by Jane Porter
It was the most amazing feeling in the world to wake in his arms. The most amazing thing to feel so safe. So loved. Because in his arms, against his warm chest, she felt loved. She felt perfect.
This was perfect. He was perfect. They could make this work, they could.
Turning in Vitt’s arms, she pressed her cheek to his firm chest, her thighs brushing his. Closing her eyes she listened to the steady beat of his heart. She loved listening to his heart. It made everything simple and real. He was a man. She was a woman. And they fit together.
“What are you thinking about, cara?” Vitt’s deep voice asked, rumbling through her.
“You. Me. Us. Everything.”
“All without coffee?” he teased, lifting a hand to stroke her hair.
“Mmm.” She smiled, snuggled closer, sliding one of her bare legs between his. “I loved last night. Thank you.”
“My family was delighted to meet you too.”
She giggled against him. “You know that’s not what I mean. I was referring to us. Making love. It felt really good. It felt like it used to.”
Vittorio continued to slowly, lazily stroke her hair, his hand running from the top of her head all the way down to her back. “It was good.”
She felt like a cat beneath his caress and she arched a little with the pleasure. “I did like meeting your family though. And I adored your grandmother, as well as your father. You look so much like your father. Do you hear that often?”
“I do,” Vitt agreed.
She pictured his father and the wheelchair with the ventilator tucked beneath. “Where was he shot?”
“He took a bullet in the back. Well, five actually, but the one that severed his spinal column was the one that nearly killed him.” He paused. “Thank God it didn’t. But he was in and out of hospitals for the next two years. Sometimes he still gets very sick.”
She struggled to process what he’d told her. “But who actually shot him?”
“A member of the cosca,” he said, using the Italian word for a Mafia clan or association. “As I told you last night, he wanted out. I was seventeen, the age many men join the brotherhood, but he made it clear that I wouldn’t, nor would any of my children.”
“I didn’t think you could just walk away.”
“You can’t.”
She heard the pain in his voice and moved closer. “What happened?”
He tensed. “My father announced he’d no longer be part of any criminal activity. He made it clear he would no longer extort money or provide kickbacks.” Vittorio paused, stared up at the ceiling, deep lines etched next to his mouth. “We were all at dinner one night in Catania. My father and mother, my grandparents, my uncles, their wives, a few cousins and me. They called all the men out of the restaurant. My father knew what would happen. After all, he’d been a member for years, just as my grandfather had been. He told everyone to stay put, that he alone would go out. My grandfather and uncle refused to let him go alone.
“They shot them all,” Vitt said bluntly. “My father threw himself over Giovanni, his younger brother, to shield him but it didn’t matter. One of the bullets that struck my father, passed through him and killed Giovanni instantly. My father alone survived. It’s a miracle he did.”
“And then your family was finally free?” she asked, her voice husky with emotion.
“There was a huge public outcry. Everyone knew us in Catania. Everyone knew what had been done. People were livid. Even members of the association were uncomfortable with what happened. I think the taking of two lives, and the maiming of my father, satisfied the clan’s need to make a statement. Enough blood had been shed. We were left alone.”
She pushed up on her elbow to look down on Vittorio.
“Your father saved you.”
He swallowed roughly. “He did.”
His face was etched in such hard lines of pain that it made her heart ache. Gently she kissed his jaw, and his chin, and then his mouth. “I wish your father was my father. He’s such a brave man.”
Vitt reached for her, drew her up onto his chest and kissed her back. “But he is your father now, and you are part of this family now. We are one. You must believe that.”
They kissed and then made love slowly, leisurely before falling back asleep for another hour. But finally they rose and showered together before collecting Joe from the nursery to take him to have breakfast with them.
They were in the middle of having breakfast when Theresa appeared, dressed in tailored cream slacks and a gold knit tank with a rope of crystals, pearls and small gold beads around her neck. She looked polished, wealthy and very angry.
“You had a phone call, Jillian,” Theresa said shortly, “on the house phone. I wasn’t about to chase you down so I took the number. You’re to call him back. He said soon.”
She handed Jillian a piece of paper. “It’s not anyone working on the wedding. I know, because I asked him. Who else did you give our number to?”
Jillian shook her head. “No one.”
“Must have been someone, because he called.” Theresa smiled but even that was chilly. “Oh, and he’s American. Apparently a friend with an urgent problem. Do call him back, but in the future, I’d prefer it if your friends used your wireless number.”
Jillian felt Vitt’s gaze and she turned to him. “I can’t imagine who’d call.”
“Go find out,” he said, unconcerned. “Joe and I will be here waiting.”
Jillian was troubled as she dialed the number Theresa had written down. She couldn’t imagine who would call her at the d’Severano’s Paterno castle. No one knew she was here. No one could possibly have the d’Severanos’ number.
The phone rang three times before a man answered. “Hello?” he said.
“This is Jillian d’Severano returning your call. Whom am I speaking with?”
“A friend.”
Her skin suddenly crawled. “My friends have names. What is yours?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes, it does.”
“In that case you can call me Mark, or Marco, whichever you prefer.”
Jillian’s legs nearly went out beneath her. Marco was the name of Katie’s boyfriend. “Marco, you say?”
“That’s what your sister called me.”
She sank down on the white slipcovered couch in the sitting room. Her head spun. She felt close to fainting. “How…how…did you find me?”
“I have friends in high places. Police. CIA. FBI.” He laughed a little. “Heck, I might even be a friend in a high place. I guess you never know, which is why it’s important to know who your friends are.”
“What do you want?”
“I’m sure you know what I want. It’s what I—we—have always wanted. It’s not very much. A few numbers. One little street address. And you’re done.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”
“I want your father’s address.”
“I don’t know it.”
He snorted. “You expect me to believe that?”
“It’s the truth.”
“But you could get it for me.”
“I couldn’t. He doesn’t share it with me. I don’t see him. I have no contact with him—”
“Those are excuses. I’m not interested in excuses. None of us are. What you need to do is think out of the box. Get creative. Invite him to your wedding. I am sure he’d be delighted by a trip to Italy if you asked him nicely.”
Jillian’s stomach rose, acid filled her throat. Marco knew too much. He was far too connected. Which made her wonder how he’d traced her here. “My father and I haven’t talked in years.”
“That’s a shame, because you have so much at stake. Your baby…your husband.your new family.”
She bent over, nauseated. “Don’t threaten me.”
“Then don’t be stupid. You know what happened to Katie.”
Briefly she closed her eyes, remembering Katie’s violent death, remembering her own grief. Jill couldn’t lose
anyone else. Her heart couldn’t bear the pain. “I would need time,” she said, her voice low and broken.
“You don’t have time. And you’re not to involve your husband. He’s not part of this. He’s not to know about this. And should he find out, trust me, there will be devastating consequences.”
Then he hung up.
Jillian slowly, numbly set the phone down and sat frozen on the edge of the couch.
For the past twenty months she’d been afraid of Vitt, terrified of his mafia connections, but Vitt wasn’t a threat. He’d never been a threat. The threat was her family. The threat was her father’s past. His choices. His actions. Her father was the danger. And as long as her father was alive, he’d always put the rest of them in danger.
But Jillian knew she could never turn on her father. Could never sell him out.
Something else would have to happen.
Something else would have to change to keep Vittorio and her baby safe.
Jillian returned to the breakfast room, but Vittorio was gone, just Theresa and Joe remained.
“Where’s Vitt?” Jillian asked, scooping Joe up from his high chair.
“I don’t know. He left the breakfast room not long after you did.”
Jillian kissed Joe. “We’ll go find him then,” she said, struggling to keep her voice natural, to make everything seem normal. “See what he has planned for the day.”
Theresa tipped her head back to look at Jillian. “This friend who called…he’s not an old boyfriend, is he?”
“No.” Again Jillian’s stomach rose in protest. “Absolutely not.”
“Who was he, then?”
“An acquaintance of my sister’s. Just calling to check in.”
“On our house phone?”
“He’d heard about the wedding.”
“So he was calling to congratulate you?”
Jillian felt swamped by grief. “Yes.”
“How good of him.”
“Yes.”
“Well, as long as that’s the truth. Because you know Vittorio. He can’t abide dishonesty.” Then Theresa pushed back her chair, rose from the table and patted Joe’s back before walking out.
For a moment after Theresa left Jillian couldn’t move. She stood in the middle of the breakfast room, absolutely shell-shocked. Although sunshine still poured through the tall windows, splashing light across the tiled floor, Jillian couldn’t focus. Couldn’t see.
In less than five minutes Marco had turned her world inside out. In less than five minutes Marco had stripped away her security, and her hope.
Jillian wasn’t sure her legs would hold her as she carried Joe up the stairs from the breakfast room to the nursery on the third floor.
Her heart thudded. Her teeth chattered. Her mind raced, thoughts spinning wildly in every direction.
What would she do now?
What could she do?
She had no idea how Marco had found her. But he had. And now that he had, she put everyone here in danger.
Like Katie before her, Marco’s people would use her, make her a tool for destruction.
But she couldn’t risk Vittorio’s family’s safety. And there was no way she’d ever hurt Vitt.
Not when she loved him. Not when he was the one person who’d reached out to her, helped her, loved her.
Because in her heart, she did feel loved. In her heart, she knew he’d do anything for her.
But she needed Vitt alive and strong for Joe. Because Joe, as a d’Severano, would need guidance. Joe would need the wisdom and courage of his father.
Drawing Joe closer against her breast, she breathed him in, smelling his sweetness, aware of his softness. She would never put her baby in danger. She would never compromise his safety in any way.
There was only one thing she could do.
Only one decision to be made.
She had to go. It was the only way.
Tears filmed her eyes and she blinked to clear her vision as she reached the top step. Joe stared into her face with concern and patted her cheek. “Mama,” he said, his baby hand against her face, “Mama.”
“It’s okay,” she soothed him, kissing his small palm. “Daddy loves you. Momma loves you. Everyone loves you.”
Entering the nursery, Jillian found Maria folding Joe’s clothes. At first glance, Jillian thought Maria must have done his laundry, but then she realized Maria was putting everything of Joe’s into a suitcase.
Had Vittorio found out about Marco’s call?
Was Vittorio sending them away?
“What are you doing?” Jillian asked Maria.
“Signor told me to pack the baby’s things.”
Jillian’s legs shook. “Why?”
“He said that you were going on a trip.”
“Me?”
Maria nodded, and Joe impatiently kicked, wanting to be put down. Numbly Jillian set him on his feet and just like the first day he was here, he raced toward his toys, pulling out a stuffed floppy dog off the bookshelf to squeeze to his chest.
Jillian drew a shallow breath. “When did he say that?”
“Five minutes ago. Maybe ten. He came into the nursery and told me to pack because the three of you were going away on holiday for a few days. Going to Capri, I think he said.”
Relief coursed through her veins. “Capri?” Jillian repeated.
Maria folded another one of Joe’s little T-shirts and added it to the stack in the suitcase. “He wants you to relax before the wedding. It’s a pre-honeymoon honeymoon.”
A pre-honeymoon honeymoon, to Capri no less. Vitt’s thoughtfulness staggered her, aware that he knew it was one of the places she’d always wanted to go but had not yet been.
Shaking her head, Jillian looked off, across the bright nursery with its cheerful colors and fanciful fish. She loved this nursery almost as much as Joe did. It was such a perfect room for a little boy to call his own. “Maria, can I leave Joe here with you while I go talk to Signor?”
Maria smiled. “Of course.”
Jillian left the nursery and headed down the hall for the bedroom she shared with Vitt.
The room was dimly lit as the curtains had been drawn against the morning sun. In the darkened room the large canopy bed looked massive and the antique wardrobe in the corner appeared to almost topple over. A suitcase lay open on the bed and Vitt’s clothes were stacked in a neat pile in half of it.
Inside the bedroom she heard the sound of running water coming from the ensuite bathroom. Vitt was showering. Humming.
He sounded so happy.
It was such a small thing, but somehow it stole her breath, and practically brought her to her knees.
She couldn’t hurt him. She couldn’t do it. But just being here with him put everyone at risk.
And then the sound of running water stopped. Vitt had finished his shower.
Jillian put a hand to her middle. For a moment she felt so physically sick she thought she’d lose her breakfast right there on the elegant green-and-cream rug. But she couldn’t afford to get sick. She had to keep herself together, had to talk to Vitt.
Gritting her teeth against the acid rising up in her throat, she opened the door and entered the bathroom.
Vitt was standing at the far end of the white marble room, naked, hard muscles glistening, with just a white towel wrapped neatly around his lean hips.
The long mirror over the double sinks was cloudy with steam and steam still wafted from the large white marble shower.
Vitt reached for another towel and began drying his thick hair. “How’s your friend?” he asked, rubbing the towel over his wet hair.
“Good.”
“Everything okay?”
She looked at him, knew she loved him, knew she’d do anything for him, just as she’d do anything for Joe. They were her family. They were hers to cherish. “Yes.”
Vitt grinned as he dragged the towel over the back of his head. “Mother was worrying he was an old boyfriend.”
Vitt’s boyi
sh grin nearly broke her heart. Jillian forced a smile. “She was wrong.”
“I told her that.”
Jillian exhaled hard. “It was an old friend of Katie’s actually. He’d heard about the wedding. Wanted to offer his congratulations.”
“Did you invite him?”
“No.”
“Why not? He’s welcome to attend.”
Jillian turned away, close to throwing up. She couldn’t do this. Couldn’t pretend everything was fine when her heart was breaking. “He’s not someone I’m close to.” She ran a shaky hand through her hair, pushing it back from her face. “Maria’s packing Joe’s things. She said you’re taking us to Capri for a few days.”
Vitt draped the damp towel he’d used on his hair on a towel bar. “You weren’t supposed to know,” he said.
She stared at his broad, muscular back, his skin lightly golden, loving him more now, in this moment, than she’d ever loved him. “I’m still surprised. And delighted. We’re really going to Capri?”
“Yes.” He turned, glanced at her in the mirror, his dark eyes locking with hers. “You said you’d never been.”
“You remembered.”
“I remember everything.”
Hot tears pricked her eyes but she wouldn’t cry. Not now. Not when she had to be strong. “Thank you.”
“The trip sounds all right?”
“Heavenly,” she said, meaning it, because all she wanted was to be with Vittorio. All she wanted was time with him. To make love with him. To have a life with him. “When do we leave?”
“Soon. I’ve a quick meeting in Catania, and then my driver will bring you and Joe to meet me at the airport. We’ll fly out at noon. Can you manage that?”
“Easily. What should I pack for the trip?”
“Nothing. I’m buying you a new wardrobe there.”
“You’re serious?”
“Your clothes are horrendous. And you are absolutely gorgeous and I can’t have my beautiful bride running around in mom-wear…even if she is the mother of my son.”
Her heart ached, and she swallowed around the lump filling her throat. “I don’t need that much. A few pretty dresses, yes, maybe a wrap to cover a new swimsuit, but I don’t need more than that, not when I have you.”
His dark gaze met hers in the mirror again. “You really are happy with me?”