The Sicilian’s Stolen Son

It’s none of your business who she is, a voice reproved in Jemima’s mind and she moved through to the doorway and breathed in deep, struggling to bolster herself for what was to come. She opened the door briskly. ‘Mr Vitale...’

‘Jemima,’ he said drily, stepping inside, his sculpted lips unsmiling, an aloof coolness stamped across his lean bronzed face like a wall.

‘Nicky’s in here...’ Jemima pressed the living-room door wider to show off Nicky where he sat on the floor surrounded by his favourite toys.

‘His name is Niccolò,’ Luciano corrected without hesitation. ‘I don’t like diminutives. I would also like to meet my son alone...’

Jemima glanced up at him in surprise and dismay but he wasn’t looking at her. His attention was all for Nicky, no, Niccolò, and Luciano’s lustrous tiger eyes were gleaming as he literally savoured his first view of his son with an intensity she could feel. Jemima stared, couldn’t help doing it, noting with relief that the forbidding lines of Luciano’s lean dark face were softening, the hard compression of his beautifully sculpted hard mouth easing.

‘Thank you, Miss Barber,’ Luciano Vitale murmured, deftly planting himself inside the room and leaving her outside as he firmly closed the door in her face.

With a sigh, Jemima sat down on the phone bench just inside the front door. Of course he didn’t want an audience, she reasoned, striving to be fair and reasonable. Who was the woman waiting outside for Luciano? If she was his girlfriend, did he live with her? Was it possible that the girlfriend was unable to have children and that she and Luciano had entered the surrogacy agreement as a couple? And what did any of those facts matter to her? Well, they mattered, she conceded ruefully, because she cared a great deal about Nicky’s future but ultimately she had no say whatsoever in what came next.

As a whimper sounded from the living room Jemima tensed. Nicky was going through a stranger-danger phase. She could hear the quiet murmur of Luciano’s voice as he endeavoured to soothe the little boy. Sadly, a sudden outburst of inconsolable crying was his reward. Jemima made no move but her hands were clenched into fists and her knuckles showed white beneath her pale skin as she resisted the urge to intervene. The sound of Nicky becoming increasingly upset distressed her but she knew she had to learn to step back and accept that Luciano Vitale was Nicky’s father and his closest relative.

When Nicky’s sobs erupted into screams, the living-room door opened abruptly. ‘You’d better come in... He’s frightened,’ Luciano bit out in a harsh undertone.

Jemima required no second invitation. She scrambled up and surged past him. Nicky’s anxious eyes locked straight on to her and he held up his arms to be lifted. Jemima crouched down to scoop him up and he clung like a monkey, shaking and sobbing, burying his little head in her neck.

Luciano watched that revealing display in angry disbelief. Niccolò had two little hands fisted in his mother’s shirt, his fearful desperation patently obvious as he hid his face from the stranger who had tried to make friends with him. As Jemima quieted the trembling child Luciano registered two unwelcome facts. His son was much more attached to his mother than his father had expected and Jemima was very definitely the centre of his son’s sense of security. It was a complication he neither wanted nor needed. His attention dropped to the generous curve of Jemima’s derriere in jeans and he tensed, averting his gaze to the back of his son’s curly head as he felt himself harden. So, he liked women to look more like women than slender boys and she had splendid curves, but he abhorred that hormonal response that was so very inappropriate in Jemima Barber’s radius.

‘He’s teething, which always makes him a bit clingy,’ Jemima proffered in Nicky’s defence. ‘And this is the wrong end of the day for him because he’s tired and fractious—’

‘He’s terrified. Isn’t he used to meeting people?’ Luciano pressed critically.

‘He’s more used to women.’

‘But your parents must’ve been looking after him for you while you were in London,’ he pointed out, momentarily depriving her of breath as he reminded her of the lie she was living for his benefit. After all, nobody could be in two places at once and while Jemima had been teaching and covering Nicky’s childcare costs at a local nursery facility, Julie had been in London.

‘Dad’s retired but he’s still out and about a lot, so Nicky would’ve seen less of him,’ Jemima muttered in a brittle voice, crossing her fingers at a lie that made her feel guiltier than ever because Nicky adored his grandfather.

Nicky stuck his thumb in his mouth and sagged against Jemima with a final hoarse whimper. ‘Sorry about this...’ she added uncomfortably. ‘But in time he’ll get used to you.’

Luciano compressed his lips. He didn’t have time to waste.

‘Is that your girlfriend outside waiting in the car?’ Jemima asked abruptly, keen to know and to change the subject about Nicky’s lifestyle in recent months.

Luciano frowned, winged ebony brows pleating above hard dark eyes fringed by lashes as dense and noticeable as black lace. ‘No, the nanny I’m hiring.’

Jemima stopped breathing. ‘A nanny?’ she gasped in dismay.

‘I will need some support in caring for my son,’ Luciano countered drily, wondering what he was going to do about the problem his son’s mother had become.

Well, he certainly wouldn’t be marrying her as Charles Bennett had ludicrously suggested after the results of the DNA test had been revealed.

‘A paper marriage,’ Charles had outlined. ‘In one move you would legitimise your son’s birth, tidy up any future inheritance issues and gain a legal right to have custody of your son. As an ex-wife you could also give her a settlement without breaking the law. It would be perfect.’

Perfect only in a nightmare, Luciano reflected grimly. No way was he linking his name to a woman who was no better than a thieving hooker, not in a paper marriage of any kind.

He was employing a nanny, Jemima thought wretchedly as panic snaked through her in a cold little shiver of foreboding. Clearly Luciano was planning to remove Nicky from her care as soon as he could.

Luciano surveyed his infant son, who was engaged in contentedly falling asleep against his mother’s shoulder. He could rip him away from Jemima as he himself had once been ripped away from his own mother. All right, he had been almost three years old but he had never forgotten the day he was torn from his mother’s loving arms. Of course there had been a lot of blood and violence involved and naturally he had been traumatised by the episode. He would not be doing anything of that nature. He despised Jemima Barber but he did not wish her dead for having crossed him. At the same time, however, he deeply resented her hold on his son.

‘Nicky’s very emotional,’ Jemima remarked cautiously. ‘He does get upset quite easily.’

‘I’m surprised he’s so fond of you. You’ve spent most of your time in London and left other people looking after him,’ Luciano condemned.

‘I’ve spent much more time with him than you appreciate,’ Jemima protested, tilting her chin. ‘Of course he’s fond of me...’

‘But you always planned to give him away,’ he reminded her coolly. ‘As long as the pay-off was sufficient. Shouldn’t you have prepared him better for the separation?’

An angry flush illuminated her pale porcelain skin. ‘I didn’t know if there was going to be a separation!’ she fired back awkwardly.

‘I would let nothing prevent me from claiming my son. Since you disappeared there has not been a single day that I haven’t thought of him,’ Luciano proclaimed, dark honey-rich eyes glittering with challenge. ‘He is mine—’

‘Yes...’ she conceded raggedly, her breath catching in her throat below the onslaught of his extraordinarily compelling gaze. ‘But handing him over isn’t going to be as simple...er...as I once thought it would be.’

Luciano shrugged a broad shoulder without interest. ‘You convinced a psychiatrist that you knew what you were signing up to do and could cope with it.’

Desperation slivered through Jemima’s taut frame. ‘Things change...’ she whispered.

‘I want my son,’ Luciano told her bluntly.

The germ of a wild idea burst into being inside Jemima and flew straight from brain to tongue without the benefit of any filter or forethought. ‘Couldn’t I be your nanny? Even for a little while?’

Luciano studied her in disbelief. ‘My nanny? You? Are you crazy?’

‘Only until he settles into his new life. You’d be getting a trained infant teacher to look after him. I’m well qualified with young children.’

‘But you’ve never worked with them?’

‘Of course I have work experience.’

‘Before you decided that you much preferred earning easy money as an escort?’

Jemima froze. ‘An...es-escort?’ Her voice stumbled over the mortifying word. ‘That’s a dreadful—’

Luciano sighed. ‘I know everything about you. You can’t lie to me. You were working as an escort in London and you were very popular with older men until you began to steal their wallets. I spoke to the agency that made your bookings for you before deciding to dispense with your services.’

Her lips parted and then closed again. She had turned white as snow, shock thudding through her, her heart thumping loudly in her eardrums. She didn’t want to believe him but she did because Julie’s love of money had been much stronger than her self-respect. An escort? An escort offering extras? Jemima squirmed, raw humiliation bowing her head. Working as an escort had given her twin the chance to steal. And sadly, the stolen credit cards had only been the tip of the iceberg, she acknowledged wretchedly. Seemingly Julie had been as willing to sell herself as she had been to sell her son.

‘It was an exclusive escort service,’ Luciano conceded, recognising her mortification and less gratified by it than he had expected to be.

‘So I wouldn’t be quite what you want in a nanny,’ Jemima breathed, stricken, receiving that message loud and clear from his attitude.

‘I’m afraid not. My security team will pick Niccolò up tomorrow and bring him up to London for the day. I’ll send the nanny with them.’ Luciano read her consternation with ease. ‘Naturally I want to spend time with my son.’

‘Before you do...what?’ Jemima pressed helplessly.

‘Before I take him home to Sicily with me,’ Luciano fielded. ‘You know how this must end, Jemima. Why make it more difficult for all of us?’

Jemima subsided like a pricked balloon. Julie had accepted payment and signed the agreement. There was no escape clause unless she was willing to run screaming to the media with her sad story. And where would that get her? More importantly, what would it gain Nicky? Notified of the circumstances of Nicky’s birth, the social services would probably step in to take charge of Nicky and decide his future and there was no guarantee that Luciano would get him either. In fact there was every chance that Nicky would be placed in an adoptive home and neither Jemima nor Luciano would ever see him again. Seeking outside help would be the wrong thing to do, she decided in despair. The very fact she had lied and faked being Julie to hold on to her nephew would be held against her by the authorities...and by Luciano if he ever found out the truth.

CHAPTER THREE

‘SO COULD I have a lift with you up to London?’ Jemima asked the nanny cheerfully. ‘I assure you that a lift is all I want, but my being in the car will make it easier for you to get to know Nicky and I can run through his routine with you as well.’

‘Er... I...’ Nonplussed, the nanny, who had introduced herself as Lisa, hovered on the doorstep and looked at the tall, broadly built bodyguard standing behind her for direction.

The bodyguard dug out a cell phone and punched in a number and Jemima got the obvious message: nothing could be done because no plan could deviate in the smallest way without Luciano Vitale’s permission and approval. She scolded herself for thinking that she was being clever when she had come up with the idea the night before. Yet she truly wasn’t trying to interfere with Luciano’s day with Nicky. She simply wanted to be more accessible if anything went wrong.

‘I just thought I could take the opportunity to do some shopping,’ she fibbed nervously as the bodyguard’s conversation in staccato Italian continued at length.

‘Mr Vitale makes all the arrangements,’ Lisa told her with an apologetic smile. ‘I don’t want to screw up my first day on the job. It would be handy, though, to know a little more about your son.’

‘Miss Maurice?’ The bodyguard handed the phone to the nanny.

Jemima watched the woman stiffen, straighten her shoulders and pale as she evidently received her instructions while answering yes and no several times. She then extended the phone to Jemima.

Realising that it was now her turn to receive her orders, Jemima laughed out loud, stunning her companions.

‘So glad you’ve found something to laugh about today,’ Luciano drawled, sharp and swift as a stiletto stabbing at her down the line.

‘Oh, please don’t take it like that,’ Jemima babbled in dismay. ‘I promise you that you won’t see or hear from me today. I just want to be in London...to...er...shop—’

‘I can hear the lie in your voice—’

Her blood ran cold in her veins.

‘You got a sixth sense or something?’

‘Or something. Tell me the truth or I will not consider the idea,’ he told her coldly.

‘I wanted to be within reach...you know, in case you needed me. That’s all.’

At his end of the line, Luciano gritted his perfect white teeth. Where the hell did she get the nerve to bug him like this? He expelled his breath in a hiss of impatience. ‘Why would I need you?’

‘Not you, him,’ Jemima stressed. ‘And dial back the tension, Luciano. Nicky can be very temperamental. He works best with calm, quiet and soothing—’

Luciano was incredulous. ‘Let me get this straight—you are telling me how to behave?’

‘But not in a rude way, in a helpful way,’ Jemima emphasised.

‘You are irritating me,’ Luciano growled soft and low.

‘Ditto.’ Jemima groaned out loud, having forgotten her audience. ‘Less of the growly stuff would be nice but not if you replace it with the rave-from-the-grave voice.’

The rave from the grave, Luciano mouthed in silent disbelief. She was actually telling him that he irritated her. How dared she? A thieving whore...but the mother of his son...

‘You can travel to London with them and accompany Niccolò back again at five today. Pass the phone back to Rico...’

Jemima did as she was bid, handing Nicky’s baby bag to the second bodyguard who had appeared before tucking her nephew under her arm to lock up the house.

‘What a fuss about nothing,’ she wanted to remark to the nanny as she climbed into the limousine and the two women together secured the baby into the very fancy car seat awaiting him, but caution silenced her. Luciano was an intractable tyrant supported in his moods and habits by his intimidated employees. Presumably standing up to Luciano meant instant dismissal. Jemima suspected she wouldn’t last five minutes working for him because she had too much a mind of her own, so it was probably fortunate that he hadn’t jumped on her nanny offer. At the same time, however, she was relieved he had agreed to let her catch a lift to London and travel back with Nicky at the end of the day. She had been a tiny bit afraid that Luciano wasn’t planning on letting Nicky return to her again and now that looming fear could be set aside for at least one more day. Having passed her cell-phone number to Lisa, she asked to be dropped at the entrance to a Tube station.

The attraction of browsing round shops where she could not afford to buy anything held little appeal for Jemima. In recent months she had grown accustomed to being stony broke, to questioning every single purchase and asking herself if she really needed the item. And although she would have adored some new clothes and the chance to replace cosmetics that had run out, she was happy to make those sacrifices to keep Nicky and give her parents peace of mind in their retirement. A desire to make the best of whatever life threw at her had always driven Jemima and she took the same approach to her day out, heading to the first of her free attractions—the British Museum—before enjoying a picnic lunch in Kensington Gardens and a walk round the Tate Modern. She was on the banks of the Thames when her phone rang and she snatched it out.

‘Nicky’s ill... Where are you?’ Luciano demanded thinly. ‘I’ll have you picked up.’

Her frantic questions elicited no adequate response beyond the assurance that the baby was not in danger. Luciano was much more intent on retrieving her as soon as possible so that she could comfort the little boy. Jemima was perspiring with stress and anxiety by the time a limousine lifted her at the agreed pick-up point and drove her across London to an exclusive block of apartments. There, flanked by two enormous bodyguards, she got into a glass lift to be swept up to the penthouse.

‘I thought you were going to stay within reach!’ Luciano roared at her as she came through the front door.

Jemima was accustomed to dealing with distraught and often angry parents whose child had become upset at school or had suffered injury and at one glance she recognised that Luciano fell into that category. He was a powerful man who controlled everything around him but Nicky’s illness had made him feel powerless and that anger was the fallout. She could hear Nicky’s distressed choking wails echoing through the apartment and was not in the mood to waste time sparring with his anxious father. ‘Where is he?’

‘The doctor’s with him,’ Luciano gritted, closing a managing hand to her spine to herd her in the right direction. He was the most alarmingly dominant man and, even worse, she thought ruefully, it seemed to come entirely naturally to him, as if an autocratic need to trample over the little people had been programmed into him at birth. ‘Not that he’s been much use!’

Lisa was pacing the floor with a wailing Nicky and looked as though she had been through the wars. Earlier that day she had looked immaculate. Now her long hair was falling down untidily and her shirt was spattered with food stains. An older bespectacled man, who could only be the doctor, overlooked the scene with an air of discomfiture.

‘What’s wrong with Nicky?’ Jemima asked worriedly.

The doctor studied her anxiously. ‘A touch of tonsillitis...nothing more—’

‘My son would not be making such a fuss over so little,’ Luciano began wrathfully.

‘Oh, yes, he would.’ Jemima threw Luciano a wryly apologetic glance. ‘He makes a real fuss when he’s sick. He’s had tonsillitis a couple of times already and I was up all night with him.’

With a yell, Nicky unglued his reddened eyes and, focusing joyously on Jemima, he gave a frantic lurch in Lisa’s hold. The other woman crossed the room in haste to settle him into Jemima’s arms. ‘It’s obvious he wants his mum.’

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