Chapter SIX
JILLIAN did not ask what he meant and Maria arrived with Joe just as the seat belt sign flashed on.
Jillian gratefully took Joe onto her lap and wrapped her arms around him. Blinding sunlight poured through the jet windows as the Boeing 737 dropped lower and lower until the jet’s wheels finally touched ground. Once on the runway, she dropped a kiss on the top of her son’s head, happy they’d landed safely.
As she kissed him, his cloud of soft black hair tickled her nose and she breathed in his sweet baby scent.
Feeling Vittorio’s gaze, she glanced up, her eyes locking with his. He was sitting across the aisle from her and yet she could practically feel him. He had such a strong presence, a very physical energy that made her body hum even now.
“You have shadows under your eyes,” he said.
“I shouldn’t. I actually slept well last night.”
“It sounds like you don’t get a lot of sleep.”
She shifted Joe in her arms. “Babies wake up a lot at night. And then of course, there’s my need to check on him.”
“You should have had more help with him.”
Jillian knew what he was really saying—that if she’d come to him, she would have had help, she wouldn’t have had to struggle on her own.
“It will be easier for you to sleep when Joseph is in his own crib, in his own room,” he added. “And he does have his own room at my house. There’s space for Maria to sleep in the nursery should we need her to—”
“I like having Joe close at night,” she interrupted. “I can’t imagine not having him there.”
“And I can’t imagine making love to my wife if my son is present.” His voice was firm, decisive. “Joseph will be fine in his own room. Trust me.”
“So you’ve had a baby before?” she flashed, angered that he’d again start making decisions not just for Joe, but for her.
“No. But I can read a how-to-raise-a-baby book just as well as you, and I do have all those nieces and nephews.”
She bit her lip to keep from replying sharply, and still struggling with her temper, turned her head to look out the window. It was a gorgeous clear morning. The sun was still rising and the sky stretched overhead, a lucid, cloudless blue. “You said I looked tired,” she said. “Should I put some makeup on?”
“That’s not necessary. You look fine. Just be yourself.”
Ah, there was the dilemma. After falling into Vittorio’s arms after so many months of running from him and fearing him, Jillian didn’t even know who she was anymore. “As if it were that easy.”
“It’s not?”
Her lips twisted wryly. “No.”
“Why not?”
She wanted to tell him she’d lived too many different lives in too many places. She wanted to share that more than once she’d sat frozen in a classroom or the cafeteria, terrified to open her mouth in the event she said the wrong thing. In the event she’d forgotten her part.
Lee. Carol. Anne. Jillian.
“Why isn’t it?” Vitt asked, repeating his question.
She turned toward him, seeing his black tailored trousers, the white shirt, the expensive black blazer. But then everything about him oozed money, success. “You’ve always lived in one place, and been raised around the same people. You’ve never had to be anyone but Vittorio d’Severano. It was different for me.”
“You moved a lot when you were growing up?”
“Yes.”
“Your father was in the military?”
She nearly laughed. Her father in the service? Her father an honorable man? “No.”
“What did he do?”
Lied. Cheated. Backstabbed. But she couldn’t say that. “Business. Sales. Things like that.”
The jet had stopped taxiing to park at a small executive terminal.
“You never wanted to work with him?” Vitt asked, ignoring his flight crew as they prepared the aircraft for deplaning.
“No.” She felt Joe wiggle on her lap, his small body warm and compact against hers and she glanced down at him, thinking there was so much she wanted for him, so much she wanted to give him if only she had the chance.
“What about you?” she asked Vitt as he unbuckled his seat belt and got to his feet. “Did your father expect you to go to work for him?”
Vitt towered above her, his expression somber. For a long moment he was silent before he gave his head a brief shake. “No. In fact, the opposite was true. He begged me to go somewhere else, do something different, but I wouldn’t.”
Her forehead furrowed. “Why not?”
Vitt shrugged as he reached for Joe and swung him into his arms. “I was a d’Severano. And my father needed me.”
The door opened and sunlight filled the front cabin. Vittorio waited at the head of the stairs for Jillian before descending the staircase. Jillian descended more slowly, cautious in her high heels. She actually felt pulled together this morning in her brown sheath dress and chocolate suede pumps. All she needed was a great pair of sunglasses and she could pretend she was a movie star.
Vittorio’s hand was on the small of her back as they started across the tarmac. A line of black town cars waited, each with tinted glass. Vittorio almost always traveled with escorts and bodyguards. He was rich. And he was a d’Severano. Therefore he could never be too careful.
They were nearly to the cars when a door opened on one of the black sedans. A slim blonde woman emerged.
Vittorio stopped in his tracks, his expression hardening. “She never listens,” he said, shaking his head. “I told her not to come.”
Jillian shot a swift glance at the sophisticated blonde in the pale blue suit. “Who is she?”
He sighed. “My mother.”
Jillian stiffened. “Your mother?”
“She’s what I like to call an independent thinker.”
Until this moment, Jillian had been almost excited about arriving in Catania. She enjoyed travel and usually loved the moment she stepped off an airplane, thrilled by the sense of freedom and possibilities that came from being somewhere new. Every place had a different feel and unique energy. But all sense of wonder abruptly disappeared.
Vittorio’s hand remained on her back. “This might be rough,” he said. “But just remind yourself that you will survive.”
Her heart fell. His mother sounded awful. “You’re telling me her bark is worse than her bite?”
“No.” His full sensual mouth twisted, dark eyes narrowed. “I’m telling you that no one yet has died from her bite.”
“And that is really not very comforting.”
He smiled suddenly, dark eyes glinting with humor before he dropped a kiss on her lips. “Oh, she also thinks we’re radiantly happy, and completely in love. Can you manage that?”
She pressed her lips together, mouth tingling from his brief kiss. She wished he’d kiss her again. There was something dangerously addictive about his mouth. “I’ll try.”
He smiled again. “Good luck.” And then they were walking once more, closing the distance between them and the waiting cars.
Jillian’s high heels made faint clicking sounds on the tarmac but her gaze was fixed on Vittorio’s mother. She looked youthful, even glamorous in her ice-blue suit trimmed in a blue, aqua and cream braid, and matching high heels the same color. She wore her hair in a loose chignon, a style which highlighted her elegant features.
Jillian stood back as Vitt embraced her warmly and then introduced her to his son. How could this woman be Vitt’s mother?
But Vitt was turning to Jillian now, and extending a hand. “Madre, this is my wife, Jill,” he said, drawing Jillian all the way forward. “Jill, my mother, Theresa d’Severano.”
Up close Jillian could see that Theresa d’Severano wasn’t quite as young as Jillian had first thought, but neither did she look like a woman in her mid-fifties. Jillian didn’t know if it was genetics or technology, but Theresa could have easily passed for Vitt’s sister.
Suddenly Jillian didn’t feel as pulled together as she had just a few minutes ago and wished she’d taken the time to put on a little makeup before stepping off the plane. But it was too late for lipstick. All she could do was make the best impression possible. Summoning her confidence as well as a warm smile, Jillian extended her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. d’Severano.”
Theresa gave her a long, level look, the expression in her blue eyes cool. She ignored Jillian’s hand. “You’re the woman that trapped Vittorio.”
So that’s what they think happened. Vittorio, the adored oldest son and the apple of his mother’s eye, had been ensnared by a villainous American gold digger. Jillian only wished she was half as sneaky and manipulative as his family imagined.
She dropped her hand and struggled to keep her smile. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
His mother’s smile turned positively glacial. “Odd. I never heard a word about you.”
Vittorio gestured toward the car. “Mother, why don’t we continue our conversation on the drive home?” he suggested pleasantly even though his mouth was set hard.
His mother patted his arm. “Why don’t you and the baby take one car, and Jill and I will take another? This way she and I can spend a little bit of time getting to know each other.”
Jillian swallowed, thinking it was one of the worst ideas she’d ever heard but she couldn’t very well say that.
“Jill?” Vitt said, looking at her. “What do you prefer?”
It was good of him to give her a choice. It sounded like the right thing to say, but clearly he didn’t understand that Jillian couldn’t refuse his mother’s suggestion without appearing ungracious. She forced a smile. “I’d love to ride with your mother,” she said. “Sounds like fun.”
“It’s probably a good idea,” he agreed smoothly. “This way you’ll have an ally on your side before you meet the rest of the family.”
Jillian then had no choice but to follow his mother into her black sedan, even as her gaze strayed to her baby in Vitt’s arms. She should be with Vitt and Joe. She should be traveling with them, not Vitt’s mom.
“Have you ever been to Sicily?” Theresa asked as they each took position on opposite ends of the leather seat.
The chauffeur started the car and pulled away from the other sedans. Jillian forced herself to focus on Vitt’s mother. The interior of the car was dark and cool and she needed a moment for her eyes to adjust after the bright morning sunlight. “No. I’m sorry I haven’t.”
Theresa tapped her nails on the door’s metal handle. “Is your family Sicilian?”
“No.”
“Italian?”
Her father was, yes, but she couldn’t tell Theresa that. “German and Scottish, with a dab of Irish and a hint of French.”
His mother regarded her steadily, her focus sharp. “You’ve been to Bellagio.”
“Yes.”
“The villa is beautiful.”
“Extraordinary.”
“Did you drive his Lamborghini?”
“No, the Ferrari.”
“It’s a nice life, isn’t it? The cars, the houses, expensive jewelry.”
They were back to the perception that Jillian was a gold digger. Jillian didn’t know whether she should laugh or cry. She cared about many things, but money wasn’t one of them. “You do your Vittorio a disservice. He’s brilliant, devastatingly attractive and without a doubt, the most complex man I’ve ever met.”
“But the money is nice.”
Jillian kept her expression pleasant. “If I wanted a rich husband, I could have had a rich husband without the complications of a difficult family.”
Theresa stiffened, her eyes narrowing as she fell silent.
Jillian realized she’d probably made a gross tactical error, but there was no going back now. All she could do was try to hold her own, push on and see this brutal conversation to the end. “But my family is no better,” she said awkwardly, trying to make amends. “They don’t approve of Vitt any more than you approve of me.”
“You make it sound like you and Vittorio are two star-crossed lovers.”
She shrugged lightly. “I suppose there are shades of Romeo and Juliet in our story, but hopefully without the tragic ending.”
“Why don’t your parents approve of Vittorio?”
Ah, Theresa didn’t like that, did she? “They’re aware that he and I come from different backgrounds, and perhaps have different values.”
Theresa sat very still, her hands motionless in her lap. “Different values?”
“As you just pointed out, I’m neither Sicilian or Italian, and although I was raised Catholic, I rarely go to Mass now and yet from what I understand, your family is quite devout.”
“So why did he marry you?”
“Love.”
Theresa stared at her for the longest moment before smiling mockingly. “And you actually expect me to believe any of that drivel?”
Jillian opened her mouth to protest, but Theresa leaned toward Jillian and calmly, ruthlessly continued, “You don’t think I have my own connections? You don’t think I ask questions? I know you only just got married. And I know you didn’t want to marry my son—you only married him to keep your son.”
Jillian bit down into her lip, stunned.
But Theresa wasn’t done yet. Her cool blue gaze swept Jillian’s ashen face. “You can play whatever game you want to play with Vittorio, Jill, but don’t play games with me.” She paused, before bluntly saying, “Your entire relationship is a sham, isn’t it?”
“No.”
“It seems like one to me—”
“But it’s not your relationship. It’s mine. I adore Vittorio. I always have.”
“So why am I only meeting you now, a year after my grandson’s birth?”
Jillian sat tall, her chin tilted up. “I don’t see how that is any of your business.”
“I’m his mother!”
“And I’m his wife.”
The rest of the trip passed in tense silence. Twenty-five minutes after leaving Catania, they reached Vittorio’s hometown of Paterno. Catania, Sicily’s second largest city, was crowded and noisy, a sprawling urban city with a questionable reputation, whereas small, serene Paterno lay surrounded by citrus orchards with the protective tower and walls of the d’Severano family’s Norman castle standing guard.
It was a bright, clear morning with a stunning blue sky and the drive from the outskirts of Paterno to the castle entrance provided breathtaking views of both Mt Etna and the Simeto Valley.
Jillian and Theresa arrived first at the castle and were just stepping from their car, smoothing skirts and adjusting hemlines without once looking at each other, when the second black sedan arrived. Emerging from the back of his sedan, Vitt lifted Joseph out and then joined his mother and Jillian before the stone steps that led to the castle’s massive front doors.
“How was the drive?” he asked, glancing from his mother’s stony expression to the tight press of Jillian’s lips.
“Good,” Jillian said, her voice cracking.
“Not my choice of words, but we’re both here, aren’t we?” his mother retorted, one of her elegant winged eyebrows arching higher before turning around and walking away, her thin back ramrod-straight.
Vittorio watched his mother climb the pale stone stairs before turning back to Jill. “Sounds like an interesting trip,” he said drily, eyes glinting again.
Of course he’d find his mother amusing. “It was,” she agreed, taking Joe from Vitt and giving him a kiss.
“Did she ask a lot of questions?”
“Yes.”
“Was she direct?”
“As well as rude.” She took a deep breath, shook her head. “She doesn’t like me at all.”
“She doesn’t know you.”
“Well, she certainly doesn’t think we should be together.”
“You felt the same way yesterday,” he retorted with a smile. “Now enough about my mother. Let me show you and Joseph around your new home.”
From the immense twelfth-century walls, Jillian had imagined the interior would be dark and severe. Instead the castle had the feel of an airy Mediterranean villa. Everything was light and bright, walls and upholstery and floors all finished in cool, calming shades of white, sea-foam green and ethereal blue.
Because Joe was growing tired, Vittorio kept the tour brief, but Jillian didn’t need a lot of description to be dazzled by Vitt’s home. There was a sensual beauty to his castle, a warmth that permeated the old stones, thick walls and high-ceilinged rooms.
As they climbed stairs into towers, crossed terraces to view private gardens, Jillian caught whiffs of the heady perfume from the flowering citrus groves below the castle and felt the warmth of the gentle April sunshine as it cascaded over the weathered rock walls and surfaces.
Returning to the impressive staircase, they arrived on the third floor consisting of Vitt’s suite of rooms and the newly renovated nursery for their son.
Jillian paused inside the nursery door, eyes widening at the charming ocean theme. The airy, spacious nursery had a wall of windows flooding the carpeted floor with sunshine and bright light reflected off the walls painted with fanciful fish. “You did all this for Joe?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“I mean, it’s just so perfect….”
“Did you think I wouldn’t provide for my son?”
“No! Of course not.” She shifted Joe in her arms. “I’ve never once questioned your desire or ability to provide for Joe. I know you could give him anything.”
“As long as it’s material.”
She fell silent, realizing she’d said the wrong thing.
“Because that’s all I’m good for,” he added in the same velvet soft tone. “Money. Connections. Prestige.”
She blushed. “You’re putting words in my mouth,” she protested huskily, setting a wiggling Joe on his feet. The baby had spotted the sapphire dolphin rocking horse in the corner and was toddling fast toward the dolphin to climb on its back.
“But isn’t the money and prestige part true? You wanted me, enjoyed me, until you discovered I wasn’t your perfect prince and then you ran from me, disappearing without a word.”
“I’m sorry. Forgive me.”
“Apology not accepted.”
“Please, Vitt.”
“Please, what? This nursery has sat here empty for ten months. For ten months I searched for you, spending hundreds of thousands of dollars hiring investigators and detectives and following up on every lead possible. For ten months I waited to meet my son.” He leaned against one of the bookcases flanking the tall paned glass windows, his strong profile silhouetted by the bright sunlight. “And every day I thought, the only reason my son isn’t here, is because you, Jill Smith, wouldn’t let him.”
She felt her face grow hot. Put like that, she was a horrible person. But he didn’t know the whole story, and as much as she wanted to tell him, she didn’t think she could. At least not yet. At least, not until she knew for a fact that she could trust him. “I am sorry, Vittorio.”
He made a rough disgusted sound. “Let’s be honest. You’re not sorry you kept Joseph from me. You’re sorry I found you. Only you’re too much a coward to admit it.”
Jillian’s face burned with shame, because Vittorio was right. She was a coward. A pathetic coward. But if it meant she could protect Joe, and remain with Joe, then she’d do whatever she had to. “Maybe,” she admitted softly.
“Why did you do it, Jill? Why keep my son from me? You had to know I’d be good to him. You had to know I’d love him. I always treated you well. You trusted me, too, and when you slept, you always slept close to me, pressed to my side.”
She hated how her eyes suddenly felt gritty and dry. She hated that she could still remember how she’d felt with him, too. Loved. Safe. So very secure. “That was before,” she answered faintly.
“Before?” he repeated, as if amused. Faint creases appeared at the corner of his eyes.
“Yes.”
“Before what?”
He was still smiling but she realized she’d misread him. He wasn’t amused. He was far from amused.
Jillian held her breath, the air bottled in her lungs, aware that she was walking on thin ice and she had no idea how to extract herself.
But Vittorio wasn’t waiting for the ice to crack. He was going to shatter it himself. The corner of his mouth lifted. “Before you invented a world where I played the villain?”
She stared across the room at him. “I invented nothing. I dreamed up nothing. It’s all there, Vittorio. It’s all there on the internet.”
“It’s not true.”
“There are dozens of stories and articles, Vitt.”
“And you believe everything you read on the internet?”
“Not always.”
“But you believed this…whatever it was you read about me?”
“Why would people lie?”
He studied her with his dark, fathomless eyes, the sensual curve of his mouth making her feel hurt and longing and desire and pain.
She’d loved his mouth, loved the shape of that mouth and everything it made her feel—physically, emotionally. He’d always made her feel so much and until she’d discovered the truth about him, it’d been so good. She’d felt so good. After so many years she’d felt whole. And then the truth emerged and she shattered all over again.
“Why indeed?” he mocked.
She waited for him to say something else. Waited for him to explain or defend or help her make sense of this life of his. He didn’t.
She balled her hands into fists. “So now’s your chance. Tell me. Tell me the truth. Are you…?”
“Am I what?”
“You know.”
His head tipped to the side. “Do you realize you’re in danger of sounding obsessive?”
His mockery infuriated her. “This is serious,” she snapped.
“You’ve watched too many Hollywood movies.”
“I know what I know.”
“And just what do you know, Jill? You seem to be an expert on masquerades and games and charades.”
She shivered at his tone. What if he knew more than she thought he did? What if he knew what she hadn’t wanted him to know?
What then?
And what would he do with the information?
But she wouldn’t let herself go there, not now, not yet. Instead she locked her knees for courage. “I know Sicily has a long, complicated history with the mafia. I know that the Italian government has tried for years to rid Sicily of the mafia but without great success.”
“And why do you think?” he asked, watching her from beneath his thickly fringed lashes.
“Because by all reports, the mafia leaders are very clever.”
He held her gaze, his dark eyes searching hers. “Or perhaps the mafia does not exist.”
So that’s how he wanted to do this. They were to pretend she was misinformed, confused, off base.
He wanted her to believe the mafia didn’t exist. He was asking her to accept that organized crime was a Hollywood fabrication. He was asking the impossible.
She wasn’t that girl. She knew better. She knew the truth.
Jillian had lived through things, experienced things most people only read about in books or watched on TV. Her father, while presenting a charming face to the world, had the callous heart of a killer. Her father.
“Is that what you want me to believe?” she choked.
“You must have had one miserable childhood, because you’re completely incapable of trusting another.” “I’m completely incapable of trusting you.”
“Just me?”
“Just you,” she retorted, even though it was a lie. She didn’t trust many people. She certainly didn’t trust powerful men and still didn’t know why she’d decided to trust Vitt nearly two years ago.
“Why?”
“You know why.”
“The Mafioso thing again?” he asked, sounding bored.
“Yes, that. It’s never gone away. It will never go away—”
“Which is a dilemma, isn’t it? Because now you’re my wife. Married to the mob. What will you do?”
“I don’t know,” she answered, throwing her head back, temper blazing even as tears shimmered in her eyes. “None of this was supposed to happen. It’s the worst thing that could have happened.”
“Why?”
“Because it’d kill me, Vitt, it would if my son grew up and became someone like you.”