The Italian Read Online Free Page B

rhythm of the pounding on her door.
    Quickly pulling on a silk robe that fluttered around her bare feet, she hurried to the heavy front door. The air was already thick with heat.
    She looked through the peephole then opened. A tough-looking soldier in full combat gear was incongruously weighed down by an enormous bouquet of flowers. The scent of roses, irises, lilies and carnations rose above the smell of leather and gunmetal. Tough dark eyes peeped through the riot of colorful blossoms.
    Smiling, Jamie accepted the huge bouquet from the arms of the soldier.
    Boot heels clicked. A hard look, a crisp salute and he was gone.
    There was a note attached on smooth, heavy cream paper, short and to the point. Maresciallo Buzzanca will call for you at eight o’clock this evening.
    Stefano had signed with his initials—SL—in bold black script. It wasn’t so much a dinner invitation as a royal summons.
    She inhaled deeply then went about her furnished flat looking for vases. One would never suffice for that enormous bouquet. She ended up filling five vases and a few jars. The entire flat glowed with blossoms.
    Jaime wound her way down the stairs in the rising heat with the intoxicating fragrance of the flowers in her nostrils.
    A heady sense of anticipation accompanied her all day. She had planned a full day of work at the Botanical Gardens, sketching the immense ancient palm trees and bougainvillea-covered trunks of Mediterranean oak. The large park, abandoned for many years, had the magical air of an enchanted garden. Even at the height of the midday sun it was cool and fragrant. The shimmering silver sea gleaming amidst the bright bougainvillea, the perfect cobalt sky overhead, the low hum of traffic along the Foro Italico, they all inspired her.
    She sketched all day, then quit when she realized she was drawing Stefano Leone’s hand in a cone of light, gripping a sword. Where on earth had that come from? She had wanted to sketch a giant palm tree, could see the golden-brown pattern she would design for an upscale series of bathroom tiles, but she’d drifted, thinking of him, and when she focused on the white paper there it was—his large, powerful hand drawn in fine detail on her sketchpad, brandishing a sword that gleamed in the light.
    She remembered that hand very well. Folded on his desk as he’d watched her walk in, holding her hand in his as he’d brought her fingers to his lips, the warm weight of it at the small of her back as he’d ushered her out…
    Her skin had prickled and even now, just the memory of that hand on her back was enough to speed her heart. Not much more work was going to get done today, so she sat on a wrought iron bench in the shade of a giant palm tree and let her thoughts drift…
    When the sun shone straight at her eyes, she started awake. She’d actually fallen asleep on a park bench. And dreamed. Again. Of a warrior with blazing eyes whose sword flashed in the light.
    Why hadn’t she paid attention when Gramps was talking about Stefano Leone? Gramps had gone on and on about what a strong grasp of the law Stefano had and what a good student he’d been, and all she’d seen in her head was a grind in a suit. Gramps had neglected to mention that Stefano Leone was heartbreakingly handsome, with a face made to be carved on an ancient bronze coin. He hadn’t said that Stefano had the air of command of an emperor, an aura of strength so powerful it was almost like a force field.
    What had Gramps told her?
    Stefano was very rich, Gramps had said. His family manufactured engines for ridiculously expensive sports cars and the company had been in the family for generations. He had been married to a woman from one of the great aristocratic families of Italy—a countess, no less, Gramps had said with a wink—but she had left him well before he’d accepted the post in Palermo to bring down some big-shot Mafia boss.
    He’d been posted to Palermo when one investigating magistrate had been