Cesare followed her into the library. If Calogero had sent some threat...
But Ida smiled as she saw a shabby backpack and a battered cardboard box on the antique desk.
‘It’s from Jo! But how?’
Already she was opening the backpack. Cesare saw a pair of sneakers and some clothes.
He paused behind her. ‘You wanted your parcel delivered to her. My courier returned with your things.’
Even having seen the sparse poverty of that tiny flat, Cesare was stunned by how little Ida owned. He glanced around the room but there was no more luggage.
‘Thank you. I never expected you to do that.’ Their gazes held and his heartbeat grew ponderous.
‘It was nothing.’
She surveyed him for a long time before opening the box and lifting out some books. She ran her fingers over them as if reacquainting herself with old friends. Cesare moved closer, intrigued to know what books Ida treasured when she owned so little.
He saw a cheap photo album and a couple of large folders labelledDesigns. No fiction titles but a hardcover on art and another on interior design, both battered.
Ida had pulled out her phone and was tapping in a message, presumably to her friend in London.
Cesare, ignoring the fact he had no right to pry, opened one of the folders, discovering neatly handwritten notes, a world of colour and texture, fabrics and furniture design, architecture and—
‘Jo says you had someone guard her. Not just at the flat but when she went out.’
Ida looked up from her phone, her expression stunned.
Cesare spread his hands. ‘It seemed sensible. Calogero’s man could have gone back there to find out more about your plans.’ Though he was convinced the old devil now knew precisely where Ida was. ‘I didn’t want him threatening or hurting her.’
Slowly Ida inclined her head. ‘Thank you. I appreciate it.’ Her expression remained puzzled.
Had she imagined he’d ignore the danger Calogero presented? Cesare knew the harm he could do. People had died in that factory fire. Others had lost jobs when Brunetti Enterprises hit tough times due to his interference.
Maybe Ida thought Cesare didn’t care about anything but getting his revenge on the old man.
That would make him no better than his enemy.
‘You haven’t mentioned going back to stay with your cousin,’ he said, needing suddenly to change the subject.
‘That’s impossible. Even if I wanted to spend the rest of my life in a remote artists’ colony. You worried that Jo might be in danger. The same applies to Kate and her friends. I won’t do that to them.’
Ida wasn’t the way he’d once imagined her. Neither a gold-digger nor a vamp. Vulnerable yes, and she’d suffered, but she wasn’t simply a victim. She was sweet and strong and no pushover.
It was incredible that he’d ever believed she’d tried to claw her way into the aristocracy using his name. Ida was loyal and moved by simple pleasures.
Cesare was drawn by the wonder in her eyes when they made love and when she’d thanked him for their day out. And by her spine of steel.
‘What do you want from life, Ida?’ Suddenly it was imperative to know. ‘What are your plans?’
‘Once I’m free of him, you mean?’
There it was again, proof that she lived in the shadow of her grandfather. Not for much longer. Cesare would see her free of him, he swore it.
She didn’t answer immediately. Had she lived in hiding so long she hadn’t let herself make plans? ‘What did you want to be when you were growing up?’
‘A dancer. How about you?’
‘A fireman,’ he replied instantly. ‘Funny, I’d forgotten that until now.’