Larenzo's Christmas Baby

The man eyed her scornfully. ‘Downstairs, at the moment. But he’ll spend the rest of his life in prison.’

Emma’s mouth dropped open. Prison? What on earth was he talking about? Were these awful men police?

‘Come on,’ the man commanded her tersely, and with her mind spinning she followed the men downstairs.

Larenzo stood in the centre of the sitting room, his eyes blazing silver fire as he caught sight of her.

‘You are all right? They didn’t hurt you?’

‘Shut up!’ The words were like the crack of a gunshot as one of the men slapped Larenzo across the face. He didn’t even blink, although Emma could see the red imprint of the man’s hand on Larenzo’s cheek.

‘They didn’t hurt me,’ she said quietly and the man turned on her.

‘Enough. Neither of you are to speak to one another. Who knows what you might try to communicate?’

‘She has nothing to do with any of it,’ Larenzo said, and he sounded scornful, as if he were actually in control of the situation. With an icy ripple of shock Emma saw that he was handcuffed. ‘Do you actually think I’d tell a woman, my housekeeper no less, anything of value?’

The words, spoken so derisively, shouldn’t have hurt. She knew, intellectually at least, that he was trying to protect her, although from what she had no idea. Even so they did hurt, just as the look Larenzo gave her, a look as derisive as those of the carabinieri, did.

‘She’s nothing to me.’

‘Even so, she’ll be taken in for questioning,’ the man replied shortly and Larenzo’s eyes blazed once more.

‘She knows nothing. She’s American. Do you want the consulate all over this?’

‘This,’ the man snapped, poking a finger into Larenzo’s chest, ‘is the biggest sting we’ve had in Sicily for twenty years. I don’t give a damn about the consulate.’

They’d been speaking Italian, and, while Emma had caught the gist of it, she still didn’t understand what was going on.

‘Please, let me get dressed properly,’ she said, her voice coming out croaky as she stumbled over the Italian. ‘And then I’ll go with you and answer any questions you might have.’

The man turned to glare at her with narrowed eyes. Then he gave a brief nod, and, with another policeman accompanying her, Emma went upstairs to her bedroom. The man waited outside the room while she pulled on underwear, jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and a fleece. She brushed her teeth and hair, grabbed her purse and her passport, and then, just in case, she took her backpack and put a change of clothes, her camera, and her folder of photographs in it. Who knew when she’d be able to return? Just the realisation sent another icy wave of terror crashing through her.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, she left the room. The man accompanied her downstairs; the front door was open and she saw several cars outside. Larenzo was being shoved into one. She turned to the man.

‘Where are we going?’

‘Palermo.’

‘Palermo? But that’s nearly three hours away—’

The man smiled coldly. ‘So it is. I’m afraid you’ll have to be so inconvenienced.’

Three hours later Emma sat in an interrogation room at the anti-Mafia headquarters of Palermo’s police department. She’d been given a paper cup of cold coffee and made to wait until finally the man who had made the arrest back at Larenzo’s villa came and sat down across from her, putting his elbows on the chipped tabletop.

‘You know your boyfriend is in a lot of trouble.’

Emma closed her eyes briefly. She was aching with exhaustion, numb with confusion and fear, and she missed Larenzo desperately even as she forced herself to remember she hadn’t actually known him all that well. Until last night. Until he held me in his arms and made me feel cherished and important. ‘He’s not my boyfriend.’

‘Whoever he is. He’s going to prison, probably for the rest of his life.’

Emma licked her dry lips. ‘What...what has he done?’

‘You don’t know?’

‘I have no idea. All I know is he was—is—CEO of Cavelli Enterprises.’ And that when he kissed her her mind emptied of thoughts. He made her body both buzz and sing. But then words began to ricochet through her, words Larenzo had spoken to her last night. It’s my own fault. What had he done?

The man must have seen something of this in her face for he leaned forward. ‘You know something.’

‘No.’

‘I’ve been doing this for a long time.’ He sounded almost kind. ‘I can tell, signorina. I can tell when someone is lying.’

‘I’m not lying. I don’t know anything. I don’t even know what Cavelli Enterprises did.’

‘And if I told you Larenzo Cavelli was involved with the Mafia? You wouldn’t know anything about that?’

Bile rose in her throat and she swallowed hard. ‘No, I certainly wouldn’t.’

‘It didn’t concern you, the amount of security he had for that villa?’

She thought of his insistence on locking the doors, the elaborate security system. ‘No.’

‘Don’t play dumb with me, signorina.’

‘Look, maybe I was dumb, but I really didn’t know.’ Emma’s voice rose in agitation. ‘Plenty of people have detailed security systems.’

‘Cavelli never said anything to you?’

Again his words raced through her mind. The grief on his face, the resignation she’d heard in his voice, the sense that everything was over, that this was his last night. He must have known they were coming to arrest him. He must have realised his activities had been discovered. Even so she couldn’t reconcile the man she’d known, however briefly, with the Mafia. And yet as tender a lover as Larenzo had been, he was still virtually a stranger. She had no idea what he’d got up to when he’d been away from the villa. No idea at all.

‘Signorina?’

‘Please,’ Emma said wearily. ‘I was his housekeeper. I barely saw him. I don’t know anything.’

Eight endless hours later she was finally released from the police. When she asked about returning to the villa, the man at the desk shook his head.

‘The villa is being searched by the police. Everything there is potential evidence. You won’t be able to go back for some time.’

And so Emma headed out into the busy streets of Palermo, mopeds and sports cars speeding by, her mind spinning as she tried to think what to do now. She had no real reason to go all the way back to the villa. She had nothing of value there but a few clothes and photography books.

But where could she go?

She ended up at a cheap hotel near the train station; she sat on the single bed, her backpack at her feet, her whole life in tatters.

She told herself she was used to moving on, and it would be easy enough to look for a new job. She could spend some time with her father in Budapest while she decided where she wanted to go, what she wanted to do.

And yet that prospect seemed bleak rather than hopeful; she might be used to moving on, but she hadn’t been ready this time. She’d liked her life in Sicily. The villa had been the closest thing she’d ever known to a home.