The Legend of de Marco

Half without thinking Gracie said, ‘I’m Gracie. Gracie O’Brien.’

His mouth took on a disdainful curve. ‘And? Your relationship to Steven Murray?’

Gracie swallowed. She was afraid if Rocco de Marco knew she and Steven were related he would expect her to know where he was for sure. She could feel the blush rising even as she formulated the words. She’d never been able to lie to save her life. ‘He’s … he’s an old friend.’

Rocco’s eyes went to her mouth and he said mockingly, with a chill kind of menace, ‘Liar.’

Gracie shook her head. Protecting her twin brother was so ingrained she couldn’t fight it. And didn’t want to. He’d protected her over the years as much as she’d protected him. Just in a different way. ‘That’s all he is. An old friend. We go back … a long way.’

Rocco’s mouth twisted and disgust etched his features into a grimace. ‘You go back to a double bed in a squat somewhere.’

Gracie paled at the very thought. Bile rose. She shook her head more strongly. ‘No. No.’ She stopped short of saying That’s disgusting, and closed her mouth. ‘Really … it’s not like that.’ She’d half risen out of the chair and her hand was out, as if that could reinforce her words. She sat back down abruptly.

Rocco folded his arms across his chest, but that only brought her attention to the awesome strength in his arms, the bunched muscles. She felt curiously light-headed all of a sudden, but put it down to the fact that she hadn’t eaten all day.

‘I’ll tell you what it’s like, shall I?’ Rocco didn’t wait for her to answer. ‘You’re Steven Murray’s accomplice, and both of you were stupid enough to think that you could come back to the scene of the crime to recover something important. What was it?’ he continued. ‘A flash drive? That’s the only thing small enough to have escaped our searches.’

Before she knew what was happening Rocco was right in front of her, hauling her out of the chair. Amidst her confusion and shock Gracie was aware of the fact that his touch on her arms was light, almost gentle this time. The contrast of that touch to the fierce energy crackling around them made her even more confused. But he was squatting at her feet now, running big hands up her legs.

It took a second for the fact to register that he was frisking her. His hands were now creeping up the insides of her legs. She reacted violently, jerking away, hands slapping everywhere, catching Rocco’s silky head. He cursed and stood up, catching hold of her arms again with his hands. This time he wasn’t gentle.

‘You little wildcat. Hold still.’

Holding her captive with one hand, he quickly delved into her pockets with his free one and turned them out. The speed with which he moved made Gracie feel dizzy. Soon she was standing there with the linings of pockets sticking out and the disconcerting feeling of his hands probing close to her skin.

This time when she jerked back he let go, and she almost stumbled. She felt violated—but not in the way she should have. It was in some illicitly thrilling way.

‘You …’ she spluttered. ‘I’d prefer to be dragged down to the police station than have your hands mauling me.’ A sudden realisation sliced through the frantic pulse in her blood and she asked faintly, ‘Have you called the police?’

Rocco stood back. His face was flushed. With anger, Gracie had to assume, not liking the way her blood pooled heavily between her legs even as she struggled to concentrate. He had gone very still.

He shook his head and with clear reluctance admitted, ‘I haven’t called the police because I don’t want the news that I employed a rogue trader to get out. It could ruin my reputation. Image and trust are everything in this game. If my clients knew I’d jeopardised their precious investments I’d be finished within days as rumour and innuendo spread.’

For a second Gracie felt nothing but abject relief flowing into her veins, but the cruel smile on Rocco’s face made her blood run cold again.

‘Don’t assume for one second that not calling the police gives your lover a reprieve. Do you think an overworked police force or a fraud squad can be bothered looking for one man?’ He shook his head and crossed his arms. ‘I have people looking for Steven right now, and they have infinitely more sophisticated resources at their disposal. It’s only a matter of time.’

Fear constricted Gracie. ‘What’ll happen to him?’

Rocco’s face was hard. ‘After he’s returned every cent of the money? Then I will blacklist him from every financial institution in the world and hand him over to the fraud squad whilst protecting my own anonymity. He could be looking at ten years in jail. I have used my own money to bridge the gap caused by his stolen funds. He owes me personally now.’

Gracie felt weak. She groped to find the chair behind her and sat down heavily. Her brother would never survive another day in jail. He’d told her fervently when he’d got out that he would prefer to die than end up there again.

Rocco frowned. For the first time this evening he could swear the woman in front of him wasn’t acting. She looked like a car crash victim. He had to resist the urge to ask if she wanted a drink.

She was looking at the ground. Not at him. Rocco wanted to go to her and tip her chin up. He didn’t like how disconcerted he felt not being able to look into her eyes. And then she did look up, and her eyes were like two huge dark pools, made even darker against the sudden pallor of her skin.

She opened her mouth. He could see her throat work. She shook her head and finally said, ‘I can’t … I can’t lie to you. This is too serious. I haven’t told you the truth about Steven.’

Rocco felt the hardness return. He ruthlessly pushed down the weakness which had invaded him for a moment.

‘I’m getting bored waiting for it. You have one minute to speak or I will hand you over to the police as an accomplice and deal with the consequences.’

Gracie’s head was too tangled up with fear and shock for her even to try and persist in making Rocco de Marco believe she wasn’t related to Steven. His casual mention of jail had decimated her defences completely. Any faint hope she’d been clinging onto that there must be some kind of mistake had also gone. Gracie knew with a defeated feeling that Steven wouldn’t have run if it wasn’t true. He must have been trying to play for stakes way outside his league. Was that why he’d gone for the job in the first—?

‘Gracie!’

Her feverish thoughts stuttered to a stop and she looked up at Rocco. Her name on his lips did funny things to her insides. For a moment she’d forgotten she was under his intense scrutiny. Illicit heat snaked through her abdomen, and in the midst of her turmoil she couldn’t believe he was affecting her so easily.

Taking a deep breath, she stood up, her legs wobbling slightly. ‘Steven is not my lover and I’m not his accomplice … He’s my brother.’

‘Go on.’

Rocco’s voice could have sliced through steel. He’d crossed his arms again and her gaze skittered over those bunched muscles.

Gracie shrugged minutely, unaware of how huge her eyes looked in her small face.

‘That’s it. He’s my brother and I’m worried about him. I was looking for him.’ She wasn’t sure why, but she didn’t want to let Rocco know that he was her twin brother. That information suddenly felt very intimate.

Rocco’s jaw clenched, and then he said slowly, ‘You expect me to believe that? After everything I’ve just witnessed and after I saw you at the benefit last week? You were both cooking up this plan together.’

Gracie shook her head. ‘No. It wasn’t like that, I swear. I only went with Steven because—’ She stopped. She couldn’t explain about her brother’s inherent insecurity and how badly he needed to fit in. And also she’d realised now why he’d been so abnormally anxious for the past few weeks—way more than she would have expected for new job nerves. She felt sick.

Rocco filled in the silence, ‘Because you and he had a grand plan to do some inside trading and make yourselves a million euros without anyone noticing.’ He emitted a curt laugh. ‘For God’s sake, you couldn’t even help yourself stealing food from the buffet!’

Gracie flushed bright red. ‘I took that food for my next-door neighbour. She’s old and Polish, and always talks about when she used to be rich and go to balls in Poland. I thought they would be a nice treat for her.’

This time Rocco did laugh out loud, head thrown back, exposing his strong throat. Gracie burned with humiliation, her disadvantaged upbringing stinging like an invisible tattoo on her skin.

Rocco finally stopped laughing and speared her with those dark eyes again. Gracie fought not to let him see how much he affected her. It scared her, because ever since her mother had left them, and then their nan had turned her back on them, leaving them to the mercy of Social Services, Gracie had allowed very few people close enough to affect her—apart from her brother.

Becoming slightly desperate, she flung out a hand. ‘I barely passed my O-level Maths. I wouldn’t know a stock from a share if it jumped up and bit me. Steven is the smart one.’

‘And yet,’ Rocco went on with relentless precision, ‘you were with him last week, flaunting yourself in front of me. You knew who I was.’

Gracie sucked in an outraged breath that had a lot to do with the memory of how transfixed she’d been by him that night. ‘I was not flaunting myself. You came over to me.’

At this Rocco de Marco flushed a dull red, and for the first time Gracie had a sense that she’d gained a point. But any sign of discomfiture was quickly erased and his face became a bland mask again. Bland, but simmering—if that was possible.

Quickly, before he could launch another attack, Gracie admitted reluctantly, ‘I was with Steven because he was self-conscious about going alone.’

Rocco’s lip curled. ‘I have yet to believe that you are even Steven Murray’s sister. Why does he have a different surname?’

Gracie shifted uncomfortably and knew she must look pathetically guilty. She looked down. ‘Because … because he fell out with our father and took our mother’s maiden name.’ It wasn’t entirely untrue.

‘Not to mention the fact that you look nothing like him.’

Gracie looked up to see Rocco’s dark gaze travelling up her body, over her chest to her face. She could feel the heat rising. ‘No,’ she snapped. ‘I know I look nothing like him. But not all—’ She stopped abruptly, realising she’d been about to say twins. She amended it. ‘Not all families resemble each other. He looks like my mother and I look like my father.’