Giancarlo. Gio.
It can’t be. It’s impossible.
Yet he’d been staying at Valenti’s flagship hotel and knew several of the staff, including the manager, very well.
The fine hairs at her nape prickled and stood on end.
Why hadn’t she thought before about what Gio was short for? She and her stupid desire not to give away too much about herself. She should have been wondering about him.
If she’d asked would he have told her the truth?
Of course not. He’d manipulated her, so skilfully she’d felt as if she’d made all the choices, yet all the time he’d played her like a fish on a hook, reeling her in. And it hadn’t taken long!
Stella gasped as pain knifed her chest.
She wanted to deny it, pretend this was some innocent coincidence. But she was done with self-delusion. Grabbing the envelope, she stumbled inside.
She didn’t consciously head to the kitchen but suddenly she was there, in the bright, cheerful room where she and Gio had cooked together. Where yesterday they’d made fiercely passionate and exquisitely satisfying love.
He’d lifted her up onto the island bench, pulling her to the very edge so he could feast on her, driving her to mindless ecstasy with his mouth and hands. Then, before her shudders had died away, he’d joined her and taken them both to the fiery pinnacle again.
But it hadn’t been making love, not for him. It was simply sex. Worse, sex as a tool, because Giancarlo Valenti, Gio, was using her.
She didn’t know why but she was determined to find out. Thiscouldn’tbe a coincidence.
Ripping the envelope, she let the contents slide onto the countertop. The rusty tang of blood filled her mouth and she realised she’d bitten down hard on her lip.
There was her image, staring up at her. And another, and another. Multiple photos of her, sometimes with her family and a couple from the company website.
Stella planted her hand on the counter, bracing herself, fearing she’d lose her breakfast.
Steeling herself, she spread the contents. There were recent photos of her father, brothers and sisters-in-law. Even one of her friend Ginevra.
There were financial reports on Barbieri Holdings. An analysis of property her father had scoped for possible acquisition. Details of her brothers’ debts, even bigger than she’d realised.
And a report on her. Everything from the date and place of her birth to the school she’d attended and the date of her mother’s death.
Her grip on the countertop tightened, breath sawing from her lungs as she skim-read. Her move to Italy. Her interests. Friends. Work history. The details of her flight to Rome last week. A list of men she’d dated in the last few years. Even some events they’d attended.
Stella had heard people talk about feeling violated after a robbery, but had never truly appreciated how that felt. It was indescribable. These investigators had dug into her life, unearthing not just publicly available information but things she hadn’t realised anyone could know about. Then they laid it bare for Gio’s perusal.
Because she was Alfredo Barbieri’s daughter.
It didn’t matter that she had nothing to hide. This was herprivatelife and he’d paid someone to desecrate it.
That was clear from the cover letter, explaining that the investigators had done as thorough a job as possible in the timeframe he’d allowed. A more comprehensive dossier could be compiled with extra time.
With each word she read Stella felt crackling ice spread until it felt as if she’d frozen solid. Except for the exquisite pain deep in her chest.
Gio, the man she’d trusted, who’d come to mean so much, had spied on her, trying to unearth… What? Secrets? Weaknesses?
Her laughter was suspiciously like a sob. He knew her weaknesses. Kindness and the glint of laughter in grey eyes. Passion that made her wish for things she’d never dared hope for.
To think she’d rejected her father’s demand that she accept an arranged marriage because she wanted to hold out for love! She’d actually begun falling for Gio, letting her stupid heart control her head.
She didn’t think she’d trust a man again, or her own judgement of the opposite sex. For too long she’d been used and courted as a shortcut to her father’s wealth and power. Now she’d been used again, by his enemy.
With a single violent sweep of her arm she scattered the papers to the floor.
