The Sicilian's Banished Bride
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Maya Blake
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12
CHAPTER ONE
‘HE’S YOURS, ROCCO. Find him...find him!’
The words pounded a relentless refrain in Rocco Vitelli’s head as his Gulfstream sped him in the opposite direction towards a destination that had been nowhere on his itinerary when he’d woken up that morning.
The photograph in his hand shook and he tightened his grip.
Impossible.
His grandmother’s words were simply...impossible.
Didn’t they say everyone had a twin somewhere in the world? Dio, even that extrapolation was too far-fetched. This picture was of a child. He was a grown man of thirty-three. This child had nothing to do with him. Nothing...
‘We’ll be landing shortly, signor. Is there anything you require?’ his attendant enquired.
Inform the pilot that I wish to change course immediately, he wanted to say. He held his tongue, his grandmother’s pale face etched in anguish fresh in his mind.
Jaw clenching, he closed his fist over the picture, hiding it from sight. Unfortunately, Nonna’s distressing words weren’t so easy to dismiss.
‘He’s yours. Find him!’
Ridiculous. If he had a son, a flesh and blood extension of him somewhere in this world, he would know...wouldn’t he?
A sudden wave of long-suppressed yearning swept through him, stealing his breath.
He would know. He was strict about taking precautions with his sexual partners. None of his liaisons in the recent past had lasted longer than a few weeks. And, by strict choice, none of them had been English.
He hadn’t set foot in England in years and he hadn’t taken an English lover since—
‘Signor?’
He sighed. ‘No, grazie.’
Just this once, he promised himself grimly. His grandmother rarely asked him for anything, not because he’d refuse, but because she insisted she needed nothing but the roof he’d provided over her head. After everything she’d sacrificed for him, running this fool’s errand, even though it lodged a fist of remembered bitterness in his gut, was necessary if only to reassure her.
This visit would be short, however. Whoever this child was, Rocco intended his presence in its life to be very brief indeed.
‘Has the driver been apprised of our destination?’ he asked.
‘Sì, signor. I emailed the details immediately after take-off.’
Satisfied, he nodded. Barring traffic, he should be back in the air within a few short hours. A quick detour via his Palermo villa to reassure Nonna there was no mysterious great-grandchild to be distressed about, and he could return to Abu Dhabi to oversee the final phase of the children’s hospital his company was building.
Wheels touched down with barely a bump. Before it had rolled to a stop, he was moving towards the exit. His car waited on the tarmac and he slid into the back seat, grateful for its warm interior. It was early autumn, yet the temperature was near freezing.
Easing back in his seat, he glanced once more at the photo. The cherubic features, the strange, yet familiar blue eyes of the child sent another stab of deep yearning through him.
No. He wouldn’t think of the past. Of her. The past was done, buried—
I don’t want your baby!
He clenched his teeth against the chilling words slicing through his thoughts. Why were memories he’d successfully expunged for years resurfacing, today of all days?
Grimly, he shoved the photo into his breast pocket and turned his thoughts to his grandmother.
Her hysteria over the billboard picture she’d spotted on the way to morning mass was beyond his understanding. Nonna had collapsed on the pavement, much to the distress of her companion, and no amount of reassurance had soothed her except Rocco’s promise, once he’d rushed to her side, that he would verify the child’s identity immediately.
So here he was, on what could only be politely described as a wild goose chase. He stifled a dark curse and looked up at his driver’s discreet cough.
‘The news reports gridlocked traffic ahead, sir. I’ll have to take a different route if you’re to keep your schedule.’
Rocco’s mood darkened further. With every fibre of his being, he wished himself elsewhere. But he’d made his grandmother a promise. He’d keep it, even if it meant being in the same country, breathing the same air as that...Jezebel.
He inhaled, brought his feelings under control.
‘Take whatever route you must. But make sure it’s quick.’
Mia Gallagher stole another indulgent caress of her sleeping son’s soft cheek before stepping away with a wry smile. Nap time was fast becoming a battle of wills. At two and a half, Gianni was vigorously resisting taking his much-needed naps. This afternoon he’d hidden behind his bedroom door, unaware his chubby legs were clearly visible through the gap in the door frame. How he managed to keep so still at his age astounded her.
Her smile slipped.
She knew exactly how he came by that particular trait. The man whose blood ran through her son’s veins possessed that formidable knack, after all—
No, she wasn’t going to think about him. Not now, not ever, if she could help it.
She shut the bedroom door with a sigh of relief. With an hour to herself before he woke, she had enough time to tackle the laundry and start dinner.
The sound of the doorbell as she approached her small living room made her heart sink.
Mrs Hart.
With her financial juggling getting trickier by the day and another of Gianni’s photo shoots cancelled—the third one in two weeks—the last thing Mia needed was her neighbour’s nosiness disguised as friendly concern. For a moment, she considered not answering.
The doorbell pealed again, followed by an insistent knock.
Mrs Hart had probably seen them return from the park. Mia had no choice but to answer or risk Gianni waking up.
She pulled open the door, a firm but polite excuse on her lips, only to take a horrified step back, her words choking in her throat as a painfully familiar figure filled the doorway.
Rocco reeled with the shock of coming face to face with the woman he’d banished from his life three years ago, even as the molten burn of instant lust thickened the blood roaring through his veins.
‘Cosa è questo?’ He wasn’t sure whether he questioned his body’s unwelcome reaction to her or the fact that someone in his security team had made a fatal blunder when he’d asked for the location of the child in the photo. Because this had to be an inexcusable, colossal error.
The breath he sucked in did nothing to provide clarity.
Someone’s head...hell, several heads, would roll for delivering him to the last person on earth he wished to encounter; the one person he’d sworn never to even think of, ever again!
He conducted a swift scrutiny of Mia Gallagher and experienced a fresh jolt of shock.
Gone was the sleekly coiffed, elegant and voluptuous woman who’d graced his boardroom and bedroom for several months over three years ago. Gone were the thigh-skimming designer suits and the stunningly made-up face that had held him in thrall for far longer than he’d deemed wise, even then.
This woman looked pale and shadows lurked under her eyes, rendering the once vibrant depths a dull green. Her honey-blond hair, scraped back in a utilitarian ponytail, lacked its former lustre. Her face was devoid of make-up, and her mouth, now hanging open, although still full and sensually curved, was bare of gloss.
His gaze lowered, and he frowned. She’d lost weight but, somehow, her breasts seemed fuller, heavier than he remembered. Lower still, her long legs were covered by pair of baggy shapeless jeans.
Altogether an unattractive package, and far removed from the sensual bombshell he’d lusted after...and nearly lost his mind over?
He jerked back at the hard, unexpected kick in his groin.
Don’t even go there!
His gaze flicked back to her face and Rocco forced himself to dismiss the twisting current of sexual tension that gripped him. What interested him was discovering who had brought him here, to this woman.
He reached for his phone, then paused when he glimpsed the look on her face. Surely that wasn’t...panic?
‘Of course.’ Why hadn’t he realised it before? There was no else involved. She’d orchestrated this meeting. And now, faced with his visible anger, she was panicking.
Dio, her audacity astounded him!
He watched her unease mount and almost felt sorry for her. She’d made a gross error of judgement; a far greater error than her betrayal three years ago.
By tricking him into coming here, wasting his time when he should be searching for the child in the photograph, she’d just reignited the fire of retribution he’d banked down all this time.
He inhaled an anticipatory breath, absently noting he was no longer as disgruntled by the weather as he’d been minutes ago.
‘So, Mia, are you going to invite me in?’
In the tiny region of her mind not frozen in disbelief, Mia absorbed the deep smoothness of Rocco Vitelli’s voice, the way its low timbre slid over her senses like warm, sun-kissed honey. But her shock soon dissipated, forcefully wrenched aside by a different set of terrifying emotions.
‘You can’t be here!’
Throwing her weight behind the door, she fought to slam it shut. It barely moved a few inches before one strong hand held it open, ridiculing her efforts.
‘What’s the meaning of this?’
His voice, alternately heard in her dreams and nightmares, but always with that smoky, gravelly Italian inflection, caused tiny explosions along her nerve endings.
‘I don’t know what game you’re playing, but you’re not getting me into trouble by turning up on my doorstep.’
‘Getting you into trouble? Shouldn’t that be, “Ciao, Rocco. How have you been?” After all, you orchestrated this meeting.’ With lithe grace, he entered, forcing her to abandon the door or risk collision with his hard, lean body.
Her heart hammered as she watched his tall, dark form fill her living room, her sanctuary.
Dear heaven, Rocco was here, in her home.
Tension gripped her throat, but she forced herself to speak. ‘I’ve no idea what you mean. But I want you to get out, Rocco. Mrs Hart, my neighbour, will testify that you turned up on my doorstep unannounced.’ Through her window, she spotted his silver limo already attracting attention. Good. If, by some stroke of bad luck, Mrs Hart had vacated her normal window-seat vigil, she’d have other witnesses.
Twin brows the shade of raven’s wings shot up. ‘Testify? In trouble with the law again, cara? What on earth have you got yourself into this time?’ He advanced as he spoke, intense dark blue eyes holding her prisoner until he stood close, way too close.
She stood her ground, refusing to retreat. ‘What have I got myself into? Is that some sort of joke?’
He moved closer, the gleam in his eyes spiking her nervousness.
‘You must be desperate if you’re relying on neighbours to bail you out of whatever predicament you’re in.’ He paused a beat, eyes narrowed. ‘Or is that why I’m here?’
His deeply masculine scent hit her nostrils, triggering memories she’d hoped never to recall. ‘What do you mean, is that why you’re here? This is my house. You’ve turned up unannounced. I want you to leave. Right now.’
He froze, as if captured in the frame of a lens.
No matter how many times she saw it happen, Rocco’s ability to remain completely motionless fascinated her. She stared, much the same way she’d stood behind her son’s door, staring, fascinated, less than ten minutes ago—
Gianni.
She closed her eyes. Breathe, just breathe.
This is just a nightmare. It’ll be over in a few minutes.
‘I detest games, cara.’ Dark menace tinged his voice. ‘You’ve lured me here, the least you can do is tell me why.’
Her eyes snapped open. ‘Lured you here? Are you mad?’
His face darkened. ‘On the contrary, my mind has never been clearer. Which member of my staff did you bribe this time to pull this stunt?’
She gasped. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Isn’t that your modus operandi?’ he continued in a low silky tone. ‘Using members of my staff to lay your hands on property that’s not yours? Who gave you my grandmother’s itinerary? Or mine, for that matter? It’s not my driver or my pilot. They’ve both been with me for years. I trust them both implicitly.’
Pain stung through her body. After what he’d put her through, she’d never dreamed she’d see Rocco again. Yet here he was, tall, dark, lethal, in her home, spouting the same accusations, intent on exacting more retribution.
Three years ago, she’d foolishly believed nothing could be worse than having all your wishes granted, only to have them snatched away in the cruellest way possible.
But nothing had compared with what he’d done after he’d ordered her out of his life. When he’d discovered she was daring to contact him, daring to make him change his mind about her, to hear her out. Then, the real retribution had been exacted. Then, she’d experienced the full might of Rocco Vitelli.
‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’ The words slipped past lips frozen with renewed pain at how this gorgeous, heartless man had caused her life to implode.
A grim smile curved his lips. ‘Still wasting your breath on lies? Why am I surprised? After all, a leopard doesn’t change its spots, does it, cara? Or are you more of a snake? Either way, a word of advice: next time you try to entice a man, dress appropriately for the occasion. Baggy jeans and a threadbare top aren’t a turn-on.’
Hot, sharp anger shot through her. ‘How dare you—’
‘Save your protests and tell me why I’m really here.’
Tears prickled her eyes and she blinked furiously. ‘No, I will not save them. I told you then and I’m telling you now, I never stole from you!’
His lips curled. ‘Then explain to me how the blueprints, locked in my safe on an encrypted flash drive, ended up in your possession? Or how the same firm who’d bid against Vitelli Construction ended up with copies of it right after your meeting with them?’
She angled her chin. ‘I told you before, I’ve no idea.’
‘And like I told you then, you are a liar.’ Heavy scorn laced his words.
She’d imagined herself immune against this intense, searing ache. She was wrong. Renewed pain clenched her heart, squeezed until her breath cracked in her lungs. But damn it, she’d suffered enough. He’d humiliated her, dragged her name and reputation through court, and, worst of all, denied his unborn child. And now he’d turned up for what reason? To rub even more of his twisted brand of justice in her face?
Anger welled higher. ‘I don’t care what you think. What I want is for you to leave my house.’ Thankfully, her voice emerged cold, steady. ‘Now.’
Before Gianni woke up. Rocco might not care about his child, but Mia intended to keep the brutal truth of what his father had done to them from her son.
She shot a glance towards the stairs and prayed Gianni hadn’t heard the raised voices. Sensing Rocco’s incisive gaze on her, she quickly averted her eyes.
‘Are you saying you didn’t arrange this meeting?’ Only his lips moved. The rest of him remained carved in stone.
The question was so ludicrous she would’ve laughed, had anxiety and the deep shame of unwanted, erotic heat not continued to surge like a rising tide inside her.
‘I most certainly did not. If this is some sort of game, I don’t appreciate it.’ And if she received another intimidating letter from his lawyers, she’d fight it. There had to be grounds against this sort of behaviour. A claim for harassment at the very least.
His gaze narrowed. ‘Game? You think I would choose to be anywhere near you?’
The stark disbelief in his tone grated. Loath to let him see the devastation his words caused, she whirled and headed for the farthest seat, which in the small space was only a handful of steps away.
She longed to sink into the armchair that’d been her grandmother’s favourite seat, seek comfort from its familiar smell, but that would show weakness.
Instead, she sought refuge behind the chair, her hands gripping the headrest. She was glad for its sturdiness when her eyes settled more firmly on him.
Raw, devastating masculinity. Three years had only added to the gravity of power that surrounded him like an invisible cloak, made all the more distinguished by the faintest sprinkle of grey in his otherwise jet-black hair. His handmade Italian designer suit sat on broad shoulders in perfect symmetry to his well-honed physique.
From stinging, unbidden memory, she knew his six-foot-four frame carried not an ounce of spare flesh. Its sleek, toned muscle, hard planes and smooth contours had once held her fascination for embarrassingly long periods of time.
But it was his face—the arrogant jut of nose, chiselled cheekbones and square jaw sporting a day’s stubble—that repeatedly took her breath away. Deep-set blue eyes the colour of a stormy summer night could capture a rapt audience, burn with ferocious passion or freeze with heart-stopping cruelty.
Her gaze dropped to the curved sensuality of his lips and an electrifying sizzle ignited deep in her belly. Dear Lord, what those lips had done to her!
Lifting her gaze, she found him studying her as intensely as she studied him. She needed to get rid of him. Now!
‘What you choose to do isn’t my concern, Rocco. What I care about is that you’re in my house, without my permission.’
Her grip tightened on the chair when his head cocked slightly. Laser-sharp eyes bored into her and, even from the across the room, their white-hot heat consumed her.
‘Are you sure? You can barely breathe from your excitement, yet you expect me to believe that this...reunion wasn’t planned?’ His disbelief mocked her.
She should’ve been mortified by how accurately he’d read her. Yet all she felt was a shockingly visceral need; a need that whipped at her with unbelievable force. Swallowing hard, she tried for a careless shrug.
‘Don’t confuse anger with arousal, Rocco. I’ve always had my doubts about some of the people you employ. Someone has obviously made a mistake. Again.’
The last word hung between them. He acknowledged it with a cynical smile. ‘You too were once my employee. Until you managed to successfully elevate your status.’
‘Believe what you want. This—’ she waved her hand between them ‘—wasn’t my doing.’
He strolled to her, reached out and ran a long, graceful finger down her heated cheek. ‘You were always very good at denial, weren’t you, tesoro?’ His thumb caressed her lower lip, his voice low, hypnotic.
Mia snatched in a fevered breath as delicious flames licked through her. His heated scent wrapped around her like a magician’s spell and she fought to remain sane. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, let him drag her back to that dangerous, euphoric place where she’d lost more than just her power of speech. She had more important things to think about.
Like Gianni awakening with Rocco still in the house.
‘This conversation is going nowhere. You’ve obviously taken the wrong turn somewhere. Tell me where you wish to go and I’ll happily point you in the right direction.’
He ignored her suggestion and continued his caress along her jaw, sparking a belly-clenching hunger that terrified her.
‘You surprise me by maintaining the same tired line of defence. There was an appointment in your electronic diary both on your computer and your phone; a meeting took place during which you discussed confidential plans you were working on at Vitelli Construction. This was corroborated by more than one person.’
He was determined to drag her through their last, humiliating encounter, where he’d hurled soul-searing accusations at her. But short of throwing him out of her house—an impossibility given his sheer size—she had to get through this as quickly as possible.
‘I never denied attending that meeting, but I thought I was acting in my capacity as your structural engineer.’
He cupped her chin and tilted her face to his. ‘Yet you conveniently neglected to mention you’d passed on sensitive information regarding the Abu Dhabi project. And the fact that you’d accepted a job offer with a company in direct competition with mine.’
Mia gritted her teeth and breathed through her rising stress. ‘I didn’t divulge sensitive information. And the job was offered. Out of politeness I said I’d think about it. Besides, against Vitelli Construction, they would never have been serious competition.’
A superior smile curved his lips. ‘I agree. That aspect of your betrayal was sorely misjudged and didn’t cause me even a moment’s discomfort.’
She sucked in an astonished breath. If Rocco hadn’t condemned her for that... ‘Then why—’
His smile disappeared. The atmosphere turned from darkly sensual to arctic in the space of a heartbeat. ‘You dare to ask me why?’
Confused, she rubbed her temple. ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but you broke off our engagement, fired me and threw me out of the Milan headquarters because you thought I’d stolen your blueprints and given them to your competitor to secure myself a job.’
‘I didn’t think. I knew it for a fact.’
‘So, if you cared so little about that, what exactly ended our relationship?’
He carried on regarding her, his expression cold, forbidding.
Rocco wasn’t a man to be crossed. She knew this from painful experience. So why was she questioning him? Why not keep her mouth shut, let him leave? What did it matter that he’d ended their relationship two months before their wedding? What did it matter that it appeared the subject of the stolen blueprints wasn’t the only thing that had blackened her in his eyes?
What he’d done afterwards was unforgivable. He’d ruined her life and dismissed his unborn child with heartless cruelty. Which was why she needed to tread carefully. For Gianni’s sake, she couldn’t end up in jail—
‘Are you serious?’ he bit out eventually.
Mia waved him away with fabricated flippancy. ‘It doesn’t matter—’
‘Doesn’t matter? Have you any idea what your betrayal did to my grandmother? Do you know the heartache you caused by telling her you had no intention of ever bearing my child?’
She gasped. ‘But—’
‘She was inconsolable for weeks!’
The ferocity of his tone dried her words.
Rocco’s grandmother meant the world to him, which meant she’d become immediately important to Mia. It hadn’t been difficult to see why Rocco worshipped the ground his nonna walked on. Her instant, unconditional affection had soothed the deep ache caused by the circumstances of her own mother’s distance and indifference and the slow decline in her health Mia attributed to her lifelong bitterness and apathy.
‘It was never my intention to upset her.’
Rocco inhaled deeply. ‘I’ll give you one last chance. Tell me why I’m here.’
‘Perhaps your hearing is faulty, Rocco. I didn’t summon you here. So why don’t you tell me why you are here,’ she tossed back, fighting rising panic.
He didn’t answer. After several heartbeats, his gaze left hers to conduct a survey of the shabby clutter of the tiny room.
The furniture had seen better days, but wasn’t threadbare. Her grandmother had taken pride in her home, unlike the tiny flat Mia had shared with her mother. That home had reeked of apathy, despair and bitterness, and it’d shown in everything from the dark curtains to the cold floors and the callous disregard Mia had endured. All because she’d deigned to be born.
Mia was a little ashamed to admit that, mingled with the guilt she’d felt at distancing herself from her mother’s cold orbit at the first chance she got by taking a job first in London, and then in Italy, had been a tinge of relief.
But with every dispiriting visit and phone call in those intervening years before ill health had claimed her mother, Mia had been plagued with doubt as to her own worthiness. As to whether she would visit the same indifference and apathy on her future offspring.
It was why she’d been terrified of motherhood. Why she’d refused to even contemplate such a sacred and lifelong undertaking. How could she? When she had no clue what maternal love was? When she had no way of ascertaining whether her mother’s bitterness had rubbed off on her and risked being transferred to her own child?
Of course, she’d had her answer the moment Gianni was placed in her arms.
Gianni.
Thoughts of her son grounded her in the present.
She watched Rocco inspect her house.
She’d taken down the framed pictures and boxed them away so she could repair the peeling paint, but her dwindling finances had stalled that project. Cheap rugs provided relief from the cold hardwood floors and a place for Gianni to play in front of the grated fire when the weather was too cold.
It took seconds for Rocco to take this all in, for his gaze to snap back to trap hers.
‘You need money, sì? Judging from the state of this place, you’re short on cash.’ His head snapped up. ‘Are you sick?’
‘No.’
Suspicion narrowing his eyes, he nudged a finger under her chin. ‘But you need cash?’
Of course she needed cash. Thanks to his effective blacklisting, she’d been forced to give up her much-cherished career. Any other means of earning a living while caring for Gianni was virtually non-existent and the last of her savings was almost gone. But she’d crawl on hot coals to hell before she admitted it to the man responsible for ripping her life apart.
Her hands tightened on the chair. ‘I need nothing from you. Except for you to leave my house.’ Before she did the unthinkable, like give in to the need to touch him.
Go. Please, just go.
Finally, he dropped his hand. She immediately berated herself for wishing it back.
‘I’m beginning to think this has been an...unfortunate mistake.’
She exhaled in relief. ‘Can I trust that it won’t happen again?’ As long as there were no repercussions, she would be grateful.
Icy disdain tightened his face as he turned away. ‘I dismissed you from my life long ago. Believe that I’ve no wish to set eyes on you again.’
‘Trust me, I feel the same.’ Her voice emerged with a calm she didn’t feel. Inside, she wanted to scream. She clamped her mouth together as tears threatened, stung into being by his harsh words.
Blinking furiously, she watched him leave from behind the solid safety of her chair, even now unable to stop herself from feasting hungry eyes on his broad back, recalling the warmth of his skin under her searching caress, the silky luxury of his hair she’d once loved to run her fingers through.
He paused at the door. ‘I don’t know who orchestrated this meeting, but I will get to the bottom of this incident. And whoever is responsible will pay.’
She managed a stiff smile, her muscles threatening to seize up from the rigid control she kept on them. ‘You still haven’t told me why you came here in the first place, but, since I’m not responsible, I don’t much care. Goodbye, Rocco.’
She didn’t move until the door shut behind him. Then, galvanised by sheer self-preservation, she rushed to the window to make sure he was really leaving.
His long limbs had already carried him to his car by the time she nudged aside the curtain.
Inexplicable longing battered her. Her heartbeat thundered as she acknowledged that this might be the last time she ever saw Rocco Vitelli.
Greedily, she drank him in: the way his hair lifted in the cold breeze, the set of his strong, powerful shoulders as he hunched deeper into his jacket, even the hand he lifted to wave the driver away from opening his door caused her heartbeat to escalate until Mia feared it would burst out of her chest.
Dry-mouthed, she forced herself to turn away. Limbs shaking, she collapsed into the chair and buried her face in her hands, the reality of her lucky escape washing over her.
After several minutes of taking deep, careful breaths, she rose. A strong cup of tea would help get over the shock. That was all it was, she stressed to herself. Seeing Rocco again had shocked her.
Shocked and excited her. Reminded her how good they’d been together. In the boardroom. In bed. She closed her eyes in shame, sternly reminding herself of the consequences she’d suffered for once being a lust-sick fool. A stupid, besotted fool.
But she was over that. God, was she over it.
Nothing ripped off rose-tinted glasses quicker than finding out the man you loved saw you only as a brood mare. And a thief.
Realising she was standing in the middle of the room, wringing her hands, she abruptly stilled the movement. She would not let him affect her like this. Whatever ill wind had blown him here, he was gone.
Whirling, she started for the kitchen, then paused.
Something was wrong. With a start, she realised she hadn’t heard Rocco’s car leave.
The tiny cottage she’d inherited from her grandmother after her passing last year was on the outskirts of a Hampshire village. It was where she’d retreated to after barely surviving the tornado that was Rocco. It was located in a quiet cul-de-sac and at this time of day, before children returned from school, the place was so peaceful, she could normally hear even the quietest engine idling.
Dread crawling up her spine, she moved with leaden feet towards the window and nudged aside her curtain.
Rocco stood on the pavement, deep in conversation with Mrs Hart.
Mia’s heart slammed in her chest, then jumped into her throat when Rocco’s head jerked up.
No!
His gaze snapped to the window, snagging hers with the accuracy of a grappling hook. Even from that distance, the look in his eyes knocked the air from her lungs. Fingers frozen around a clump of curtain, she watched in dread as, without breaking eye contact, he retraced his steps down her flagstone path.
This time there was no knock.
He merely turned the handle and strode in. Straight to where she stood. Long, strong fingers pried the curtain from her hand, edged her away from the window.
He reached into his breast pocket.
Her palms grew damp with the rush of apprehension. ‘No!’ Dear God, not another ghastly letter. What would it demand of her this time? The very heart beating in her chest?
But what he extracted wasn’t a letter. It was far too small, barely three inches wide, coloured and glossy.
Bewildered, she watched him pass a thumb over its surface, his gaze fixed on the image. His face was ashen, harsh pants rushing through his clenched teeth as he fought for breath.
Finally, his intense, almost unholy gaze speared hers.
‘You wanted to know why I came here? Because Nonna is convinced there is a vital secret I need to uncover. Something that belongs to me. So I’m going to ask you once, Mia. Who is this child? Where is he and, more importantly, what is he to me?’
