Page 76 of La Dolce Vita

"Arrested? No," he said. "Detained, yes."

"How did you know I was here?"

"Does your brother not know my comings and going out of the Campania before my feet hit Italian soil?"

The phone rang again. Catalina reached for it.

"I wouldn't answer that. Not yet. Not until you and I finish this talk."

She hesitated. She struggled with what to do next.

Armando didn't want her afraid.What would be the point?Catalina was the victory, not the victim if he truly played the situation right. What he desired would take a lot more finesse than he was used to with women.

She hesitated.

Those round doe-like eyes of hers switched back from the phone to him. The men of the Battaglia family chose the exotic to fall in love with. Her father had selected a young red-haired, blue-eyed, freckled faced Irish girl to take the place over his wife. And Gio and Lorenzo had even gone as far as to choose Black American women. Armando's taste was far simpler. He loved the beauty and grace in Sicilian women. And though she was only half-Sicilian she possessed it all.

Both of their gazes returned to the phone. Her wrists were delicate. Her fingers were strong and slim with long scarlet nails the color of her dress.

Her hand moved away from the ringing phone.

Armando smiled.

Benissima.

Despite the fear he saw in her eyes, he took a step toward her. There were many things to desire about Catalina Battaglia. It wasn't the dress she wore that was the color of blood or the magenta red lipstick that glossed over her lips. It wasn't her curves that were perfect at every angle. Though he did appreciate the way, her thick dark hair hung in long graceful locks that bounced and drifted around her face with the slightest turn of her head. It wasn't even her eyes that were clear as rainwater, and that made him want to keep her gaze focused on him. Eyes so strikingly blue, under long dark lashes that they did little to protect her from the desires of men like him. It was her.La piccoletta. The jewel and heart of all the Battaglia men.

She was a fighter, a rebel, stubborn, and fiercely loyal to a lifestyle that scared most women away. She would make a perfect lover, mother of his children. She was perfect to him in every way.

"What do you want?" she asked, but the spell wasn't broken. Even her voice was lovely. She spoke her English to him. She worked hard to pronounce her words without an accent. To show she had grown up, matured, become a woman of the world. There were other ways she could prove it to him if she wished.

"I came to give you something. The truth," he said.

"What truth?" she scoffed.

"The truth about who really killed you father."

The shock on her face yielded quickly to fury. "Che schifo!You don't know a damn thing about my dad!"

Armando closed the distance between them. She didn't flinch. He stared into those soft blue eyes of hers when he spoke. "I know who killed him. And I have proof."

"Me ne sbatto!The Russians killedPatri. And Giovanni made them pay!" Catalina spat.

"No,piccoletta.In the beginning, yes, we all believed that to be true. We all did. Now I have proof that it wasn't the Russians."

"Non mi interessa!" She tried to walk around him, but he caught her by the elbow and stopped her. "You will care when you find out who is responsible. Hear me out."

"What proof?" she demanded and recoiled from his touch.

"A confession. One that you have to hear to believe," he said.

"Why? Why are you telling me? Why aren't you telling my brother? Dominic?" she asked. And suddenly her bravery weakened. Her eyes glistened with tears, and her sweet face flushed red. "Patridied years ago. Why tell me this?"

"Your brother has declared war against the Mafiosi. Lorenzo was here today to threaten me. He's lucky I let him leave the island alive."

"No. No. No." she put her hands to her ears as if to block out his words.

"It's true. Giovanni intends to go public with who Mirabella is to my family and me. And he wants more money than I can raise to keep him silent."

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