The Sicilian's Banished Bride Read online

  Suddenly desperate to know his intentions, she hitched Gianni securely onto her hip and clambered down the remaining stairs.

  Only to find her prayers had been answered.

  Her living room was empty.

  * * *

  After a rough night where tossing and turning had alternated with anxious pacing in the close confines of her bedroom, dawn came with Mia being no further enlightened as to Rocco’s true intentions. Was he coming back? Or was he going to disappear just as quickly as he’d appeared, leaving her life in even deeper turmoil?

  Somewhere in the long dark, daunting hours of the night, she’d realised that she’d been too distressed to question him further when he’d claimed he’d had nothing to do with the restraining order under whose shadow she’d lived for over three years. As the weak sunlight snuck around her curtains, she also realised she was still as in the dark about every charge thrown at her as she’d been when she’d demanded Rocco leave.

  If he hadn’t instigated those charges against her, who had? And to what end? It turned her blood cold at the thought of someone being so cruel, as to do that to her and her unborn child.

  During her time in Italy, first as Rocco’s structural engineer on his latest resort-building project, and later as his fiancée, she’d met countless people who inevitably passed through the life of an influential and powerful billionaire. Most had been pleasant, some not so much, but wracking her brain, as she’d done many times during the night, she’d come away with nothing but a throbbing headache.

  Rocco’s cousin Alessandro, and his wife, Allegra, had been cool and dismissive towards her when Rocco had moved her from his Milan apartment into the Palermo villa he shared with his nonna soon after their engagement. With Alessandro’s departure for Brazil where, as Rocco’s right-hand man, he’d been spearheading the push of Vitelli Construction into Latin America, their relationship had never truly blossomed. If Mia was honest, she’d never felt any genuine warmth from Alessandro, but she wouldn’t have stooped so far as to accuse him of orchestrating such a hideous vendetta against her.

  Which brought her to another dilemma. If the order and charges against her were bogus, trying to overturn them would involve hiring a lawyer or a private investigator to prove her innocence and that, of course, would cost money. Precious money she couldn’t afford.

  So she was back to square one. She had no means of fighting the injustice done against her, no way of proving it unless she found the money from somewhere.

  She was still burning millions of brain cells over the issue when her doorbell rang just after nine. Setting Gianni’s breakfast of Marmite soldiers down in front of him, she brushed crumbs from her fingers and went to answer it.

  Rocco stood on her doorstep, large, imposing and dangerously handsome, dressed from head to toe in black. Her stomach executed a perfect triple somersault, the blood rushing through her veins at the speed of light, both independent actions causing her a light-headedness that had her clinging to the doorknob for support.

  He really had no right to look this good first thing in the morning, she thought bitterly, especially when she knew she looked far less than her best, her brief glimpse of herself in the bathroom mirror as she’d splashed water on her face having confirmed that fact.

  ‘You look like you’re going to a funeral. And did your hearing die along with your conscience? I distinctly recall asking you not to come back.’ The words spilt from her lips before she could stop them but she refused to take them back, simply because she hated the way he made her heart beat twice as fast just with his presence; hated the way he made every cell in her body sing with life and her legs turn to jelly just by being there; she hated the way he seemed to glow with life when she felt worse than death. Most of all she hated the clamouring instinct that warned her he wasn’t here to enquire about her health.

  ‘Still get testy when you don’t get enough sleep?’ he countered smoothly, his lips twitching with amusement, before slipping his impressive bulk past her to enter her cottage.

  ‘Whether I did or not is nothing to do with you,’ she forced through clenched teeth only to grit them further when he sent her a mocking glance. ‘What are you doing here anyway?’ Conscious of Gianni in the next room, she tried for an even tone, even though she wanted to shriek the words at him.

  ‘You really expect me to stay away after what I discovered yesterday?’ he questioned, incredulous.

  She turned to shut the door, taking a few precious moments to regroup. When she turned, he was facing her, his intense blue eyes narrowed as he raked her from head to toe. The scrutiny did nothing to ease the pounding in her chest or the sudden careening of butterflies in her stomach when his return gaze paused for an indecent amount of time on her breasts.

  ‘I was hoping you’d respect my wishes, yes.’ Her voice emerged shaky and slightly feeble. She cursed herself. And him. His ability to upset her equilibrium with just a look wasn’t going down well in light of her tumultuous feelings this morning.

  ‘Don’t be so naïve, Mia. I have a son whose existence I’ve only just been made aware of. I intend to form a relationship with him. Unfortunately for you, no amount of wishing on your part will make that fact disappear. I’ve already informed Nonna that her suspicions were right.’

  Where she’d failed miserably, his tone was smooth and even, moderated, she suspected, for the sake of Gianni, who was banging on his high chair in the kitchen.

  As if pulled by a magnet, Rocco turned towards the sound.

  ‘Wait,’ she whispered urgently, although she knew she was only delaying the inevitable.

  ‘No. I will not wait,’ he sliced at her, his voice gruff with emotion.

  She bit back a shocked gasp at the dark torment in his eyes when he speared her gaze with his.

  ‘I’ve been kept in the dark for three years. Whoever is at fault will pay for that, never doubt it, but I will not wait one second longer to meet my son.’

  His long legs carried him to the kitchen in six easy strides. By the time Mia joined him, he was already kneeling in front of Gianni.

  Once again father and son regarded each other with equal fascination. And once again, Mia’s heart hammered until she was sure it would burst out of her chest.

  ‘Buongiorno, Gianni. Io sono papà. I am your father.’ The raw words, spoken with a tortured mixture of pride and pain, tore through Mia.

  As if he understood the profound words, Gianni nodded. His lower lip pouted, then trembled. Rocco lifted a slightly trembling hand and touched his son’s cheek. Gianni’s pout deepened. Mia held her breath, ready to scoop up her child at the slightest sign of distress but, thankfully, no tears arrived. She stayed by the door, her heart in her throat.

  Gently, Rocco moved his hand up and stroked Gianni’s curls, all the while drinking in his features as if to imprint them on his brain. He whispered soft, incoherent words to his son, which must have soothed him, because gradually Gianni’s pout retracted, to be replaced by curiosity. When Rocco’s hand returned to his cheek, Gianni reciprocated the gesture by picking up a piece of toast and shoving it in his father’s face.

  Warm, hoarse laughter broke from Rocco’s throat as he caught the food between his teeth and munched with relish. Breaking into a grin, Gianni picked up another piece and repeated the gesture.

  Turning away from the heart-wrenching scene for fear that her son would witness her tears, she busied herself fetching his small pot of yoghurt from the fridge.

  Behind her father and son deepened their instant bonding by murmuring adorable rubbish to each other. With every soft word uttered, every murmur of appreciation for what a clever child he was—it was amazing how quickly her understanding of Italian rushed back when it counted—her heart crumbled further.

  A wave of shame washed over her as she admitted that some small part of her had hoped her Gianni would hate his father on sight. But really
, would that have made things easier? Rocco was nothing if not a ruthless fighter. After all, weren’t his sharp mind and extreme risk-taking in architecture what had made her seek out a job in his company fresh out of university? If he hadn’t bonded instantly with his son, he wouldn’t have given up. And a determined Rocco was a formidable force to be reckoned with. So perhaps it was easier this way.

  She turned from the fridge to find him wiping the excess Marmite from his son’s chin. Sensing her gaze, he glanced up.

  Instantly his soft look disappeared. ‘We need to talk.’ He stood to tower over her, his even tone belying the piercing intent in his eyes.

  There was no escaping the inevitable. ‘I need to feed him his yoghurt.’

  Her stalling tactic failed as he reached out a hand and smoothly relieved her of the small tub. ‘I’ll take care of it. You can use the time to pack a bag—’

  She snatched in a shocked breath. ‘Pack a bag? If you think I’m going anywhere with you, you need your head examined.’ Realising her son was studying her with intense fascination, she struggled to smile through clenched teeth. ‘We can talk here.’

  When he reached out again, she tensed, afraid of what direct contact with his touch might do to her crumbling state of mind. But he merely reached past her to grab a plastic spoon off the counter. His eyes mocked her as he read her reaction.

  ‘Easy, cara. You’ve developed a penchant for overreacting at the slightest opportunity—’

  ‘Can you blame me? I’ve lived in fear of being imprisoned for the last three years!’

  A spasm of some unknown emotion raced across his face but was gone too quickly for her to decipher, although the intensity in his face eased. ‘I merely wanted you to pack a bag for Gianni since we’ll be gone most of the day.’

  She crossed her arms defensively. ‘And where exactly are we going?’

  ‘I delivered your file to my lawyers last night. They assure me that this is the first time they’re aware of this document, which confirms my suspicion that the case against you is a fraudulent one.’

  The mingled shock and relief that spiked through her lasted for a mere second but nevertheless it caused her to lose what little feeling she had in her legs. She started to sag against the sink.

  Rocco’s hands arrived at her waist, easily holding her up. ‘Are you all right?’

  She shook her head, wisely extricated herself from his hold, and cleared her throat before attempting to speak. Still her voice emerged as hollow as a discarded seashell. ‘Are you saying that all this time, all the threats, the letters, my living in fear...were all for nothing?’

  A grim look crossed Rocco’s face as he returned to his task of spooning yoghurt into his son’s waiting mouth. ‘I have no doubt that whoever sent them meant for you to take them seriously.’

  ‘But who would do that?’ Sheer disbelief gave way to anger so deep she shook with it. Taking a deep breath, she struggled to hold herself together.

  Rocco continued to feed Gianni, although his massive shoulders lifted in a shrug underneath the stretch of expensive black suit. ‘I have a lot of enemies. Unfortunately, it goes with the territory where money and power are involved. Someone must have believed they could get to me through you. Or vice versa.’

  His words made tears prickle and her laugh grated painfully in her own ears. ‘But they couldn’t have been more wrong, could they? You wanted nothing to do with me after your precious blueprints went missing and you were forced to halt construction of the Abu Dhabi project. In fact, I’m surprised you didn’t think of this sort of punishment yourself.’

  He stiffened as if a bolt of electricity had shot through him, but his face gave nothing away. With casual ease, he continued to feed his son until the pot was empty. Then he put it to one side and cleaned up the remnants of Gianni’s breakfast as efficiently as if he’d been doing it since he was born.

  As she watched him, the small part of Mia not reeling with shock and hurt found it hard to believe Rocco had only just met his son. And the realisation of how keenly and naturally Rocco had taken to fatherhood sent a spike of alarm through her, effectively blotting out the niggling that had started at the back of her mind.

  Rocco picked up a red racing car off the counter and handed it to his son, brushing his hand affectionately through his hair before turning to her.

  ‘The women I associate with are normally well aware of the terms of our association. Yours was the only alliance I had a little...difficulty with.’

  Heat rushed up her face at the deliberate barb, but she forced her chin up. ‘I’m sorry if I didn’t just slink away quietly when accused of being a thief! I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if I hadn’t tried to defend myself.’

  ‘That’s a very admirable quality, in the right circumstances. Unfortunately, when the weight of evidence is against you, sometimes it’s better to make a quiet exit than to draw even more attention to yourself.’

  ‘And be labelled a thief for the rest of my life? No one would’ve hired me. You certainly weren’t inclined to give me a reference and you made sure I was blacklisted everywhere. So, tell me, where would that have left me?’

  Narrowed eyes threatened to tear strips off her skin. ‘Married to a billionaire, if you’d only kept your mouth shut and not further compromised your situation by revealing your true intentions before my wedding ring was on your finger. That way you’d have been set for life, wouldn’t you?’ His words were by no less deadly for their soft delivery.

  Confusion caused her to frown. ‘What are you talking about?’ she demanded.

  He ignored her question and glanced at his watch. ‘We have an appointment with my lawyers at one o’clock. If we are to make it, I suggest you get a move on.’

  The mercurial direction of the conversation was causing her head to spin. ‘Your lawyers? Why would they want to meet with me?’

  ‘This is now officially a fraud investigation. You need to provide a formal statement.’ His eyes flicked to Gianni and the ruthless determination in their depths caused her heart to miss several beats.

  ‘Why wasn’t I consulted before you arranged any of this? You can’t just blow into my life after making it a living hell and start making decisions without my consent. Besides, everything you need is in that file. That should be enough.’ Her voice had been rising with her agitation and, belatedly, she noted Gianni staring at her, his lower lip beginning to tremble. She rushed forward and scooped him out of his chair. Murmuring soft words to him, she glared at Rocco over his head.

  He leaned back against the small counter and crossed his legs at the ankles, but his easy stance didn’t fool her for a second. ‘Perhaps I was wrong, but I was under the impression that the chance to clear your name would please you, not cause you so much distress.’

  ‘I’m not distressed! I’m angry,’ she hissed at him. ‘You can’t just swoop in out of nowhere after three years and start laying down the law like some...like some...’ The word she wanted to utter wouldn’t have been suitable for her son’s innocent ears, so she contented herself with an even more withering glare.

  Rocco merely folded lean, muscled arms over his chest and regarded her steadily. ‘So I take it you don’t want to clear your name? That you’d rather live with this “obsessive stalker” label hanging over your head?’

  She yearned to claw the mockery out of his eyes, pound her fists against his chest for taunting her into falling in with his plans. But with her son in her arms, she had to content herself with an even fiercer glare before, walking out of the kitchen, she placed Gianni on his play mat in front of the unlit fireplace.

  Turning, she found Rocco directly behind her. Every essence of his masculine aura filling every angle of her vision so completely, she had to force herself to concentrate on what she’d been about to say.

  ‘I hate you,’ she husked out with as much feeling as she could muste
r without distressing her son.

  His eyes glinted with dark amusement. ‘I take it that’s a yes, then?’

  Her hands balled into fists. ‘Of course I want to get to clear my name. That doesn’t mean I’m willing to let you ride roughshod over me to do it.’

  In a flash, his expression altered. His mouth softened into a sensual curve and his eyes blazed a long-forgotten hunger that made the muscles of her stomach dance crazily.

  ‘I seem to recall there were two things that could hold your utter attention: sex and work. While I enjoyed our mental grappling in the boardroom, I found the bedroom games just as stimulating.’ His hands slid over her waist to cup her bottom, bringing her into sharp contact with his groin and the masculine dominance of his erection. His mouth descended, a sensual promise that came to hover deliciously over her lips. ‘In the bedroom we had perfect understanding, cara, and if that’s the only way I can get your cooperation, and stop you spitting nails at me, then I’m willing to try it.’

  ‘Don’t go martyring yourself for my sake.’ The sarcasm she aimed at him emerged high-pitched and desperately false.

  He laughed low in his throat, the sound singing along her nerves in ways that did nothing to soothe her equilibrium.

  ‘Trust me, it won’t be a hardship at all. I told you last night, the body doesn’t lie and right now mine is demanding that I be true to it in the most primal way.’ One hand caressed its way up her side, sparking flash fires wherever he touched. When it curved beneath the soft swell of her breast, she knew she had to do something or risk dissolving into a heated puddle at his feet.

  The hands she lifted to push him away with felt feeble. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’

  He lifted winged brows, even as his mouth descended another tempting millimetre, his warm breath washing over her tingling lips, setting them on fire so she had to fight not to give into the temptation to lick moisture into them.