Page 15 of Bound By The Italian’s 'I Do'

For their second course she’d selected fresh tuna, pan-fried in Japanese spices and served on a bed of couscous with roasted peppers. Fresh tuna was an expensive treat she could never normally afford under the strict budget Issy and Amelia imposed on themselves, and as it was healthy and her portion small, she ate the lot, then made sure to drink a whole glass of water to fill her up.

Dessert was freshly made strawberry ice cream on a chocolate crumb base but, as divine as it tasted, she allowed herself only a couple of small spoonsful before pushing the bowl to one side.

‘Are there no foods you enjoy so much that you allow yourself to gorge?’ Gianni asked, watching her closely. Issy’s return to deck meant he’d had to compose himself quickly. Years of being able to adopt a poker face in stressful moments, dating back to a time when he didn’t even know what a poker face was, just knew he didn’t want to give his father the satisfaction of seeing fear in his eyes, meant his outward composure was no effort at all.

What was occurring beneath his skin was a whole different matter.

He felt like he’d been sucker-punched.

The lying, conniving temptress shook her head in answer.

Mio Dio, even Issy’s slender frame was a lie.

Her screen saver kept playing in his mind’s eye. He’d recognised the other woman before he’d recognised Issy. Well, what person wouldn’t struggle to recognise the slender blonde picking at her food before him with the plump dark-chestnut-haired woman in the photo? The chestnut-haired woman, her face pressed against the other woman’s, had gripped tightly to a huge ice cream sundae, as if afraid someone would snatch it away from her if she let go of it even for a photograph. Only the dark blue eyes had revealed her to be the lying, conniving temptress before him.

The broker must have lied to him about her name because the woman nibbling on a piece of lettuce was not Isabelle Clements. She was Isabelle Seymore. Daughter of the bastard who’d ripped off the Rossi cousins by selling them land it was impossible to build on and bribing the very people whose due diligence should have picked up that fact. Their first business deal still left a bitter taste on Gianni’s tongue that even the revenge they’d taken on the man once they’d rebuilt themselves and conducted a hostile takeover of his company hadn’t lessened.

Like father like daughter. Or, as he should say, like daughters. Plural. Because there were two Seymore sisters. And the other sister, the woman he’d instantly recognised in Issy’s screen saver, was in a far more dangerous position to inflict lasting harm on the Rossi cousins.

Amelia Seymore.Dio, how long had she worked for them? Had to be two years. She was a good, diligent worker, the type who always arrived early, got her head down and got on with the job. No fuss. The kind of worker Gianni often wished others would be more like.

It had never crossed his mind that she was the daughter of the corrupt bastard who’d taken advantage of them in their first business deal. Not even her surname had given him pause for thought. Seymore was a reasonably common surname, and besides, who would be so blatant as to set up camp in the enemy’s quarters under her real name?

Amelia Seymore, that’s who.

Damn his phone for dying on him. He needed to warn Alessandro. He’d managed to get one of the crew to take it inside and charge it for him before Issy came back on deck, and it was taking all his willpower to keep his backside rooted to his chair and not storm inside to use it. To not unleash the full force of his fury on the conniving hussy actively seeking to destroy him.

He needed to keep his head. Give nothing away. Keep playing the game.

He took another drink of his second beer and contemplated Issy some more. There were many things he needed to do to shore up his defences, and warning his cousin was only one of them. From what he’d gleaned skimming her messages, the sisters were conducting a two-pronged attack, Amelia targeting the company, Issy tasked with keeping Gianni distracted until her sister’s mission was complete. That mission revolved around the Aurora project for which she was the project manager.

Rossi Industries were on the cusp of making a creative partnership deal that would shake the property development world and send the cousins’ already incredible wealth into the stratosphere. Today’s leadership team meeting would be the decider on which company they partnered with. Gianni had already vetted it. He’d gone through every document with a fine-tooth comb. Nothing had jumped out at him. No warning flags about either of the final two short-listed companies. Nothing. He’d flown to the Caribbean content to leave the final decision on this to Alessandro knowing he would nip any trouble in the bud if it came to it. Whichever company they went with, they would be onto a guaranteed winner. Or so he’d believed.

What had he missed? He must have missed something.

Dammit!

He drained his bottle and reminded himself that whatever the outcome of the meeting, nothing would be signed today. He had time in that regard.

Issy didn’t know he’d discovered her true identity. He would make sure to keep it that way until they reached St Lovells, which was two days’ sailing away from Barbados. Once on St Lovells, Issy would be powerless. St Lovells would be her kryptonite.

He needed to get rid of her phone. If he’d known when he cloned it the power it held, he’d have thrown it overboard or accidentally dropped it in the pool. It was seeing the two messages between Issy and her sister that had stopped his brain functioning as it should. The realisation that this was no mere hustle.

It was the message Amelia had sent to her sister two weeks ago that really churned his stomach.

They’re corrupt. I have proof.

Churned it far more than the one written minutes after their meeting in London.

It worked! Hook, line and sinker.

What proof of corruption? Gianni and Alessandro were united in their demand their business be run straight down the line. They did not bribe. They did not lie. They did not cut corners. Their bastard fathers were the role models they used to work against and ensure everything they did was the opposite of how they would do it. Thomas Seymore’s corrupt actions had only reinforced that ethos. Never mind the destructive fall-out such an accusation would bring, they’d been on the receiving end of malpractice and would never put anyone else through the same.

Any interrogation had to wait until they docked at St Lovells. Until then, he would take a leaf out of Issy’s book and unleash the full force of his magnetism on her. Because that was the one big advantage he had—he knew damn well that for all her heinous plotting, Isabelle Seymore wanted him. He would play on that desire without mercy.

She didn’t deserve his mercy.

He cast his gaze on her melting bowl of ice cream. ‘May I?’

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