Page 2 of The Convenient Cosentino Wife

The shuddering noise grew closer.

Clare listened for another long moment before pushing away from her desk to walk to the window of her villa’s office and look up. The helicopter hovered now directly overhead. It wasn’t high, either, but low, far too low to just be passing over. They were either looking for someone or something as the helicopter dropped lower, no longer above the sixteenth-century Renaissance villa, but appearing to prepare to land. Then it did descend, right onto the great lawn behind the villa.

Helicopters had landed at the seaside villa before with VIP guests, presidents and prime ministers, celebrities wanting a quick arrival and departure, but she always knew in advance. Her team would be alerted, security would be alerted and there would be staffing to manage the arrival and to keep other guests back for safety. But there had been nothing shared and the arrival of this helicopter made her uneasy. Why she felt uneasy, she didn’t know, but her instincts were usually correct, honed by grief and work. Clare left her office and quickly descended the wide marble staircase to step out the front door.

Gio Orsini, her head of security, appeared next to her. “You know about this?” he asked, his polished bald head tipping, his gaze riveted on the helicopter filling the expansive lawn, huge blades still spinning.

She shook her head, aware that whatever it was, whoever it was, she’d meet the problem head-on. If there was anything she’d learned from her tumultuous life it was that fear couldn’t be given power. Adrenaline was fine. Weakness was not.

Clare followed Gio onto the villa’s broad front steps. Six months ago the villa had still been an exclusive luxury hotel, one she’d owned as part of her luxury property portfolio, but she’d discovered she was happiest at Villa Conchetti, and closed the hotel so she could make it her family home. “Is it a charter helicopter, or privately owned?” she asked.

“Privately owned I believe.” Gio glanced at her. “Adriano is still asleep?” he asked.

She nodded, picturing her son napping in his nursery with his nanny in attendance.

“I will secure the nursery wing,” Gio added. “But I’d be more comfortable if you returned to the house until we know who is here and why.”

Gio had protected her and her young son for the past two and a half years, a constant in her life from the moment she’d left the hospital as a grieving single mom. “Give me a moment,” she said. “I have a feeling I know who this is.”

“Chi, allora?”he asked.Who, then?

“I’m hoping I’m wrong,” she said instead. Praying she was wrong.

Gio’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing else, and she didn’t, either. Seconds later the pilot climbed out, but before he could open the passenger door, it opened and a tall man with black hair and a pale olive complexion stepped out, carrying a small leather duffle bag. He was so tall he had to stoop to avoid the whirring blades and even though Clare couldn’t see his face, she knew immediately who it was.

Rocco.

Her stomach fell, a sharp plummet that made her feel sick. She’d expected him so long ago. She’d written to him more than eighteen months ago but when he’d never responded, she’d finally given up on hearing from him. Instead he was here, at her villa, in person.

Clare’s skin prickled with unease, and her mouth dried as her pulse raced.

“What do you want me to do?” Gio asked quietly, as they both knew Rocco Cosentino was a threat.

“Nothing for now,” she said. “Just have staff remain vigilant.”

“Of course.”

She held her position on the front step and outwardly she looked calm, but the wild thudding of her heart made her hands tremble. Just a month ago, in late July, she’d given up thinking Rocco would reach out. It had been so long since she’d written to him about Adriano, over a year and a half ago, she’d stopped worrying, stopping imagining an unpleasant reunion, but just when she’d relaxed and her defenses had come down, he was here, quickly approaching the entrance to her home.

“I’ve been looking for you,” Rocco said, reaching her side. His deep voice was deeper than she remembered, but every bit as grim. His hard, chiseled features were without expression and his icy silver gaze swept her from head to toe. There was no smile in his eyes, no warmth in his greeting.

Apparently nothing had changed. “For over a year and a half, really?” She tipped her head, met his eyes, such an unusual shade of gray, more like pewter than mist. “And to think I have been so close, just twenty-four kilometers from Rome.”

“You waited a year to tell me about my nephew.”

“And you waited over a year to reach out.” Her chin lifted, and she lifted a finger in Gio’s direction and he silently retreated, not far, but giving them space. “But then, you are busy.”

Rocco stepped up, joining her on the top stair. “Once I knew about the child, I hired detectives as you were not easy to find. But I think you know that.” The corner of his mouth lifted, but it wasn’t a smile. “Perhaps next time you’ll add a return address to your correspondence?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say there wouldn’t be a next time and then she thought better of it. There was no reason to provoke Marius’s older brother. She and Rocco weren’t close, but as this was the first time they’d seen each other since the funeral, she didn’t want to create unnecessary friction. She wanted to leave the bad blood in the past. It was her hope they could be cordial in the future.

“The birth announcement took some time to find me,” Rocco said. “I was in Mendoza when it finally reached me. But before I could read the contents, the envelope was caught up in paperwork. I only found it when I was gathering my files for taxes in May.”

“Have you moved to Argentina?” she asked, surprised.

“No. I spent a few months there last year trying to sort out some issues at Marius’s winery. There were problems with the management, and I was tired of excuses.”

“I would have thought you’d have sold it by now.”

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