no reason for it. No, handling her personally would be the best option all round and, though he couldn’t really afford the time it would take for a more delicate interrogation, he’d make time.
The information she held was valuable. Michael Armstrong was powerful in England and did a lot of work for several Russian families, as well as some for French and Italian families that he was also in the process of dealing with. Taking Armstrong down would be a blow and would effectively end their influence in England.
It would be worth it.
Are you sure that’s the only reason you want to deal with her personally?
A sudden memory filled him, of the softness of her in his lap, her hair over his arm, her fingers clutching his shirt. She’d smelled sweetly of apples ripening in the sun, reminding him of summertime in the valley at his family’s palazzo. Playing as a boy with Gabriella, before his mother had used him and changed everything.
‘Mr de Santi,’ Lucy said from behind him. ‘What are—’
‘Drink your tea,’ he interrupted, staring down at the empty fireplace, going over plans in his head. ‘I will not have you fainting on me again.’
There was an annoyed silence behind him, then came the clink of a cup on a saucer.
He straightened and turned around.
She was holding the cup in her hand, sipping very pointedly on the tea, still looking highly irritated. A less perceptive man might have thought her fear had vanished, but he could see that it hadn’t. Her knuckles had remained quite white and there was a certain darkness to her eyes.
Her father had locked her in a room in a basement with no windows when she wouldn’t do what he told her...
Vincenzo felt something inside him shift and tighten. He’d asked her how often she refused to do her father’s bidding and she’d said not very often. He could understand why if that panic attack was anything to go by. There were many ways to break a person’s spirit, and leaving them alone locked up in the dark would certainly do it.
Except she wasn’t quite broken, was she? There were glimmers of defiance and stubbornness in her hazel eyes, and certainly a broken woman would never have got up the gumption to escape her father in the first place.
Brave. He’d give her that at least.
‘I’m drinking, see?’ She lifted her cup again.
‘Good.’ He gave her a critical look, noting the colour in her cheeks. Probably she wouldn’t faint again, and certainly not if he didn’t threaten her with a cell. ‘Are you going to give me the information I want?’
‘About my father?’
‘Si.’
Her gaze turned wary. ‘I’m not sure. You might hand me over to the authorities if I do.’
A strange restlessness took hold of him and he wasn’t sure if it was irritation or something else. ‘I told you I would give you a week and I meant it.’
‘A week of what?’ She peered up at him from beneath her lowered brows, her wealth of dark hair curtaining her face again. ‘A week of being in a cell?’
‘There will be no cell, I’ve said so already.’
‘But you didn’t say what else there will be. I operate best with clear parameters, Mr de Santi.’
It was definitely irritation, he decided. ‘Are you trying to bargain with me, civetta? Because I should tell you now that you are in no position to do so. You are only out of a cell at my pleasure and I can put you in one at any time.’
She continued to glare at him, but her hand was shaking a little, the tea in her cup rippling in response. And he had the oddest urge to put his own hand around hers to steady her. Or perhaps gather her into his arms again and hold her until she’d stopped shaking. Ridiculous. Where on earth were these urges coming from? He’d thought he’d put his protective instincts behind him a long time ago, especially when it came to women. Women were treacherous—more so than men, as he had good reason to know. His father had been ineffectual and weak, while it had been his mother who was the dangerous one. Small and exquisite and utterly merciless when it came to putting the de Santi name and its poisonous history before everything.
Even before her own son.
‘But if you do that, I won’t tell you anything,’ Lucy pointed out. ‘And you want me to tell you things, don’t you?’
He gritted his teeth. ‘I do not