbers, and Hero found her way to her realtor’s office. With a swell of excitement, she picked up the keys to her new home.

“Now, you know it’s not furnished, right?” her realtor reminded her.

Hero nodded. “I know. I won’t actually be living there until my furniture is delivered, so if you need me and my cellphone is off, please call the hotel.”

She was shaking as she walked up to the top floor and paused before unlocking the door. Had she done the right thing spending all that money? Why had she been so determined to beat Arturo? Had it been just her attempt to show she still had some control over her life?

Hero took a deep breath, opened the door, and all her doubts fell away.

She was home.

Chapter Seven

Arturo called her this time.

“I thought I’d do things properly for a change,” he chuckled. “Would you like to have dinner with me?”

Hero, walking back from the Patrizzi, smiled. “I’d love to. Where did you have in mind?”

“It’s a surprise. Wear something slinky…and easy to take off.”

She was still laughing when they said goodbye. Whether she admitted it or not, Arturo Bachi wasn’t just a spectacular lover, he had a sense of fun, too, that she found appealing. She wondered if he would be very angry if she told him the truth about the apartment.

Feigning ignorance wasn’t an option. The fact he wanted the apartment was well-known, even to her after only ten minutes spent at the auction house that day. No, she would have to come clean, give him her reasons why she bought the place and paid such an outrageous sum for it.

Dang it. As much as she hated lying to him, she also didn’t want this to end. She craved his body—he was like a heady mix of sugar and heroin in her system.

Walking back to the hotel, still a block away, she became aware that there was no one else on the street. The evening was dark with a cool breeze blowing up from the lake. As she walked, she heard the echo of footsteps behind her, and her gut twisted a little in apprehension. She stole a look behind her. A few steps behind her, a man, tall and broad-shouldered, followed. He was in shadow. It was probably nothing, but Hero slowed her pace and then stopped.

The man behind her stopped. Oh, shit…he was following her. She turned to face him. “What do you want?”

A second later, she regretted stopping when she saw a flash of steel in his hand. Oh God no… Hero turned and took flight towards the people she could see milling about in the town square.

With relief, she darted into the hotel, breathless as she asked for her key. The receptionist gave her a strange look, but Hero just shook her head. It was just a mugger, she thought to herself. But she was shaken.

She pushed open the door to her room, and at first, she didn’t notice the envelope that must have been pushed under her door. When she did, she picked it up off the carpet, opened it and read,

You look beautiful today. It’s a pity I’m going to kill you.

She dropped the letter as if it were scalding hot. What the actual hell? She sat on the edge of the bed, shaking. Who wanted to kill her? She was new in town for chrissakes, and the only person she could have any beef with would be…

No. She refused to believe Arturo Bachi was capable of hurting anyone, much less her. If he’d wanted to kill her, he would have done it that first night when no one had seen him take her home. He could have killed her, dumped her body in the lake, and gone on about his day. No.

But who else could it be? She didn’t know anyone else—and she was pretty sure Fliss wasn’t a crazy killer. Besides, the guy that followed her just now was huge. That made her feel sick. There was no way she’d be able to fight back against a killer that size. She tried to control her trembling in order to get dressed. She slipped into a lilac dress and fastened a gold chain around her neck, but she moved automatically, not really focusing on her appearance.

For the first time, she wondered if she had done the right thing by coming here. It just didn’t make sense that someone had targeted her so quickly.

In the car with Arturo an hour later, she studied him carefully. “Where are we going?”

Arturo grinned over at her, and she could see no malice in his eyes. “A surprise.”

His smile made her belly quiver, but her nerves were still frayed, and he seemed to notice. He reached over and took her hand. “Are you okay?”

She didn’t answer for a moment and then said, “Hero. My name is Hero.”

Arturo grinned sheepishly. “I know. I admit I saw the key card holder with your name written on it. Not Beatrice.”

So, he was honest. Did it mean he was innocent? He was the only person who would have reason to hate her, and yet he was so caring, his eyes so full of desire for her.

He drove them to a small compound where a helicopter waited. Arturo helped Hero out of the car and then led her to the aircraft, still grinning and not telling her where they were going. He got into the pilot’s seat, and Hero had to admit that she was impressed.

It also made her feel better that plenty of people had seen them take off together. Witnesses.

Stop it. He’s done nothing wrong. Hero pulled in a deep lungful of air and tried to relax. Arturo reached over and stroked her face. “Okay?”

She nodded and turned her head to press her lips against his palm. Arturo smiled, leaning over to kiss her mouth.

The helicopter ride was exhilarating, and when they began to see city lights beneath them, Arturo said, “Milan. I thought you should see it at night.”

A thrill went through her. Milan…she’d never been to the city and now as he landed the craft on top of a hotel, she felt as if she were walking in a dream.

The restaurant was exclusive and expensive, and they were led to a private booth in the back. “I thought we could talk without people listening in,” Arturo said, bending to kiss her cheek. He was holding her hand, his fingers entwined in hers, and Hero felt a warmth surge through her. There was no way he was that good an actor to fake this affection. No way.

They sat side-by-side in the booth, and after the waiter took their order, Arturo put his arm around her and drew her closer. “That dress, the color is incredible next to your skin.” He drew the back of his finger down her cheek.

He picked up her necklace, trailing his fingers along the chain, then letting them drift down her torso to her belly. Hero gave a tiny moan of desire. Arturo nuzzled her neck, “Sweet Hero…I have a suite booked at the Mandarin Oriental. I would be delighted if you would stay the night with me there. No pressure. One word from you and I’ll cancel the room. Will you stay?”

Hero nodded, lost in his eyes. “Yes,” she said in a scratchy voice, husky with an almost feral desire for him—and because she knew without a doubt that it would be their last night together. She wanted to have this last night to remember being in his arms, being fucked by him, because she knew one thing for sure: she was falling for him and that meant she had to tell him the truth.

And after that, she was certain Arturo would want nothing more to do with her. The thought of that was killing her.

Arturo opened the door of the suite and stepped back to allow Hero in. God, she was so beautiful he could cry, but ever since dinner, where neither of them ate very much, she had been quiet. Was she nervous about staying with him? He hoped not.

Locking the door behind him, he went to where she stood staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked Milan. The back of her dress was cut low revealing a heavenly expanse of honey-colored skin, and he trailed his finger down her spine. “You are perfect,” he whispered, then pressed his lips to her bare shoulder. Hero reached around and cupped his cock in her hand, stroking him through his pants. He pulled at the tied halter of her dress, and the garment slithered to the floor. She wore no bra; her full, ripe breasts were perky, the nipples small and dark red. He moved so he could take each one in his mouth in turn, teasing each until it was rock hard. Hero stroked his hair as he did, both of them moving slowly and savoring each moment. He slid his hand between her legs and caressed her through her damp panties.

“You’re wet.”

“For you,” she whispered, meeting his gaze. “Always for you.”

He had to have her then, her words spurring the animal in him to erupt. He swept her onto the bed and stripped his own clothes off, swiftly rolling a condom down over his engorged, almost painfully hard cock and thrusting into her. Hero wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, her fingernails digging into his buttocks as she pulled him deeper and harder. Arturo kissed her with such ferocity he could taste blood, his hand moving to pin one of hers over her head. She came over and over as they fucked, and she begged him to never stop.

He locked his elbows, gazing down into her eyes. “Don’t worry, my precious Hero, I’ll never stop…never…” He thrust hard as he came, groaning her name, taking her mouth hungrily. “You’re so beautiful, so lovely, bella, bella bella…” He knew, without a doubt, that he was in trouble, that he could easily fall in love with this woman, and if he did…God, his heart was still so fragile, so fearful that someone would take her away from him. He felt that dread so keenly tonight, but he didn’t know why.

It was a perfect night: the flight, the meal, and now here he was making love with her, away from the gossips in Como, away from his responsibilities. She brought that out in him, or she had over the last few days, and he had to remind himself that they really didn’t know anything about each other. She had finally told him her name, and he knew enough to realize that was a big step for her.

He wouldn’t be the man who pressured her, especially after what she had been through in her young life. All he wanted to do was be with her, acutely aware that this was a complete one-eighty shift in his whole philosophy. The last three days had been a revelation to him.

Later, when she fell asleep, he slipped out of bed and snagged his phone from his jacket. Closing the bedroom door, he went into the living room of the suite and called Pete. “Hey, buddy, did I wake you up?”

Peter chuckled. “No, Turo. What’s up?”

Arturo sighed. “I got trouble.”

“What? What happened? Did you something stupid, Turo?”

“Maybe. It’s a girl, Peter. I’m in love.”

Chapter Eight

Arturo, I’m the one. I’m the one who smashed your dream. I’m the one who outbid you, bought the Patrizzi apartment. I knew you were bidding, and I went all out to beat you. I’m the one.

Hero kept going through what she would say as she dressed the next morning. She had intended to tell Arturo when they woke, but he had kissed her so sweetly, and his eyes had been so full of…love? That’s what it had looked like, and she had been silenced. They had made love tenderly at first, and then, as Arturo started to goof around, they fucked in every room in the suite, laughing and playing, Arturo chasing her around the rooms until she gave up.

Then, when his cock was buried deep inside her, she couldn’t think of anything else but him, his body, his smile, his mouth on hers. He would switch from tender to almost rough as he took her, but she gave as good as she got, tugging on his hair, biting his nipples, digging her nails into his back and his butt hard until he moaned. As they showered together, they compared battle scars: the grazes and bruises on each other from their lovemaking. He fucked her in the shower, easily holding her up against cold tile as his cock drove in and out of her swollen and sore cunt.

Her thighs ached, her breasts tingled, and her heart felt as if it had unfurled in her chest. She couldn’t do it; she couldn’t ruin this perfect time with this beautiful man. She would keep her secret for a little while longer.

She felt his arms snake around her waist, and his hand slip beneath her dress to stroke her belly. “Hey.”

She leaned back into him, turning her head to kiss his mouth. “Hey.”

Arturo gazed down at her, his eyes serious. “Is it wrong that I don’t want this to end?”

Her stomach dropped. “This?”

“This trip, this city, with you.”

She turned in his arms and locked hers around his waist. He nuzzled her nose with his own. “Hero…”

The way he whispered her name made it sound like the most bewitching sound in the world. “Arturo…I have something to tell you.”

“Okay.”

She swallowed. “I…” Tell him. Get it over with now. Offer to give him the apartment. Beg him to forgive you. “I…used to be married.”

Arturo’s eyes were sympathetic. “Would you be mad if I told you I knew?”

That stopped her. “What?” What the hell? Did he have a private detective on her? Did he already know about the apartment?

Arturo’s arms tightened around her. “I see what you’re thinking, and I swear, just the results of a Google search. I was curious.”

Hero breathed out. Okay, that was normal at the beginning of modern relationships, right? But you didn’t think of finding out about his story like that, did you? “Okay, that’s fine. Then you know.”

“About your husband and daughter. I do, and I cannot tell you how sorry I am, my darling. Come sit. Let’s really talk. I’ve ordered breakfast.”

Over breakfast she told him about Tom and Beth, and to her surprise, it was easy to talk to him, and it felt good to really reminisce honestly about her grief, her love for Tom, and her darling Beth, her light.

“She really was the most amazing kid,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. “I know every mom says that but, my God, I couldn’t believe this incredible little creature came from me.”

“Do you have a photo?”

She dug around in her purse and brought out two photos. One was just of Beth, yelling a banshee cry into the camera, grinning wildly. The other was all three of them: Tom encompassing his family in his arms as they smiled, not at the camera but at each other.

Arturo studied them both. “Wow. Wow. She looks just like you.”

Hero felt a lump in her throat when Arturo used the present tense. “She…does.” The tears escaped then, and she began to sob. Arturo folded her in his arms and just held her until she cried herself out.

When she finally pulled away, she felt lighter and surprisingly unembarrassed. Arturo smiled at her and stroked the back of his fingers down her face. “Sweet one, your daughter will always be with you. And your husband…” He looked back at the photo of Tom, and for a second, Hero couldn’t read his expression. “He looks like a great guy.”

“He was. He was my best friend.” She sighed. “It was just…everything changed on a dime, you know? One second we were in the car singing pop songs and the next minute… gone. So final.” She looked away for a moment until he turned her face gently back to his.

“I’m glad you told me. I want to know you, Hero.”

Hero squeezed his hand. “What about you?”

“Me? You know me. My reputation precedes me.”

“Arturo.”

He shrugged. “There has been no one special in my life for years.”

She looked at him curiously. “So, there was someone, once?”

The pained look on his face was so fleeting that she wondered if she’d imagined it, but then he was talking again, and she dismissed it.

“I’m a walking cliché, Hero,” he said bluntly. “I’m arrogant as hell, and I sleep around. Slept around. Three days ago, I met the woman that one day I hope to marry.”

That floored her…and frightened her. “Arturo…a marriage is more than great sex.”

“I know. Or rather, I don’t, but I hope to find out.” He held her gaze steadily. Hero felt her heart beating way too hard against her ribs, and she got up.

“Don’t make fun of me.”

Arturo caught her as she moved away and made her look into his eyes. “I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life, Hero. I’m in this…are you in this with me?”

She had no idea how to answer him.

Back in Como, he took her back to her hotel. Kissing her goodbye, he cupped her face in his hands. “Tonight? Dinner?”

Hero hesitated. “Can I take a rain check tonight? I just have some stuff I need to figure out.”

Arturo didn’t seem fazed. “Of course, my darling. You have my cell phone number if you change your mind.”

Hero took the stairs to her room, wanting to take her time. God, what was she going to do? She had fallen for him so entirely that even the thought of him finding out about the apartment made her feel sick. Should she put it back up for auction and take a hit on the price? She could sell it to him anonymously, maybe.

The thing was…she loved the apartment. Ever since she’d walked into it that first day—was it really only four days ago?—she had known it was her haven. Her heart was telling her that Arturo was worth giving it up; her head was telling her not to be foolish. Stick to her plan. A gorgeous man wasn’t worth giving it up for.

Was he?

Shoot. Hero sighed as she opened the door to her room, then froze. Three more envelopes on the floor. She grabbed them and ran back down to the reception. She asked to see the security guard after the receptionist denied that any of her staff delivered the letters.

“Do you have CCTV?”

“I’m afraid it is currently out of order, Signorina.” He looked at the envelopes in her hand curiously. “What is in the notes?”

Hero stared at him and then shook her head. “Never mind.”

She stalked back upstairs, but before she locked herself in, she checked in every part of the room. She was alone. She double-locked the door and sat on the bed, the envelopes laid out in front of her. After a moment, she ripped the first one open.

Whore.

“Charming.” She steeled herself for the next one.

Dead woman walking.

“Oh, fuck off.” It helped a little to ridicule the note. She opened the third. There was no note, but two photographs fell out. Hero frowned, but she bent to pick them up. As she studied them, she gave a gasp of horror.

The first showed a woman: cowed, terrified, and screaming. Her dark hair was covering most of her face, but Hero could see the resemblance to herself immediately. The second photo was even more horrifying. The same woman was obviously dead, covered in blood, the hilt of a knife protruding from her stomach.

“Jesus.” Hero didn’t know how long she sat there, staring at the horror in front of her, but eventually, uncurling her stiff legs, she went back down to reception, feeling as if all her blood had frozen in her veins. She asked them to call the police.

When two officers arrived at the hotel, she calmly handed them the notes and simply said, “Someone wants to kill me. And I have no idea why.”

Chapter Nine

The next morning, Hero got another message, this time phoned through to reception and of an altogether more pleasant kind. George Galiano was inviting her to have lunch with him.

Hero considered. She didn’t want to get into the middle of anything between Arturo and George, but the more allies she had in this town, the better.

She called him back and agreed to meet him at the restaurant. “I can’t wait,” he said in a warm voice. Hero promised herself she could make it clear that it was just lunch as friends.

Until then, she had a few hours to kill, and she spent it arranging furniture for her apartment to be delivered by the end of the week. Now that it was officially hers, she was antsy to move in and be less vulnerable. She arranged for locks to be fitted to the windows, even as unlikely as it was that anyone could scale up to that height, and a deadbolt fixed to the door. It would be her little fortress. She noticed that the other apartments had just started getting renovated for individual sale, and Hero was glad that there would be plenty of construction workers around should anything happen.

God, you sound paranoid. But the vicious, utterly random threats had affected her more than she wanted to admit. The polizia had been sympathetic, but they told her there was nothing much they could do unless she were actually harmed.

“Do you know who that woman is?”

They’d studied the photographs and exchanged loaded looks, but both swore blind they didn’t know who she was. “It’s probably some hoax,” the kindly lead officer said. “Some people just like to frighten a woman on her own.”

They made it sound like she should expect this kind of thing, being on her own. Hero’s feminist hackles went up, and she gathered up the notes and photos, and thanked them stiffly before turning away. She almost dared someone to attack her as she walked back through the lobby.

Come at me…

Her fear had turned to anger now, and she stalked past the hotel’s security guard without acknowledging him.

George Galiano was waiting for her, sitting at one of the restaurant’s outside tables, smoking a cigarette with a glass of red wine in front of him. He stood when she approached and kissed both of her cheeks. “You look beautiful, Miss Donati. Please, join me.”

Over a lunch of fresh crab salad, he asked her about her plans for the apartment.

“To be honest, Mr. Galiano, I just want a haven. I’ve arranged for it to be furnished, of course, but beyond that, I hadn’t thought.”

“Well, I know some good interior designers, should you require them.” He paused. “I see Bachi has already begun to remodel the other apartments.”

“He owns them all, then?”

George nodded, a nasty gleam in his eyes. “As I told you, you pissed him off royally by beating him to that last one. Bachi has dreams, I think, of owning every major hotel in this region, maybe even in Italy. His plans are, like him, ridiculously conceited.”

“I think it’s healthy to have ambition,” Haven said carefully.

George smirked. “You are very generous, Miss Donati.”

“Hero, please.”

“Hero. Such a pretty name. Tell me, Hero…has Arturo’s legendary prowess in the bedroom been exaggerated?”

Ugh. Hero looked at him steadily. “If anything, it’s been underplayed.”

But George laughed. “Fair enough. I meant no offense. I only asked because I wanted to see how loyal you were to him.”

“I’m as loyal as I would be to any…friend. I’ve been here less than a week, Mr. Galiano, I have no interest in being drawn into disputes between the two of you.”

“Understood.” His smile faded, and he sighed. “For my part, I wish I could understand why we drifted apart, how it got so awkward between us.”

Hero’s curiosity got the better of her. “You mentioned a woman you both loved before.”

He nodded. “Flavia. She died twenty years ago now. She was a beautiful woman, like yourself, but that beauty was to be her downfall.”

“How so?”

George’s eyes were haunted. “She was murdered, stabbed to death. They never caught her killer.”

The brief look on Arturo’s face suddenly flashed in front of her eyes, followed by the images of the woman in the picture Hero had received earlier, and she went cold.

“Stabbed?”

George nodded. “Multiple times. She never stood a chance. It devastated the town, myself and Arturo the most. I think neither of us has been the same since. Of course, Arturo was her lover at the time, and so the general consensus was that he was the only one suffering.” He shook his head. “But I sound like a bitter man.”

The realization that Arturo had also lost someone he dearly loved in some way cemented the connection between them even further. Suddenly Hero had to admit it to herself—she was falling hard for him, in more ways than between the sheets. It now seemed impossible to avoid coming clean to him about the apartment and trying to make it right.

“Mr. Galiano, thank you for lunch, but I have to go now.”

George stood as she did and kissed her cheek, lingering perhaps a beat too long for her comfort. He took her hands, searching her eyes. “Please know, Hero…Arturo is not your only option. Please be careful. He is not who he says he is.”

Hero pulled her hands away, her expression steely. “Thank you for the warning, Mr. Galiano.”

Creep. Hero bid him goodbye and got out of there, much to her relief. Not my only option. Ugh, the arrogance of the man.

She felt the need to connect with someone from back home and so, as she walked to her new apartment, she called Imelda, getting only her voicemail. “Melly…I’m just touching base. Call me back. I need to hear your voice.” She gave a small chuckle as she ended the call. She’d never said that to her sister…ever. Funny how distance changed relationships. Hero stuck her phone back into her bag and carried on towards the Patrizzi.

Peter’s face was blank with disappointment. “You don’t like it.”

He and Arturo were at an old rundown hotel on the north shore of the lake. Peter had seen it last minute and had been sure Arturo would go for it. It had an old-world rustic charm as well as a fantastic terrace overlooking the lake. A stone pergola draped in the most glorious wisteria led to lush gardens of azalea, camellia, and jasmine conveying beautiful scent along the breeze. The hotel itself had been abandoned for so long that vines had snaked their way into the interior, giving the whole place a strange but organic post-apocalyptic feel.

Peter had fallen in love with it at first sight, but he could tell from Arturo’s expression that his friend felt differently. He sighed. “So, no?”

Arturo turned to him, and Peter felt a shock run through him. He’d been wrong…Arturo’s eyes were shining. “It’s incredible…but not for a hotel. God, Peter…”

Peter was confused. “So, let me get this right, you don’t want it for a hotel, but you love it?”

“For a home, Pete. For a family home.”

“A family home?” Peter echoed in confusion. “For whom?”

Arturo laughed. “For me, of course. For the family I intend to have in the future.” He didn’t say with whom, but Peter knew this expression of old.

“Turo…you’ve known her for less than a week.” Peter stared at his old friend in astonishment. Arturo was known for being impulsive when it came to absolutely everything except relationships. In that particular area, he could always be trusted to love ’em and leave ’em. “A week,” Peter repeated. “What makes her any different, Turo?”

Arturo shrugged. “You need to meet her, Peter, and then you’ll understand. She’s bright and funny and beautiful and I’m crazy about her.”

“So crazy you’re imagining your future estate together already? This isn’t you,” Peter said, “you’re obviously having some sort of…God, I don’t know, but you need to slow down.”

“You don’t believe in love at first sight?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “No. I don’t. At all. Wanting to screw her isn’t the same as love, Arturo. I don’t need to tell you that.”

“It’s not that. If it were that, I’d be over it already. But she’s…look, I’m going to call her and arrange for you two to meet. Then you’ll see.”

Peter was about to protest, but Arturo had already pulled out his phone. Peter watched the smile spread over Arturo’s face as the woman answered his call.

“Bueno giorno, bella. How are you? Good. Listen, are you free for a drink this afternoon? I’d love you to meet my best friend, Peter Armley. Yes? Great, see you soon, cara mia.”

Arturo was—there really was no other word for it—glowing when he ended the call and smiled at Peter. “You’ll see, Pete. She’s perfect.”

Peter held his tongue. Sometimes it paid to pull your punches with Arturo until the right moment. He usually figured things out for himself first anyway. “And what about this place?”

“I want it, but for myself. Can you get it done?”

Peter sighed, watching his hotel dreams vanish in a puff of Arturo’s fantasies. “Of course, but are you sure? There’s no rush with this; it’s been on the market for five years without a taker. Take some time. Think about it.”

Arturo shook his head. “I want it. Give the owner what he’s asking for and get the paperwork through as soon as possible. I want to bring Hero here and show her what I have planned.”

“Jesus,” Peter hissed under his breath.

It was only an hour later when they walked into a bar in Como and saw Hero Donati waiting for them that Peter understood. He took one look at the beautiful woman sitting elegantly, her long, dark hair pulled over her shoulder, her large brown eyes shining at them, and immediately saw the striking—no, not striking—the almost uncanny resemblance to Flavia, and he turned to Arturo, horror in his eyes.

“Arturo,” he said, “what have you done?”

Chapter Ten

Hero liked Peter Armley very much, but she was a little bemused by the way he kept staring at her as if he knew her from someplace. Arturo, if he noticed it, didn’t say anything, and all three of them chatted lightly.

Peter stayed until the early evening and then excused himself. “Dinner plans.” He kissed Hero’s cheek. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Hero. Welcome to Como.”

After he’d gone, she and Arturo lingered over a pre-dinner aperitif. Arturo stroked her face. “Are you hungry?”

She shook her head. To tell the truth, all Hero wanted was to be wrapped up in his arms, feeling safe and cared for. He pressed his lips to hers. “I have an idea.”

“Oh?”

“There’s a moonlight boat trip out on the water tonight. There will be other couples there, but I thought you might like it.”

Hero smiled. “I would love that. This really is a beautiful town, Arturo.”

“I’m glad you like it.” He kissed her again. “Hero…I don’t want to come on too strong and scare you away, but I would really like to see where this goes. You and I. Cards on the table…I haven’t felt like this, perhaps ever.”

Hero smiled, but the desire to ask him about Flavia was in the forefront of her mind. She had to be the girl in the pictures she had been sent, and even Hero could see the likeness between them. Knowing Arturo had loved the dead girl, and now someone was threatening Hero’s own life…could she trust him?

Was Arturo the man behind the threats? Hero knew she should end this thing between them and yet she couldn’t. “What time is the boat trip?”

“Nine.” Arturo’s green eyes were intense on hers. “We have a few hours to kill.”

Hero felt his fingers stroke the inside of her thigh and she moaned softly. God, why did he have this effect on her? He was addictive. She nuzzled his ear and whispered, “Arturo. Take me home and fuck me into next week…”

Arturo grinned widely, and in twenty minutes, he was stripping her dress from her body as they kissed, clawing at each other. “Don’t wait.” Hero gasped, and Arturo thrust his cock deep into her cunt, fucking her furiously until they both fell from the bed, laughing and teasing each other. Arturo gathered her to him and slid back into her, and their lovemaking slowed. They took their time, building the intensity between them until Hero came, her back arching up, her belly against his, her head thrown back as she cried out.

“God, you’re intoxicating,” Arturo groaned as he came, then they collapsed together, panting for air. “Hero…il mia amore…”

There was such tenderness in his voice that Hero kissed him and rolled on top of him. “I want to taste you.”

He grinned up at her. “Darling, I would like nothing more. Just let me deal with this condom.”

As he used the bathroom, Hero waited, stretched out luxuriously on the bed. Every time she was naked with him, she felt so…what was the word…? Sensual, feminine…he made her feel beautiful. As he came back into the room, his magnificent cock already half-erect again, she gazed at him, blatant lust in her eyes. He approached the bed, and she sat up, taking his cock into her mouth, running her tongue along the length of it, feeling the hardening muscle under the silky skin. Arturo groaned as she began to suck, tease, and draw on the sensitive tip, her fingernails digging into his buttocks.

As he came, shooting thick creamy cum onto her tongue, she swallowed it down and then smiled up at him. Arturo pushed her back on the bed, and hitched her legs around his waist, kissing her passionately. “You drive me crazy, Hero.”

His cock nudged at the entrance of her cunt then buried itself deep inside her. Arturo’s lovemaking was almost frenzied now, his domination over her body complete, and Hero came again and again as he fucked her, his cock pounding at her until he, too, came.

As they recovered, Hero groaned. “We did it again. Shoot.”

“What?”

She sighed. “Forgot the damn condom. Jesus.”

He stroked her back as she sat up. “Cara mia, you do not have to worry. I have a clean medical record as far as STDs go. If you don’t believe me, I can have you call my physician for confirmation.”

Hero relaxed a little. “It’s not just that, though. There’s pregnancy to consider too.”

Arturo sat up and kissed her shoulder. “Would that be the worst thing?”

She gaped at him. “A week, Arturo. A week. No, don’t.” She wriggled away as he tried to wrap his arms around her. “This is all too much.” Hero rolled out of bed and shook her head. “First, you mention marriage and now this? Slow the hell down.”

She ran her hand through her hair, pacing up and down. Arturo watched her. “I’m sorry, Hero. I get a little overexcited sometimes, and I guess…I’m spoilt. I’m used to getting what I want when I want it, and sometimes I forget about other people’s feelings. I’m sorry.”

Hero was taken aback by his honesty and her panic, so overwhelming just a moment ago, faded. Talk to him. She sat back down on the bed. “Arturo…I’m just not ready for something so serious, so…final. There’s a lot going on in my life and, well…I just got here. That’s not to say I don’t love being with you. I do, I really do, but we need to slow down. Please.”

“Of course. I really am sorry.” He sighed, but gave her space, not reaching for her again immediately. “I never thought I could feel like this again.”

“After…Flavia?” Hero said quietly.

A long silence. “Yes. So, you also Googled me, I take it?”

Here we go.

“No.” She looked at him. “I had lunch with George Galiano today.”

She watched his expression go from shock to anger to jealousy to acceptance. “I see.”

“Just as…acquaintances. We met at the auction.” So, a little lie, but it didn’t matter. “He was kind enough to tell me all about your beef with him.”

Arturo snorted. “I bet he did.”

Hero half-grinned at him. “You don’t have to worry…he’s kind of a creep.”

“You’re not wrong.” Arturo laughed, looking relieved. “So…he told you about Flavia?”

She nodded. “Arturo, I’m so very sorry. Why didn’t you say anything? Especially after I told you about Tom and Beth.”

“I didn’t want to freak you out,” he admitted.

“Because we look alike?”

Arturo nodded. “You do. When I saw you that first time, I thought I’d seen her ghost. But, Hero, listen. You are two totally different people, and I know that. Your resemblance to Flavia is incidental to how I feel about you, I swear. I swear.”

She nodded but wanted more than that. “What kind of woman was she?”

“First of all, let me say this. You are a woman. Flavia was a girl. She was eighteen when she was murdered. And she…I loved her, I truly loved her, and she loved me. But she also loved men and loved sex, and after her death, I found out she had been sleeping with George, too. He was my friend at the time, and I believe he enjoyed telling me that my sainted girlfriend had been a cheater. As you can imagine…we’ve rarely spoken since.”

“What an asshole,” Hero shook her head. “What a spiteful, needless thing to do.” She put her hand on his face. “You’re a million times the man he is, Turo.”

Arturo smiled. “I like that. You calling me Turo.” He leaned in slowly, and she met him halfway, giving permission for the soft kiss, but then his smile faded. “They never caught the killer, and I never found out why she died. Maybe it was another jealous lover? I don’t know. The polizia found nothing.” He shook his head. “I still have nightmares about her end…her terrible fear and pain.”

Hero felt sick. Tell him. Tell him about the notes, the threats…but she couldn’t do it. Couldn’t give him that kind of worry again. She kissed him softly. “I’m so sorry, Turo.”

Arturo wrapped his arms around her. “You make it better, cara mia.”

She leaned into him and sighed. “I hope I do. You make my pain go away, Turo. I hope, one day, I could do the same for you.”

“You already have.”

They made love again, and this time, it wasn’t the frenzied fucking of before; it was something more, the forging of a deeper connection, their gazes never parting.

At nine o’clock, Arturo took her on the boat trip around the lake, and they snuggled down in their seats, enjoying the night, laughing together, hands clasped. It was the perfect end to an intense day, and Hero felt herself relaxing with this man. She still had to tell him about the apartment, but she had decided if he really wanted it…she didn’t want to lose him over it. They could work something out.

From the other end of the boat, he watched them. There was something different about the way they were together now: a new understanding, a new closeness.

Perfect.

He wondered if Hero Donati would scream when he drove his knife into her over and over and over again…

Chapter Eleven

Hero packed the last of her things into her bag and threw it over her shoulder. She glanced around the hotel room which had been her home for the last ten days and felt nervous. Today, she would move into the Patrizzi apartment, and later, she would tell Arturo what she had done. She couldn’t justify spending any more money on hotel rooms now. She had a five-million-euro apartment, and she had to live there.

The cab took her to the apartment, and she opened the door and stepped into her new home. It echoed with silence, but with the furniture in place, it had the beginnings of a real home.

She pushed open the doors to the small balcony and stepped out into the air, breathing in great lungfuls of air. Home. She couldn’t help the small thrill that ran through her, but it was tempered with sadness. Tonight, she would tell Arturo, and it would either be the end of them…or the beginning of something else.

Her cell phone rang.

“Finally.” Hero said as her sister said hello.

“Don’t be a pain, my phone got dropped in the bath.”

“You mean you dropped it in the bath.”

She grinned as Imelda sighed. “Fine. How are you?”

“Good. I moved into the apartment.”

“Good. That’s good. Is everything else okay? You sounded…weird on the voicemail you left.”

Hero hesitated. “I’m fine. I just wanted to touch base. How’re Mom and Dad?” A spike of adrenaline ran through her when her sister hesitated. “Melly?”

Imelda sighed. “Don’t panic…but Pops had a little heart thing. He’s okay, he’s fine, but…”

“Oh God, Melly.” Hero walked back inside and dropped onto the couch, her heart racing, her insides frozen. “I’ll get on a plane. I’ll book a flight this second and—”

“No, you will not. I said don’t panic. He’s going to be okay; they’re just keeping him in for observation. He’s fine, sis. Honestly. It was just a little bit of a scare.”

That lessened Hero’s panic only marginally. “How could you not tell me?”

“Because Mom said not to. Because she says—and I agree—you need this. You need to be away from Chicago, making your own life. Dad is fine, I promise, and I will absolutely call you if anything changes. But you stay there, Hero. You need to do this.”

Hero was silent for a long time. “You promise you’ll tell me if he gets worse?”

“I promise.” Imelda let out a long breath, and when she spoke again, her voice was softer. “Hero…are you doing okay?”

Hero choked back a sob and steadied her voice. “I’m fine. It’s beautiful here.”

“Made friends?”

More than that… “A couple.”

“Good. Sweetheart, you did the right thing. I’m proud of you.”

Hero was too shocked to reply, and she heard Imelda’s soft laugh. “Take care, little sister. And believe me, I do actually care. I’ll see you soon.”

The phone clicked off before Hero could reply. She sat for a moment, trying to take in her sister’s words. First, the news about her dad, and then just now…that had been the closest to ‘I love you’ she’d ever gotten from Imelda.

The world is shifting on its axis.

Hero shook her head and before she could change her mind, she called Arturo and got his voicemail.

Arturo checked his voicemail an hour later as he sat in his office and frowned. “That was weird.”

Peter looked up at him, putting down the sheaf of papers he held. “What?”

“That was Hero. She wants to meet later…at the Patrizzi apartment.”

Peter frowned. “Why on earth?”

“I have no idea.” Arturo tried calling her back. “Hey, it’s me. Look, of course I can meet you there, but what’s going on, Hero? Well, call me back if you can, but I’ll be there at six.”

He ended the call and put his phone down on the desk, chewing his bottom lip. “That’s very strange.”

Peter half-smiled. “Maybe Hero’s the buyer?”

Arturo rolled his eyes. “Yeah, because she has millions of euros just laying around.”

“She might.”

Arturo looked at Peter over his glasses. “Really? You think so?”

“No. Listen, can we get back to this? Villa Claudia is yours as soon as you sign. I can’t believe you got it for a half-million.”

Arturo grinned. “By the time I’ve finished with it, it’ll be worth ten times that. Not that I’ll be selling.”

“Still planning your marital home with the lovely Hero?”

“What’s your problem?” Arturo looked up at the cynical tone in Peter’s voice, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t you like Hero?”

“I liked her very, very much, Turo. She’s sweet and smart and beautiful.” Peter fixed him with a hard look. “And she looks just like your murdered girlfriend. Jesus, Arturo, just how fucked up are you?”

Arturo sat back and sighed. “She’s a completely different person, Pete.”

“How?”

“She’s Hero and not Flavia, for one,” he said dryly and rolled his eyes at Peter’s look. “She’s also American, you know. Versus Italian. Big difference there. And she’s softer somehow, yet at the same time, more assured. Wiser. She’s a woman. Flavia…” Arturo felt the usual sadness at the memory of such a beautiful young life cut short. “Flavia was just a kid. Hero was married, you know, with a child.”

Pete’s eyebrows shot up. “Was?”

“They died in a car wreck two years ago.”

“Jesus. How old is Hero?”

“Twenty-eight.”

Peter shook his head. “Fuck. She tell you about them?”

“Yup.” Arturo leaned forward. “And I told her about Flavia, including the fact that they resemble each other. Sadly, I didn’t get there first. George told Hero about Flavia.”

“She knows George?” Peter looked bemused.

Arturo chuckled.

“Yup. She thinks he’s a creep.”

“She gets points for judging that character right, at least.”

Arturo smirked. “Anyway, he took her to lunch, tried to pull his usual con job, but she saw straight through him. But, yeah, he told her about Flavia.”

“And she wasn’t scared off?”

Arturo didn’t hide his smile. “Nope. But she did tell me to slow down.”

“Good.” Peter sighed. “More points in her favor.”

Arturo nodded, his face becoming serious. “Pete…she’s special. I know you think it’s because of Flav, but it really isn’t. She’s…very dear to me. Yes. Already.”

Peter studied his best friend. “You’re in love with her.”

“Yes.”

“Does she know?”

Arturo took a deep breath in. “I haven’t said it. The whole ‘slow down’ thing, you see. But yes, I’m in love with Hero Donati.”

And he could see that, finally, Peter believed him.

At six p.m., Arturo drove into town and parked outside the Patrizzi. He spoke to some of his contractors, noting the work already done, then headed up to the apartment. It was quiet on the top floor, and he strode around the corridors. The apartment was in the farthest corner away from the elevators, and as he approached, he could see the door was open. He frowned. Why the hell was Hero here?

He stepped into the apartment and then recoiled in shock at all the blood. At the body. “Oh God, no…no…NO!”

Chapter Twelve

“Hero? Miss Donati? Can you hear me? If you can, please open your eyes or squeeze my hand.”

Nothing. The paramedic looked at his partner. “She’s really out.”

Arturo gritted his teeth, holding back a scream of frustration. From the moment he’d walked in and found her passed out on the floor, he had cradled Hero in his arms as he waited for the emergency services, and he’d called her name over and over, but she’d refused to wake. His clothes were drenched in her blood, paramedics were all over the place, and still she refused to wake.

And now he couldn’t hold her, because she was being prodded by half a dozen medics. All he could do was clench his teeth in frustration and try to thank God that at least she was alive. Or so they kept telling him.

“She has a nasty gash on her scalp. Scalp wounds always bleed like a mother…I’d say she was hit from behind, or maybe she fell against something. Yes, there. Look…” The paramedic pointed to the metal range in the kitchen. “She could have fallen or been pushed—the police will find out.”

Arturo couldn’t take his eyes off Hero, so pale, her golden skin so yellow and wan. “Will she be okay?”

“We need to get her checked out.”

He rode in the ambulance with them, holding Hero’s hand. As they neared the hospital, she groaned and opened her eyes. “Turo?”

Relief rushed through him so powerfully that if he’d been standing, he would’ve gone weak-kneed. “Hero, thank God…I’m here, bella. I’m right here, sweetheart.”

Her dark eyes swam with tears, and Arturo was about to call out to a medic that she was in pain when her voice stopped him.

“I’m so sorry.”

Arturo frowned. “Cara mia, why are you apologizing? Whatever happened, it was in no way your fault.”

The ambulance stopped, and then they were taking her through to the emergency room. Arturo held her hand gently as she looked at him, pain in her eyes.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” she said again, her voice weakening, “it was me. I was the one who bought the Patrizzi apartment…”

Arturo let go of her hand as the nursing staff stopped him at the door, staring after her, not understanding for a moment what she had told him. They took Hero through the doors to the ICU, and he lost sight of her.

Shocked to his core by her admission, and by the horror of her accident—or attack—Arturo didn’t think. He turned on his heel and walked out of the hospital.

Fliss Seymour jumped into the hospital room with a flourish. “Ta-da!”

Hero, despite her pounding head and the heavy weight that had settled on her chest, chuckled. “You loon. Thank you for coming, Fliss…I didn’t know who else to call.” And the man I’m crazy about hates me now…

Fliss hugged her gingerly. “It’s my pleasure, love. Are you okay?”

“Just a concussion and some wounded pride.”

Fliss peered at her. “And some pretty radical bruises. You got all that from falling over?”

No.

“My own fault. I tripped over some shoes I left lying around.” As the man who was trying to kill me beat my head against the metal range. She closed her eyes for a moment.

“You okay? Should I get a nurse?”

Hero opened her eyes. “No, just some dizziness. Fliss, really, thank you.”

Fliss grinned at her. “I was going to bring flowers, but I thought you’d enjoy these more.” She brought out a small box and handed it to Hero. Inside was a row of chunky, jewel-colored soft pastels.

Hero grinned. “These are beautiful, but you have to let me pay for them.”

“No way…but, you could share some gossip I heard.”

“What’s that?” Hero was admiring the deep, rich red of one of the pastels. Fliss grinned.

“Word is…Arturo Bachi was the one who brought you in, and he was pretty upset.”

Hero’s heart sank. “He was the one who found me.”

“Because you were the one who bought the Patrizzi apartment!” Fliss crowed, obviously enjoying herself. “Man, I bet the polizia went to town on him.”

Hero frowned. “The police?”

“They arrested him on suspicion of attacking you.”

“No, no, no, it wasn’t him, it wasn’t him…oh my God, no!” Hero felt hysteria bubbling up inside her.

Fliss looked alarmed and got up to hug her. “Ssh, ssh, it’s okay. Calm down. They let him go. He had more than one alibi. But, Hero…so someone did attack you?”

Hero nodded. “Yes. But it wasn’t Arturo. I swear it wasn’t.”

“I believe you.” Fliss’s usually merry face was somber. “Are you planning on telling the polizia.”

Hero nodded. “Yes. I just…I have to get my mind around things first.” How do you get your mind around almost having your head bashed in?

“Okay. And you and Bachi…?”

“Not anymore,” Hero whispered, still aching at the fact that he wasn’t by her side. That he had left when she needed him so badly. “Not anymore. Not after…” The weight on her chest grew too heavy then, and she began to sob quietly.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Fliss wrapped her arms around her and held her as she cried herself out. Finally, Fliss swept Hero’s damp hair away from her forehead. “Listen, when are they letting you out?”

“A couple of days.”

“Well, then, you can stay with me. For as long as you need. I have a guest bedroom; it’s warm and safe. No arguments.”

Hero smiled at her. “Anyone tell you you’re the best?”

“Frequently.” Fliss grinned. “Now, I think you should get some sleep, sweetheart. Do you need some sleeping pills?”

Hero shook her head. “But I could do with some pain killers.”

Fliss squeezed her hand. “Be right back, babe.”

Later, alone, Hero fell into a fitful sleep, tormented by images of Arturo’s beautiful face full of rage and hatred for her. She didn’t understand him walking away so coldly—it was only an apartment, and he’d said he had real feelings for her. Even so, she should have told him sooner. She didn’t care about the damn apartment now. He could have it.

But the thought of him being in the world and hating her made her miserable. Even in this short time, she knew…she loved Arturo Bachi. And now she would have to live through the heartbreak of knowing she would never see him again.

Chapter Thirteen

“Run that past me again. Hero bought the Patrizzi apartment?”

Arturo gave a quick nod. Peter sat back in his chair, clearly stunned. “And someone attacked her there?”

“So it seems. But who?”

“Does she have any idea?”

Arturo looked away from Peter’s intense gaze and said nothing. Peter sighed. “You haven’t been to see her.”

“No.”

“You mad?”

“Yes. And no. Hell, I don’t know what to think. She kept it from me all that time.”

Peter fixed him with a glare. “All that time? Arturo, it’s been less than two weeks. Maybe she didn’t know how to tell you. Maybe she got scared. Maybe she didn’t want you to find out.”

“Then why did she invite me to the apartment? She knew.” Arturo got up and stared out of the window.

Peter watched him.

“Turo,” he said in a soft voice, “I told you not to fall in love with her.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s over now.”

“Forgive her. It’s just a damn apartment. Damn it, Turo. You claim to love her, but you don’t have a clue what love is if you’re holding something so petty over the woman’s bashed-in head!”

Arturo turned and gave him a sad smile. “I forgave her the second she told me. It’s a matter of her forgiving me, and I don’t think that’s going to happen. I walked away, Pete. I walked away when she needed me the most. How the hell can I ask for forgiveness for that?”

The look on Pete’s face told him his friend more than agreed.

Arturo opened the envelope and drew out the documents, frowning. What the hell? It was the deed to the Patrizzi apartment. In his name. What the fuck?

“Marcie? Who dropped these papers off?”

Marcella came in. “Young girl. Short, curly hair. English. Very sweet. What are they?”

Arturo handed her the documents, and she read them, her eyes widening. “Wow. So, you finally bought the apartment?”

“No. That’s why I’m confused.”

The phone at Marcie’s desk buzzed, and she went back out, closing the door behind her.

Arturo read through the paperwork again. So, Hero was giving him the apartment? No, no way, this must be a mistake. But there it was in black and white. His dream, handed to him on a plate and it hadn’t cost him a penny.

It just cost him the woman he loved. The real dream.

Fliss insisted on taking care of everything, having Hero’s things moved from the apartment—the apartment where she’d never even spent one night—to Fliss’s large and beautifully furnished guest room.

“I’m paying rent,” Hero insisted, and although Fliss rolled her eyes, Hero wouldn’t take no for an answer.

She and the English woman became close very quickly, and as the weeks passed, Hero even began to help out in the little art store. One day, she was alone in the store when a man she didn’t recognize came in, smartly dressed. “Miss Donati?”

Her guard went up immediately. “Who’s asking?”

He had a kind smile. “I work for Signore Bachi. He asked me to bring you this.” He handed her an envelope, nodded, and left the store.

Hero stared at the envelope. Hearing Arturo’s name left her simultaneously hot and cold inside. God…she both wanted to know what he said and was terrified at the same time. She braced herself and tore it open.

There was no note, just a check in the amount of five million Euros. The message was clear. Arturo didn’t want any more ties to her.

“Oh, damn it, damn it,” Hero murmured, tears pooling in her eyes. There went the last hope. She stuffed the check back in the envelope and then raised it to her face. She could smell his fresh, spicy scent on the envelope, and a memory came rushing back of his skin next to hers, his lips on hers hungry for her kisses, his arms around her. The way he would brace his arms either side of her head as his cock thrust deep into her, driving her towards ecstasy. The love in his eyes.

Hero dropped her head and began to cry. Pull yourself together. But she couldn’t. It was a different kind of loss, a fresh one, and the pain was overwhelming.

From his hidden position outside across the piazza, he watched her. Arturo’s chest hurt as he saw her weeping. Was it from relief that he’d paid for the apartment? Or was it pain over their parting?

He had lost any anger he felt towards her for the apartment. Hell, he’d lost any passion he’d had for anything now. Arturo knew he could walk over to the shop to see her and beg for her forgiveness…but the thought that she might send him away? His courage failed him. His heart simply would not stand it. He knew now that he’d loved Flavia like the selfish boy that he’d been—he loved Hero like the man she’d tempted him to truly be.

Arturo turned away and walked quickly to the police station. He might not be with Hero any longer, but he was damned if he’d stop trying to find out who attacked her. The police had questioned him, yes, but he still had influence.

He found out more when he asked to talk to the lead detective. “Signorina Donati was getting threats, Signore Bachi. Death threats. She came to us last week with some of the notes, but there was nothing we could do. That’s all I can tell you.”

Arturo just managed to keep his temper; blowing up wouldn’t get him any more information. “But someone did attack her? Are you giving her protection?”

“We don’t have the manpower.”

Arturo was steaming angry when he left the station. Getting on the phone, he asked his security chief to arrange protection for Hero. “But—and this is important—she mustn’t know. They must be discreet, and I don’t want her spied on.” He outlined what else he needed and ended the call. He was so tempted to go back to the little side street with the quaint little art store but stopped himself. It would just cause him more pain. Worse yet, it would just hurt her more, and that he could not justify, no matter how much he ached.

Instead, he drove to the office and went to find Peter, who took one look at him and grabbed his jacket. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“The Villa Claudia. You need something to distract you.”

Hero was locking the shop when she heard her name being called. Turning, she saw a smiling George Galiano walking towards her, and her heart sank. Arranging her features into a smile, she greeted him.

“Ciao, bella.” He kissed her on the cheek, then nodded to the store. “You work here now?”

“Just helping out.”

He nodded. “I see. I was just passing, and I thought it was you. Come, have a drink with me.”

Out of politeness, Hero went with him to a bar out on the lakefront.

“Shall we sit outside? It’s such a warm evening.”

Hero didn’t care. “Fine.”

George chatted pleasantly for a while about nothing in particular, and Hero barely listened to him. Then he sat back and studied her. “I heard some things. Your accident? I’m very sorry. Are you still in pain?”

“No.” Not physically.

“And you and Arturo? I heard you split.”

Hero sighed. “For something that was private, news sure travels fast.”

“This is a small town, Hero, and Arturo, for some reason, is always a source of gossip and chatter.”

“You seem to take an interest.”

George shrugged. “Arturo and I…we go back a long way.”

“You told me. Flavia cheated on him with you.” It came out as an accusation, and Hero regretted it the moment it left her mouth.

George leaned forward, and his eyes gleamed with malice. “She did. She was desperately unhappy with Arturo, but I don’t suppose he mentioned that. He always likes to paint himself as the innocent one in all of this. He’ll do it to you, too; make out that you’re the villain, the gold-digger who used him and then dumped him.”

Hero recoiled from his spite. “That isn’t the man I know.”

“You’ve known him two weeks, Hero.” George sat back. “I’ve known him a lifetime.”

“Look, I think I’d better go.” Hero got to her feet. “I really don’t want to get involved in any conflict between you and Arturo.”

George laughed. “You don’t get it, do you? You are already involved. You were involved the moment you fucked Arturo.”

Furious, Hero turned away from him…and ran straight into Arturo.

Chapter Fourteen

Arturo stared at her and felt a desperate longing to take her in his arms and kiss the pain out of her eyes. Hero looked pale, angry, and achingly beautiful. “Hero…”

Her eyes filled with tears. “Hello, Turo.”

God, when she said his name like that…

“Look, I…”

Then he saw him: George Galiano, getting to his feet. Arturo’s heart froze and his jaw set. “Galiano.”

Hero—God, she was so beautiful—looked down at her feet, her face reddening, and Galiano looked smug. What the hell was she doing with him?

George looked triumphant, his eyes shining with malevolence. “Bachi. Armley,” he added to Peter, who was standing behind Arturo. Arturo cut his eyes back to Hero, who looked up and met his gaze.

No one said anything for a long moment, tension crackling in the air between them. Abruptly, Hero, her hand at her mouth, stepped away from all three of them, ran across the piazza, and disappeared into a side street.

Arturo stared after her, his heart breaking. Come back. Come back, I love you, I’m sorry…

“You were careless with that little girl’s heart. Just like you were with Flavia’s.” George Galiano’s voice seared into his brain, and Arturo turned back to him, fists clenching.

“You leave her alone, Galiano. Hero Donati is not a game you can use to win points from me.”

George laughed. “I’m not playing any sort of game, Arturo. I’m just stating a fact. And besides, you probably gave up any right to her heart by dumping her at the hospital. What kind of man does that?”

Arturo didn’t reply because he was too busy punching George from across the table. George slammed backwards into three more, tipping them over, causing patrons of the café to jump to their feet.

Pete practically threw Arturo into his car, and he drove away before Arturo could get out and pound on George some more. “Jesus, Turo.” He shook his head as they sped out of town and towards Arturo’s home. “You have got to get your head on straight again.”

Arturo, his anger dissipating slumped in the driver’s seat. “Did you see her? God, she looked so hurt.”

Peter sighed. “Turo, you’re not going to like what I have to say…but you two together…it’s toxic. You’re bad for each other. Stay away from her.”

Arturo wanted to argue, but he had no strength left. His misery was consuming him. After Pete finally extracted a promise from him later that evening that he wouldn’t seek her out, he was left alone. Arturo couldn’t stop thinking about her though: the still-vivid bruises on her face, the sorrow in her eyes. He knew she loved him—knew it—but maybe Peter was right. Maybe they were a disaster together. Maybe she wouldn’t have gotten hurt, or threatened, if she’d had nothing to do with him.

He leaned his head on the cool glass of his villa window and looked out at the lights of the town. “I’m sorry,” he whispered and closed his eyes.

The next morning, Hero awoke to raised voices. Blinking in the pale morning light, she pulled her robe on and went to find out what was going on. Fliss met her in the hallway. “You have a visitor. I told her you were asleep, but she told me to wake you up.”

“She?” But then the door opened, and Hero saw her. “Melly?”

“Who else?”

Hero jumped out of bed and tackled her startled sister in a fierce hug.

Fliss, apparently terrified of Imelda, made her excuses and went to work. “Help yourself to anything you need,” she told them, then said in an undertone to Hero, “Valium, heroin, morphine…”

Hero hid a smile. “Thanks, Fliss. I’m sorry if it seems I’m taking over your whole life.”

“Hey, mi casa es su casa. I’ll see you later.”

Hero sucked in a deep breath and went to face her sister. Imelda was making coffee, opening the fridge and searching out some cream. She stopped when Hero came in and leaned against the doorjamb.

“So,” Imelda stuck her hand on her hip and fixed Hero with a laser beam stare, “who did that to you?” She stabbed a finger at the fading bruises. “Why didn’t you call me when you were in the goddamn hospital…and who is this billionaire you’ve been fucking?”

Arturo walked through the Villa Claudia trying to focus on what he wanted to do with it. The worst of it was…he had seen his future here, and it was with Hero. He could imagine her: trailing her fingers through the wisteria and the jasmine; the scent on her skin later as they danced under moonlight; candles guttering on the long stone table; the remnants of their supper; empty bottles of wine; Hero, barefoot, in a light cotton dress, her hair streaming down her back; in his arms, her lips against his.

Arturo closed his eyes and dreamed the rest of it.

Kissing her eyelids, her dark lashes sweeping down on her cheeks. Her whisper of “I love you.” His fingers sliding the thin straps of her dress down her arms, the dress slipping to the ground. Her breasts, so full, so soft in his hands, the nipples hardening as his tongue swept over them. Laying her back on the thick grass of the lawn, burying his face in her sex as she writhed and gasped under him. Sucking on her clit until she was begging for him and sliding his ramrod hard cock into her softness. The flush in her cheeks when she came.

Arturo groaned and sat down on the cold stone floor. How had this happened to him? He didn’t get hung up on a woman; he fucked around and never called them back. He never ever got involved. And he certainly never felt like this after knowing a woman for two weeks.

Fuck this shit. He would make this place into the home he imagined anyway. He would live here alone and never, ever let any woman affect him like this again.

No. No. That wouldn’t work for me. For us.

Damn it.

He raised his head and looked around once more at the space, hearing Hero’s soft laughter echoing through it. That did it.

I’m going to get her back.

Chapter Fifteen

“So, who did you piss off?” Imelda looked down at the notes Hero showed her and the photographs of the murdered girl.

Hero shook her head. “I don’t know. I got the first one just a few days after I got here. The other three later.” She thought back. “The first one…I’d just got back to the hotel, and someone had followed me. A man. He had a knife, I think.”

Imelda gaped at her. “And you didn’t go to the police after that?”

“No. I ignored it. Who would threaten me like that? I figured they...got the wrong room.” Her excuse sounded flimsy even to her as she saw Imelda look skeptical.

“You were with him that night, yes?”

“Yes.”

“So, you had ‘fuck-brain.’”

Hero snorted with laughter. “I had what?”

“Fuck-brain. All those endorphins flowing through your system. You were dick-ma-tized.”

Hero chuckled, feeling lighter now her sister was here. “I don’t know what makes me say this, Melly, but I missed you.”

Imelda studied her younger sister. “You know what’s strange? I missed you, too.”

“Thanks,” Hero said dryly, but Imelda waved her hand.

“No, I mean…for once, when you weren’t there, it was odd. And it wasn’t like when you married and lived all that way down in Chicago. It felt like…you were gone. Gone, gone. When we didn’t know where you were, I honestly thought you’d done something stupid. Hero, when I told you to move, I was just trying to shock you into doing something. I didn’t actually want you to move to another country.”

“I know that, Melly.”

Imelda gave a little sigh. “I wasn’t very nice to you when we were growing up.”

“No.”

“I was jealous.”

Hero’s eyes widened. “You were jealous of me? Why?”

“Because you were nice, and I didn’t know how to be like that. I was just born a bitch.”

“You are not a bitch,” Hero said, emphatically. “You tell it how it is.” She considered, then grinned. “Sometimes you might…take a scoop from the asshole jar.”

They both laughed.

“God, Melly, it feels so good to laugh.” Hero rubbed her face, her smile fading. “I messed up right from the beginning here.”

Imelda didn’t say anything for a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice was soft, kind. “Was he special?”

Hero nodded. “I’ve never met anyone like him, Melly, not even Tom, and God, I loved Tom. He was absolutely my best friend in the world, but Arturo…” She flushed. “I’ve never known…sex…like that. And the connection…God, Melly.” She could feel tears threatening again. “It just felt right, you know?”

Imelda sighed and took her sister’s hand. “Hero…I hate to say this because I can’t forgive him for leaving you at the hospital, but if you really feel that deeply about him, maybe there’s a chance?”

“I really want to believe that, but I don’t think there’s much hope.”

Arturo finished speaking to his Board after securing their agreement to change the name of the Villa Patrizzi. He saw they didn’t really care what he called it; they were just delighted that he’d acquired the last apartment, and as far as they were concerned, it was free of charge. He didn’t tell them that he’d paid Hero back everything she’d paid. The cost was nothing with all his millions. Peter had been annoyed but eventually let it go. “Hey, it’s your money, buddy.”

Arturo grinned. “So very passive-aggressive.”

Peter had laughed. “Fair enough. Listen, Philipo came out of his belfry to ask if you would go see him soon.”

Arturo’s uncle, Philipo, might run the Bachi Foundation, but he was a reclusive figure. Arturo could count on one hand the times he had seen his uncle in the last ten years. Peter saw his uncle more than he did, given that he was the liaison between Arturo and the trust fund his uncle handled.

Arturo was surprised now that he had been summoned, and when he and Peter drove over to see him, he was shocked to see his uncle so frail. He shot a look at Peter, who looked equally surprised.

“Uncle…how are you?”

Philipo waved his hand. “Old, my boy, so you can take that look off your face. I asked you to come here for one reason. Your fortieth birthday is a year away, but I have made the decision to release your trust fund early. There is a good chance I won’t make it to your birthday. Cancer.”

Arturo hadn’t even begun to process that news before Philipo continued.

“No, don’t look like that, I’ve had a good life.” He looked at Peter. “But there’s a caveat. Peter will now be the executor. I’ve not forgotten what drove your father to craft these conditions, the way you behaved.”

“Uncle…my trust is the least of my concerns right now,” Arturo replied. “There must be something we can do. I could take you to Sloan-Kettering to get some treatment.”

Philipo shook his head. “I’m not fighting this. I’m prepared for my death, Arturo. I just want to be with my Giovanna.”

The wistful look on the cranky old man’s face brought Hero flooding straight back into Arturo’s mind, and Philipo seemed to see right through him.

“Speaking of love…” A smile cracked the old man’s visage. “I hear you have a new amore. An American girl.”

Arturo cleared his throat, awkwardly, still trying to figure out how they could be discussing his love life after his uncle announced he was dying. “It’s…complicated, uncle.”

“Pah,” his uncle spat. “Uncomplicate it, if you love her. Do you love her?”

“Very much.” Arturo could sense Peter looking at him and shot him a look. “I’m going to try, uncle. Do I have your blessing?”

“What do I care? Yes, yes, have my blessing. Don’t waste love, Arturo.” Philipo fixed him with a stern, powerful look that had lost no ground to the disease that was killing him. “That also means don’t waste time, by the way.”

In the car on the way back to the office, Peter studied his friend. “You’re going to try and get Hero back?”

“Yes. She’s all I want, Peter. All I want. Nothing means anything without her.”

Peter was silent, and Arturo knew his friend was concerned. He shot him a half-smile. “Pete, I know what you’re thinking, but I’m older now. I know what I want.”

“I just don’t want you putting your life in the hands of someone you met two weeks ago, no matter how great she is in the sack.”

Arturo sighed. “Pete, it’s not just the sex with Hero…it’s her. I’ve never had this connection with anyone…not even Flavia. You know me, I don’t get involved, and yet when I met Hero, my world shifted. I realized what is important.”

“But you left her at the hospital.”

He winced. “Shock. Confusion. My dumbass male pride. I don’t give a fuck now. I want her back. I know I always get what I want, but I think she wants it, too, Peter. We’re good for each other. We’re right. I need her so much…I believe she also needs me.”

Peter said no more.

When Arturo got back to the office, he greeted Marcella and then went into his office and closed the door. Drawing in a lungful of air, he picked up his phone and flicked through his contacts to Hero’s number and pressed ‘Call.’ When he heard her gentle voice, nervous and shaking, he smiled. “It’s me. Can we talk?”

Chapter Sixteen

Arturo saw the tall, willowy blonde cross the restaurant, and was surprised when she stopped at his table. Her face, patrician and elegant, was beautiful, but her eyes were suspicious and unfriendly. “Signore Bachi?”

“That’s me.”

She held out her hand. “Imelda Donati.”

Hero’s sister. Arturo stood and shook her hand, frowning. “Is Hero okay? I’d heard she was recovering from her injuries—”

“She’s fine. She’s currently at home, sulking because I wouldn’t let her come. May I sit?”

“Of course.” He held out her chair for her, so many questions whirling around his mind. Had Hero changed her mind about seeing him? What did this woman mean by not letting Hero come?

Imelda Donati was studying him. “I can see what you’re thinking. She’s a twenty-eight-year-old woman. How do I get to keep her from doing whatever she wants? Signore Bachi…I wanted to see you first, to meet you, to see the man who got my sister into this mess she’s in.”

Arturo nodded. “In that case, let me waste none of your time. You’re here to see if I’m good enough for Hero. Let me set you straight. I’m not. I’m not good enough for her. But I’m going to do everything I can to become that man.”

Imelda raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “You should know, Signore Bachi, that I’m not easily swayed by a pretty face, even one as handsome as yours. It’ll take more than words to persuade me that you care for my sister. We nearly lost her when Tom and Beth died. When she woke after three months in a come to find her husband and daughter were dead, and I had to be the one to tell her that we buried them without her…I never want her to go through that again.”

“I swear to God, I will make sure she is cared for the rest of her life if she lets me,” Arturo said fiercely. “I don’t want to dictate what Hero does; I want her to be free, happy, and more than anything, safe.”

“Safe.” Imelda’s expression changed then, losing some of its blank ferociousness to fear. “Signore Bachi…”

“Please call me Arturo.”

“Arturo…did you know Hero was threatened before she was attacked?”

He nodded. “I just heard recently about some notes she got before the acci…attack. She’s confirmed it, then? She was attacked at the Villa Patrizzi?”

Imelda sighed. “Yes. A man grabbed her from behind, beat her and told her he wasn’t going to kill her ‘this time.’”

Arturo’s mouth turned to sand, but Imelda was still talking so he couldn’t lose himself in the horror or misery.

“She has no idea who he was or why he would target her. Arturo, if you care for her as much as you say you do, prove it. Help me find who is threatening my sister.”

“Anything.” Arturo reached across and grasped her hand, pressing firmly. “Anything.”

Imelda considered him, lightly turning her hand free. “Then perhaps you can tell me who this woman is in these photographs that Hero was sent?”

She placed the two photographs on the table in front of him. Arturo’s chest hurt when he stared down at them. Flavia. Hurt and terrified, then butchered. Looking so much like Hero…the meaning was clear. Whoever sent the notes—the killer—wanted to kill Hero, too. Why? He swallowed hard.

No. Not going to happen, you son-of-a-bitch. You don’t get to decide whether Hero lives or dies. No.

Arturo looked at Imelda, his eyes intense and serious.

“I would die before I let this happen to Hero. I would kill anyone who tried. You have my word, Imelda.”

Imelda studied him for a long moment, then stood to go. “You can see Hero. Tonight.” She dug in her purse for a scrap of paper. “Here’s the address. Don’t let me down, Signore Bachi.”

“I swear to God, I won’t. I won’t let you down. More importantly, I won’t disappoint Hero.”

Imelda told Hero that Arturo would be picking her up at eight. “Pack an overnight bag. You’re staying with him this evening.”

Happiness soared in Hero’s heart. “He said that?”

“No, I did. I allowed it.”

Hero grinned. “Pimp.”

“Stop it.”

“Big Pimp Sister.”

Imelda rolled her eyes. “Are you done?”

Hero hugged her sister. “I am. Thank you, thank you.”

“Hero…he seems like a good man, but you’re the best judge of that. I showed him those horrible pictures of that girl, Flavia. He agrees with me…you’re in danger. But like you, he has no idea who might be targeting you, because he doesn’t know who killed his ex-girlfriend. He’s convinced it’s the same man, and I agree. So, be careful. He’s arranged protection for you, and rather annoyingly for me, too, while I’m in the country.” Her mouth hitched in a smile. “He’s quite tenacious.”

Hero took a long soak in Fliss’s tub that afternoon and dressed carefully. Her entire body was tingling in anticipation of seeing Arturo, but she was still nervous as hell. When he’d called, she had been beyond elated, but Imelda told her to temper her excitement, and then she insisted on vetting Arturo before she allowed Hero to meet him. Only her newly established relationship with Imelda, as fragile as it was, had made Hero agree to the arrangement.

So now, in a couple of hours, she would see him. The thought of looking into his eyes and feeling his skin against hers…she hoped for it. God, how the hell was she supposed to keep her cool? Hero drew in a shaky breath, opened the window to the balcony of her room, and gazed out over Como. It had been a hot day, but now late in the afternoon, the heat began to dissipate, leaving a sultry feeling.

Hero slid into a light cotton dress of a pale pink and brushed her long hair out. Grinning to herself, she hoped it would get mussed up and tangled before the night was out. She closed her eyes and let the thought of his fingers stroking her bare back make her shiver with anticipation.

By the time eight o’clock came around, her stomach was in knots. Fliss and Imelda had gone out to dinner. Fliss taking one for the team, as she put it, so Hero was left alone to pace the apartment, getting more and more nervous.

When the intercom buzzed, she started a little, her heart hammering against her ribs. She paused before opening the door.

The first sight of him, so devastatingly handsome in a dark blue sweater and blue jeans, made her whole body tremble. His eyes gave away his own nerves, but as he opened his mouth to speak, Hero couldn’t stop herself. She threw herself into his arms and crushed her mouth against his. His arms clamped around her, his hand cradling the back of her head as he kissed her back, his mouth hungry. Hero’s tears wet both their faces.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Arturo’s voice broke as they paused for air, “God, I can’t tell you how sorry I am, Hero, il mia amore…please forgive me.”

“If you’ll forgive me, Turo. I’m so sorry about the Patrizzi—about everything.” She was weeping with joy at being in his arms. Arturo kissed her again until she couldn’t breathe.

“There’s nothing to forgive, my sweet darling, nothing. Hero…” He cupped her face in his hands. “I love you. Ti amo, Ti amo.”

“I love you, too…I know it’s stupid-fast, but I don’t care. I love you, Arturo Bachi.”

He groaned and picked her up. “We’ll go to my place, but for now, I can’t wait, my love. Where is your bedroom?”

She kissed him as he carried her to her room, then not wanting to wait, they stripped quickly and tumbled onto the bed. Arturo slid his hand down between her legs and smiled. “You’re already wet.”

“I’ve been thinking about you—about this—all afternoon. Turo, don’t wait. I want you inside of...oh!”

With a grin, Arturo thrust his engorged cock deep inside her, and Hero groaned with pleasure. As he thrust, he sucked on her nipples until they were rock-hard, stroked the soft skin of her belly tenderly, attending to every part of her body as if she were the most precious thing in the world. Hero wrapped her legs around his waist, her thighs taut against him, her hands on his face, his shoulders, his back as they made love. She couldn’t stop touching him, and when they came—together—they clung to each other as if the world were trying to tear them apart.

“Don’t let me go again,” she whispered, and he nodded, his eyes closed, his forehead against hers.

“Never again…never ever again…”

They dressed, and Arturo took her hand as they walked to his car. “I have a surprise for you.”

Her face was adorably flushed from making love, her hair mussed, her dark eyes shining at him as they drove out of town. Instead of turning south towards his home, he took the north shore road. Hero, her dark hair flying in the night air, laughed. “So, this surprise is…?”

“Patience.” He teased her, and she stuck her tongue out at him in jest. Arturo chuckled to himself. It had taken just seconds to get back to where they had been, but no, they seemed to have skipped several steps in their reacquaintance. “Sweet one, I know we have a lot to talk about, and I don’t want to miss any of it. But for tonight, can it just be you and I? Just…love?”

Hero touched his face. “I’d like nothing more. We have all the time in the world to talk.”

Arturo turned the car into the long driveway of the Villa Claudia and waited for Hero’s reaction. Hundreds of thousands of tiny white lights had been strewn around the rundown hotel’s terrace alongside a few braziers of open flame set along the grounds. Under the pergola, candles guttered on the stone table, and champagne was on ice with two glasses next to it.

Hero blinked a few times and looked at Arturo. He smiled at her. “Do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful, Turo, absolutely stunning. Wow…wow…”

Arturo stopped the car, and they got out. He offered her his hand, and slowly they walked up the stone steps to the terrace. Arturo showed her around the grounds first, and then they walked into the hotel. Hero moved around, running her hand over the old-fashioned fixtures, the walls with the peeling wallpaper. “It’s incredible,” she enthused, “so much character. Is it another hotel?”

Arturo, watching her carefully, shook his head. “No, this is a personal project of mine…and hopefully yours, too.”

Hero looked confused. “What do you mean?”

He indicated the hotel. “A home. Our home. If you would do me the honor.” He stepped closer to her and cradled her face in his palm. “Sposami, Hero Donati. I love you like I’ve never loved anyone else. Like I’ll never love any woman ever again. Marry me. Be my wife.”

Hero stared back at him. It’s too soon. We don’t know each other. This is crazy. All of these things played on a loop in her brain, but instead of saying them aloud, she just said one word.

“Yes.”

Chapter Seventeen

“Married.”

Hero nodded her head from side to side. “Sort of. Kind of. Yes. And no.”

Imelda looked at Fliss who shrugged, enjoying Imelda’s outrage. Imelda ground her teeth. “Hero Donati, are you married to Arturo Bachi or not?”

“Well…yes. Except not legally. Yet. We had our own ceremony last night at our future home. You should see it, Melly, Fliss—it’s incredible. It used to be a hotel and…”

“Hero, stop. Slow down.” Imelda rubbed her temples. “Are you trying to tell me Arturo proposed, you said yes, and you fake-married him?”

Hero sighed. “Yes, yes, and it wasn’t fake. It was real to us. As far as we’re concerned, we’re married, but we’re going to wait a while to make it official. So, we can, you know…get to know each other.”

“Right on, girl.” Fliss look impressed, but Imelda shook her head.

“You just go from one disaster to another, don’t you?” Imelda had clearly reached her limit. “I swear, you get more insane every day. Did you at least talk about some of the problems between you two? Or the fact that a psycho who has already killed once is now targeting you? Because of your relationship—sorry, marriage to Arturo Bachi? Do you think that’s all just going to magically go away because you got laid and got silly?”

“Wow.” Hero’s smile vanished. “Melly, do you think you’re talking to a three-year-old? Do you really think we didn’t talk about it all night? Between the fucking and the silliness, of course. Why do you think we’re waiting? Okay, so we’re going to call ourselves husband and wife, but we know the mountain we have to climb. I’ve climbed a few in my life already, you’ll recall. We know, Melly. But we’re not going to let it stop us from living our lives.”

“You may think that your love can conquer all. I’m sure Flavia thought so too before some maniac put a knife in her gut repeatedly. There’s someone out there that wants to do the same to you, Hero. Did you forget that?”

“Of course, I didn’t fucking forget that!” Hero exploded now, sick of her sister’s patronizing. “It’s me he wants to kill! Do you think I’m not aware of it every waking second? I might be murdered at any time, and I have no idea why. It could happen today, tomorrow, in five years’ time. Am I supposed to put my life on hold until then? This is a good thing for me, Melly. Can’t you see that? I love him.”

Imelda stared at her for a long time before stalking from the room. Hero and Fliss stared at each other for a few moments, then they heard Imelda come back. She had her suitcase with her. She didn’t look at Hero.

“Felicity, thank you again for letting me stay. You have been the most gracious hostess.”

Fliss nodded, her eyes wide, not wanting to get between the two sisters. Hero paled, looking at her sister. “Where are you going?”

“Back to the States. I’m clearly not needed here.”

“Mel…”

But Imelda was gone. The apartment echoed with the silence. Fliss put her arm around Hero. “Sorry, honey. Look, I have to say, I’m friggin’ delighted for you.”

Hero smiled at her, tears swimming in her eyes. “You are?”

“Hell, yes! I’m all about the romance. But then, I’m young and irresponsible. And it seems to me, Hero, after everything you’ve been through—you get to be young and irresponsible and live the dream. And Arturo Bachi…you get it, girl. Can I ask something personal?”

Fliss had such a mischievous look on her face that Hero had to nod. “Is he packing? I mean, he looks like he would be huge. Give a girl some details.”

Hero blushed, but laughed. “Arturo is very blessed in that department.”

“Length or girth?”

“Fliss!” But Hero smirked. “Both.”

“Lucky bitch.”

“Oh, I know. And the stamina of a twenty-year-old.”

Fliss groaned. “And the experience of a forty-year-old. Oh, damn you, Hero Donati, you hit the jackpot. And that face of his, too.”

“Yup. See this face?” Hero, cheered by Fliss’s banter, pointed at her smile. “Smug.”

“Smuggysmugginess.”

“You know it.” Hero looked at her watch. “Well, he’s coming to pick me up in a half-hour. Want to meet my husband officially?”

Arturo’s smile hadn’t left his face from the moment Hero said yes until now, when he told Peter. Peter sighed smiled and shook his head. “I might have known. You’re both so impetuous, you deserve each other. Congratulations, my friend. Did you settle everything else between you?”

“The apartment is water under the bridge. I should never have been so obsessed with it in the first place. It’s just bricks and mortar.”

Peter frowned. “No, it was your dream, Turo. Your business. But anyway, it doesn’t matter now. Did you tell her the name of the new hotel?”

“No, that’s a surprise for another day. I took her to Villa Claudia.”

“Marcella told me. She said she’d never strung so many Christmas lights at one time.”

Arturo laughed. “Marcie is a wonder. She’ll see my thanks in her paycheck. It looked amazing and the whole night was…unforgettable.”

Peter smiled. “I’ve never seen you this besotted. Not even with…Flavia.”

Arturo looked down at his coffee for a long moment. “If it’s possible, I love Hero even more. They could be sisters in looks, but they are a million miles apart in character. Hero is goofy and funny, Flavia was more serious and…” He trailed off.

“Self-involved.” Peter’s voice was harsh. “Time for the truth about Flavia, Arturo. We already know she was cheating on you.”

Arturo nodded, reluctantly accepting what he’d always dodged in his memories. “Flav used her looks to get whatever she wanted. Hero’s not like that. Not even slightly. She doesn’t use people for any reason.”

Peter studied his friend. “But Flav’s killer is now targeting Hero. Which leads me to ask…why didn’t he kill her at the Patrizzi? He had her alone and vulnerable and, Jesus, the girl’s tiny.”

“I don’t know. Unless…”

“Unless what?”

“No. Never mind.” Arturo sighed. “Look, I have to go pick her up…she’ll be moving into my place as soon as she’s ready. Which I hope is now, but I’m trying to hold back.”

Peter didn’t smile. “Sure, I could tell with this whole ‘we’re husband and wife’ thing.”

“Unofficially,” but Arturo grinned. “I cannot wait until we do make it official.”

“Turo.”

Arturo shrugged. “I’m in love, brother. I’m not apologizing for that.”

Hero was stuffing the last of her clothes into her case while Fliss sat on the guest bed, pouting. “I’m going to miss having you here.”

“I won’t be far, and I’ll still come help out in the store. If Arturo thinks I’m going to be a stay-at-home wifey, he’ll have another thing coming. And hey, when we start on Villa Claudia, I’ll need your artistic skills.”

Her cell phone rang, and Fliss hopped off the bed. “I’ll give you some privacy.”

Hero was smiling when she answered the phone, not even checking who was calling. “Hello?”

“Hero Donati?”

“That’s me.”

A low chuckle. Immediately Hero’s hackles went up. “Can I help you?”

“Can you help me? Well, let’s see, beautiful.”