He’d forgotten his instruction that Miranda book a cab for Anna and to make sure the driver arrived early with a picture of the passenger he was to collect. Stefano had planned to put her in it as his final flourish, to shut the door for her and never see her again.
His plan had worked perfectly.
Success had never tasted so bitter.
At the mention of Anna’s name the press sprang into action.
Pounding feet rushed towards them, a babble of shouted words pouring out so thick and fast they should be incomprehensible. But judging by the pallor of Anna’s face and the tiny stumble she made, she had heard them clearly enough.
His own driver pulled up. Stefano opened the back door himself and bundled Anna’s rigid body inside.
It was only as he slammed the door behind them that he caught a glimpse of Miranda Appleton standing like a vulture next to her magazine’s photographer, a smirk on her ugly, rancid face.
Anna sat like a mannequin pressed against the far door. She didn’t look at him. She hardly seemed to be breathing.
The rain had turned into a deluge and the driver slowed to a crawl. With the silence stretching between them and an air of darkness swirling, it was a relief when they eventually came to a stop at the front of the apartment building. A crackle of lightning rent the sky, illuminating everything for a few brief seconds that were still long enough for him to see the shock carved on her frozen face.
She didn’t notice they’d come to a stop.
‘Anna,’ he said tentatively. ‘We’re home.’
Still she sat there, immobile.
Only when he leaned over to take her hand—Dio, it was icy to the touch—did she show any animation.
Slowly her head turned to face him. ‘Don’t touch me.’
Then, with no care for any passing cars, she opened her door and stepped out into the deluge.
Stefano jolted after her and breathed a tiny sigh of relief that the road was empty of traffic.
Maybe it was the lashing rain that forced her hand but she walked sharply into his apartment building. She bypassed the elevator to take the stairs, her heels clip-clopping without pause all the way to the eighteenth floor.
There was no sign of her exertion when she shrank away from him as he punched in the entry code to their apartment.
She headed straight to their bar, snatched up the nearest bottle and took a huge gulp from it. Then she took another gulp, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and put the lid back on.
Only then did she meet his eye.
She stared at him for an age before her face contorted into something unrecognisable and she smashed the bottle down on the bar with all her strength.
‘Bastard!’ she screamed as the bottle exploded around her, then reached for a bottle of brandy and smashed that too. The single malt went next, all accompanied by a hail of curses and profanities that seemed to be wrenched from her very soul.
The bourbon would have gone the same way had Stefano not sprung into motion—the destruction had happened within seconds—and wrapped his arms around her, trapping her back against his chest.
‘Anna, stop,’ he commanded loudly. ‘You’re going to hurt yourself.’
She thrashed wildly in his hold, kicking her legs backwards and forwards, catching his shin with the heel of her shoe, all the while screaming curses at him.
He winced at the lancing pain but didn’t let her go.
In a way, the pain was welcome. He deserved it.
She caught his shin again and he gritted his teeth. ‘Please, stop fighting me. I know you want to hurt me. I know. And I deserve it. Hit me, kick me, bite me, do whatever you want but please, bellissima, don’t hurt yourself. There’s glass everywhere.’
As if she could hurt herself after what he’d done to her. In the state she was in, he doubted she would feel any pain.
His words must have penetrated for gradually the fight went out of her and she went limp in his arms.