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“A detective is going to come and talk to you tonight. Once you’ve had time to calm down.”
Jane looked at him with a mix of consternation and annoyance. “I am calm. And I have a plane to catch.”
Carlo’s eyes narrowed. “A plane?”
“Back home. I don’t live here anymore.”
Carlo put a hand beneath her elbow. “Cara, we need to talk.”
Jane swallowed, her throat dry. Fragments of the revelations the man had made came to her. His father was alive? It was distinctly not what Carlo had told her when they’d first met. “Yes. I guess we do.”
He put an arm around her shoulders and guided her through the square. As they approached one of his fleet of luxury vehicles, Jane stopped walking. Her heart was racing and her forehead had beaded with perspiration in a delayed reaction to the second attack she’d experienced in less than a week.
“Come with me,” he said quietly yet with firm insistence. Jane looked up at him, her fear obvious. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”
She wasn’t sure she’d ever feel safe again. “Can we just go somewhere here?”
Carlo looked at the square and then leaned down to whisper in her ear, “I’m hardly inconspicuous, Jane.”
She followed his gaze, and realised a crowd of people were watching them. Several were taking photographs or footage with their phones. “Everyone’s staring.”
His laugh was a harsh sound of frustration. “Yes. And we need privacy for this conversation.”
Jane walked beside him towards the car. Her legs felt strange beneath her. Shaky and hollow. As they approached his limousine, he waved aside one of his drivers, so that he could open the door for Jane himself. She slid into the luxurious back seat, and kept her hands gripped firmly in her lap. When Carlo sat beside her, she turned to face him.
She crossed her arms and jutted out her lower lip. She felt a little like a belligerent child. “I want to go back to London.”
He reached across and lifted her sunglasses from her face, so that he could properly look into her eyes. What he saw in them gave him little pleasure. The emotions swirling throughout her were obvious in her tormented gaze. He placed the sunglasses into his breast pocket and reached across for her suitcase. As he buckled it into place, his hand grazed her thighs, and Jane flinched.
“Sorry. It was an accident,” he demurred. She was like a cat on a hot tin roof, and he could absolutely not blame her.
Jane stared at him long and hard, then nodded. She settled back into the leather of the car, and stared out of her window. Her mind was like a child after a birthday party; it would not stop. She had been attacked because of Carlo. Certainly, that had been the root cause of the events at the Square, but more than likely, it was also the reason she’d been attacked in London. Had Carlo known? Or suspected? And Liz, her next-door neighbour in Kensington, had arrived to rescue her at the precise moment she’d needed it. No way was that a coincidence.
And Carlo had masterminded everything. Not, of course, the attacks, but everything else.
She dug her fingernails into her palms to stop herself from visibly reacting. The car pulled out into heavy Roman traffic and began to drive. She recognised the route; it was the same one her cab had taken earlier that day.
By the time it eased to a stop outside Carlo’s luxurious villa, Jane was shaking. And the last th
ing she felt like doing was managing herself through another confrontation with her dynamic, demanding ex-husband.
“I need some time on my own to think,” she whispered, when he came around to her side of the car and held the door open.
Carlo’s face clearly showed his concern. “Come inside, bella,” he murmured. When she didn’t move, he bent down and lifted her, cradling her against his chest. Jane couldn’t stop the sound of grief that escaped her. She pushed a fist against her mouth to try to quieten herself.
She didn’t want to be weak around Carlo anymore.
“Put me down,” she said firmly, surprised when her voice came out loud and clear.
Carlo heard it too, and her tone convinced him to slow his speed. He looked down at her thoughtfully.
“You are shaking. You need a bath.”
“You are not calling the shots here.” She sucked in a deep breath. “A cup of tea will suffice.”
He nodded, but continued to carry her to the downstairs lounge room. He placed her in the middle of the sofa, and then walked towards the doorway. As he opened it, he turned back to her. “Stay there.”
He returned a few minutes later, clutching a mug in one hand. He passed it to Jane carefully, and said, unnecessarily, “It’s hot.”
