Dante's Honor-Bound Husband (6 page)

“Something right,” his father corrected. “I have been hearing rumors about the d'Angelos and their banking practices. Creative accounting is the term being thrown about. Soon, all of Firenze will be talking. It won't be long before they are talking in San Francisco, too.”

“Too bad the rumors couldn't have hit the States a couple of months ago,” Constantine muttered. He checked the GPS. “Okay, I've found Calistoga. Do you have an address?”

“No. But I am still waiting for information from another source.”

“Call me as soon as you hear anything.”

Constantine didn't waste any more time. Once more the late hour worked to his advantage and he drove onto the Golden Gate Bridge in record time. If he broke every speed
record out there, he could make it to Calistoga in under an hour. That would still put him a solid thirty minutes behind d'Angelo. Maybe longer.

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. If he thought about what was happening to her, what d'Angelo might be doing right now, he'd go insane.
Focus.
First, he'd focus on getting to Calistoga as quickly as possible. Then he'd focus on finding Gianna. But the instant he found her and ensured her safety… David d'Angelo would regret ever touching his woman. Or any other woman, for that matter. He planned to see to that.

Personally.

 

Move, move,
move!

Gianna thrust open the door and erupted from the Jag. At the last instant she remembered her cell phone. Flinging herself across the driver's seat, she batted the deflated airbags out of her way and snagged her beaded handbag from the passenger side floor. Sparing a swift glance in David's direction—heaven protect her, he was close—she darted into the forest along the side of the road.

Rain pelted her. It soaked her dress, causing it to cling to her legs, making running awkward. Worse, bushes grabbed at her ankles, threatening to trip her up. But it was her mile-high heels sinking into the boggy earth that ultimately did her in. She went down, the wet, needle-strewn ground absorbing the impact of her fall and cushioning her rolling descent into a shallow depression. A small, shocked cry escaped before she could suppress it. She could only hope the rain muffled the sound.

As it turned out the fall saved her from discovery. David crashed through the underbrush practically on her heels. She heard him standing directly above her, his breathing harsh and ragged from the exertion of chasing after her. He
would have seen her if she weren't enveloped by the heavy, protective darkness of the depression.

“Gia! Don't be an idiot,” he shouted. For the first time since she'd known him, his Italian accent came through loud and clear. It was nowhere near as smooth and lyrical as Constantine's, but coarse and discordant. “Come out. This is all some hideous mistake.”

Gianna didn't so much as breathe. Sure thing. She'd come on out and he could explain the mistake while he…how had he put it? The words came back to her through the lingering effect of the drug he'd poisoned her with. While he allowed passion to overcome Dante propriety. Yeah, right. Not a chance in hell. She closed her eyes like a child hiding from the boogeyman. If she couldn't see him, he couldn't see her.

He thrashed back toward the Jag and swore. “Look what you did to my car.” He called her a name in Italian, one she hadn't heard before. Probably best she didn't know what it meant. “Do you have any idea how much it'll cost me to have this fixed?”

Slowly she stood and kicked off her heels, deciding that going barefoot, no matter how difficult, made more sense than risking a twisted ankle or broken leg. If that happened, she'd be at David's mercy. She squinted through the rain. In the darkness, the woods appeared impenetrable.

She was wet and cold, with bracken clinging to her skin, hair and clothes. She could only hope that the dirt helped camouflage her. She held her arms out in front of her so she wouldn't run blindly into a tree and stepped gingerly across the forest carpet. Rocks and sticks littered the area and she winced at the scrape and poke. Little by little, she slipped deeper into the woods.

She didn't want to stray so far from the road that she couldn't find her way back. But she also didn't dare stay
close enough that David might find her. In the distance, she heard the Jag start and hoped she hadn't damaged it so badly he couldn't leave.

Please, leave!

Lights flickered across the trees and then stopped, shining directly toward her. She instantly dropped to a crouch behind a huge, thick evergreen, possibly a redwood. The car door popped opened and slammed closed, and David's shadow flashed across the path of the headlights. He hurried into the woods once again, using the high beams to guide him.

Gianna hugged the tree, shivering, its rough bark cutting into her exposed skin. Until that moment she hadn't realized how cold she was. Maybe fear or adrenaline had kept her from feeling anything else. No doubt reaction was setting in. She didn't dare move, knowing he'd find her instantly if she did. All the while he came closer, making a beeline in her direction. Could he see her? Sense her? Had he found the trail she'd left through the brush? Unable to help herself, she rocked back and forth, a whimper of terror building in her throat.
Please let him give up and drive away,
she prayed.
Please
.

Her prayers were answered a moment later. In the distance she heard the sound of an approaching vehicle, something large and heavy. A truck? With the damaged Jag skewed across the road so it could face the woods, chances were excellent the driver would stop to help.

David froze at the sound, not more than a dozen feet away. He must have come to the same conclusion she had about the approaching vehicle because he swore violently. “Fine. Freeze to death for all I care, you crazy bitch,” he shouted. She heard him retreat at a swift clip as the truck lumbered closer. “But you're paying for the damage you did to my car, you hear me?”

He really was insane. She couldn't think of any other explanation for such irrational behavior. She heard the car door slam and he gunned the engine repeatedly before taking off. Something metallic banged and rattled along behind the Jag. Maybe the rear bumper or the muffler. It must have come loose because she heard it bounce along the road before clattering onto the shoulder as David roared away. An instant later, the truck flashed by and disappeared. No help from that direction.

She waited for endless moments, straining for any hint that David might have changed his mind and returned. Then she remembered her cell phone. She leaned her forehead against the tree trunk and fought back a hot rush of tears. She'd dropped her purse at some point during her escape, probably when she'd fallen down the incline. Gathering herself up, she dropped to the ground on hands and knees and began to search.

Inch by agonizing inch, minute by bone-freezing minute, she worked her way toward the depression, fanning her hands through the bracken littering the forest floor. More than anything, she wanted to curl into a ball and weep hysterically. She didn't dare. She didn't think she'd last through the night if she lost control now. But she was close, so close to giving up and giving in. Then her hand glanced off the slick beads of her purse.

Shock was setting in, along with a numbing cold. Her fingers shook so hard it took three attempts to open the stubborn clasp of her handbag. Even when she managed that, she could barely hold on to the phone. She didn't have a hope in hell of punching out a number. It took her an instant to realize David must have switched her phone off while she'd been unconscious. It took her full concentration just to get it powered back on. The instant it flared to life, her
cell phone gave a soft beep warning that her battery was running low.

No. Oh, no, no,
no!
This was not happening. She literally would not be able to handle it if her phone died now. How many times had she drained the battery because she'd forgotten to plug it in? She suspected that wouldn't happen again—ever. And how ironic that David's turning it off, no doubt to keep any incoming calls from waking her, had preserved the last of the cell's battery power.

She managed to punch Redial with a trembling finger. An instant later Constantine answered. “Gianna?”

She burst into tears. “Help.”

C
onstantine raced into the service station at full speed and braked the Porsche to a screaming halt beneath one of the lighted gas pump overhangs.

He scanned the area. Nothing. No one.

Gianna's cell had died midway through the call and he could only hope that he'd found the right gas station on the right road. The rain had subsided in the past fifteen minutes, easing off to a fitful mist. But that didn't change the fact that she was out there somewhere in the wet and cold.

He tore open the car door and burst from the vehicle. “Gianna?” he shouted. His voice bounced and echoed off the concrete lot and buildings, an eerie sound in the stillness of the night. “Where are you,
piccola?
”

A movement across the street caught his eye and Gianna exploded from the undergrowth. She took one look at him, and his name escaped in a low, choked whimper. In the next instant, she lifted the drenched skirts of her gown to
halfway up her thighs and raced barefoot across the street toward him, splashing haphazardly through the puddles in her path, the back of her dress making wet slapping noises against her bare legs. He froze for a split second, gut-wrenching relief fading in the face of horrified concern.

He barely recognized her. Gone was the elegant woman he'd seen earlier in the evening, replaced by a filthy, bedraggled waif. Debris covered her from head to toe, dirt ground into what little he could see of the torn sweep of her skirt. Scratches gouged the pale skin of her arms and legs. And her feet… He swore silently. Her poor, bare feet. He didn't know how she could walk, let alone run. Maybe the shock kept her from feeling the pain.

He charged toward her, meeting her halfway. She flung herself into his arms and he wrapped her in an unbreakable hold, relieved beyond measure at finding her alive and safe. She burrowed against him, weeping and talking and shuddering so hard he couldn't make out a word she said. Damn it to hell, she was freezing.

He lifted her into his arms and carried her rapidly to the car. “I need to get you warm,” he warned. “We have to get you out of these wet clothes.”

She was too far gone to process his words. He set her down again and she winced the instant her feet hit the pavement. He silently swore again. D'Angelo would pay for every last scratch on Gianna…and pay dearly. Reaching behind her, he fumbled for the closure of her halter gown. Unable to figure it out, he dealt with it in the simplest, most expeditious way. He ripped it off her.

“Easy,
piccola,
easy,” he soothed. “I'm just trying to get you dry and warm.”

He stripped her in one swift move, steeling himself against her distress and confusion and weeping protests. Then he yanked off his own shirt and tux jacket and helped
her into them before urging her to the passenger side of the car. The instant he had her buckled in, he cranked up the heat.

It took her three tries to speak. “You scared me for a minute there, but I get it now,” she murmured in a low, shaky voice. She waved a hand to indicate his shirt and jacket. “The undressing and dressing to warm me up thing, I mean. Thanks.”

“Are you okay?” He shook his head at his own stupidity. “Foolish question. I should say, did d'Angelo… Did he hurt you?”

He couldn't use the real word for it. But he could tell from her expression she understood what he meant. She folded her legs against her chest and wrapped her arms around them, hugging herself for warmth no doubt. She splayed blue-tipped fingers in front of the air vent and released a blissful sigh, before answering his question.

“I got away before he could.”

He probably shouldn't push. Not now. But he couldn't help himself. “How did you manage it? To escape, I mean? I'm surprised you weren't out cold the entire time.” Her head jerked around and unspoken questions filled her gaze in response to his observation. He shrugged. “I know d'Angelo drugged you. He's done it before.”

Her eyes widened, went black with shock as she assimilated the information. “I would have been out cold,” she confessed after a long moment. Her wet hair curled wildly around a face gone bone-white. “At least, that's what David said. But I didn't finish the champagne. It tasted…off. So, I didn't get a full dose of whatever he'd given me.”

Madre di Dio
. Luck. It all boiled down to sheer, unadulterated luck. “When did you wake?”

“Right before he stopped for gas. He…he was going to compromise me so that Primo would insist we marry.”
Apparently she couldn't use the actual words for what d'Angelo had almost done, any more than Constantine could. It was too soon. The words too vile. The events still so new and raw that they defied full comprehension. “It probably would have worked if I hadn't escaped while he was running his credit card through the gas pump.”

It had been close. Unbelievably close. If she'd finished her drink, she wouldn't have woken until far too late. If David hadn't needed gas, he wouldn't have stopped the car until they reached his lodge. If Gianna had been too frightened to keep her wits about her, to think and plan and act on the spur of the moment, she'd never have run when the opportunity had presented itself. Providence had smiled. On both of them.

“What do you say we get out of here?” he asked gently.

She managed a shaky smile. “Yes, please.”

He put the car in gear and headed south toward the city at a far more circumspect speed than the trip north. “We should call Luc and let him know you're safe. I'm sure he's going out of his mind with worry.”

“My cell is dead.”

He fished his out of his pocket and handed it to her. She placed the call and spoke at length to her brother, making light of the experience, describing it as an unfortunate “misunderstanding.” When she disconnected the call, Constantine shot her a sharp look, one she avoided.

“Why did you lie to him?”

She released an exhausted sigh. “You know why. If I told Luc what really happened, my brothers would take David apart limb by limb.”

“That's going to happen, anyway.”

“But—”

“Why the hell are you defending him?” Constantine nearly growled.

Tears threatened. “I'm not defending him. I am
not
defending him,” she repeated. It took her a moment to gather herself. “Do you really think that if I went to the police it would help? I have no proof. It'll be my word against his. And the publicity—” Her voice broke and she swiveled to stare out the window. After a moment, she said, “I did wreck his Jag. You have no idea how much pleasure that gives me, knowing I did that much.”

Well, hell. “How did you do that?”

“I crashed it into a tree.”

“I thought you didn't drive.”

“After my first driving experience, which consisted of smashing Luc's precious Ferrari, I don't. I haven't had the nerve.” A tiny smile played at the corners of her mouth. “Thus, the tree with David's Jag.”

“So, the two times you've ever driven a car—expensive cars, no less—you wrecked them both?”

“Two for two,” she confirmed.

Huh. He made a mental note to check his insurance coverage…and up it. “How did you even manage to get behind the wheel?”

“I waited until he got out to pump the gas, then locked the doors, climbed behind the wheel and took off. Granted, it was a short trip. But I got far enough away that I could escape into the woods before he caught up with me.”

Constantine couldn't help himself. He laughed. “You never cease to amaze me.”

“To be honest, I'd have preferred a much less amazing night” was her heartfelt reply.

“That makes two of us.” To his relief, she'd stopped shivering. “Put your seat back and go to sleep. You'll feel better.”

For some reason, his suggestion made her flinch. “If you don't mind, I think I'd like to stay awake.”

“Of course I don't mind.”

“I just…” She shuddered. “I can't go to sleep. Not after…”

He caught an undercurrent of emotion ripping through her voice—fear—and his hands clenched around the steering wheel. No matter what it took or how long the wait, he would see to it that d'Angelo suffered for his actions. That he never had the opportunity to take advantage of another woman. Constantine hadn't been in a position to ensure it last time. This time he had all the resources he needed. Plus, he had the Dante family behind him. Or he would once they heard his version of what transpired this evening.

She spoke again after a brief silence. “There's something that keeps nagging me about this whole thing.”

“Really? There's quite a bit about it that's nagging me,” Constantine retorted.

“Why would David want to force me to the altar?”

That stopped him and Constantine turned her question over in his mind, frowning. “What do you mean?”

“He said that he was…” Again the hesitation. “He was compromising me in order to force me into marriage. But I can't figure out why he'd want to do that. What's in it for him?”

Constantine's frown cleared. “That's easy enough. I suspect it has to do with money.”

Gianna shook her head. “That can't be it. David has money coming out of his ears.”

“Don't be so sure. According to my father, there have been rumors circulating about the source of all that money.”

“You're kidding. What sort of rumors?”

“I don't have all the details. But I intend to find out.”

“Funny.”

Constantine shot her a swift look. “You find something amusing in all this?”

She yawned. “Just that if you're right, David only wanted to marry me because I have money.” Her eyes fluttered closed. “And that's the only reason you wouldn't.”

“Not the only reason,
piccola,
” he said softly.

But despite her decision to remain awake, she'd fallen asleep, fully relaxing for the first time. She remained curled in a ball, snuggled deep into the leather seat. Even with the shallow cuts marring her long legs, they were sleek and shapely beneath the trailing tails of his tux jacket. She'd slicked her damp hair behind her ears, but the humidity caused it to escape in a riot of soft brown and gold curls, framing her scratched face. She looked pale, drawn and exhausted.

And Constantine had never seen a more beautiful sight.

Another few miles down the road she jerked awake with a whimpered cry, bolting upright in her seat. “You're fine,” he soothed. “You're safe.”

“Sorry, sorry.” She shot a hand through her tousled hair. “Did I fall asleep?”

“Do
not
apologize.” He struggled to temper the grittiness in his voice with only limited success. Just what she needed. Another male scaring the hell out of her. “Yes, you fell asleep.”

“I didn't mean to do that.”

“You probably needed it.” And she did, despite her residual fear. “We're just coming into the city. I'll have you home in a few more minutes.”

She didn't reply, but intense relief speared across her face.

A short time later, Constantine pulled up outside of her row house. Gianna started to open the car door and he stopped her. “Will my Porsche fit in your garage or do you use the space for storage?”

She stared at him blankly. “My garage?”

“I'm staying the night and I don't want to spend the next several hours searching for a legal place to park,” he explained patiently. “Will my car fit in your garage?”

He could see the progression of her thoughts written in her expression. Confusion. Dawning comprehension. Stubborn refusal. “That's not necessary.”

“D'Angelo is still out there. I'm assuming he was seriously ticked off when he left you. I'm not going to take the chance that he may come by while you're sleeping off the last of whatever he gave you. Your choices are…” He held up a finger. “One. We go to the emergency room and get you checked out. At the very least, they should look at the cuts on your feet.”

She instantly shook her head. “There's no need. I'm fine. Like I told you, I didn't get a full dose of the drug.”

He refused to let her get away with the lie. “What you mean is… If you tell the doctors what happened, they'll call the police and you want to avoid that particular complication.”

She sighed. “Something like that.”

“Exactly like that. Fair warning, if those cuts are bad you're going to the emergency room whether you want to or not.” He held up a second finger. “Two. I take you to the relative of your choice and you spend the night there.”

She immediately shook her head. “You know what will happen if I do.”

Yes, he did. “All hell will break loose and—surprise, surprise—they'll insist on calling the police.”

“Or, more likely they'll want to take matters into their own hands. I can't risk that happening.”

That was going to happen anyway. She just didn't realize it. Yet. He held up another finger. “Three. I come in and spend the night. Someone needs to be available in case you suddenly get sick and need to go to the emergency room.
Or if d'Angelo follows you here, you need someone who can take him down. That would be me, in case you were wondering.”

She blew out a sigh. “I sort of figured out that part.”

“I'm glad to hear it. So.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Which option do you choose?”

“Three,” she conceded grudgingly. She fished through her purse and pulled out a key. “There's an automatic garage door opener, but I don't have the controller since I never use it.”

Constantine took the key she'd given him and opened the door manually. A short minute later, he had the car parked in the miniscule garage. After locking up, he led the way, making a swift search of her neat-as-a-pin home, one she'd thoroughly stamped with her unique personality.