The Italian's Final Redemption - Jackie Ashenden Page 0,6

feel like ice against her skin.

She hadn’t expected to be confronted about her own crimes, not so soon, though in retrospect she should have. But she didn’t like having to think about the things her father had made her do and, since she was very good at not thinking about certain things, she’d simply pushed it out of her head to be dealt with later.

Except later had now come. And Vincenzo de Santi calmly stating that she was complicit in her father’s crimes wasn’t something she could deny.

But she’d told de Santi the truth. She hadn’t been given a choice. It was either she did what her father asked, or there were consequences. Survive, that was what her mother had told her and so that was what she’d done, any way she could.

Maybe one day there would be time to address her crimes, but she would see her father taken down first if it was the last thing she did.

Yet it wasn’t her guilt or otherwise which scared her. It was something else. Something about Vincenzo de Santi himself that she couldn’t put her finger on.

She wasn’t used to men. Her father kept her secluded in Cornwall, her every move watched by the guards he employed twenty-four-seven. She had a few online friends, but she made sure any identities she used online were heavily cloaked. She didn’t really see anyone but the guards in real life, and she kept away from them, because they made her uncomfortable. It would have been a lonely existence if she’d let herself think about it, but she didn’t ever let herself think about it. Never let herself see the bars of the cage she was locked in. Never contemplated the tightrope she walked between being useful enough for her father so he’d keep her alive, and refusing to do certain things that would anger him and make him deal out the same punishment he’d given her mother.

Her attention must always be on what was directly in front of her, never looking right or left, or anywhere else. Otherwise she would lose her balance and fall to her death.

She stared hard at Vincenzo de Santi, not letting her focus waver, not paying any attention to the new fear that lived inside her, just under her skin. An electric, prickling kind of fear that made her heart beat fast.

‘Of course, you will give me everything you have on your father,’ de Santi said easily, as if that had always been a foregone conclusion. ‘Immediately, if you please.’

Lucy eyed him warily. ‘And you will then hand me over to the police?’

He lifted one powerful shoulder and she found herself watching the way the fabric of his suit jacket pulled in response to the movement. She didn’t know why. She already knew he was strong; she didn’t need to watch him in order to confirm that.

‘Naturally.’ He put one hand on the arm of his chair, one long finger tapping out a soundless, slow, meditative rhythm. ‘I should imagine the police would be very happy to get their hands on you.’

They probably would. But she didn’t want to go. She hadn’t survived for years waiting for her chance to escape, only to be put back in yet another cage. That wasn’t what her mother had wanted for her.

But you have committed crimes. You deserve prison.

It was true. And to a certain extent she’d protected herself from the knowledge of what she’d done by not enquiring too deeply about where all her father’s money had come from. Because she knew, if she did, she’d discover things that would make her life even more untenable than it was already. So she hadn’t enquired. She’d only done what she was told. She’d made some money disappear into offshore accounts, pouring the rest into other investments, making her father’s bank balances grow.

It had been survival, pure and simple.

But did survival really deserve a jail cell?

Because Vincenzo de Santi would hand her over to the police, that was obvious. She could see it in his mesmerising, compelling face. He was her judge, jury and executioner, and she couldn’t look away.

Her hands tightened on her handbag and the laptop hidden in it. The laptop that contained all the information he required. But not the passwords he would need. Those were all in her head.

‘When you say you will hand me over to the police, when will that happen?’ It was very difficult, but she held his gaze. Because she had to know. His handing