Mr Marino: Italian Billionaires, #2

By Cate Connor

What if the one person you want, is the one person you can't have?

 

The last thing me, or my son, need is to have his father back in our life. I haven't spoken to the man since that one night together ten years ago. He's not father material. He's a womanising playboy who doesn't want a family. He's a work-obsessed billionaire who lives in New York. I'm a single mother who lives in Rome. No way will I let some rich jerk near my son. He'll never know he's my boy's father.

 

But when I unexpectedly run into Gio again, things start to change. He's as gorgeous as he was ten years ago. We begin a passionate affair amongst the beautiful sights of Venice. Suddenly I'm feeling things I haven't felt for so long. My frozen heart is melting. He's winning me over. I'm coming alive again. 

 

But how can I keep my baby safe, if I carry on with this? How can I follow my heart, when the price is risking my child?

 

"Mr Marino" is a second chance secret baby billionaire romance between a New York alpha billionaire and a feisty, curvy single mother from Rome. 

 

This is the second book in the "Italian Billionaires" series. It can be read as a complete standalone. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cate Connor
• Release date: Apr 1, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224105540

Book preview

1

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Gio

Venice, 2014

"So what can I get you, signore?"

I looked up at the barman. I’ll have a Bellini, thank you.

He nodded at me. Very good choice, sir. He dropped his gaze, busying himself behind the bar as he began to make it.

I leaned back in my chair, feeling awkward and too big for the small wooden chair. I was too tall and too broad for this small but elegant space. Everything in Europe, even the furniture, was smaller than back home in New York. I felt like a clumsy giant from a child’s storybook.

I sighed. I tried to fold my long legs beneath my chair, but it didn’t quite work. I shifted uncomfortably on my seat while simultaneously placing my arms on the narrow, wooden bar. It didn’t matter, I told myself firmly. So what if I was a bit uncomfortable? I was in Venice. I’d always dreamed of visiting Italy. Now, here I was. Long legs and small chairs didn’t matter. I needed to focus on the experience. I could stretch my legs out later.

I glanced at the bar’s wooden tables, marble floors and white ceiling. I could not believe I was really here. Many famous figures had drunk at this bar. Writers, artists, aristocrats and even royalty had placed their orders at this same spot.

A peach-and-Champagne cocktail wasn’t my usual choice of drink. I was more of a Budweiser kind of guy. That is, when my strict schedule of basketball training, all-night study sessions and a part-time bartending job relaxed enough for me to indulge in alcohol. But tonight was my last night in Italy. The last night of my three-week graduation trip. Peach Bellinis were what this bar was famous for. So I was gonna go for it.

Hell, if the cocktail had been good enough for Ernest Hemingway, it was good enough for me. Ever since I’d planned my visit to Italy, I’d looked forward to trying the famous, if rather overpriced, cocktail. The trip was a triple celebration so worth the expense.

I’d recently graduated from NYU and had been accepted into Harvard’s MBA programme. I also wanted to celebrate the fact that I’d achieved my lifelong dream of visiting Italy to explore my family’s Italian roots.

I’d scrimped and saved for many months to afford this trip. I took as many extra bartending shifts as my rigorous study schedule and athletic training would allow. And my mama —though she made barely enough money to pay her bills, slipped me a hundred dollars after my graduation ceremony.

I tried to give it back to her. I knew she needed the money more than I did. But she insisted. Her eyes had glistened with tears as she shoved the note into my hands.

You’re a good boy, Giovanni. You take this from me. You deserve it, yeah? You make me so proud. You’re gonna do great things some day. You’re gonna take over the world. Then she’d hugged me tightly. All four-foot-eight inches of her had radiated joy.

I couldn’t do anything but accept her kind gift. I knew how hard it would have been for her to set aside the money. She didn’t make much from her job as a cook at a small government-run school. The same school I’d attended before I’d gotten my scholarship to NYU.

"Una Peroni, per favore." The voice was soft and low. Feminine and sensual.

Si, signorina. The barman smiled in the woman’s direction.

I glanced at the small brunette who’d just ordered a Peroni beer. She sat three stools away from me at the bar. I blinked, inhaling sharply. Her brown eyes were enormous and doe-like. Her thick hair fell down her back in a glossy black wave.

She pushed her shoulders back. There was a distracted look on her face. She rubbed the back of her neck. Ow, my neck is so stiff from that long train ride, she moaned.

I tried to look away. I didn’t want to be a creep. I didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable by staring at her. But the posture pushed out her chest to reveal her curvy, lush figure.

I snuck a glance at her. Her waist was tiny. Her hips were wide and full. Her ass was large—so round and perfect, it would make a Kardashian weep with envy.

Fuck, but she was gorgeous.

What are you looking at? she hissed.

I looked up even though a part of me was too embarrassed to meet her gaze. It was so cringey to be caught staring. I didn’t want to be one of those guys.

Even though her tone was sharp, her voice was still so damn sexy. It was a low, musical whisper that seemed to dance in the air around her. I swallowed, wondering why my mouth was suddenly dry.

"Nothing. I am not looking at anything. Sorry. Scusi." I held my hands out in front of me in a gesture of reconciliation. I winced.

Hell, could I be any more of a dork? What was wrong with me? I wasn’t usually shy around women. But there was something different about this woman. Something that made me feel like an awkward, uncomfortable schoolboy.

She stared at me. Her large, brown eyes were wide, unblinking. She opened her mouth. For a moment, I was sure she would speak to me. But then, the bartender arrived with our drinks, and the moment passed.

He handed her the beer and put the frothy peach-pink cocktail in front of me. I felt like a complete pussy. Why hadn’t I ordered a beer?

She smirked. I thought I heard her mutter Tourist, but I wasn’t sure. My cheeks heated. I dropped my gaze.

Suddenly, I felt annoyed. I hadn’t done anything wrong. I didn’t deserve to be judged by a stranger. I didn’t need this. I would just ignore the woman.

Even if she looked like a goddess…

I nodded to the barman as I picked up my drink from the bar counter. I pushed myself off my bar stool and retreated to a table in the corner. Taking my smartphone out of my backpack, I began to scroll through my messages. It was amazing what these new phones could do. I smiled as I saw the recent messages from my mother and my grandparents.

I was close to my family. It would be good to see them again when I returned to New York. Suddenly, I was glad my trip was almost over. Travelling was fun. It had been awesome to see the country my Italian grandparents had come from, but I missed my family and my home. I was looking forward to my flight landing at JFK airport tomorrow night.

So, about this Bellini. I peered at it. It really was very pink—a decidedly girly drink. I took a cautious sip. I was pleasantly surprised when the sweet-sharp taste of peach and Champagne burst through my mouth. Not bad. Although I still would have preferred a beer.

2

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Chiara

Mon Dio. What a day. I couldn’t believe he’d done it. Who dumped their girlfriend of a year by text message? What an asshole . Were all men like this? Right now, I thought they might be.

I worried it was my fault somehow. I didn’t understand why I’d let this horrible man into my life. Perhaps he had chosen me because he sensed I lacked confidence.

I’d been bullied at high school. All the other girls at my expensive, private school in Rome had met the ultra-thin beauty standard. I hadn’t, and they’d never let me forget it.

I didn’t care so much anymore about this. Life was too short to spend it hating your body, or denying yourself pasta. But the taunts of the schoolyard bullies had left their mark. I was really sensitive to rejection. I took it personally.

I glanced at the tall man who’d recently sat at the bar. He’d retreated to sit by himself at a corner table.

I sighed to myself, wishing I hadn’t been so sharp with him. It wasn’t his fault I’d had such a shitty day. Still, it was probably for the best. I wasn’t in the mood for company right now.

I snuck a quick glance at him. I noticed with approval how his broad shoulders tapered to a narrow waist. His black hair was thick and curly. His olive-skinned arms were tanned and muscular.

Hmm. His good looks were another reason why I shouldn’t give it another thought. A man as good-looking as that was not going to lack female company. Or male company, if that was his preference.

The tall, handsome stranger could do better than me. A tall, whippet-thin girl would sashay into the bar, looking for a cute guy to buy her a drink. When that happened, he’d forget all about the short, round girl who’d mocked his drink order.

I was only in Venice for one night anyway. I’d been supposed to meet my boyfriend here for a quick visit. I hadn’t seen him for over three months. Not since he’d finished his master’s degree at the university I attended.

He’d completed his course at Rome University. While I carried on my undergrad studies in Rome, Hans had returned to Switzerland.

He’d called me daily at first. Then the calls became less frequent. After a while, he stopped calling me at all. He just sent an occasional text message. I should have realised what was going on. He’d clearly met someone else but didn’t have the guts to tell me. I was so inexperienced, though, and naive, that I didn’t get the message. I’d continued to message him. I’d continued to hope.

Then I’d received a text message late this afternoon. I’d already been on the train from Rome.

Hans: Sorry babe. I can’t make Venice. It’s not working anymore. Have a nice life.

I’d hissed out a breath. The shock was terrible. I’d wanted to throw the damn phone across the train, but obviously I couldn’t. There were other passengers nearby. I didn’t want to scare them.

But yuck. Who does something like that? I hated Hans for how he’d treated me. But I hated myself, too. I should have seen this coming. Looking back, I wanted to shake myself for being so trusting. So stupid.

I sighed as I sipped my beer. I didn’t know what to do tonight. I’d probably get takeout from a nearby restaurant and eat it alone in my room.

What a life I lead, I thought.

There was nothing I could do about it. And one lonely night wouldn’t kill me. I would just finish my drink and go. I tried to get the bartender’s attention. He should bring me my bill so I could settle up and leave.

Hey, love, is this seat taken?

I turned around. A short, sweaty man with a very pink, sunburnt face had taken the seat next to me. I stared at him, but I didn’t reply. I turned my head away. I didn’t want to engage.

God, you’re gorgeous, aren’t you? You look like that movie star I fancy. What’s her name?

I stared at him, silently, willing him to go away. But, undeterred by my silence, he blundered on. He scratched his head, appearing to think it over. He swayed slightly from side to side. He was clearly very drunk.

I know, sweetheart. It’s that Monica Bellucci. Yeah, that’s it. Monica—you look like a real Bond girl, don’t ya? You’ve certainly got the figure to be in a Bond movie. He paused, staring pointedly at my breasts.

I pursed my lips. I’d had enough of this. Thank you, but I am not interested.

That was pretty polite, I thought. More polite than he deserved, but I came from a traditional, conservative Italian family. My parents had taught me to be polite to strangers. I was trying to live up to my family’s values. But I knew if this idiot kept hassling me, I was going to lose my cool.

It seemed that my politeness wasn’t enough for this man. Perhaps he didn’t think women had the right to say no to his advances? I wanted to scream with frustration and tell him off. But I decided against it. This guy wasn’t worth the aggravation. I just wanted to finish my drink, and then retreat to my hotel room.

Oh, it’s like that, is it? Miss High and Mighty thinks she’s too good to have a drink with old Barry? He shook his head. His eyes narrowed. His already red face darkened to a shade of purple.

I winced. He looked like a beetroot that had been left out in the sun for too long. Or a tomato. Yes, that was it. He looked like an angry tomato.

I’d had enough of this angry tomato man. I’d had enough of all men right now. It was time to get out of here. Time to go back to my hotel room. I could be alone there to cry over my broken heart. I could eat ice cream. Perhaps there was a gelato shop around here?

I got up to leave. But as I pushed up off my stool, Barry grabbed my arm. I pulled back, annoyed. Enough was enough. What was this guy’s problem?

Even though I didn’t want to admit it, I was starting to feel scared. I didn’t want attention from this drunk, rude stranger. Especially not right now. I was alone in a city I didn’t know.

I made a desperate face at the barman. He, to his credit, acted quickly. He circled the bar to come stand next to me.

Now, sir, the lady wants to leave. Please let go of her arm. Why don’t I get you a water or a lemonade? His tone was calm and reasonable yet firm.

Barry didn’t react well. What are you trying to say? You think I’m drunk? Who the hell do you think you are? You’re as stuck-up as she is! He pushed the barman’s chest, hard. The barman staggered and fell back against the bar.

Shocked, I stared at the barman. He stumbled to his feet. Was he hurt? I hoped not.

When I saw he wasn’t, I turned and tried to push past the angry man. I needed to get out of there. But sweaty Barry wasn’t having it. He grabbed my arm, pulling me towards him. He tried to put his arm around my waist. I struggled to resist his grip.

Come on, love, he whined, give Barry a little kiss. He angled his head towards me. I turned my head. His breath was foul. He smelled of stale beer and garlic.

Suddenly, Barry’s grip loosened. I blinked. What now?

It was like watching a scene from a movie. I stood there, rooted to the spot. My jaw dropped. The tall guy got up from his table in the corner. He grabbed Barry with his large hands and pulled him off of me.

He towered over Barry. He frowned down at him. Wow, he was tall. The guy was easily six foot three to Barry’s five foot four. Barry gaped at him but said nothing.

"The lady is not interested. Get the message. Apologise to her because you did not act like a gentleman." The tall man scowled at Barry. He folded his thick, muscled arms across his wide chest. His stance was relaxed yet firm. His posture was ramrod straight, his feet planted firmly apart.

Barry pouted. He opened his mouth as if to protest, but then the tall guy narrowed his eyes. Barry winced and tried to step back. He closed his mouth. He looked down at his shoes. I’m sorry, love. I wasn’t thinking.

The tall guy turned to me. That enough for you?

I nodded slowly. Who was this chivalrous giant? He was like a hero from an action movie. Or a Jack Reacher novel.

The tall guy nodded at me. He turned to Barry. Get out of here. Be grateful the lady is so forgiving. Don’t let me catch you hassling another woman. I won’t go so easy on you if there is a next time. He scowled.

Barry gulped. He nodded quickly. Then he turned on his heel and ran out of the bar.

I glanced at my rescuer. He was