The Claim (4 page)

“I’m quite happy where I am.” Rocco grinned, making himself comfortable in his chair.

“That reminds me,
picciottu,
are you coming to dinner tonight?”

Anna gave a snort. “It’s Tuesday. No chance.”

Nonna and Rocco both stared at her. Of course she remembered that—it had been the basis of their first and last fight. “Poker with the boys,” Nonna said slowly. “Yes. It is Tuesday indeed. Rocky, you can walk me out? Anna, you will contact me shortly, yes?”

“I’ll wait until your cheque clears.” Anna flashed a fake smile. “Just to be on the safe side.”

“I like you. But you understand, until my Rocky admits you didn’t break his heart, I have to
not
like you.”

Anna’s gaze burned into his for a brief moment. “Your Rocky needs to tell you the whole truth, so help him God.”

“My Rocky never lies to me,” Nonna declared with pride, getting to her feet.

“Good for you,” Anna murmured. “Close the door on the way out, please?”

Nonna headed to the door, and Rocco put his phone away. “One of these days, you and I really should talk.”

“What about you sleeping with another girl do we need to talk about?” She breathed out harshly, tucking stray curls behind her ears. Ah. She was still on that outdated practice note, but at the very least, she’d given herself away.

“All of it,” he insisted. “When you’re ready.”

Nonna was on her mobile, glasses at the top of her salt-and-pepper head.
Met her.

And? Don’t keep us in suspense
—
is she good enough for Rocco?

She’ll educate him thoroughly if he gets out of line. Trust me, she’s more than good enough
.

Chapter Four

There was no honour in being the girlfriend who walked away from a cheating partner. All the reality TV shows that held it as some sort of medal of survivorship just proved to Anna that she needed to watch less TV and read more books. When it happened, she didn’t tell anyone. Not a single soul. Her mother didn’t count, but then her mother rather liked Rocco, so she needed to be informed just so she would shut up about him.

Anna simply cut Rocco off. Blocked his number, refused to see him or speak to him. This was a stretch when they were both attending the same college. Why would she fight him and advertise how he’d humiliated her?

People had the audacity to interfere in her pain, asking her what was wrong, what was going on, why wasn’t the star couple together any more, just before their exams hit. Once the first person was told promptly to mind their own fucking business, the whispers slowly faded away. Anyone who had a hint of anything different to the standard story—that Anna didn’t want to be in that damned relationship—did not deviate from the official line, or else risked a loss of life. Hell, when they all had to complete their elective examinations, no one had room to do anything but revise and pray they’d done enough to pass. Despite spending her days on automatic and her evenings in some sort of distress, Anna was one half percent away from full marks in every single examination and was given a congratulatory award by the college and featured on the Law Society Website.

On a beach in Greece, Anna basked in the sunshine and her own bikinied allure to other holiday makers. As far as anyone else knew, she got over it. So what, she’d been some guy’s piece of fluff for a few (eight) months. Who cared? And he couldn’t keep it in his pants, what a surprise! She’d never expected much of men, not when she realised that her dad was picture perfect, and a complete one-off. In all honesty she could say to herself that it was bound to happen. Rocco Mamione, Mr. Strolling Through Life Like He Was In A Perfume Ad, was a cheater. Standard male issue.

Playing it back in her mind, she knew when things became different. He didn’t call as much. He was quieter, edgy. Admittedly, he’d never snapped at her, or been rude to her. But when a man spends a good eight months crawling all over you and the electricity supply gets cut? You know there’s something wrong.

The day of disaster started with a phone call. It was his mother who called her. “Anna, is Rocco with you?”

How his mother had her number was inconsequential to the fact that his mother didn’t have a four square check in for him for once. “No, Mrs. Mamione. Why?”

“I think, I don’t know why, but I have this terrible feeling that he’s been arrested.”

“I’ll call you back.” She ended the call, absolutely trusting his mother’s maternal instincts, and called Beppe. “Where is he?”

“Annie, he’s been there for about four hours, he’s about to be—”

“Where?”

“Charing Cross police station. Don’t go there. He’ll call you.”

“Fuck that. Do I look like the sort of woman that’ll sit at home by the phone and fucking wait?” She kissed her teeth and rushed to the station.
Please be okay
, was the only thought that gave pace to her running. The reception officer at the station was bored and patently uninterested until she mentioned Rocco’s name.

“Oh, are you the girl who’s here to give a statement?”

“Yes,” she flat-out lied. She was going to be a lawyer. The curse was such that she’d have to learn to bullshit on her feet sometime.

“Okay, wait there.”

The receptionist picked up the phone. “Yeah. That witness who said she was with Mamione last night. She’s here.”

Bile burned in her throat. She hadn’t stayed with Rocco last night. They hadn’t slept together for a full week. She’d thought he was tired or stressed. Jesus, they were all stressed! He’d fucked someone else. Obviously that was what stressed him. Oh. Dear. God. The receptionist called out, “Imogen Barnes? Can you wait a minute?”

Imogen Barnes? Her friend Imogen Barnes? Who borrowed her notes, her lip gloss, a tenner here and there and now her boyfriend? That bitch Imogen Barnes? Fair dos. Anna walked out of the police station and went straight to Imogen’s home, which she shared with her parents. As soon as Imogen opened the door, Anna punched her. No questions, no demands for an explanation. Just fist to face.

Imogen collapsed in the corridor and burst into tears, holding her mouth. “I’m sorry!” she mumbled, blood on her teeth. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, but the police arrested him about—”

“I don’t care if God himself came down from Heaven and told you to fuck him. You shouldn’t have done it.”

With that, she turned and left. Bizarrely dry eyed. Anna didn’t even mention Imogen’s name for over a year, before her mother’s prompts started to ring with her. Imogen never stopped trying to worm her way back in, and Anna’s mother reminded her, “When something happens to me or your father, I want people to be there for you. She’s sorry. She’s been sorry for a long time. What effort has
he
made to make it up to you?”

While Imogen was all gushing with presents and apologies before she started rabbiting on about herself and her eternal hunt for a forgiving man, Anna would forever have her guard up around Imogen. After a ten-minute meeting, Mimi said about Imogen quite bluntly, “I don’t trust her. There isn’t a single genuine thing about her.”

“Give her a chance.” Even to Anna’s ears it sounded half-hearted.

“To do what? Fuck me over? Listen, girls like her always have motivation. To be fair, I don’t even think she slept with your guy.”

“How can you even say that after ten minutes?”

“She is so desperate for your approval. You’ve been out of law school for what? Two years. Is she even serious about a job, or just getting married and swanning around in Vanessa Bruno?”

“Meems, you can’t be so judgemental.”

“Yeah, I can. I don’t get it. You forgave her but you can’t forgive him?”

“No.”

“Why?”

Mimi’s voice carried across the bar. Imogen, waiting to collect their drinks, turned and waved at them. Anna looked back at Mimi, her friend’s image wavering with tears. “Because I loved him more.” Mimi hugged Anna tightly. “We can’t talk about this again, because it’s ruining my hard girl image.”

“Hmm.” And rather than cutting her up with a scalpel in one hand and surgical scissors in the other, Mimi respectfully left it alone. They all did. There were weeks when she wouldn’t think twice about a Tuesday night. When she’d travel through Wandsworth and it didn’t even faze her. She even looked him up on the Law Society pages to find out where he was working, and found his contact page, amidst a list of accolades and a black-and-white picture of him. He looked as slick as ever, the camera catching him at an angle that sharpened his cheekbones and emphasised his devilishness. “Not dead then, shot by some slut’s husband.”

What did it all matter? It happened so long ago, she could barely remember what it was like to have him tuck a present into her bag, or turn up at her flat with food in tow, or give her a shoulder massage while testing her on business accounts. She couldn’t remember being called
Tempesta
because of how passionately she argued a point of law. It was just the “Prick Phase.” Meant absolutely nothing. Until now.

Now, he was everywhere. In her office, in her work, in her life, her head. As if it all happened a half hour ago, only to
Groundhog Day
on her. Rocco would say to her, usually after a verbal lashing to whomever asked for it, “I can see it on your face when you’re about to go nuclear on someone. I sort of feel sorry for them, but stupidity is curable. I like to think you’re being charitable. Almost.”

One hop, skip and a jump from his voice was how his touch was tattooed over her body, just like his mouth on her neck, his palms on her breasts, his thighs between hers and that cock of his. Christ, the way he used it, as if it bent to his will, hitting her just so right, she was taking Strepsils for her throat for days on end. For the first time in such a long time, she let her guard down. Anna Taylor, ice queen who’d stake a Hans Christian Andersen witch with a half-arsed glance, let someone be close to her. Anna Taylor, who hadn’t shed a tear for Rocco and his betrayal, found herself waking up at three, four in the morning, in tears because it turned out her memory was a lot sharper than she’d fooled herself to believe.  

Chapter Five

Nothing worth having was ever happened upon with ease. Rocco was very tempted to have that tattooed somewhere painful on his body every time he lost ground with Anna. That she’d taken Nonna’s case was purely incidental. Charles asked just as Rocco was on his way to meet with a QC for a fraud trial, “Is the lovely Ms. Taylor dealing with your grandmother’s case?”

“Yes she is, with as much grace as I thought she’d offer.”

“And you know your contract keeps you here for three years.”

Rocco’s left eyebrow winged upwards. “I’ve just landed a case worth around two million. Do you really think I’m going anywhere?”

Charles smirked. “I’m almost curious to see if Anna can push you out.”

“I’m very good at taking whatever Anna dishes out.”

“What a torrid love affair you two must have had.”

“See you later, Charles.” Rocco didn’t look up from the papers and made his way to the car park. The whole cheating ex-boyfriend role was really wearing thin. Despite his origins, particularly his grandmother’s ancestry with the Sicilian Mafia, Rocco valued his integrity. He’d watched his own mother’s liveliness being flaked away every time she discovered a new mistress, a new girlfriend, a new set-up for the females intent on having jewellery and flats from her husband, Rocco’s father. And it was his father’s lack of foresight beyond anything with breasts that cost him his relationship with Anna.

Rocco had been on the path to working exclusively with pharmaceuticals. It was how he met Beppe and introduced him to both Tony and Nick. What the two of them didn’t know about compounds and chemicals wasn’t worth knowing. The first time his father had been arrested on suspicion of fraud, his mother called him and asked him to get the Da Canaveze solicitors to help him. Rocco sat in the police station, the Blackstone’s Criminal Practice book on his lap while he waited. His father barely escaped without a charge. It had been too close, and the lawyers admitted it. Rocco demanded a copy of the interview tape and saw exactly where the solicitors had gone wrong and almost helped send his father to prison.