by Nia Farrell
Everyone wanted to see him.
Everyone.
The doting aunts. The curious cousins. The snooty Miss Italy wannabe Nadia and the geeky bookworm Isabella, whose porn star sister’s name was not allowed to be mentioned. There were toddling children, rowdy boys, and misogynistic males, including creepy Carmine, who wasn’t about to let a wife, five kids, or Matteo keep him from hitting on her.
Of course, he waited until Dom Visconti was checking on dinner and mingling with family to pounce.
Carmine slid onto the sofa beside her and looped an arm over the back, behind her shoulders.
“Nice dress,” he said. “I’m Carmine. Matteo’s cousin. Isadora’s oldest. Hell, everybody’s oldest. Yep, I’m the firstborn grandchild.”
Beth looked around, hoping to enlist Bernardo’s help if she needed it, but he was gone, too, dammit.
“Of the oldest daughter. I know,” she said, forcing a lightness to her voice that she was far from feeling. “Tell me, how are Becca and the children? Your youngest is three months old now, right?”
If she thought that would be enough to take the wind from his sails, she was wrong. It only seemed to make her a bigger challenge.
Crap.
“Matteo’s been hiding you while he was gone. I can see why.”
Matteo had picked out the perfect dress for her, a flowing, floral confection that enhanced her bust line and flattered her figure. A row of tiny buttons would allow her to nurse Dante, but the low neckline revealed too much cleavage for her comfort—especially where a wolf like Carmine was concerned. The leer in his eyes was unmistakable.
Without Matteo here, invoking his father’s name seemed the next best thing. “We were in good hands. Dom Visconti watches out for us. Dante is his firstborn grandchild.”
“Too bad he’s not legitimate.” He shook his head and heaved a theatrical sigh. “He’ll never rise in the ranks, bastard that he is.”
“Whether he rises or not, he’s still a Visconti,” she said tightly. “Their blood flows in his veins, the same as yours. A marriage license won’t change that.”
Carmine chuckled. “Maybe you don’t want to be married. Matteo’s a hard man. Not like me. I treat my women right. Clothes. Shoes. Trips. Dinners out and breakfasts in. Play your cards right, and I’ll see what I can get you in a snazzy new car. Maybe a convertible. I’d love to see that hair of yours free in the wind…or loose in bed.”
With no one else there to stop him, he lowered his arm and touched her bare shoulder, cupping the apex and squeezing it slightly.
“Take your hand off me,” she grated. “I’m warning you—”
Bernardo rushed from wherever he’d been. “You heard the lady, Carmine. Hands off. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave. Now. Matteo’s headed this way, and he’s pissed. You remember what happened last time.”
Whatever it was, it was bad enough to leach the color from his face. Carmine shot off the sofa, turned to escape, and found his way blocked by Matteo.
Despite what Bernardo said, Matteo didn’t look pissed. He looked calm. Deadly calm. He stood as hard and unyielding as a fortress wall. Carmine had to scramble around him to get away.
Matteo took Dante’s pumpkin seat from her hold. Kneeling, he set the sleeping baby on the floor beside him and looked up to search Beth’s face. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you? If he did, I swear—”
“He scared me, that’s all. He called Dante a bastard and said that he’ll never rise in the ranks. He wouldn’t leave me alone. Wouldn’t go away. I told him to not touch me…and then Bernardo came. You came. You stopped him. Thank you.”
Matteo clenched his jaw. The muscles of his face ticked. “Fuck,” he grated. “I was gonna do this later when things had slowed down and the time was right, but, dammit.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, black velvet box. Seeing it, Beth forgot how to breathe.
“Bethany Shelton,” he said, “you gave me a son. You saved my life. I’m asking if you’ll spend the rest of it with me.”
Matteo opened the hinged lid, revealing the diamond engagement ring of her dreams. Tears burned her eyes. Overwhelmed, she pressed her fingers to her lips in a futile attempt to keep from crying. Marriage offered protection from the wolves and made Dante the legitimate heir. What could she say but yes?
Beth nodded, tears flowing freely now. “I will,” she cried, feeling her heart melt at his uncharacteristically romantic gesture. “There’s no one else for me.”
The ghost of a smile shaped his mouth. “Same here,” he said. “What do you say? Let’s try this on.”
Taking the ring from the box, he caught her left hand and slipped it onto her ring finger, nudging it past the last joint and easing it into place.
“What’s this?” Dom Visconti’s voice severed the moment, separating them abruptly.
Matteo stood and faced his father. With no one else near but her and Bernardo, they were virtually alone.
“I just asked Beth to marry me. You said that I could keep her. This makes sure that I do.”
The Dom tsked. “And you didn’t think about asking for my blessing? Matteo, Matteo. I thought I raised you better.”
“You raised me just fine, Pop. I had you and Mama for examples. I want Dante to have that, too. We’ll still need to plan the wedding and do the deed. With Beth’s dad gone, she’ll need someone to walk her down the aisle. We haven’t talked about it, but I think she’d be okay if you gave her to me. Again. Right, bella?”
“Yes,” she said. “Of course. I’d be honored.”
Dom Visconti stood, silent, a frown of disapproval on his lips.
“So,” Matteo drawled. “What do you say, Pop? Are you gonna give us your blessing or no? I’d hate to have this go south. She might not say yes next time.”
Dom Visconti rubbed his forehead and looked at Matteo. “If you do this, are you gonna take care of her?”
Matteo nodded grimly. “I swear on my mother’s grave that I’ll protect what’s mine. Carmine got off easy today, thinking it was okay to touch her. Next time,” he swore darkly, “I’ll break his fucking hand.”
Dom Visconti nodded. “There won’t be a next time. It’s done. She’s yours. The ring proves it. We’ll see about getting you the church for the wedding. You should think about having the reception at the vineyard. October’s a pretty month. Dante will be six months old. Maybe old enough to leave for a night or two. You know, give you two a bit of a honeymoon? You can take a real one on your first anniversary. Maui’s nice. Or Italy. You’ll have time to pick. My wedding present,” he said, sounding more than a bit pleased with himself.
Beth said nothing. She knew that Giovanni was a master manipulator. Was it Matteo’s possessive streak or Dom Visconti’s machinations that had put a ring on her finger? Caroming her gaze between the two of them, she honestly couldn’t say.
Dante chose that moment to jerk awake with a cry.
“He’s probably wet,” she said, unable to reach him with Matteo in the way. “And hungry. Is there somewhere inside where I can take care of him?”
“My old room,” Matteo said. “Come on. Frankie’s manning the grill,” he told his father. “We’ll be back as soon as we can.”
Matteo picked up Dante’s pumpkin seat and let Beth bring the diaper bag. Jostling the baby to try to quiet him, he led the way through the living room, into the marble-tiled foyer, and up the curved, sweeping staircase to the second floor.
A row of doors stretched down a long hallway. Matteo opened the third one on the right and stepped inside.
Beth had grown up in a middle-class family. She couldn’t imagine what it was like for Matteo, surrounded by upper-middle-class elegance and growing up like a prince of mob royalty. His room was a suite, with a king-size bed, a sitting area with a gas fireplace, and an attached bathroom that she planned to use when she was done. One wall held pictures and memorabilia from his youth. She’d have loved to take a look at them, but Dante�
�s needs came first.
Or they usually did.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I have to pee. Can you watch him for a minute? I won’t be long.”
Matteo hid the panic that flashed across his face. “What am I supposed to do with him?” he asked. “I can’t feed him. I’ve never done the diaper thing.”
Beth was already headed for the en-suite. “Rock him and chant Om,” she said.
She’d seen a father calm a crying baby with chant. It was worth a shot anyway.
Beth closed the door, muting the sounds from both sides. She washed her hands when she was done, turned off the taps, and realized that there was no baby siren wailing in the other room. There was, however, the baritone hum of Matteo chanting Om.
Dante was awake, lying perfectly still and watching his father in rapt attention.
“Well, I’ll be darned. It worked.”
Matteo stopped humming but his gaze was still locked on Dante’s. “Yeah, it did. Where do you want him?”
“Right where he is, for now. Let me get ready for him.”
Beth pulled the folded changing pad from the diaper bag and spread it on the end of the bed, adding a clean diaper and a box of baby wipes to her station. Taking Dante from his seat, she laid him on the pad, unsnapped the bottom of his jumper, and checked his diaper.
“He made a little mess,” she warned Matteo. “If dirty diapers make you squeamish, you may want to look away.”
Thankfully, it was only a three-wipe job. She used a plastic bag to contain everything. Tying the top, she double-knotted it and set it by the diaper bag to throw away in one of the trash cans that had been set up outside.
Instead of taking Dante to a chair, she stretched out sideways on the bed, unbuttoned her bodice, and nursed him lying down. Meeting Matteo’s gaze, she smiled softly. “Thank you for the dresses. And for handling Carmine. And for this.” She raised her left hand and looked again. It hadn’t disappeared. “It’s beautiful. I can’t believe you picked it.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “You’ll find out soon enough. I had help from the friend who was with you at the restaurant. Pop knew how to get hold of her.”
Knowing Giovanni, he had dossiers on everyone in her sphere. Juliette’s name, background, address, and contact information were likely in a file that grew every time they got together.
“I know what I like,” he said, “but Juliette knows you. When I told her that I was looking for a ring, she jumped at the chance to help me shop. I got her to weigh in on the dresses, too.”
“Clever man.” She didn’t tell him that he’d just earned extra brownie points. Enlisting her best friend’s help was brilliant. It’s what put the perfect ring on her finger. Of the hundreds that were available in the city, he’d bought the only one that she wanted.
“We’ll need to ask your father what date he has in mind for the wedding. I don’t think he understands how many things need to be decided and arranged. There’s a reason why people plan weddings a year in advance, Matteo. October’s only four months away.”
Another thought brought her up short.
“You’ll have to meet my mother. Oh, God. Just try to not scare her too much, okay?”
Matteo stretched out on the bed behind her. Pressing his length against her back, he whispered in her ear. “Did I scare you?”
“Yes,” she admitted. “You still do. You can be pretty intense.”
“I’m not an easy man to be with,” he admitted. “There’s a side to me that you haven’t seen. When it takes hold, I’m going to get off on making you cry as much as making you come. But pain heightens pleasure. Eventually, you’ll see.”
Beth shuddered at the dark, erotic promise in his voice. He was going to make her cry. He wanted her tears. Maybe her pleas for mercy, too. He wanted to break her and build her back up. Pain followed by pleasure. To find the one, she would have to endure the other.
She prayed that she would be strong enough to get through it.
She didn’t know what she would do if she couldn’t.
18
Back downstairs, it was déjà vu part two. Everyone who had come to see the baby earlier wanted to look at her engagement ring and offer their congratulations. This time, though, she had Matteo by her side.
Although Carmine kept his distance, just the sight of him was offensive to Matteo. The tension between the two cousins was palpable. It didn’t surprise Beth that Carmine left with his family as soon as they were done eating.
Temperatures dropped with the setting sun, making it very pleasant under the banquet tent. After everyone had gone through the food line at least once, workers cleared the buffet and began setting up a dance floor.
The band was comprised of men over sixty who played a mix of traditional Italian music and songs made popular by Italian and Italian-American artists.
When the opening notes to “The Way You Look Tonight” by Frank Sinatra began to play, Dom Visconti turned to Matteo. “You should dance, you two. Show the next generation how it’s done.”
Beth looked at Dante, asleep in his seat with a square of flannel sheeting covering him like a light blanket.
Matteo touched the back of her hand. “Can you foxtrot?”
She and Juliette had taken some ballroom dance lessons, less to meet men and more to gain what they hoped would be a valuable social skill. “A little.”
“Val,” Matteo called. “You’re in charge of your nephew.” He didn’t wait for an answer. Between his father and brothers, there were plenty of eyes to watch the baby.
Matteo stood and helped Beth from her seat. With her hand in his, she followed him onto the dance floor. From the first steps taken after they were in hold, it was clear that his skills far surpassed her own. “You didn’t tell me you could dance,” she whispered. “You’re really good.”
“I was clumsy as a kid. It helped me learn to move and develop the muscles and sense of timing that I used in track and field.”
“That’s what’s on your wall? From the varsity letters, I guessed it was sports, but I had no idea what you played. I’m assuming that bocce ball is a popular pastime in your family.”
“Absolutely. Here comes a dip.”
He let her down and pulled her back up to the applause of the onlookers. “Good girl,” he murmured. “I see that you have promise.”
Beth met his appreciative gaze and blushed. He enjoyed the feel of her in his arms enough that his body was beginning to react to it.
They weren’t Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, but they put on a good show. When they returned to Giovanni’s table, Dante was still asleep, and Dom Visconti was talking to one of Matteo’s cousins. She was close to Beth’s age, with a runner’s build and short, spiky hair.
“Beth, this is Guilia’s daughter, Delia Corleone—no relation to Bernardo.”
Beth wondered if Corleone was the Italian equivalent of Williams or something as common. She’d known a Jones who hadn’t had to change her name when she married another Jones, no relation there, either.
“Delia’s an event planner. She’ll be helping you with the wedding. She’ll call you to set up a time next week to talk. That’s all for tonight, Delia.”
Wow, just that fast, Delia was dismissed.
“Thank you, Uncle Giovanni,” she said, sounding grateful for the commission. “Beth, I look forward to seeing you soon. Congratulations again on your engagement.”
As soon as Delia was gone, Matteo leaned over to whisper in her ear. Instead of something about his cousin or the wedding, he resurrected what he’d hinted at earlier and she’d nearly forgotten.
“Panties,” he murmured. “Now.”
Straightening, Beth swiveled her head to look at him. He was serious. He expected her to take off her underwear, on command, while dozens of his relatives danced and drank nearby.
Like fire and water, the heat flooding her cheeks sparked a very different reaction down below. Just that quickly, her panties were soaked.
&nbs
p; Trusting that now meant that no one was watching them, she took a leap of faith, reached beneath the table with both hands, and burrowed under the flowing skirt of her dress. She managed to hook her fingers inside her undies’ waistband without anyone else taking notice. Lifting each cheek, she worked the left side free, then the right side, and pulled her panties down. They caught on her sandals, but she kicked them clear, balled them in her fist, and tucked them in Matteo’s lap.
There was an unmistakable bulge in his crotch.
Well, well. Maybe two could play this game.
Beth stretched up to whisper in Matteo’s ear. “It’s past the baby’s bedtime, don’t you think? Especially since we have to leave early in the morning and be gone all day.”
He took a long, slow drink of the dessert wine produced by the family vineyard, set his empty goblet on the table, and turned to Dom Visconti. “Tomorrow’s the start of a big weekend, Pop. I think we’re going to call it a night. Hey, everyone, we’ll see you in the morning for the memorial run.”
Matteo let her carry the baby while he toted the diaper bag. Bernardo followed close behind with his cell phone to his ear. Valet parking had their two SUVs waiting at the front door when they stepped outside. In the illuminated darkness, she noted at least four soldatos guarding the entrance. An untold number of men were keeping the perimeters secure, patrolling the grounds, and manning the gate.
Beth managed to transfer Dante into his car seat without disturbing him but he woke up when she was taking him out. She headed straight for the nursery, carrying a fretful Dante against her shoulder and rubbing the baby’s back. “I know,” she crooned. “I know. You’ll feel all better once we get you changed and fed.”
Matteo followed with the baby’s things plus another sack and set them beside the changing table. “I’m going to put these away,” he said, lifting the handled plastic bag with Thank You emblazoned on the side. “I’ll be right back.”
He wasn’t gone long. From the moment he returned, Beth could feel his gaze on her, watching her every move while she finished putting a dry diaper on Dante and settled into their rocker to nurse.