by Sarah Morgan
‘You hid my child from me. You robbed him of the right to a warm, loving family and you robbed me of something that can never be returned. Do I intend to dictate terms from now on? Yes, I do. And if that makes me a bastard I’ll happily live with that title. Think about it.’ He strode towards the door. ‘And while you’re thinking, I have work to do.’
‘You’re going to work?’
‘Of course. I have a company to run.’
She shook her head in disbelief. ‘I … I need some time to decide what is best for Luca.’
Holding on to his temper, Santo yanked open the door. ‘Having a father and joining the Ferrara family is what is best for Luca and even twisted Baracchi thinking will struggle to distort that fact. You have until tonight to see sense. And I suggest you tell your grandfather the truth, or I’ll do it for you.’
CHAPTER FOUR
THERE was nothing quite so cruel as the distortion of a dream.
How many times had she stared across the bay and envied the family life of the close-knit Ferraras? How many times had she wished she were part of that? It was no coincidence that in times of trauma she’d chosen to hide in their boathouse, as if simply by being there she might soak up some residual warmth.
She’d crawled through the open window, grazing her leg on the rough wood of the window frame, covering herself in dust as she’d landed. Fia hadn’t cared about any of that.
With the sea lapping at the door that conveniently faced away from the bay, she had no fear that someone would find her. Who would look for her here, in the enemy camp? So sure had she been of the seclusion of her hiding place that when she’d seen Santo standing on the rocks, watching her, she’d known a moment of pure terror. Too afraid even to breathe, she’d waited for him to blow her cover. Her family hated his. Even a mention of the Ferrara name was enough to sour the atmosphere in her house for days. The only thing the Baracchi family knew how to nurture was a grudge.
And so she’d waited for Santo Ferrara to blow her cover.
Not only had he not done that, but he’d left her alone, as if understanding her need for space.
To her eight-year-old eyes, he’d turned from a boy she’d envied into something close to a god. The boathouse became her regular hiding place and from there she could observe the Ferraras and see the differences between their family and her own. Suspicion turned to wistful envy. She’d envied the family picnics, their games on the beach. It was from them she’d learned that a quarrel could be affectionate, that a father could embrace a child, that a sister and brother could be close, that a family could be a unit.
Some of the girls at school had joked about discovering that they were secretly a princess. Fia’s childhood dream was to wake up one day and discover that she was secretly a Ferrara; that there had been some mix-up at the hospital and somehow she’d ended up in the wrong family. That one day they’d claim her.
Be careful what you wish for.
Her head throbbing from lack of sleep, her stomach churning from an encounter she’d found hideously stressful, Fia dragged her mind back to the present and tried to work out what to do next. She had until tonight to find a way to tell her grandfather that the man he hated above all other was Luca’s father.
Once she’d negotiated that hurdle she’d move on to the next one. How to respond to Santo’s ‘proposal’ of marriage.
The suggestion was utterly ridiculous.
What sane woman would agree to marry a man who felt the way Santo felt about her?
On the other hand she could hardly criticise him for fighting for his child when her whole life had been spent wishing that her parents had done that for her. How could she argue with his claim that her son deserved to be a Ferrara when she’d modelled her little family on them?
If she agreed to his terms then Luca would grow up a Ferrara. He’d have the life she’d craved as a child. He would be cocooned in a warm and loving family, wrapped up in love.
And for that privilege she would have to pay a very high price.
She would have to join the family too, only unlike her son she would never truly be part of it. She would be tolerated, rather than welcomed. She’d be on the outside.
And she’d spend every day of her life with a man who didn’t love her. Who was furious with the decision she’d made.
How was that good for Luca?
It wasn’t.
Somehow she had to make Santo understand that no one would benefit from such an arrangement.
Mind made up, she arrived back at the Beach Shack to find the kitchen a hive of activity. Life was the only thing that could fall apart and yet still carry on, she thought numbly. She should have been relaxed, here in her tiny slice of paradise with the sparkling Mediterranean Sea lapping at the shore just steps away from her, but she’d never felt more stressed in her life.
‘Hey, Boss, I wondered where you were. I met the boat this morning. Beat everyone to it. The gamberi look good—’ Ben was hauling a box of supplies into the kitchen. ‘I’ve put them on the menu. Gamberi e limone con pasta?’ He caught her expression and frowned. ‘But if you’d rather do something else then just tell me.’
‘It’s fine.’ Functioning on automatic, she checked the quality of the fruit and vegetables that had been delivered by her local suppliers. It was as if nothing had changed, and yet everything had changed. ‘Did the avocados arrive?’
‘Yes. They look perfect. It was a good idea to switch.’ He paused with a box clutched to his chest. ‘So, are you OK?’
He wasn’t really asking that, of course. He was asking what had happened with Santo and she wasn’t ready to discuss that with anyone. ‘Where is my grandfather?’
‘Still in the house, I think. Oh, and Luca has a new word—’ he was grinning at her ‘—gamberi. Gina and I took him down to the quay this morning while they were unloading the boat. He was fascinated by the octopus. Wanted to take it home. Which we did. But we didn’t tell him we’d be cooking it and serving it with wine later.’
She managed a smile. Luca had grown up surrounded by these people. He was happy and confident. He’d witnessed none of the emotional fireworks that had scorched her childhood. Her heart ached to think that the simplicity of his life had gone for ever.
And just as she had that thought, Ben frowned over her shoulder.
‘He’s early for lunch, isn’t he? And overdressed.’
Fia looked round and saw a bulky man in a suit hovering at the edge of her restaurant.
Her temper flared. Santo had promised her until tonight but already he was making his presence felt. ‘Carry on, Ben,’ she said quickly. ‘I’ll deal with this.’ She had her phone in her hand and was dialling as she walked. ‘Put me through to Ferrara—I don’t care if he’s in a meeting—tell him it’s Fia Baracchi. Do it now …’ Adrenaline coursed around her veins and she was ready to stalk right over there and smash her way into his precious meeting if she had to but moments later she heard his smooth masculine voice on the phone.
‘This had better be important.’
‘I have a man who looks like something straight from some mob movie prowling around my restaurant.’
‘Good. That means he is doing his job.’
‘And what exactly is his job?’
‘He’s in charge of security for the Ferrara Group. He’s conducting a risk assessment.’
‘A risk assessment?’
‘Use your brain, Fia.’
From his curt tone she assumed he had people in the office with him and had no wish to broadcast his personal business. Soon the whole world would know, she thought numbly. They’d all know that Santo Ferrara had a son. And when that happened—
She wondered how he could concentrate in a meeting. She was so distracted she could barely string a coherent sentence together.
‘I want him out of here. He’ll frighten my customers.’
‘The welfare of your customers is not my concern.’
Fia eyed the physical bulk and intimidating p
resence of the man currently exploring the perimeter of the restaurant and played the one card that was likely to influence him. ‘He is going to frighten Luca.’
‘Luigi is a family man and brilliant with children. And he’s part of our deal. Now go and fulfil your part. Tell your grandfather or I’ll do it myself. And don’t ring me again unless it’s urgent.’ He hung up and Fia stalked over to the man, temper boiling, feeling as helpless as a fish trapped in a net.
‘In two hours my restaurant will be full of customers. I don’t want them thinking there is a problem.’
‘As long as I’m here, there won’t be a problem.’
‘I don’t want you here. You stand out. My guests will worry that something is going on. Luca is—’ The fight went out of her and she swallowed. ‘He’s led a very low-profile life. I don’t want him frightened.’ She’d expected him to argue with her, to show the same rigid inflexibility as his arrogant boss, but to her surprise his eyes were sympathetic.
‘I’m only here for his protection. If we can find a way to keep that low-key, that’s fine by me.’
He knew the history. She could see it in his eyes and she lifted her chin, prepared to fight the whole world if she had to.
‘I can protect my own son.’
‘I know you think you can.’ His voice was gruff. ‘But he isn’t just your son.’ The implication was that it was the other half of the gene pool that mattered. If Luca had truly just been her son, he wouldn’t have needed protection. Unfortunately his father was one of the most powerful men in Sicily and that bloodline made him a potential target for all sorts of unscrupulous individuals. The thought made her want to be sick.
‘Is there really a risk?’
‘Not with the security that Santo Ferrara has in place. Give me a minute to think about this—’ He looked around the restaurant. ‘We can work something out that keeps everyone happy.’ His response was so unexpected that Fia felt emotion well up inside her.
Horrified, she gulped it down. ‘I … Why are you being kind?’
‘You gave my niece a job last summer when she had some trouble at home.’ His voice was neutral. ‘She had no experience, but you took her on.’
‘Sabina is your niece?’
‘My sister’s child.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Why don’t you give me the chair at the corner of the restaurant? I’ll move a table to a position that works for me and I’ll linger over my meal. That way I can blend with your customers and everyone is happy.’
Fia stared at him. ‘And if he finds out?’ There was no need to spell out who ‘he’ was.
‘The boss doesn’t micromanage his staff. He employs people he trusts and then lets them do their job in the way that best suits them.’ He gave a faint smile. ‘I wouldn’t work for him if he didn’t.’
Right now she didn’t need to hear admiration in anyone’s voice when they talked about Santo. But at least Luigi appeared reasonable. More reasonable than his boss.
‘You can take that table—’ agreeing to the compromise, she gestured ‘—and it would be great if you could take off your jacket. We’re pretty casual here, especially at lunchtime.’
‘Mamma!’ Luca came sprinting through the restaurant and she heard Luigi’s sudden intake of breath as he had his first glimpse of the child he’d been assigned to protect.
‘Madre di Dio—’
The likeness was that obvious? Fia scooped her son into her arms protectively but he gazed curiously at the big man in the suit. He hadn’t learned fear, she thought numbly. He’d been brought up here, by the beach, surrounded by people who loved him and guests who thought he was a charming addition to this hidden Sicilian gem. But once people knew he was Santo Ferrara’s son, there would always be a risk. Even she could see that.
‘This is Luigi,’ she said huskily, ‘and he is going to be eating in our restaurant today. Aren’t we lucky?’ She looked at the reassuring power house that was Santo’s head of security and gave a slight smile. ‘Thank you.’
‘Figurati. You’re welcome.’ He winked at the boy and went to rearrange tables while Fia returned to her job.
A busy lunchtime merged into a crazy evening where she hardly emerged from the kitchen. She had time to check on her grandfather briefly, but no time to embark on a difficult conversation. It hung over her as she tossed gamberi into fresh pasta, and served her speciality dessert, Zuccotto al cioccolato. And all the time she was aware that time was running out.
By the time Gina and Ben had left for the night and everywhere was quiet, she was a nervous wreck.
All day she’d been rehearsing the best way to tell her grandfather, trying to work out which combination of words would cause the least shock.
I need to talk to you about Luca.
You’ve often asked me about Luca’s father …
Bracing herself for major conflict, she walked into the kitchen to finish her preparations for the next day and saw the frail figure of her grandfather crumpled on the floor.
‘Nonno! Cristo, please, no!’ She was across the floor and down on her knees in seconds, hands shaking as she gave his shoulder a gentle shake and then grabbed his thin wrist and tried to find a pulse. ‘Speak to me—Oh, God, don’t do this—’ She scrabbled in her pocket for her phone and then realised she’d left it in the house.
‘Is he breathing?’ Santo’s voice came from behind her, calm and strong as he strode across the room. His phone was already in his hand and he was talking into it, issuing a string of instructions in rapid Italian.
It was a measure of her stress that she was relieved to see him. She didn’t even question what he was doing here. ‘Did you call the emergency services? How long?’
‘They’re sending a helicopter.’ With no hesitation, he moved her grandfather and pressed his fingers to the old man’s neck. ‘No pulse.’
Why had she felt his wrist and not his neck? She knew she was supposed to feel his neck but all her basic first aid knowledge had apparently been driven from her brain by panic. Unable to think properly, Fia took her grandfather’s hand and rubbed it. ‘Nonno—’
‘He can’t hear you.’ Santo’s voice was firm and steady. ‘You need to move to one side so I can start CPR.’
‘I’m not going anywhere!’
She heard someone running and then Luigi appeared in the kitchen holding a small box. ‘Here, Boss—’ He handed it to Santo, who moved with swift purpose and lightning speed.
‘Undo his shirt, Fia.’
‘But—’
‘Just do it!’ He yanked open the box and hit a switch.
‘What are you doing?’ Her fingers fumbled on buttons that didn’t want to undo and she heard Santo mutter something in Italian and then strong hands were pushing hers aside and he tore the fabric and exposed her grandfather’s chest in a single movement.
‘Move away from him. Get back.’ He ripped off the protective backing from two sticky pads and pressed them onto her grandfather’s chest.
He just took control, she thought numbly, the way the Ferraras always took control. Not once did he hesitate or fumble.
‘Do you even know how to use that thing?’
‘It’s an AED. And yes, I know how to use it.’ He didn’t spare her a glance. All his attention was focused on her grandfather as a disembodied voice delivered instructions from the machine.
Anxiety flared. ‘You’re going to give him a shock? But what if that’s not the right thing to do? You might kill him!’ And for a moment her own heart almost stopped because she realised that her grandfather’s life was in the hands of a man who had no love for him.
His exasperated glance told her that he’d read her mind. ‘This device contains a sophisticated computer chip. As far as I know, they’re not programmed to bear grudges. Now let go of his hand.’
Reluctantly she moved back.
The voice instructed them to stand clear of the patient and press the button and after that the emergency services arrived and everything blurred. There was a flurry o
f activity while they stabilised her grandfather and then they transferred him swiftly into the air ambulance. And through it all she was aware of Santo, cool and in control. Santo, calling a top cardiologist and ordering him to meet them at the hospital. Santo arranging to drive her there. And when she pointed out that she had to take Luca and his Lamborghini wouldn’t accommodate a child’s car seat, he helped himself to Luigi’s sturdy four-by-four instead. And Luca didn’t even stir as she transferred him from bed to car seat, completely oblivious to the drama being played out around him.
‘Does he have a favourite toy or something?’ Santo secured the belt. ‘Something he can’t be without?’
She looked at him blankly and he gave an impatient sigh. ‘My niece can’t sleep without her favourite blanket. Does he have something like that?’
She swallowed. ‘He sleeps with a stuffed giraffe.’
‘Fetch it. It will help when he wakes up in a strange place.’
Wondering why he had been the one to think of that and not her, she sprinted to fetch Luca’s giraffe and quickly stuffed a change of clothes for him into a bag.
Santo drove her himself and for once she was grateful for the tendency of Sicilians to drive too fast. They made the journey in silence and when he pulled up outside the Emergency Department he sat for a moment, his hands gripping the wheel as he stared at the double doors that led inside.
Fia undid her seat belt.
‘They won’t let you near him at the moment so there’s no point in rushing. You might as well sit here for a while.’ Santo switched off the engine. His expression was grim and there were lines of fatigue around his eyes. ‘The waiting is the worst part.’
She was about to ask how he knew that when she remembered that his father had died suddenly of a heart attack. Had he been brought to this hospital? Staring at Santo’s white knuckles, she assumed the answer to that was positive.
‘Are you all right?’ Her voice faltered because even to her it sounded like a ridiculous question. Her grandfather was lying in the hospital and she was asking him if he was all right. And why would he even tell her? In all ways but one he was a stranger, except that no stranger ever made her feel the way that being close to him made her feel.