Mistresses: Blackmailed For His Pleasure. Annie West

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      “Now is the perfect time,” she said in a voice pitched low. “Tell me how long you’ve known this woman.”

      “We spent last night on the yacht.” And in case his aunt had any doubts what he meant, he added, “In the same bed. She hadn’t known any man before me.”

      She treated him to a long, assessing look before spitting out a torrent of curses directed at the male of the species. “You are sure of this?”

      “Positive,” he said. “She is Papa’s personal secretary. That is all.”

      Yet even as he said it he knew Gemma was more to his father than that. There were the unexplained weekends spent in Milan and the small fortune that Cesare had given Gemma.

      A man didn’t hand over that kind of money to a stranger unless there was a very good reason. Gemma had never offered an explanation for her good fortune. She couldn’t even look him in the eyes when the subject was brought up.

      Stefano knew she was hiding something that involved her and his father. But what?

      He’d visited Milan shortly after his mamma had voiced her suspicions about his papa straying, but all he’d discovered was that his papa and Gemma had made weekly visits to a lavish hotel that was owned by an old friend of his papa’s. A friend who claimed to have no idea what business brought Cesare Marinetti and his young secretary to Milan so often.

      His father certainly incited loyalty in his friends and employees!

      “Cesare was supposed to be in recovery by now,” his aunt said as the dinner hour in the hospital came around and the smells of overcooked food filled the room. “Why is it taking them so long?”

      “I wish I knew.”

      Unease curdled in his gut. Something must have gone wrong. Stefano knew it couldn’t be good when the doctor strode into the waiting room an hour later, his scrubs damp with sweat, his expression a mask of concern.

      “Signor Marinetti?” he asked.

      “Here,” he said and rose. “How is my father?”

      The doctor motioned to a door. “Please. Let’s go in here where we can talk in private.”

      Stefano took his aunt’s arm and guided her into the private room. He’d faced many situations where he had to keep a cool head, but he’d never felt this nervous.

      The surgeon didn’t mince words. “The heart surgery went well. But as we were closing the graft site on his leg, your father suffered colpo apoplettico.”

      His aunt let out a keening sound that mirrored Stefano’s fear for his father’s recovery. The doctor’s grave expression told Stefano the stroke was severe.

      “How is he now?” Stefano asked.

      The doctor’s lips thinned a fraction, and Stefano guessed the man was trying to soften the blow. “Unconscious. We have stabilized him, but we have no idea of the damage done until he wakes up.”

      If he woke from the coma. The back of Stefano’s throat went dry at the thought.

      Time. His father needed time to heal before they could begin to think of any treatment.

      “When can we see him?” Stefano asked.

      “As soon as he’s stable and moved into intensive care. Get some rest.” The doctor left without another word, closing the door behind him to afford them continued privacy.

      Stefano paced the smaller room, his emotions on the razor’s edge. He’d never felt as sad and alone as he did now.

      “I’m not leaving the hospital tonight, but I’ll have my driver return you to your hotel.”

      “You will call me if you need me?” his aunt asked.

      “Yes, of course.”

      This complication made Stefano more aware of his own morbidity.

      He was bombarded with dire predictions.

      His papa could die.

      As he’d suspected all along, his papa wouldn’t return to his post at Marinetti anytime soon. His papa’s shipyard was in his sole control, along with all the promises and problems he’d run from all his life.

      If it was any other failing business he’d acquired, he’d liquidate it immediately. But many of the men in his father’s employ had worked there all their lives. Their chance for finding another job would not be easy.

      Stefano was ruthless in business. But he wasn’t heartless. He couldn’t toss good men out onto the street.

      Everyone at Marinetti was his responsibility now.

      And Gemma. He needed her help more than ever. How the hell did she fit into his papa’s life? How would she fit into his?

      Time would tell.

      Stefano settled into a chair that would surely give him a backache by dawn and placed a call to the yacht. “Have it brought in to port in the morning but do not let Miss Cardone leave.”

      He and Gemma must talk.

      He had to know why she and his father had gone to Milan. He must know just what her role was in his papa’s life before he could think of where she belonged in his.

      Early the next morning, Gemma stood outside Cesare’s room and watched him through the observation glass in the intensive care unit. Her nerves twitched with each bleep, whoosh and click of the intensive care machines. Her heart broke to see the strong man lying so still, his gaze trained toward the ceiling.

      She longed to sit beside him for a while and just talk like they had countless times. But nobody was allowed in his room.

      Nobody but family and they weren’t around.

      “May I help you?” a nurse said, startling her.

      “Where is his family?” she asked, annoyed that Stefano wasn’t here by his father’s side.

      “His son and sister just left a few minutes ago,” the nurse said, and Gemma wondered if they had gone out for breakfast. Perhaps Stefano was en route to his ship to fetch her. Wouldn’t he be surprised, and not in a good way?

      “I expect they will return within the hour,” the nurse said. “Are you a friend of the family?”

      “I’m Cesare’s personal secretary. How is he?”

      “He suffered a stroke during surgery but he is stable now,” the nurse said.

      “His prognosis?”

      The nurse shook her head and moved away, leaving Gemma to wonder if she was refusing to answer or if Cesare’s condition was that dire. She feared it was the latter.

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