by Jane Porter
Theresa tapped her nails on the door’s metal handle. “Is your family Sicilian?”
“No.”
“Italian?”
Her father was, yes, but she couldn’t tell Theresa that. “German and Scottish, with a dab of Irish and a hint of French.”
His mother regarded her steadily, her focus sharp. “You’ve been to Bellagio.”
“Yes.”
“The villa is beautiful.”
“Extraordinary.”
“Did you drive his Lamborghini?”
“No, the Ferrari.”
“It’s a nice life, isn’t it? The cars, the houses, expensive jewelry.”
They were back to the perception that Jillian was a gold digger. Jillian didn’t know whether she should laugh or cry. She cared about many things, but money wasn’t one of them. “You do your Vittorio a disservice. He’s brilliant, devastatingly attractive and without a doubt, the most complex man I’ve ever met.”
“But the money is nice.”
Jillian kept her expression pleasant. “If I wanted a rich husband, I could have had a rich husband without the complications of a difficult family.”
Theresa stiffened, her eyes narrowing as she fell silent.
Jillian realized she’d probably made a gross tactical error, but there was no going back now. All she could do was try to hold her own, push on and see this brutal conversation to the end. “But my family is no better,” she said awkwardly, trying to make amends. “They don’t approve of Vitt any more than you approve of me.”
“You make it sound like you and Vittorio are two star-crossed lovers.”
She shrugged lightly. “I suppose there are shades of Romeo and Juliet in our story, but hopefully without the tragic ending.”
“Why don’t your parents approve of Vittorio?”
Ah, Theresa didn’t like that, did she? “They’re aware that he and I come from different backgrounds, and perhaps have different values.”
Theresa sat very still, her hands motionless in her lap. “Different values?”
“As you just pointed out, I’m neither Sicilian or Italian, and although I was raised Catholic, I rarely go to Mass now and yet from what I understand, your family is quite devout.”
“So why did he marry you?”
“Love.”
Theresa stared at her for the longest moment before smiling mockingly. “And you actually expect me to believe any of that drivel?”
Jillian opened her mouth to protest, but Theresa leaned toward Jillian and calmly, ruthlessly continued, “You don’t think I have my own connections? You don’t think I ask questions? I know you only just got married. And I know you didn’t want to marry my son—you only married him to keep your son.”
Jillian bit down into her lip, stunned.
But Theresa wasn’t done yet. Her cool blue gaze swept Jillian’s ashen face. “You can play whatever game you want to play with Vittorio, Jill, but don’t play games with me.” She paused, before bluntly saying, “Your entire relationship is a sham, isn’t it?”
“No.”
“It seems like one to me—”
“But it’s not your relationship. It’s mine. I adore Vittorio. I always have.”
“So why am I only meeting you now, a year after my grandson’s birth?”
Jillian sat tall, her chin tilted up. “I don’t see how that is any of your business.”
“I’m his mother!”
“And I’m his wife.”
The rest of the trip passed in tense silence. Twenty-five minutes after leaving Catania, they reached Vittorio’s hometown of Paterno. Catania, Sicily’s second largest city, was crowded and noisy, a sprawling urban city with a questionable reputation, whereas small, serene Paterno lay surrounded by citrus orchards with the protective tower and walls of the d’Severano family’s Norman castle standing guard.
It was a bright, clear morning with a stunning blue sky and the drive from the outskirts of Paterno to the castle entrance provided breathtaking views of both Mt Etna and the Simeto Valley.
Jillian and Theresa arrived first at the castle and were just stepping from their car, smoothing skirts and adjusting hemlines without once looking at each other, when the second black sedan arrived. Emerging from the back of his sedan, Vitt lifted Joseph out and then joined his mother and Jillian before the stone steps that led to the castle’s massive front doors.
“How was the drive?” he asked, glancing from his mother’s stony expression to the tight press of Jillian’s lips.
“Good,” Jillian said, her voice cracking.
“Not my choice of words, but we’re both here, aren’t we?” his mother retorted, one of her elegant winged eyebrows arching higher before turning around and walking away, her thin back ramrod-straight.
Vittorio watched his mother climb the pale stone stairs before turning back to Jill. “Sounds like an interesting trip,” he said drily, eyes glinting again.
Of course he’d find his mother amusing. “It was,” she agreed, taking Joe from Vitt and giving him a kiss.
“Did she ask a lot of questions?”
“Yes.”
“Was she direct?”
“As well as rude.” She took a deep breath, shook her head. “She doesn’t like me at all.”
“She doesn’t know you.”
“Well, she certainly doesn’t think we should be together.”
“You felt the same way yesterday,” he retorted with a smile. “Now enough about my mother. Let me show you and Joseph around your new home.”
From the immense twelfth-century walls, Jillian had imagined the interior would be dark and severe. Instead the castle had the feel of an airy Mediterranean villa. Everything was light and bright, walls and upholstery and floors all finished in cool, calming shades of white, sea-foam green and ethereal blue.
Because Joe was growing tired, Vittorio kept the tour brief, but Jillian didn’t need a lot of description to be dazzled by Vitt’s home. There was a sensual beauty to his castle, a warmth that permeated the old stones, thick walls and high-ceilinged rooms.
As they climbed stairs into towers, crossed terraces to view private gardens, Jillian caught whiffs of the heady perfume from the flowering citrus groves below the castle and felt the warmth of the gentle April sunshine as it cascaded over the weathered rock walls and surfaces.
Returning to the impressive staircase, they arrived on the third floor consisting of Vitt’s suite of rooms and the newly renovated nursery for their son.
Jillian paused inside the nursery door, eyes widening at the charming ocean theme. The airy, spacious nursery had a wall of windows flooding the carpeted floor with sunshine and bright light reflected off the walls painted with fanciful fish. “You did all this for Joe?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“I mean, it’s just so perfect….”
“Did you think I wouldn’t provide for my son?”
“No! Of course not.” She shifted Joe in her arms. “I’ve never once questioned your desire or ability to provide for Joe. I know you could give him anything.”
“As long as it’s material.”
She fell silent, realizing she’d said the wrong thing.
“Because that’s all I’m good for,” he added in the same velvet soft tone. “Money. Connections. Prestige.”
She blushed. “You’re putting words in my mouth,” she protested huskily, setting a wiggling Joe on his feet. The baby had spotted the sapphire dolphin rocking horse in the corner and was toddling fast toward the dolphin to climb on its back.
“But isn’t the money and prestige part true? You wanted me, enjoyed me, until you discovered I wasn’t your perfect prince and then you ran from me, disappearing without a word.”
“I’m sorry. Forgive me.”
“Apology not accepted.”
“Please, Vitt.”
“Please, what? This nursery has sat here empty for ten months. For ten months I searched for you, spending hundreds of thousands of dollars
hiring investigators and detectives and following up on every lead possible. For ten months I waited to meet my son.” He leaned against one of the bookcases flanking the tall paned glass windows, his strong profile silhouetted by the bright sunlight. “And every day I thought, the only reason my son isn’t here, is because you, Jill Smith, wouldn’t let him.”
She felt her face grow hot. Put like that, she was a horrible person. But he didn’t know the whole story, and as much as she wanted to tell him, she didn’t think she could. At least not yet. At least, not until she knew for a fact that she could trust him. “I am sorry, Vittorio.”
He made a rough disgusted sound. “Let’s be honest. You’re not sorry you kept Joseph from me. You’re sorry I found you. Only you’re too much a coward to admit it.”
Jillian’s face burned with shame, because Vittorio was right. She was a coward. A pathetic coward. But if it meant she could protect Joe, and remain with Joe, then she’d do whatever she had to. “Maybe,” she admitted softly.
“Why did you do it, Jill? Why keep my son from me? You had to know I’d be good to him. You had to know I’d love him. I always treated you well. You trusted me, too, and when you slept, you always slept close to me, pressed to my side.”
She hated how her eyes suddenly felt gritty and dry. She hated that she could still remember how she’d felt with him, too. Loved. Safe. So very secure. “That was before,” she answered faintly.
“Before?” he repeated, as if amused. Faint creases appeared at the corner of his eyes.
“Yes.”
“Before what?”
He was still smiling but she realized she’d misread him. He wasn’t amused. He was far from amused.
Jillian held her breath, the air bottled in her lungs, aware that she was walking on thin ice and she had no idea how to extract herself.
But Vittorio wasn’t waiting for the ice to crack. He was going to shatter it himself. The corner of his mouth lifted. “Before you invented a world where I played the villain?”
She stared across the room at him. “I invented nothing. I dreamed up nothing. It’s all there, Vittorio. It’s all there on the internet.”
“It’s not true.”
“There are dozens of stories and articles, Vitt.”
“And you believe everything you read on the internet?”
“Not always.”
“But you believed this…whatever it was you read about me?”
“Why would people lie?”
He studied her with his dark, fathomless eyes, the sensual curve of his mouth making her feel hurt and longing and desire and pain.
She’d loved his mouth, loved the shape of that mouth and everything it made her feel—physically, emotionally. He’d always made her feel so much and until she’d discovered the truth about him, it’d been so good. She’d felt so good. After so many years she’d felt whole. And then the truth emerged and she shattered all over again.
“Why indeed?” he mocked.
She waited for him to say something else. Waited for him to explain or defend or help her make sense of this life of his. He didn’t.
She balled her hands into fists. “So now’s your chance. Tell me. Tell me the truth. Are you…?”
“Am I what?”
“You know.”
His head tipped to the side. “Do you realize you’re in danger of sounding obsessive?”
His mockery infuriated her. “This is serious,” she snapped.
“You’ve watched too many Hollywood movies.”
“I know what I know.”
“And just what do you know, Jill? You seem to be an expert on masquerades and games and charades.”
She shivered at his tone. What if he knew more than she thought he did? What if he knew what she hadn’t wanted him to know?
What then?
And what would he do with the information?
But she wouldn’t let herself go there, not now, not yet. Instead she locked her knees for courage. “I know Sicily has a long, complicated history with the mafia. I know that the Italian government has tried for years to rid Sicily of the mafia but without great success.”
“And why do you think?” he asked, watching her from beneath his thickly fringed lashes.
“Because by all reports, the mafia leaders are very clever.”
He held her gaze, his dark eyes searching hers. “Or perhaps the mafia does not exist.”
So that’s how he wanted to do this. They were to pretend she was misinformed, confused, off base.
He wanted her to believe the mafia didn’t exist. He was asking her to accept that organized crime was a Hollywood fabrication. He was asking the impossible.
She wasn’t that girl. She knew better. She knew the truth.
Jillian had lived through things, experienced things most people only read about in books or watched on TV. Her father, while presenting a charming face to the world, had the callous heart of a killer. Her father.
“Is that what you want me to believe?” she choked.
“You must have had one miserable childhood, because you’re completely incapable of trusting another.” “I’m completely incapable of trusting you.”
“Just me?”
“Just you,” she retorted, even though it was a lie. She didn’t trust many people. She certainly didn’t trust powerful men and still didn’t know why she’d decided to trust Vitt nearly two years ago.
“Why?”
“You know why.”
“The Mafioso thing again?” he asked, sounding bored.
“Yes, that. It’s never gone away. It will never go away—”
“Which is a dilemma, isn’t it? Because now you’re my wife. Married to the mob. What will you do?”
“I don’t know,” she answered, throwing her head back, temper blazing even as tears shimmered in her eyes. “None of this was supposed to happen. It’s the worst thing that could have happened.”
“Why?”
“Because it’d kill me, Vitt, it would if my son grew up and became someone like you.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
IT’D kill me if my son grew up and became someone like you.
It’d been two hours since Jillian had said the words but they still echoed in Vitt’s head.
It would kill her if her son were like him…it would kill her…
Unbelievably hurtful words, especially considering they came from the mother of his child.
The worst of it was that she didn’t know him. She couldn’t seem to see who he really was. But he wasn’t used to explaining himself, or opening his family or life to scrutiny.
Frankly, he didn’t care what people thought of him. And he answered to no one.
Because no one could touch him, although in the beginning everyone had tried. Prime ministers, presidents, parliaments, governments. Police in every country.
But what could they do to him? To the d’Severano family? What crime had he committed? What crime could they pin on his father? None.
Yet Vittorio was still feared, hated, loved and loathed. He didn’t even try to justify his behavior, or contradict the rumors or lies anymore. It was a waste of time, a waste of energy. Life was short. He would love it.
And yet Jill’s words had struck a nerve. A very sensitive nerve. Because he was not a bad man, or an evil man, or a violent man. He, like his father, had spent his life righting past wrongs, as well as building new relationships with people, businesses, world leaders.
He did have family members who were connected to the mafia, but he wasn’t one of them. Nor was his father. Nor would his son be.
Because you didn’t have to be crooked to be powerful. And you didn’t have to resort to pressure or violence to be influential. His success stemmed directly from his work ethic, his focus and his value system.
So let Jill Smith, the twenty-six year old American he’d just made his wife, say what she wanted. He knew the truth. He knew who he was. He knew what he was.
But in his heart, her words
did hurt.
Jillian held Joe’s hand as they walked in the rose garden after his afternoon nap. He toddled happily from bush to bush, savoring the sunshine and colorful petals and sweet scent of the antique roses.
Jillian talked to him and crouched down to help him smell different blossoms but her insides churned, her heart felt heavy.
She’d said something awful to Vitt earlier and she couldn’t forget what she’d said, or Vitt’s expression as she’d said it.
It’d kill me if he were to grow up and become like you….
Such cruel, hurtful words.
But she hadn’t meant to hurt him. She was just being honest. Just sharing her fear.
Her father’s crimes still horrified her, and she believed more than ever that the world needed good people. The world needed men who were strong. Courageous.
Compassionate.
That’s the kind of man she wanted Joe to be one day. That’s the kind of man she’d thought Vitt was. Until she’d looked the d’Severanos up on Google and found out the truth.
Crouching next to a pink rosebush, Jillian held a soft open flower up for Joe to smell it. He pressed his face into the petals. “Mmm,” he said.
“Smells good, doesn’t it?” she said.
He smiled up at her, his eyes deeply blue, his expression trusting.
Her heart ached all over again. She owed Vittorio an apology. She needed to let him know she’d been wrong to say something so unkind, especially in front of their son. Hopefully she could talk to him before they met his family for dinner. She wouldn’t feel better until she apologized.
Footsteps sounded on the walk and Jillian looked up to see Maria approach.
“Is it time for dinner already?” Jillian asked.
Maria shook her head. “Signor sent me to tell you that he is not eating at home tonight. He said that he’ll have dinner sent to you and Joe in your suite, and that you’ll meet his family tomorrow.”
Jillian straightened. “Did he say when he’d be back?”
The nanny shook her head. “No. But he may not return tonight. It’s possible he’ll remain in Catania until tomorrow.”