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And more and more, Mia had felt as if without that, her life was on hold.
‘Papà?’
‘Sì, caro?’
‘Can I have that racing car?’ Gianni pointed predictably at a bright red sports car with Ferrari emblazoned on the side.
‘Not that exact one, but maybe we can—’
She cleared her throat, shooting Rocco a pointed look. His grin widened, and her heart did that crazy thing again.
‘We will discuss it when you’re older, mio figlio.’
‘Much, much older. Like when you’re in your eighties,’ she said under her breath, earning herself a low laugh from Rocco.
It was getting ridiculous how she’d begun to live for that laugh. For those smiles. Hell, how she’d begun to live for him full stop.
She didn’t need to search deep to know that she had far surpassed the infatuation she’d felt for him three years ago.
Hell, who was she kidding? She’d fallen in love with Rocco somewhere over the Indian Ocean on the way back from Macau. So why did that make her heart twist each time she examined it?
Because she had no clue what he felt for her. He was seemingly content with their life together. The sex was beyond world-class. Gianni was thriving. Caterina’s health had improved dramatically over the past few months.
And yet, every now and then she caught that tension within Rocco. And for the life of her she couldn’t put her finger on it.
Her thoughts were still darting about when they eventually made their way to the VIP lounge. While Rocco and Gianni remained at the balcony to watch the race get under way, Mia made her way to a quiet corner of the lounge with her glass of mineral water.
From there, she watched, half bemused, as several women attempted to approach Rocco and were coolly rebuffed. Little did they know that no one came between Rocco Vitelli and his son. Did that commitment extend unconditionally to her? Or was she living on borrowed time until the verdict proved her guilt or innocence?
Unable to stew in the questions that had been plaguing her for weeks, Mia rose and made her way to the ladies’ room. Exiting the cubicle, she stumbled to a halt when her gaze clashed with none other than Allegra Vitelli’s.
Mia had been shocked when, on her return from Macau, she had been informed that Allegra had moved out. Rocco had seemed completely unconcerned by the development and, for a second, she’d wondered whether he’d orchestrated it.
She hadn’t questioned it, had even been secretly relieved to be free of the woman who now glared at her with seething venom.
‘I thought that was you, practising your...what do you call it?...chapel mouse stance up there in the VIP lounge.’
‘It’s church mouse, and you should’ve stopped by to say hello. I don’t bite,’ Mia replied as she walked calmly to the sink, washed her hands and reapplied her lip gloss.
The other woman’s fury visibly grew. ‘I don’t exchange pleasantries with peasants,’ she spat out, her eyes glittering like crystals.
‘Well, then, don’t let me stop you from leaving me alone.’
‘Trust me I will, right after I set you straight on a few things.’
‘Such as?’
‘Did you not wonder why I left Palermo so suddenly?’
Of course she had, but Mia wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of confirming it so she busied herself fixing her hair.
‘Not going to ask? Don’t worry, I’m feeling generous. You see, for starters, your husband paid me a lot of money. Three million euros, to be exact.’
Mia’s heart hammered in her ears. ‘What for?’
‘To buy my silence. But you see, I no longer need Vitelli money.’ She flashed a diamond the size of a small country at Mia, her scarlet lips parting in a smug smile. ‘I’m engaged to a charming French count and in the process of moving to France. So really, I’ve nothing left to lose any more.’
‘What does that mean?’ Mia asked, her stomach dipping wildly in alarm because all of a sudden she was one hundred per cent sure she didn’t want to hear what the woman was dying to spill.
