A Dark Sicilian Secret

“I wouldn’t.”

She was grasping at straws and they both knew it.

“You already have. You’ve lied to me. You’ve run from me. You’ve promised to meet me and then you never showed. But then, you never meant to show. It was just a ruse to allow you to escape. With my son.” He drew a slow breath, suppressing the anger and shame he’d felt when she’d tricked him following Joseph’s birth, playing him, manipulating him for months. No one did that and got away with it. No one. Why should she? “Joseph will be one next month and today is the first time I’ve ever held him. And you call me the monster?”

She flinched, visibly shaken, and her eyes looked enormous in her now ashen face. For a moment he almost felt sorry for her. Almost, but not quite, because she’d hurt him, humiliated him, and made his life a living hell.

His child. His. Kept from him. Who did that? What kind of woman did that?

He gestured carelessly, his tone one of boredom. “Do us both a favor, Jill, and step out of the car—”

“Never.”

“I’m going straight to the airport,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “We have a flight plan in place. I don’t have time to waste.”

She sat very tall on the seat, her slim shoulders square. “I won’t get out.”

“Jill.”

She shook her head. “I won’t leave him. I would never leave him.”

“And I won’t play these games.”

“There are no games. I promise.”

“You made promises in the past—”

“I was scared.”

“And you’re not now?” he retorted, mocking her.

Jill’s teeth were chattering again and she bundled her arms over her stomach, holding herself tightly as if afraid she’d disintegrate any moment. “Not scared,” she said from between her teeth. “Terrified. Please. Please. No games. No trouble. I will cooperate. I will make this work. I will do everything you ask. I swear.”

His dark gaze pinned her, held her captive. “I am out of patience, Jill.”

“Yes.”

His voice dropped even lower. “There will be no second chances. One misstep, one mistake, one small fib, and you’re gone. Forever.”

She was nodding, frantically nodding, and tears slid from the corners of her eye.

He refused to care. Refused to feel anything for her. She had it coming. Every little bit of hurt, heartbreak and misery. He’d trusted her. Had cared for her. More than he’d cared for any woman in years.

Twenty months ago he’d actually thought she was the one. The only one. The one he’d marry and cherish for the rest of his life. Which was absurd as he wasn’t the impulsive kind.

He’d never met any woman he could imagine as his wife, but somehow he’d wanted her.

He’d wanted to love her, protect her, forever.

And then she ran, and lied, and cut his heart to pieces.

“Whatever you want,” she choked, “whatever you say.”

She was practically begging now, and he’d thought perhaps it would make him feel better. It didn’t.

He’d never treated a woman harshly in his life.

He’d never reduced a woman to this. Nor should he have had to.

Vittorio could hardly look at her. Her lower lip trembled and tears shimmered on her cheeks. She made him feel like a savage, like the monster she’d portrayed him to be, but he was no monster. He’d spent his entire life healing wounds inflicted by previous generations. He’d battled to build back his father’s company after his father had been tragically injured and the company had been forced to file for bankruptcy. But he battled for his father. He battled for his family. He would prove to the world that the d’Severanos were good people. “I won’t take you out of the country by force.”

“You’re not taking me by force. I’m choosing to go. I’m begging to go. Please, Vitt. Let me travel with my son.”

Something snapped inside of him and he reached for her, one hand wrapping around her wrist, while the other slid behind her neck, his palm against her nape, his fingers and thumb shaping her beautiful jaw. “Our son,” he ground out. “He’s not yours. He’s ours. We both made him. We made him together in an act of love, not violence, and he is to be raised with love, not violence. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

Brown or blue, her eyes were mesmerizing, brilliant with raw emotion. He’d thought she was everything he’d ever wanted. He’d thought they’d be able to grow old together. “From now on there is no yours or mine,” he continued roughly. “There is only ours. There is only one family. And that is the d’Severanos.”

She nodded her head jerkily. “Yes.”

And then because there was so much sadness in her eyes, he did the only thing he could think of—he kissed her. But it wasn’t a tender kiss and it wasn’t to comfort. He kissed her fiercely, taking her lips the way he’d now taken control of her life. She’d had her chance. They’d tried it her way. Now it was his.

The hard, punishing kiss didn’t ease his anger. If anything, it made him want more. Her mouth was so soft, and her lips quivered beneath the pressure of his. Angling her head back, he ruthlessly parted her mouth, his tongue taking and tasting the sweetness inside.

Jillian shuddered against him, her fingers splayed against his chest and when he caught her tongue in his mouth, sucking on the tip, she whimpered, her back arching, her resistance melting.

He knew the moment she surrendered, felt the yielding of her mouth, the softness in her body. He could have her then and there if he wanted. If they’d been alone, he would have stripped her clothes off her to prove it. Instead he stroked her breast once, just to make her shiver and dance against him, and then he let her go, watching as she tumbled back against the leather seat.

“Airport,” he drawled, adjusting the cuffs on his dress shirt. “We’re late.”

Approaching Monterey’s executive airport Jillian felt as though she’d swallowed broken glass. Every breath she drew hurt. Every time she swallowed she wanted to cry.

She’d failed Joe.

Failed to protect him. Failed to save him.

His life would never be the same now, and it was her fault. Her stupidity.

She should have never left him with Hannah today. Should have never trusted Hannah in the first place.

But Hannah had seemed an answer to prayer; perfect in every way. Her résumé showed that she’d been a preschool teacher with a degree in early education and years of experience working with infants and toddlers. Her letters of recommendation said that her family was local and respected. Best of all, Hannah was cheap compared to nannies advertising services in the paper which made Jillian jump at the chance to have Hannah come work for her.

But Hannah’s trickery was nothing compared to Jillian’s self-disgust. When Vitt kissed her she’d practically melted in his arms.

There were no words to express her self-loathing.

And so her heart ached while her mouth burned, her lips swollen and sensitive.

Nauseated by her behavior, she dug her nails into her palms. Hadn’t she learned anything? How could she respond to Vittorio when she now knew the kind of man he was. Her father had been the same, although he’d been affiliated with a Detroit crime family not Sicilian, but her father had been so ambitious. Her father’s ambition had destroyed their lives. How could she possibly imagine Vittorio was any different?

She couldn’t.

Pulling through the airport’s security gate, Jill caught a glimpse of a white-and-burgundy Boeing 737 on the runway. Vitt’s jet, she thought, her stomach free-falling. It was the same jet they’d flown from Istanbul to Milan, before taking a helicopter to the Bellagio villa at Lake Como.

Her stomach did another nosedive and she inhaled sharply, fighting hysteria, as the limousine pulled up next to the jet on the tarmac.

Vitt owned a half-dozen planes, including smaller jets, but this was his personal favorite. He liked traveling with his staff and security detail. He’d told her en route to Lake Como that comfort was essential while traveling, thus the jet’s staff quarters, two bedrooms, dining room, luxurious living room and snug but gourmet kitchen that could prepare everything from espresso to a five-course meal.

The limo doors opened and Vittorio climbed from the car but didn’t wait for her. Instead he walked toward the jet’s stairs knowing she had little choice but to follow.

Apprehension filled her as she followed Vittorio’s broad back up the jet stairs. What if Joe wasn’t here? What if Vitt had been just toying with her? What if, she agonized, moving past the kitchen and dining room to the living room where her heart seized with relief.

There he was. Her baby. Her world.

Joe sat on a quilt on the floor playing with colorful foam blocks. He still wore his sunshine-yellow shirt and tiny blue jeans and was laughing as a dark-haired woman stacked the blocks into a tower for Joe to knock over.

Suddenly he looked up, caught sight of her and smiled. “Mama.”

Jillian rushed to him and scooped him up into her arms. He was small and warm and he fit her body perfectly. And just having him in her arms soothed some of the fire inside her chest. She’d felt like she was dying but now, with Joe in her arms, she felt whole.

This child was everything to her. Life, breath, hope, happiness. And even if Vitt didn’t believe her, every decision she made was to ensure Joe’s safety, security and well-being.

Cuddling him to her chest, she stroked her baby’s soft black hair and then his small compact back. For the first time in an hour she could breathe. As long as she was with Joe everything would be okay. She could handle anything, absolutely anything, except losing him.

Aware that the others were watching, Jillian glanced up into Vitt’s face. His dark gaze was shuttered, his expression inscrutable, and it struck Jillian that in the last hour everything had radically changed. Joe’s life, indeed her life, would never be the same.

As if able to read her thoughts, Vittorio gestured for the young woman to take the baby. Jillian started to protest but Vitt held up a warning finger.

“This isn’t the time,” he said, his brusque tone allowing no argument. “We’re both wet and we need to change so we can depart. And then once we’re airborne, we’ll discuss what we’ll tell our families.”

CHAPTER THREE

JILLIAN stood inside the jet’s plush, tone-on-tone bedroom, listening to the door close softly behind her, knowing it was but a whisper of sound and yet inside her head it resonated with the force of a prison cell door.

She was in so much trouble. And she’d brought all this trouble down on Joe’s head, too.

And now they were en route to Paterno, Sicily, the home of the d’Severano family, and the center of their power.

Everyone in Paterno would be loyal to Vittorio. Everyone in the village would watch her, spy on her and report back to Vittorio.

Inside her head she heard the sound of a key turning, locking.

Trapped. She was trapped. And the worst of it was that Vittorio didn’t know who she was, nor could she let him discover the truth.

God only knew what he’d do if he, the head of the most powerful crime family in the world, found out her real name? Her real identity?

He’d destroy her. He’d have to. It was the code. Their law. Her father had betrayed the d’Severano family, and the d’Severano family would demand vengeance. They’d wanted blood. They’d taken her sister Katie’s. They’d insist on hers.

But what about Joe? What would happen to him in this power struggle?

Thinking of Joe snapped Jillian out of her fog of misery. She couldn’t panic. She had to clear her head. Be smart. And she could be smart. She’d proven before she’d inherited her father’s cunning. Now her life depended on staying calm. Remaining focused. But to remain focused, she’d have to control her emotions, something she found next to impossible when she was around Vittorio.

On her feet, Jillian opened her battered black suitcase on the bedroom’s sturdy luggage rack. Her clothes had all been meticulously folded when they’d been placed in the suitcase. Who had done that? Who had taken that much time to pack for her? And then she shuddered, not wanting to think of anyone going through her things, touching her clothes, folding her intimate garments. It made her feel exposed. Stripped bare.

But not totally bare, she reminded herself fiercely, peeling off her wet clothes and changing into dry black pants and a soft gray knit top. Vitt knew a lot, but he didn’t know everything. He didn’t know who she really was, or who her father was, and he wasn’t going to find out.

Jillian stared hard at her reflection in the mirror as she dragged a comb through her still-damp hair.

She’d been a redhead until she was twelve and had loved her hair. It’d reached the small of her back and the soft, loose curls had always drawn attention. Her father used to loop the curls around his finger and call her Rapunzel. Her sixth-grade art teacher had said she would have inspired the great Renaissance artists. And her mother cried when the government insisted on cutting her hair off and then dyeing the shorn locks a mousy brown.

She’d cried, too, but in secret. Because losing her hair hurt, but losing herself was worse. And they hadn’t just cut her hair off, they’d taken everything else, too.

Her name.

Her home.

Her sense of self.

No longer was she Alessia Giordano, but an invented name. She was a no one and would remain a no one for the rest of her life.

A hand rapped on the outside of the bedroom door. “Have you changed?”

It was Vittorio’s deep smooth voice and it sent a shudder of alarm through her. She squeezed the comb hard as she glanced at the closed door. “Yes,” she said, forcing herself to speak.

“We take off in two minutes.”

So this was all really happening. There would be no government agent breaking down the door to rescue her. There would be no last-minute reprieve.

Jill’s hand shook as she set the comb down. “I’m on my way,” she answered, and then lifting her chin, she squared her shoulders and stiffened her backbone.

She would do this. She’d been through worse. She could play Vitt’s game. As long as Joe was happy and healthy, there was nothing Vitt could throw at her that she couldn’t handle.

Leaving the serenity of her bedroom, she entered the luxurious living area. Vitt was already there, standing near a cluster of chairs on the far side of the room.

Vitt looked polished and elegant, dressed in a dark suit and white dress shirt, appearing as if he’d had an hour to shower, shave and dress instead of just minutes. How he did it was beyond her. Perhaps just having a strong, beautiful face made everything easy. She didn’t know. She’d never found life easy.

“You look comfortable,” he said, taking note of her simple black trousers and plain gray knit top.

She flushed, aware that he was really commenting on her dowdiness, and self-consciously she tugged the hem of her cotton top lower.

“Mom-wear,” she answered huskily, defensively, hating that she suddenly felt ashamed of her appearance, fully conscious that her clothes were old and cheaply made. He’d hit on a sore spot, too, because she was secretly, quietly passionate about fashion. She loved that beautiful well-tailored clothes could make you feel beautiful, too.

“Which is very practical of you,” he said soothingly—which was actually far from soothing. “Now please, join me here,” he added, gesturing to the tall honey suede chair next to his.

She hesitated for a fraction of a second, her gaze locking with his. His dark eyes stared back at her and after a moment the corners of his mouth lifted. It wasn’t a smile. Instead it was a challenge. He’d thrown down the gauntlet earlier and she’d accepted.

“I’d love to,” she answered, forcing a smile, and gracefully sliding into the chair covered in the softest, most supple leather she’d ever touched. But then Italy was the design capital of the world; why shouldn’t everything Vittorio owned be exquisite?

She felt his inspection as she buckled her seat belt and crossed one leg over the other. She was trying hard to act nonchalant but on the inside her heart hammered like mad and her head suddenly felt woozy. Tall, broad-shouldered and devastatingly attractive, Vittorio seemed to suck all the oxygen from the room, leaving her gasping for air.

He was too strong.

Too physical.

Too imposing.

The fact that he was also one of the most powerful, influential men in the world hardly seemed fair considering all his other gifts.

Her fingers curled into her palms, nails digging into her skin. This was insane. And this charade would surely push her over the edge.

“I’ve ordered champagne,” he said, taking the seat on the left of hers. “We’ll have a glass now, and then another to celebrate once we level off.”

How cold he was. How cruel. But why shouldn’t he celebrate? He’d succeeded in cornering her, trapping her and claiming his son. She peeled her lips back from her teeth in an attempt to smile but the effort actually hurt. Her heart felt like it was breaking. “Haven’t had champagne since Bellagio. I suppose we’ve now come full circle.”

“But back then you were a stunning, voluptuous brunette with straight chestnut hair and Elizabeth Taylor’s violet-blue eyes. Now you’re the quintessential California beach girl. Blonde, lean, tan. An impressive transformation. Quite the master at disguise.”

“I’m glad my resourcefulness impressed you,” she answered with a tight smile before turning her head to stare out the plane window.

She hadn’t wanted to be so resourceful. She’d been a dreamy little girl, sheltered, pampered, protected. Her parents had been wealthy middle-class Americans. She’d attended an exclusive Catholic girls’ school. Her Detroit suburb had been lined with old trees and sprawling mansions.

Nothing in her life had prepared her for the revelation that her father wasn’t merely a member of an underground organization, but a traitor within the organization. He was despised by all and when he testified against his organization, he put his entire family in danger.

Overnight twelve-year-old Jillian had been torn from her school, her friends, her community.

Jillian had struggled in their new life, with the new identities. The moves were hard. The isolation at times unbearable.

But over the years she’d settled into being these other people, playing the necessary part.

Her younger sister Katie wasn’t as skillful. Nor was Katie as disciplined, or focused. Two and a half years ago—just eight months before Jillian met Vitt in Turkey—Katie had fallen in love with a handsome stranger, a grad student at Illinois University, and feeling safe, had revealed who she really was. She ended up paying for that misplaced trust with her life.

Jillian wouldn’t make the same mistake. Jillian had learned that there could be no trusting handsome strangers, least of all men with connections to the mob.

Jillian’s throat ached, remembering. She’d been devastated by Katie’s death. The phone call from her mother giving her the news had been the most horrific phone call of her life. Even now, Jillian still felt shattered.

Jillian had been the big sister. It had been her job to protect Katie.

She hadn’t, though.

And now Jillian had Joe, only this time Jillian would not fail. She would do the right thing. She would protect Joe with her life.

“Jill. Your glass.”

Jillian jerked her head around to see the flight attendant standing before her with a flute of champagne. Vittorio already had his. Ruthlessly she smothered the memories of Katie and her family, killing the emotion inside her, smashing down the grief. She couldn’t change the past. She could only move forward.

Her eyes felt hot and gritty. She blinked hard, blinking away unshed tears as she took the champagne flute. “Thank you.”

The flight attendant disappeared, leaving them alone and Vittorio lifted his glass, dark eyes gleaming above high, bronzed cheekbones, the stiff, formal collar of his black suit contrasting the devastating sensuality of his mouth. “I propose a toast.”

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