Chapter One
SAMEERA FISCHER STOOD in front of the wide marble steps at the entrance to the most beautiful villa on the shores of Lake Como and tried not to hyperventilate.
It was the first time she’d flown across the Atlantic. The first time she’d hopped on a plane to anywhere. The first time she wasn’t accompanied by her overprotective parents.
That she’d traveled so far to meet a close friend/ex-boyfriend who had ghosted her for months couldn’t muddy her satisfaction at what she had achieved.
Although it was alarming how much Matteo had hidden about his family’s standing. Even she, a na?ve twenty-three-year-old who’d never left San Francisco before, could tell that the property in front of her would be worth millions, if not more.
The villa shone against the black night, like the lake shimmering behind her, full of magnificent splendor, with the snow-tipped Alps a shadowy outline. The swarm of the designer-wearing crowd and the giant marquee on the grounds said she’d arrived right in the middle of a big-ass party.
Matteo, on one of his visits to San Francisco, had shown her pics, but only bits and pieces. The gardens that he adored but not the lake they led into. His bike but not the bright red Ferrari parked next to it. The view of Lake Como but not the spot where he’d stood when he’d taken the pic.
From the moment she’d boarded the flight to Milan—on a first-class flight and, then the chauffeured ride to Lake Como—an unsettling realization dawned.
Matteo was no lowly manager in the rungs of Ricci International Finances as he’d claimed.
Perhaps the fact that his surname was Ricci should have been a clue, but she’d never had reason to believe he’d lie to her…
Her confusion at his ghosting her only deepened.
Four months ago, they’d argued bitterly. No longer eighteen as when they’d met, Sam had realized that their relationship had run its course. Matteo would always remain her first boyfriend and a kind friend who had loved her during a hard time, yet they had nothing in common.
That she’d disappointed him by ending their relationship—after his patience over their long-distance relationship for nearly five years—saddened her.
So surprising him by coming here had felt like a great idea.
She knew that there was a friendship between them worth saving, even if the relationship was over, and this sudden silence from him worried her because it was so out of character.
Now as she stared at the glittering party, doubts engulfed her. Should she quietly leave? Wait for Matteo to show up in San Francisco again? Would he even come back, after ghosting her?
No, she couldn’t give up now. Not on their friendship, not on herself.
This could be the summer where she experienced the world as a normal twenty-three-year-old. One summer where she didn’t have to live with the crushing guilt that she’d ruined her parents’ life.
One summer where she was bold, adventurous and daring.
Alessandro Ricci stared out of his bedroom window at his family’s villa at the teeming guests and felt a spark of shame. He was the older son, and yet, he was avoiding extended family, important guests, the Bianchis among them and his aunt’s extravagant emotions.
The last was what he needed escape from the most. It wasn’t enough for his aunt that her son Matteo, Alessandro’s half brother, was finally settling down. Oh no, his aunt who had raised Alessandro ever since his mother had died giving birth to him was now bemoaning Alessandro’s own single status.
Since she was the one person in the entire world he loved more than anything, he hadn’t snarled at her. Instead, he’d chosen to hide.
His presence cast a dark pall at these parties anyway.
Especially when it was his thoroughly spoiled, good-for-nothing half brother Matteo’s engagement party to the billionaire Bianchi heiress that Alessandro had had to engineer as if he were a bloody pimp.
Not that he didn’t appreciate the billion-dollar investment it brought to Ricci Finances.
Even after all these years, the gathering today reminded him of his own engagement party eighteen years ago. Of how incredibly happy he had been. How gloriously beautiful Violetta had looked. How arrogantly confident he’d been in his own power that the world was his for the taking.
In the months after he’d lost Violetta, he had hated others’ happiness with a violent resentment, like a wounded feral animal.
He’d hated the pity and concern, as if they were afraid for him and of him.
The next few years, he’d thrown himself into sex with women who knew the score.
But the short shelf life of his partners had only encouraged the young women and their mamas in his circle to portray him as a tormented man who needed to be saved by love.
Soon, the isolation had become his armor.
But in the last few months, even his father, a man of few words, had cast him concerned glances. Had started talking about how lost and broken he’d been after Alessandro’s mother had died after giving birth to him. That he had saved himself by marrying his wife’s younger sister, Maria.
His father didn’t know it was too late for Alessandro.
Every day he’d stayed by Violetta’s side as she’d tried, and failed, to fight the insidious cancer that had siphoned everything soft and good from him too. Every minute he’d seen of her struggle and lived through the unrelenting powerlessness of it had splintered his heart until nothing was left.
Now, he was far too fond of his own company and excessively critical of everyone else. There was Matteo to produce heirs for the Ricci legacy, and he had his work.
His brother and Angelina Bianchi were a practical match, though there did seem to be some affection between them now. Everyone knew that Angelina had had her heart set on Matteo since she was sixteen. While he’d never admit to it, he understood Matteo’s initial resentment toward her.
Angelina had pointed him out to her powerful father, Vittorio Bianchi, as easily as she’d have picked a stud.
Then she’d pursued him with a relentless drive that the ruthless businessman in him had to admire.
When Matteo had started returning her interest in the last six months, Vittorio had sweetened the merger immediately.
Though, Alessandro hadn’t agreed just because of the Bianchis’ investment. Angelina had a solid head on her shoulders, was a smart businesswoman who would one day inherit the Bianchi fortune and was exactly the kind of grounding partner Matteo needed.
Hopefully Alessandro wouldn’t have to deal any more with Matteo’s failed business ventures, the rowdy crowd that mooched off him in return for their adulation, and the debt holes he seemed to fall into.
If Angelina could get him involved in Ricci International Finances, Alessandro would have nothing to worry about.
The outline of a young woman standing outside the crowd caught his interest. Dressed in a chunky sweater, skinny jeans and dark boots, she stood out in a sea of laughing, chattering, designer-clad party guests.
The lights around the fountain cast a glow on her face, highlighting the wide, lush lips and a nose too big for her small face. Her skin was a smooth golden brown, lighter than his.
Slowly, she moved toward the wide steps leading to the villa, her long neck tilted up, the strap of her crossbody bag highlighting her slender frame and into the circle of light created by huge floodlights, exactly where she’d be best illuminated.
So that he could get his fill of her… The thought startled him. But not enough to pull his interest away.
The woman’s neck moved this way and that as she surveyed the house, like a baby bird hesitant to leave its nest, fingers playing with the hem of her sweater.
Then she sighed, pulled her bag off, tugged at the hem of her sweater before peeling it off her body.
A breeze pressed the silky sleeveless blouse with its high ruffled neckline against her, highlighting small breasts, a thin waist and bony hips.
With her collarbones jutting out, she bordered on skinny.
A small smile played around her lips. She finger-combed her hair until it fell in waves around her face. The motion tugged her blouse upward, revealing a silky strip of her midriff. Something glinted at her belly button.
Lust was a punch to his stomach. He looked away, wondering what the hell was happening to him. Gawking at a young woman, getting hard at the mere sight of her. It was bare seconds before his gaze returned to her.
Making a pout of her lips, she applied lipstick, straightened her shoulders and started walking up the steps.
There was an innate sensuality to her movements. Something achingly real and courageous in her smile as she fought her nervousness.
He put the tumbler in his hand on the windowsill as he realized why he was drawn to her. He recognized what it took her to shake off her fears and step into the night. To step back into life. It was a step he hadn’t taken in eighteen years. Not that he’d wanted to.
She possessed the same hunger for life he had known once.
Suddenly, he was sick of the cloying quietness of his bedroom, the echoing isolation of his own thoughts.
He wanted to be outside where she was, wanted to know what was so precious that she’d fought her doubts. He wanted to taste the magic of that smile on her lips, breathe it in. Steal the very real joy in it.
A fierce longing stabbed through him, reminding him that he was very much alive.
He wanted her, in whatever capacity or form he could have her.
Sam was perusing the shelves in the grand study she’d come across when she heard the heavy double doors open behind her.