The Italian's Innocent Mistress

Chapter One.

Unedited

Leonardo Ferraris stepped out to of his private jet, wearing a grey cashmere overcoat and a designer suit with grace that was predatory and fatally sexy. That cutting-edge sophistication, however, was matched by a cold-blooded reserve and ruthlessness that made people very nervous.

Over six feet tall, his body lithe and muscular, with dark hair swept back from his olive-skinned face, and eyes cold-grey, there was wild ruggedness about him that he knew so very well and used it to his advantage.

He slid into the dark leather seat of the limo, waiting for him at the kerb. A uniformed chauffeur stepped forward from the open rear door of a limo parked in line with the exit. The door closed, the chauffeur took his place at the wheel, started the engine and moved off into the early morning Rome traffic.

He settled his muscled shoulders against the smooth leather upholstery and picked up the top most of the sheaf of newspapers that has been placed on the seat beside him, extracting the company news section.

"Alexander Mosell lost primary election by mere 11 votes," announced the headline.

He read the article swiftly, scanning the lines, he felt his mouth tug into a cynical twist.

Continuing to  peruse the newspapers. Leonardo's gaze stilled as he looked at the image in front of him.With methodical swiftness, he gazed at the photograph, clearly taken at some society event, sited beside yet another news story, Celleti Energy takeover battle. Federico Celleti the man dominated the photograph in tuxedo straining across his thickening torso, and his beloved daughter hanging on his hand, Francesca Celleti.

"Pity"

The limo halted half an hour later about twenty yards from a magnificent ultra-modern villa surrounded by terraces and balconies to take advantage of the land and extensive garden views. He smiled at the scent of home, waft smell of lavender.

He was greeted at the door by his grandmother butler of thirty years, Alonso.

"She's waiting for you in the drawing room." Alonso smiled at him, while helping hanging his coat.

"Is it that bad?" Leonardo winced

"You're a big boy now what worse can she do to you?" Alonso eyes crinkles with mirth

"You're right." Leonardo grinned, strolling to the drawing room.

His grandmother sat regally on the sofa raptly concentrated on the magazine at hand. He affectionately kissed his grandmother on her both cheeks and proceeded to take a seat on the opposite sofa. A maid brought in a silver tray bearing a single glass filled with ruby liquid and a plate of tiny almond pastries. Leaning forward to grab the glass, he saw a bandage wrapped on grandmother's left ankle.

Leaped on his feet, "what happened? Why on earth I wasn't told?' Leonardo demanded forcibly in Italian, and stared down at his grandmother, lounging back on the sofa with one heavily bandaged ankle straightened besides the foot of a coffee table. 'You know I would have come the minute you called.' He raked frustrated fingers through his hair.

"Hello to you to Leo. As a matter of fact I did call you five days ago," Matilda Ferraris replied calmly, "but I was told by some woman in your New York apartment that you had already left for a long weekend and were not to be disturbed unless it was a dire emergency." The old woman arched one sardonic eyebrow.

Leonardo cursed loudly but he had no defense. That bitch! And he felt guilty as hell. His New York mistress had to go. Women were like water in his hands. Never lasted longer, for they all wanted what he can't give. And took a liberty to answer his phone and never told him about it, was a red flag to the direction of the affair.