The Italian Boss’s Secret Child

by Trish Morey

  Philly’s eyes landed on his and her smile broadened as their hazel lights shone warm and real into his, setting the space inside him strangely aglow.

  He felt a deep satisfaction and a good deal of pride, together with a whole plethora of unfamiliar emotions he couldn’t even begin to put a name to.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ Daphne said, releasing her daughter from her arms only enough to take her hands in hers. ‘Remember that promise you made to me? That you even cared enough to make that promise meant so much but I never once thought it might actually happen.’

  ‘Promise?’ Damien shifted, noticing Philly’s back stiffen. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Oh, that,’ Philly replied, shakily trying to laugh it off, her eyes evading his. ‘It seems nothing now.’

  ‘Nothing?’ said her mother. ‘How can it be nothing, when your daughter promises you something you think only a miracle can deliver and yet she makes it happen? It’s truly a miracle.’

  ‘What did she promise you?’

  ‘Damien,’ said Philly, grabbing his hand. ‘Mum looks tired. I’ll tell you later.’

  ‘But Philly sounds such a wonderful daughter,’ he said, ignoring her attempts to stop him. ‘Tell me, Daphne, about how special my new bride is. What did she promise you?’

  Daphne patted Damien on the hand, fresh tears pooling in the corners of her eyes.

  ‘Well, it was after Monty, Annelise and baby Thomas died in that terrible accident. I was so upset about the family, and about my grandson. It was so unfair—he was just so young. And I felt cheated. I was a grandmother and yet I’d never had the chance to be one. I never even got to hold him or to kiss his soft cheek or feel his tiny hand cling to my finger…’

  Damien reached for her hand then and squeezed it, even though dread was seeping inside him, settling into dank, stagnant pools that banished the sensations of contentment and goodwill he’d been feeling just moments earlier.

  She stared ahead, her vacant eyes fixed on a point in the middle distance. ‘Not a day goes by that I don’t wonder what he would be doing now or how he would be growing. Not a day goes by that I don’t feel the pain of his loss.’

  She swallowed and turned her face back to Damien’s. ‘When they discovered my cancer was terminal I thought I’d never have the chance of holding a grandchild at all. But Philadelphia knew what it meant to me. She knew how much I yearned for another grandchild and she made me a promise.’

  She blinked rapidly, clearing the tears from her eyes as she took a deep breath. He held his.

  ‘It seems quite mad now yet it meant so much to me at the time—and now? Well, maybe it wasn’t so mad, after all. I remember it was my birthday and I was feeling particularly sad and she promised me then that she would do anything she could to make me happy and that I wasn’t going anywhere without holding her baby first.’

  ‘She said she would do—anything?’ He directed the half-statement half-question to Daphne but his eyes were searching for the answer on Philly’s face, waiting for her to deny it but knowing by the fear in her swirling hazel eyes that she couldn’t.

  ‘Yes.’ Daphne chuckled, oblivious to the sudden tension now crackling in the air between the newlyweds. ‘I don’t know what Philadelphia had in mind. I thought once the wedding with Bryce fell through that there was no chance but then, as luck would have it, you turned up.’

  ‘As luck would have it.’

  His voice was icy and flat, a slippery track she felt herself sliding along, further and further away from him.

  ‘And I’m a very lucky woman because of it. But now I must rest. So, if you’ll excuse me…’

  ‘I’ll see you to your room,’ Philly offered, relishing the thought of a moment’s respite from the heated accusations of his dark eyes, but Daphne would have none of it.

  ‘No! Marjorie can look after me. It’s your wedding night, after all.’

  Daphne made her goodnights and disappeared with Marjorie in a whirl of excitement and congratulations. The second they’d left the room Philly turned, trying to take the offensive.

  ‘Damien, it’s not how it sounds. We have to talk.’

  Without looking at her, he walked straight past and out of the room, leaving her to chase after him in his wake, a combination of his woody cologne, fury and a sense of betrayal wafting behind him. Lifting her full-length silk skirts she tripped down the hallway after him, barely able to keep up with his long, purposeful stride. He entered the room that was to have been theirs, the massive master suite, dominated by the large four-poster bed intended for the newlyweds to share tonight.

  But the bed might not have been there for all the notice Damien took of it. He moved straight to the walk-in wardrobe, where he collected a leather overnight case and started flinging the few items he’d brought into it.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she asked.

  ‘What does it look like? I’m leaving.’

  ‘Damien, let me explain.’

  ‘Explain what?’

  ‘It’s not how it sounds.’

  ‘No? You mean you didn’t make that promise to your mother?’

  ‘Yes, I did, but that doesn’t mean—’

  ‘You didn’t say you’d do anything you could?’

  ‘Damien, that’s not the point.’

  ‘Isn’t it? You promised to do anything you could to give your mother a grandchild. When it all went belly-up with Bryce you had to find some other way of doing what you’d promised, and quickly. And you found it in me.’

  He strode across the room with long, purposeful strides into the large en suite bathroom. ‘What did your mother say?’ he continued, hurling toiletries into the bag. “‘As luck would have it, you turned up”’.

  ‘No, Damien, it wasn’t like that. I explained all this to you before.’

  ‘Did you? Seems you left out the best bit. You left out the bit about being determined to have a baby. Someone’s baby. Anyone’s baby. That night at the masquerade ball, you weren’t there for my benefit. You were trawling for a sperm donor.’

  His words cut her deep, so deep that she was unable to respond. It hadn’t been like that…

  ‘My God,’ he continued, ‘when I think that I almost believed you. I thought all you wanted to do was to keep this baby a secret. And, no doubt, you did. Until you worked out there was an even bigger prize. You could have the baby and the money too. Money and luxury for life. Not a bad return for one night’s work.’

  He lifted his head to look at her. ‘Such a wonderful daughter.’ He zipped up the bag, shaking his head. ‘Such a lousy wife.’

  ‘Damien, it’s not true. You have to listen to me. Please.’

  ‘Why should I listen to you? You’ve lied to me ever since we met. Every step of the way you’ve hidden the truth, pretending to be something you’re not, the shy virgin, the dutiful daughter. Well, the truth is out. You’re neither dutiful nor shy. You’re manipulative and devious, out for what you can get.’

  ‘I never pretended to be anything, least of all a shy virgin. I never said that.’

  ‘No? You didn’t have to. Those baggy suits. The big glasses. You looked like a shy little mouse but all the while you were planning with rat cunning.’

  ‘What? Now you’re blaming my wardrobe for what’s happened? Listen to yourself, Damien. You’re not making any sense.’

  ‘Maybe not but at least now I’m seeing sense. I’m seeing things I should have seen a long time ago.’

  He tossed the bag over his shoulder and stormed across the room to the door.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Anywhere you’re not.’

  ‘But you can’t go, not yet.’

  ‘Why not? You’ve got what you wanted—the baby, a husband, somewhere your mother will be comfortable and well looked after. You’ve fulfilled your promise. You have no more need of me.’

  ‘That’s not true. I do need you.’

  He tossed her a look of disdain over his shoulder as he headed ac
ross the driveway to the detached triple garage. ‘Why? Have you made more promises you haven’t bothered to share with me?’

  ‘No! But I need you, Damien. I… I love you.’

  He stopped dead at the garage door, his hand on the automatic door opener and his head lowered as the metal door rolled up and away.

  Her breath was fast and shallow, her heart hammering as she waited for his response, any response.

  When the door had rolled high enough he stepped under and around to the side of his black BMW, tossed in the bag and finally turned, his features frozen, his eyes cold and hard.

  ‘I’m disappointed, Philly. For a woman who’s gone to the lengths you have to get pregnant, I would have expected something much more creative than that. Running out of ideas, are you?’

  He lowered himself into the car and turned the key, kicking the black beast into life. She ran to the side of the car as he pulled his door shut, her voice rising to counter the engine.

  ‘Damien, it’s the truth. And no matter how much you don’t want my love and don’t need it, you’ve got it. And I don’t even know why. But it’s true. I love you.’

  He gunned the motor, one hand on the steering wheel, the other tense over the gear stick as his window slid down in a hum. ‘Don’t bother, Philly. That’s hardly likely to change things, even if I did believe you.’

  The window slid up and the car jumped forward out of the garage. Philly sprang back as the sleek car roared out.

  ‘Damien!’ But he was gone, in a cloud of rich petrol fumes and the powerful roar of an engine being given its head.

  He couldn’t go—not like this! He had to believe her. She had to convince him. But how could she do that? She looked around, her eyes falling on the Mercedes coupé still parked just outside the garage, the large gold ribbon still tied around it. She touched the key at her throat, the key Damien had placed there earlier.

  He must be heading for the penthouse, intending to spend the night alone there. If she could just talk to him—she needed time to explain, to put his fears to rest, and letting him stew on everything tonight was only going to cement his case against her.

  She looked at the car. She hadn’t driven it yet and it was as different from her old sedan as satin was from serge, but it was still only a car. And right now it was her only hope.

  She flipped the ribbon necklace over her head as she headed for the car. With two tugs the large bow came away and fluttered to the ground and, collecting her skirts in one hand, she slid behind the wheel, the soft leather seat wrapping itself around her. She took a few seconds to familiarise herself with the controls. Then she snapped on her seat belt and started the engine.

  The sports car gave a throaty purr that spelt superb engineering and promised power. She wouldn’t need too much of that—she was more interested in making it to the penthouse in one piece than in catching him en route after all. With a final deep breath she found the headlights and released the handbrake, easing the car along the driveway.

  There was at least twenty kilometres of country road to negotiate before reaching the highway that would take her straight into the city. She couldn’t wait to get there.

  Thick clouds skudded across the sky, obliterating the moon until the night sky became dark and threatening. Gum leaves and bark danced across the road, whipped along by the rising wind which bowed the roadside trees in the car’s powerful headlights.

  While the car was smooth and powerful, it was enough to concentrate on the unaccustomed journey and the worsening conditions and she longed for the familiarity of her old sedan. At least on that one she knew which side to find the wipers and indicators in a hurry if she needed.

  She missed two turns on the narrow bush roads and had to backtrack to find the right route, but eventually the glow from the lights over the freeway on-ramp told her she was close. With a sigh of thanks she stretched back into the rich leather upholstery, knowing the worst was over and that the freeway would soon take her into the city and to Damien. The few first drops of rain splatted on to her windscreen. Slowly at first, before fast turning into a torrent.

  She almost missed the car on the side of the road as she battled to find the wipers. For a second she thought it was Damien parked there and her heart leapt, but as she got closer she could see the dark colour belonged to a different, older make of car. The bonnet was up and a woman ran out in front of her, waving her arms in the rain. For a second she thought about driving on—it was dark and she wasn’t entirely comfortable with the idea of stopping. But the conditions were awful and what if the woman had children in the car? If it was Philly herself who’d broken down the last thing she’d want would be people to just drive by.

  If only she’d grabbed her bag before she’d rushed off. At least then she would have had her phone to alert the authorities. As it was, she had no choice…

  She pulled up just behind the car and found the button for the window. Cold bullets of rain took advantage of the opening glass, crashing cold and hard on to her face and chest. The woman rushed alongside.

  ‘Can I give you a lift?’ Philly asked.

  ‘You can do better than that,’ said the woman, pulling open the door before ramming something cold and hard against Philly’s cheek. ‘You can give me the car.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THE call came at three o’clock in the morning from the security desk downstairs. He hadn’t really been sleeping, more like tossing and turning, running over words and conversations in his mind, trying to make sense of the tangle of his thoughts. So the call hadn’t really woken him up, but the words the security officer had spoken snapped him immediately to attention.

  Two officers. To see him.

  He wasn’t all that familiar with the workings of the police force but he knew enough to know that they didn’t go making social calls at this time of night. He just had time to pull on jeans and a sweater when his doorbell buzzed.

  ‘What’s this about?’ he said before the uniformed officers had cleared the entrance.

  ‘Mr DeLuca, are you the registered owner of a Mercedes vehicle?’ He rattled off a registration number Damien recognised instantly.

  ‘That’s my wife’s car—yes. I bought it for her as a wedding present. Is there a problem?’

  ‘Can you describe your wife for us, sir?’

  ‘Well, yes. Five-sixish, slim figure, sandy-blonde hair. What’s this about?’

  The officers exchanged glances. ‘You might like to sit down. The car was involved in an accident this evening. I’m afraid we have some bad news.’

  His blood ran cold. ‘What kind of bad news?’

  ‘The car spun on a bend and went over an embankment. The driver wasn’t wearing a seat belt. She was thrown from the car.’

  Damien turned away, chilled to the core, trying to swallow though there was nothing to lubricate his throat as the ashes of his past choked him. ‘Spun on a bend,’ ‘Over an embankment’. Was he truly hearing this or were these images dredged up from another disaster, another tragedy over a lifetime ago?

  Why did it seem that history was repeating itself?

  ‘A woman was driving. Do you recognise this?’

  The officer placed something in his palm and he tried to concentrate as he looked down on the loops of thin satin ribbon and a key—the same key he’d placed around Philly’s neck just last night. His fingers curled tight around the cold metal. ‘My wife… Is she badly hurt… Or…?’

  ‘Mr DeLuca,’ said one officer, his voice laden with compassion. ‘It’s more serious than that. The driver was killed. Under the circumstances we fear it may be your wife. We’d like you to come and assist with identifying the body.’

  Philly!

  They thought it was Philly. But he’d left her back at the house. It couldn’t be her. He’d left the car out of the garage. Someone must have stolen it. But then why would they have the key?

  There was one way to find out.

  He explained and reached for the phone. She had t
o be at the house. Someone else must have taken the key and stolen the car. That had to be what had happened. He called up the number from the phone’s memory, knowing he’d never key it in as quickly while in this state. Eventually his manager answered, businesslike but clearly half-asleep himself.

  ‘It’s Damien,’ he said. ‘I need to know if Mrs DeLuca is in the house. It’s important. And check the garage too,’ he added as an afterthought.

  He found shoes while he waited, avoiding the pity-filled eyes of the policemen as they looked everywhere but at him. But it wasn’t Philly. It couldn’t be.

  Eventually the manager came back, his worried manner immediately sending shivers down Damien’s spine. The words only confirmed his tone. No sign of her. Hadn’t slept in any of the rooms. And the car was gone.

  He held on to the phone for a good minute longer, only half-aware of the concerned voice on the other end of the line. ‘Phone me on my mobile immediately if you hear from her,’ he said at last, hanging up.

  He looked over to the officers, his mind blank, his gut cold and empty. ‘Let’s go,’ he said.

  She must have followed him. Why the hell hadn’t he considered she might do that? She’d followed him and now she was dead. Their child was dead. Grief welled up within him with the force of a tidal wave.

  And it was all his fault!

  She’d wanted to talk and he’d run. She’d wanted him to stay and he’d fled. She’d told him she loved him and he’d turned his back on her.

  And so she’d followed him. Why would she have done that? Why had she been so determined to make him see reason if she already had everything she wanted? Unless the baby and the house weren’t enough. Had she really needed him too? Had she really loved him?