The Legend of de Marco
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When Gracie woke in the morning she had the awful sensation of not knowing where she was or what day it was. Her surroundings were completely unfamiliar and scarily luxurious. She was lying on top of a massive bed, in a robe. Slowly, it all came back. Leaving her awful damp flat after nearly being mauled by her landlord, getting that worrying phone call from Steven, and then coming to his office to see if he might be there.
And then she remembered coming face to face with Rocco de Marco. Gracie groaned and put a pillow over her face. Rocco de Marco. Her stomach cramped at the vivid memory of his hands around her arms, the way they’d felt when he’d frisked her. The intense excitement in her blood at seeing him again.
Groaning even more, she sat up and saw that the curtains were still open. She now had the most jaw-dropping views out over London, with the Thames snaking like a brown coil through the grey and steel buildings.
She turned away from the view and something caught her eye. She saw her two battered bags just inside the bedroom door. Her face grew hot when she thought of Rocco coming in while she lay sleeping.
Feeling seriously at a disadvantage, Gracie scrambled out of bed and dragged the bags over. She pulled out some jeans and a T-shirt and found her sneakers. After washing her face she dragged her hair back into a knot at the back of her head and left the room.
The entire apartment was still and quiet. Gracie checked her watch. It was still early. Maybe Rocco wasn’t up yet? But even as she thought that she got to the doorway of the enormous kitchen and saw him sitting at a large chrome kitchen table. Her heart stopped. He was reading the distinctively pink Financial Times. His hair was damp and slicked back from that strong profile. Skin gleaming dark olive in the morning light. Immaculately dressed in a light blue shirt and royal blue tie.
And then he looked up, after taking a lazy sip from a small cup which should have looked ridiculous in his huge hand but didn’t. ‘Good morning.’
‘Good morning,’ she echoed faintly, for all the world as if she’d been some benign overnight guest and not one step away from being locked in her room.
Rocco gestured with a hand to the kitchen. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to help yourself. I’m currently without a housekeeper.’
Gracie tore her eyes away from his raw masculine appeal and helped herself to some coffee and toast, which was already laid out. She hated that her hands were shaking. Very little had ever intimidated her, but this did.
She stood awkwardly at the huge island in the middle of the room until Rocco said, a little impatiently, ‘Come and sit down. I won’t bite.’
Gracie gritted her teeth and reluctantly picked up her coffee and plate and sat down at the other end of the table. She didn’t miss his sardonic look. She felt very pale and washed out next to his vibrant masculinity.
She swallowed her toast with an effort and wiped away some crumbs, studiously avoiding Rocco’s eyes, and nearly jumped out of her skin when he said, ‘I spent a little time investigating your brother last night, and the full picture is very interesting.’
Gracie went cold inside and put down her cup. Frantically she rewound events in her head and froze. She’d told Rocco Steven’s real name by revealing her own. She looked at him with wide eyes.
Rocco looked almost bored, but she could sense the underlying anger as tangibly as if he’d started shouting. ‘He’s got quite an impressive rap sheet. Three years in jail for carrying Class A drugs. Not to mention the fact that he forged papers to get a job in my company so we couldn’t find out about his past. His crimes are mounting, Gracie.’
Feeling desperate, Gracie blurted out, ‘He’s not like that. He really was trying to make a fresh start, to use his intelligence and turn his life around. He did a degree. There has to be some good reason for what he’s done—he wouldn’t have risked jail again.’
Rocco was impossibly grim. ‘I think a lot of people would agree that a million euros provides quite a good reason.’
Gracie sagged back into her chair and looked down at her pale hands. They were trembling and she clasped them together. Hot tears pricked at the back of her eyes. Rocco’s mention of the astronomical sum of money struck hard. She’d almost forgotten about it with everything else that had happened. How could Steven ever come back from this? He’d spend his whole life paying it back. And that was if he was lucky enough to get the chance.
She heard Rocco sigh but couldn’t look up, terrified he’d see her emotion. He said with palpable reluctance, ‘Nevertheless, I don’t think you’re about to phone him and tell him to give himself up?’
Willing the emotion down, Gracie looked up. Huskily she admitted, ‘I did speak to him yesterday, but he wouldn’t tell me where he was, or where he was going, and when I tried to call him back his phone was switched off. I think he’s thrown it away.’ She omitted to mention that he’d said he’d try to contact her when he could. Gracie vowed then that if that happened she’d tell Steven to stay away and never come back …
Rocco stood up and held out a hand. ‘Give me your phone.’
Gracie’s mouth opened and closed. Feeling bullish now, she said, ‘Why?’
Rocco’s mouth tightened. ‘Because I don’t believe you. Because I think you’ll make every attempt to get in touch with your brother and warn him to stay away. And because if he does try and contact you then we’ll have him.’
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