by Day Leclaire
“What do you mean?” Kiley asked.
“Well, she said you both would have boys and that’s what the ultrasound shows, yes?”
“True,” Francesca admitted, rubbing the taut mound of her belly. “But then, she also said you’d have the only girl out of all these Dantes sprawled around here.”
“Also true,” Ariana said.
It took a split second for comprehension to sweep through the family. The instant it did, a half dozen different voices exploded in everything from cheers of excitement to a rapid-fire peppering of questions.
“When are you due?”
“Is it really a girl?”
“Why didn’t you tell us sooner?”
Lazz held up his hands with a laugh. “She’s due in a bit under six months. We wanted to keep it to ourselves for a while without you lot driving us crazy. And yes, the ultrasound confirmed today that it’s a girl. A bit early for them to know, or so I’ve been told, but apparently the baby was positioned just right for the doctor to make the determination.”
Téa and Luc enjoyed the added celebratory mood of the family while they finished their drinks. Then he urged her to her feet. “Let’s go inside and say hello to Primo and Nonna.”
They found Primo supervising the kitchen, a bottle of homemade beer at his elbow. The room was enormous, with huge bluish-gray flagstones decorating the rustic kitchen floor. Overhead, rough-hewn redwood beams stretched across the twelve-foot plaster ceiling. A long, broad table, one designed for the largest of families, took up one end of the room, while appliances suitable for a gourmet kitchen filled the other. Several more Dantes were busy carrying out Primo’s orders as they put the finishing touches on the various dishes they were preparing for dinner. To Téa’s surprise all of them were male.
“I’m beginning to like your family,” she told Luc in an undertone.
He grinned, quick on the uptake. “Because the men cook?”
“Darn right. Makes a nice change. Of course, there aren’t any men in my family, only women, so we get stuck with all the chores.”
“Cooking and gardening are my grandfather’s two favorite pastimes. Wait until you try his pollo al Marsala con peperoni rossi.” Luc closed his eyes in ecstasy. “There are chefs from all over the world who’d give their eyeteeth for the recipe.”
“Chicken Marsala with red peppers?” she hazarded a guess. “My Italian isn’t that great, much to Madam’s displeasure.” She slanted him a quick, teasing grin. “Except when it comes to food.”
“We’ll have to see what we can do to change that.”
The expression in his eyes made her feel as though she were free-falling at fifteen thousand feet without a parachute. Heat exploded deep in her belly and spread outward in waves of lapping fire. All thought vanished, except for one indisputable fact. This was her man. She didn’t know how it had happened or why, but he belonged to her every bit as much as she belonged to him. Even as the crazy thought took hold, she struggled to dismiss it. It was wrong to put her personal desires first. But some thoughts couldn’t be so easily dismissed.
Primo paused in the middle of barking an order to greet them. “So,” he said, the flavor of his Tuscany homeland filling his words with a lyrical warmth. “This is the one, yes?”
Téa wasn’t certain who appeared more alarmed, her or Luc. She’d always considered herself in control of her emotions and able to keep them well hidden from curious eyes. She hoped she’d nailed the ability, considering she’d been practicing since the tender age of sixteen. But, with Primo . . . It was as though he looked into her heart and laid it bare. And she didn’t like it one bit. Deciding to take control of the situation, she stuck out her hand.
“How do you do, Mr. Dante. I’m Téa de Luca. Luc and I are working together. Temporarily.” Though who that final word was aimed at—Luc, his grandfather, or herself—she couldn’t quite say.
“Mr. Dante?” he repeated with an offended click of his tongue. He wrapped her up in a powerful hug filled with the distinctive scent of a fragrant cigar and a variety of the spices he’d used in the preparation of their dinner. “I am Primo, you understand?”
“Primo,” she said, accepting the enthusiastic kisses he planted on each of her cheeks. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
He drew back in mock offense. “We met when you were a little girl. You do not remember me? With most people I make a big impression.”
She fought to control her amusement, not wanting to offend. “I’m sorry. I remember the cabin and the lake, but not too much else.”
Primo lifted a sooty eyebrow and fixed her with ancient gold eyes that were identical to Luc’s. “Well, no matter. I remember you. You were a pale, shy thing, overwhelmed by so many people. All bright red hair and white, skinny arms and legs.” He touched the tip of her nose. “Always had this stuck in a book, yes?”
“That was me,” she admitted with a laugh.
Primo turned and slapped the shoulder of one of the men behind him with a hand heavy enough to knock him to the floor. Maybe it would have if he hadn’t possessed a powerful Dante build. “This is Luc’s babbo, Alessandro.”
Luc’s father, Téa realized. At least, the Tuscany version of the word. The weight of Dante genes rested heavily on the three generations of men. “It’s a pleasure.”
“I’m stirring or I’d come over and say hello.” Alessandro tossed a friendly smile over his shoulder. “Hello, anyway.”
“You stir, I say hello,” Primo instructed. He pointed to the next one in line. “This is Rafe. He is one of the pretty Dantes. We only have two, thank the good Lord above for that small blessing. One is a girl, my precious Gianna, which is as it should be. We keep the other despite his being as pretty as the girl. If he did not have a brain, I would have drowned him as a child.”
“I believe you tried that, Primo,” Rafe offered, “and discovered I could swim like a fish.”
“I should have tried harder.” Primo whacked his next helper. “And this good-for-nothing is Draco. I am not certain what use he is.”
“I’m the charming one.”
“Marco is the charming one. You are l’stigatore. The troublemaker.”
Draco shrugged, not bothered by the accusation. “That, too.”
“That, alone,” Primo corrected before addressing Luc once again. “Cucciolo mio, go find Nonna and Elia and introduce Téa. Maybe she will remember your mammina better than she remembers me.” He leaned toward Téa, confiding, “I do not let them in the kitchen until it is time to eat.”
“Sounds perfect to me,” Téa said with sincere appreciation.
Primo grinned. “I like you. You come back when all is ready and sit next to me.”
The offer touched her. “Thank you. I look forward to it.”
The night seemed to fly by after that. As ordered, Téa took the seat of honor beside Primo and surprised herself by eating every morsel put in front of her. She also discovered Luc was right. Primo’s Marsala was sheer ambrosia. Dinner took hours, the process a raucous occasion filled with genuine family affection and laughter.
The cake did indeed say, Happy Birthday, Rafe, and after it was consumed, the presents opened, and the dishes washed, the women swept Téa off to enjoy coffee and talk babies some more. She threw a panicked glance over her shoulder in Luc’s direction, but he just chuckled at her dismay. The last view she had of him was his glorious grin before it dissolved into a sudden frown. It took her a moment to understand why. But then she saw it. He was staring down at his hands. Staring at the unconscious massage of left thumb against right palm. Staring as though his hands didn’t quite belong to his own body.
Staring at the undeniable proof The Inferno had claimed another victim.
“So, it has finally struck,” Primo said the instant the women left.
Luc glanced up in confusion while his brother, Rafe, looked on with an amused expression on his too-handsome face. “Excuse me?”
“The Inferno.” His grandfather gestured to
ward his grandson’s hands. “Do not bother denying it, Luciano. The signs are all there.”
“What this?” He deliberately gave his palm a final scratch and forced a laugh. “Just an itch.”
Primo snorted. “What you feel is a fifty-year itch, boy. Longer if you are very lucky.”
“Téa de Luca is an assignment, nothing more.”
Primo rolled his eyes heavenward. “Why are they always so stubborn? So reluctant to believe the truth even when it strikes as hard and dazzling as a lightning bolt?”
He crossed to one of the cabinets and pulled out a canister that read, Dried Manroot. Popping the lid, he extracted a cigar while Luc struggled to suppress a snort of laughter, thoroughly enjoying his grandfather’s sense of the absurd.
“Nonna will have a fit if she sees you with that,” Rafe warned, his jade-green eyes gleaming in shared amusement.
“Then we will make certain she does not see.” He took a moment to prep the cigar, then light it. “Luciano, you have witnessed The Inferno every day of your life. With my beloved Nonna. With your parents. One by one, with each of your cousins.” He lifted a snowy eyebrow. “Did you believe yourself immune?”
Luc set his jaw at a stubborn angle. “Yes.”
Primo blew a ring of smoke skyward and shrugged. “You were wrong.”
“I’m not interested in settling down,” Luc protested. “I’m sure as hell not interested in marriage and children.”
“Because of what happened?” his grandfather asked shrewdly.
There was no point in denying the truth. “Yes.”
Luc shied from the memories, knowing if he didn’t build a strong enough bulwark, they’d consume him. One key lesson had come from the incident, an undeniable fact he’d learned about himself. He never wanted to give so much of himself to another person he couldn’t live without her. To trust to that extent. To risk so much. Rafe had warned him when his own marriage had ended in disaster. But the accident that had ruined Luc’s knee had brought the fact home in spades.
Primo stabbed his cigar in Luc’s direction. “The Inferno is not something you can simply turn off. It has happened and you will have to deal with it. You can do as your uncle did, God rest my Dominic’s soul.” He crossed himself, grief still haunting his black eyes. “Like Dominic, you can turn from it and destroy your life. Or you can follow your parents’ excellent example. You can embrace it and discover a happiness unlike anything you could imagine.”
“And when it ends?” Luc demanded.
Primo regarded him in bewilderment. “What is this ending? Who says it must end?”
“All things end,” Luc insisted in a hard voice. “Love is a gamble, the ultimate gamble. When it ends, you don’t just lose. It can destroy you. I’ve seen it happen. That’s why I’ll never give into it, why I only bet when I know I can win.”
Understanding dawned in his grandfather’s face and an uncomfortable compassion settled into the deep lines bracketing his mouth. “You speak of the accident, yes? That unfortunate family?” He didn’t wait for a response. “Death is part of life, Luciano, just as love is. No one can control it. You witnessed that during your military service. Everything in life is a risk. But you can’t win unless you play. Take the love while you have the chance. Worrying about the other does you no good.”
Nonna’s voice drifted in from the backyard, warning of her approach. Without hesitation, Primo snatched his cigar from between his teeth and shoved it into Luc’s hand. By the time his wife entered the kitchen, he was across the room with a virtuous expression pinned to his face.
Nonna’s hazel eyes landed on Luc before arrowing toward Primo. “You know what the doctor said about smoking. No more cigars.”
“Do you see a cigar in my hand, old woman?”
“Do you think me a fool, old man?” After nearly sixty years of marriage, her imitation of her husband was uncanny.
Primo held his hands out. “Che cosa? I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“You look as innocent as a wolf with a lamb between its teeth, Primo Dante. My Luciano does not smoke.” Nonna planted her hands on her hips. “You think I do not know the meaning of dried manroot? I know all about that canister in your spice cabinet.”
“Dried cucumber,” he protested. “Just a bit of seasoning.”
“Hah! A joke at my expense, is what it is. Only the joke is on you when I tell all our friends that Primo Dante keeps his dried manroot in a jar in our kitchen cabinet!”
“You would not dare!” He thumped his chest. “I am your husband and I am telling you—”
She lifted an eyebrow.
Primo cleared his throat. “And I am telling you that as of tonight there will be no dried manroot in my spice cabinet.”
She nodded in satisfaction. “I thought that might be what you wanted to tell me.”
Chapter Six
The evening didn’t end as well as it began.
Téa expected Luc to join her after he’d finished his conversation with Primo. But instead, Sev Dante, the head of Dantes, the family’s international jewelry empire, slipped into the seat next to hers. She offered him a smile, one he didn’t return.
Her smile faded. “Is something wrong?”
He frowned, adding to her concern, and kept his voice low, so their conversation didn’t carry to the other Dantes sprawled around them. “I know a birthday party isn’t the appropriate venue for this discussion, but Francesca insisted I speak to you,” he began on an ominous note. “She’s usually right about these things.”
“What things?” Téa asked warily.
“Business matters.”
She stiffened. This couldn’t be good, not when it involved so much frowning. “Business matters. As in Billings’ contract with Dantes?” At his nod of confirmation, she said, “I thought Connie was handling that.”
He studied her with a golden gaze remarkably similar to Luc’s, if perhaps a shade tawnier. “Let’s just say your cousin hasn’t been very responsive to the concerns I’ve raised. So if he’s representing you in this matter, he’s not doing a very good job of it.” He hesitated, then asked, “You’ll be in charge of Bling soon, won’t you?”
“Five more weeks,” she acknowledged.
“Then you should know there’s a strong possibility that Dantes won’t re-up our contract.”
She fought to keep all emotion from her expression while she figured out how to deal with the unexpected—and alarming—information. All the while, a thread of panic wormed through her. If they lost the Dantes account, the company would be in serious jeopardy. Other accounts might follow suit and her inheritance would go from impressive to nonexistent.
And that meant she’d fail her family.
“Can you tell me why you’ve changed your mind about doing business with Billings?” she asked with impressive calm.
“It’s a quality issue. Yours has gone down while your prices have skyrocketed. Conway says it’s at your insistence. We’ve had another company approach us offering far better prices and top-notch quality.”
Téa straightened in her chair. She carefully returned her cup and saucer to the wrought iron table and swiveled to confront Sev directly. “No one offers better quality than Billings.”
“Once upon a time that would be true,” he acknowledged. “But not any longer.”
She searched desperately for a solution. “What if I can guarantee both? Would you re-evaluate your decision?”
“Your guarantee doesn’t hold a lot of weight considering the quality of the merchandise we’ve been receiving.” He hesitated, then nodded. “But since our two companies have always enjoyed such a stellar relationship, I’ll give you a couple of weeks to get to the bottom of the problem.”
“Thank you. I’ll look into the matter and call you Monday, at the latest.”
Sev inclined his head. “One last thing.”
He shot a look over her shoulder. Téa didn’t need to follow his glance to know that Luc was approaching. She coul
d feel him. Feel him as though he were a rising tide and she the waiting shoreline.
“Yes?” she prompted.
“Your association with Luc won’t influence my decision,” Sev warned quietly. And with that, he stood and returned to his wife.
Luc shot a glance in Téa’s direction and grimaced. Ever since they’d left his grandparents’ house, she hadn’t said more than a half dozen words, but had wrapped herself in silent gloom. Streetlights flickered over her, giving a harsh highlight to the tension scoring her face.
“Okay, what happened?” he demanded.
She was so lost in thought he couldn’t be certain she’d heard him until her voice slipped out, soft as the night. “Nothing happened. It was a lovely evening.” Then as an afterthought, she added politely, “Thank you for inviting me.”
“You’re welcome. Now what the hell is wrong? And don’t tell me nothing. Something happened.”
She swiveled slightly to face him. “Maybe I will tell you what happened. I realized where I’ve been going wrong all this time. I realized my distraction is causing me endless problems and that it has to stop.”
That was good, right? “That’s good, right?” So why had his alarm bells kicked in?
“It’s excellent.” She managed a wobbly smile that didn’t convince either of them. “In fact, it’s so excellent I’m not going to need your services any longer.”
His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Good try, but not a chance in hell.”
“Madam hired you because I was distracted,” she reminded him. “I’m not distracted, anymore. I’ve never seen the situation more clearly.”
He wished he could accuse her of having consumed too much of the wine that had flowed like water that evening. But he’d be surprised if she’d sampled more than the single glass she’d been handed when they first arrived. He didn’t know who had said what this evening, but he wasn’t about to let her off the hook just because a single night with his relatives had—hallelujah—given her 20/20 vision.
He used the only lever he possessed. “I’m your birthday present, remember?” Was it his fault if the words came out gravel-rough? “You can’t unwrap or return me until you turn twenty-five.”