But she didn’t think she could keep this up, working long hours and barely getting by. And it was only going to get harder. The thought made her want to drop to the floor in a heap and cry.
Isabella leaned against the kitchen wall. One day she’d get out of this nightmare. She weakly closed her eyes, ignoring her boss’s reprimand to hurry. Soon she’d have enough money to fly back to America. She’d start over and maybe get it right the next time. If there was one thing she could rely on it was learning from her mistakes.
Antonio Rossi surveyed the small sidewalk café. After searching all weekend he was going to face the woman who had almost destroyed him and his family. He strode to an empty table and sat down, his lethal grace concealing the anticipation of battle that was racing through his veins. This time he wasn’t going to fall for Isabella’s big blue eyes and innocent beauty. He would be in command.
He leaned back, his legs sprawled under the tiny table. Sliding dark sunglasses on his nose, Antonio looked at the paint-chipped, rusted furniture. Of all the places he’d thought she would be, he mused as he glimpsed the ratted, faded awning, he hadn’t pictured a dirty little café on the wrong side of Rome.
Why was Isabella living in this filth and poverty? It didn’t make sense. He had opened his world to her. She had lived in his penthouse apartment and shared his bed. She had had his servants to take care of her.
And she’d thrown it all away when she’d slept with his brother.
The knowledge still ate away at him. He had provided Isabella with everything, but it hadn’t been enough. No matter how much he’d given, how hard he’d worked, he hadn’t been able to compare with his brother. It had always been that way.
Still, he had been blindsided by Giovanni’s drunken confession six months ago. Had responded by casting Isabella and Giovanni out of his life. It had been swift and vicious, but they had deserved much worse.
Isabella stepped into his view. Tension gripped Antonio, and he braced himself for the emotional impact as he watched her precariously balance two cappuccinos on a serving tray. He had prepared himself for it, but seeing her was like a punch to his gut as she walked past him.
She wore a thin black T-shirt, a skimpy denim skirt and scuffed black flats, but she still had the power to draw his attention. His gaze lingered on her bare legs. He remembered how they’d felt wrapped around his hips as he drove into her welcoming body.
Antonio exhaled slowly and purged the image from his mind. He would not be distracted by her sexual allure or her innocent face. He had made the mistake of lowering his guard with her. He had trusted Isabella and got close to her. That wouldn’t happen again.
Antonio grimly watched her serve the couple, noticing that she looked different. The last time he’d seen her, she had been asleep in his bed, flushed and naked, her long blonde hair fanning like a halo across the white silk pillow.
Isabella now looked pale and sickly. Her hair fell in a limp ponytail. The curves that had used to make him forget his next thought had diminished. She was bony and frail.
She looked terrible. A cruel smile flickered on the edge of his mouth. Antonio hoped she’d been to hell and back. He was prepared to take her there again.
He’d once believed she was sweet and innocent, but it had all been a lie. Her blushes and slow smiles had disarmed him and he had been convinced that she wanted only him. But her open affection had been a smokescreen.
It turned out that Isabella was a master of the mind game and outplayed the most conniving women in his world, who would lie, cheat and bed-hop to get closer to Gio, heir to the Rossi fortune. Isabella had seduced Antonio with her angelic beauty. Made him believe that he was her first choice. Her only choice. But all that time she had been working her magic on Giovanni.