“Now it is a joyful occasion. My wife and son return home with me. Everything is good. Everything is as it should be.”

His wife and son…

His wife.

Jill’s heart hammered relentlessly and her hand shook as she clutched the flute. Was this why he’d ordered the champagne? “So that is the story we’re to tell them?”

“It won’t be a story. My family has a disreputable history—a history you’ve thrown in my face. But my father has worked hard to change the past, and I’ve continued his fight. We’ve worked too hard, sacrificed too much, to have Joseph inherit scorn or scandal. No one is to know he was born out of wedlock,” Vittorio continued quietly. “He is not to grow up marked by shame.”

“The ceremony will take place in the next half-hour, before the baby wakes,” he said, looking down at her. “Find something appropriate in your suitcase for the ceremony—something elegant and festive. After all, we’ll want good memories to help us remember our special day.”

About the Author

JANE PORTER grew up on a diet of Mills & Boon® romances, reading late at night under the covers so her mother wouldn’t see! She wrote her first book at age eight, and spent many of her high school and college years living abroad, immersing herself in other cultures and continuing to read voraciously. Now Jane splits her time between rugged Seattle, Washington, and the beautiful beaches of Hawaii, with her sexy surfer and three very active sons. Jane loves to hear from her readers. You can write to her at PO Box 524, Bellevue, WA 98009, USA. Or visit her website at www.janeporter.com

A DARK
SICILIAN SECRET

JANE PORTER

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For the fabulous Megan Crane

You’ve been an amazing friend.

I can’t imagine my life without you!

CHAPTER ONE

PEACE.

Finally.

Jillian Smith drew a deep breath as she walked along the jagged cliff overlooking the stormy Pacific Ocean, relishing the fresh air, stunning scenery and a rare moment of freedom. Things were definitely looking up.

She hadn’t seen Vittorio’s men in over nine months and she was certain that if she was careful, they’d never find her here, in this small, private coastal town just a few miles outside Carmel, California.

For one, she didn’t use her name, Jillian Smith, anymore. She had a new identity, April Holliday, and a new look—blonde, tan, as if she were a California native instead of a striking brunette from Detroit. Not that Vitt knew she was from Detroit.

Nor could he know. It was imperative she keep Vittorio, the father of her baby, as far away from her as possible.

He was so dangerous. Such a threat. To her. To Joe. To everything she held dear. She’d loved him, had come so close to imagining a future with him, only to discover that he wasn’t a hero…wasn’t a knight in shining armor but a man like her father. A man who’d made his fortune in organized crime.

Jillian drew a short breath, aware of the tension balling in her shoulders. Relax, she told herself. There’s no reason to be afraid. The danger’s behind you now. Vitt doesn’t know where you are. He can’t take the baby from you. You’re safe. Everything’s good.

She paused along the cliff to stare out at the dark blue water crested with foam. The waves were big today and they crashed against the dark rocks below with power and passion. The sea seemed angry, almost inconsolable, and for a moment she felt the same way.

She’d loved Vitt. And maybe they’d been together only two weeks, but in those two weeks she’d imagined a life with him. Imagined so many possibilities for them.

But then the truth emerged. He wasn’t a hero—no prince on a white stallion—but a terrifying villain.

The first raindrops began to fall and she pushed back her long blond hair from her face, determined to put the past behind her and focus on the present as well as Joe’s future. And Joe would have a great future. She’d make sure he had everything she’d never known—stability, security, a happy home.

Already she’d found a darling rental house just a quarter mile down the road on a quiet cul-de-sac. She’d gotten an amazing job at the Highlands Inn, one of the premier hotels on the Northern California coast, assisting with their marketing and sales. And best of all, she’d found excellent child care so she could work. In fact, lovely Hannah was with Joe now.

The rain pelted down, and the brisk wind whipped at her hair, tugging at her black fisherman’s sweater, but she welcomed the fierce weather, and loved its intensity. She couldn’t help smiling at the ocean, and the endless horizon, imagining life’s possibilities.

“Thinking of jumping, Jill?” A deep male voice spoke behind her.

Her smile vanished as she stiffened in shock, recognizing the smooth, accented voice immediately.

Vittorio.

She hadn’t heard his voice in nearly a year, but Vitt’s was impossible to forget. Deep and calm, his voice was pitched to dominate life—whether it be man or nature—and it did.

He did.

But then, Vittorio Marcello d’Severano was a force of nature, a human being that inspired awe or fear in virtually everyone.

“There are solutions,” he added softly, so softly that Jillian shuddered, and took a nervous step away from him, putting her closer to the cliff’s edge. Her unsteady footstep sent loose rocks tumbling from the craggy point to the cove below. The falling rocks sounded like her heart shattering and Jill’s throat squeezed closed.

Just when she’d felt secure.

Just when she’d thought they were safe.

Unbelievable. Impossible.

“None that I would find acceptable,” she answered flatly, turning slightly but avoiding looking him in the face. She knew better than to look at Vitt closely, much less meet his gaze. Vittorio was a magician, a virtual snake charmer. He could get anyone to do anything just by smiling.

He was that handsome.

He was that powerful.

“Is that all you have to say to me after months of cat-and-mouse games?”

The rain fell harder, drenching Jillian’s thick knit sweater so that it ran with rivulets of water. “I believe everything has already been said. I can’t think of anything I’ve forgotten,” she retorted, her chin tilted in defiance even though her legs shook beneath her. She was torn between fury and terror. Vittorio was just a man, and yet he could, and would, destroy her world given the chance.

And no one would stop him.

“I can. Let me suggest you begin with an apology,” he said almost gently. “It would be a start.”

Jillian threw back her shoulders and steeled herself against that deep, husky voice of his, forcing her gaze to his throat. What harm could there be in that? And yet it was impossible to look at his throat—strong and bronzed by sun—without seeing the square chin or the broad shoulders encased in charcoal-black.

And even limiting herself to that very narrow region, her stomach plummeted. Because Vittorio was still everything that overwhelmed her. Impossibly physical and primal, he was the true alpha male. No one was stronger. No one more powerful. She’d tumbled into his bed within hours of meeting him and she’d never done that before. For God’s sake, she’d never even come close to making love before but something about Vitt made her drop her guard. With him, she felt safe. Near him, she’d felt secure.

“If anyone ought to apologize, it should be you.”

“Me?”

“You misrepresented yourself, Vittorio—”

“Never.”

“—and you’ve hunted me like an animal for the past eleven months,” she said, her voice hard, her tone clipped. She would not fall to her knees. She would not beg. She would fight him to the bitter end.

He shrugged. “You chose to run. You had my son. What else did you expect me to do?”

“It must thrill you to have such power over helpless women and children!” she flashed, raising her voice to be heard over the wind and the great angry walls of water crashing onto the beach below.

“You’re far from helpless, Jill. You’re one of the strongest, shrewdest women I’ve ever met, with the skills of a professional con artist.”

“I’m not a con artist.”

“Then why the alias of April Holliday? And how did you manage to create such a persona? It takes money and connections to pull off what you nearly pulled off—”

“Nearly. That is the key word, isn’t it?”

He shrugged again. “That’s for another discussion. Right now I’d like to get out of the rain—”

“You’re free to go.”

“I’m going nowhere without you. And I don’t like you standing so close to the edge of the cliff. Come away. You worry me,” he said, extending a hand to her.

She ignored his hand, and glanced up instead, her gaze taking in the long, lean jaw, the angled cheekbone, the very sensual lips above his firm chin, and all it took was that one glance for her to go hot, then cold, and hot all over again.

“And you terrify me,” she answered bitterly, looking swiftly away, knowing that his lips had kissed her everywhere, exploring her body with mind-blowing detail. He’d brought her to her first orgasm with his mouth and tongue and she’d been mortified when she’d screamed as she came. She hadn’t imagined pleasure so intense or sensation so strong. She’d never known anything could shatter her control. But then, she hadn’t ever imagined a man like Vittorio.

But the truth was, she wasn’t terrified of him. She was terrified of herself when around him. Because in Bellagio, Vittorio undid her. With just one look, he weakened her resolve. One kiss, and he shattered her independence. From the first time they’d made love, she wanted him far too much, realizing she needed him more than she’d ever needed anyone.

“You’re ridiculous,” he chided, his tone exasperated. “Have I ever hurt you, or laid a hand on you—other than to pleasure you?”

She closed her eyes as her legs wobbled beneath her. During their two weeks together, two incredible weeks, he had only shown her kindness, and tenderness, and passion. Yes, he’d had his secrets. He’d been mysterious. But she’d ignored her concerns and followed her heart. “No.”

“But you ran. And worse, you’ve kept my only child, my son, from me. How is that fair?”

She couldn’t answer because already his voice was doing that strange seduction, where he peeled away her rigid control, stripping away her defenses. He’d done it that very first day she’d met him in the hotel lobby in Istanbul. One introduction, one brief conversation, one invitation to dinner and then she lost her head completely. Took leave from her job. Moved into his villa at Lake Como. Imagined she was in love…something Jillian didn’t even believe in. Romantic love was silly and foolish and destructive. Romantic love was for other people, people who didn’t know better. She’d thought she knew better.

But then came Vitt, and there went sanity, reason, self-preservation.

Oh, he was too dangerous for words.

He’d destroy her. And Joe.

But no, she wouldn’t let him have Joe. Wouldn’t let Vitt turn Joe into a man like him.

“He’s not Sicilian, Vittorio. He’s American. And a baby and my son.”

“I’ve indulged you this past year, given you time alone together, but now it’s my turn—”

“No!” Jillian pressed her nails into her palms, barely maintaining control. “You can’t have him, you can’t.”

She swayed on the lip of the cliff, aware that the rain was making the soil a soggy, unstable mess, but she’d never go to Vittorio, nor would she give in to him. Far better to tumble backward into space than let Vittorio have Joe. Because at least Joe was safe with Hannah. Hannah knew if anything happened to Jillian, she was to take Joe to Cynthia, her college roommate in Bellevue, Washington. Cynthia had agreed to be Joe’s guardian should the need arise and Jillian had formal papers drawn, clearing the way for adoption. Because it was Jillian’s fervent wish that Joe be raised by a loving family. A normal family. A family with no ties to organized crime.

A family unlike her own.

A family unlike Vittorio’s.

“Jill, give me your hand now. That ledge could give way any moment.”

“I don’t care. Not if it means I can protect my son.”

“Protect him from whom, cara? Protect him from what?”

The concerned note in his voice drew tears to her eyes and her heart lurched within her chest. It took all of her strength to harden herself against him. He’d fooled her once, but she wouldn’t be fooled again. She was smarter. She was older. And she was a mother now. Jillian wouldn’t be swayed by warmth or tenderness, seduction or pleasure. This was about Joe, and only about Joe. His safety. His survival. His future.

This could have been avoided if she’d only known who she was dealing with when she accepted Vitt’s dinner invitation twenty months ago.

If she’d only understood the implications of that date.

But she hadn’t. Instead she’d cast Vittorio as Prince Charming and put him on a white horse and believed he was going to save her. Or at the very least, take her to an extravagant, romantic dinner and make her feel like a princess for a night.

The extravagant dinner turned into a fantasy romance. He made her feel so beautiful and desirable that she tumbled eagerly into his bed. He hadn’t disappointed. He’d been an incredible lover and even now she could remember how his body had felt against hers.

She remembered the warm satin of his skin stretched over dense, sinewy muscle. Remembered his lean narrow hips and the black crisp hair low on his belly. Remembered the sensation of him extending her arms and holding her still as he slowly thrust into her and then even more slowly withdrew.

He knew how to use his body. He knew a woman’s body. He’d quickly mastered hers.

For two blissful weeks she’d imagined she was falling in love with him, and fantasized about living with him, making a life with him, making a home. Yes, there were moments Vittorio was called away to take calls at strange hours, but she’d discounted those calls, telling herself it was just business, or the time difference, and that he was a CEO of a large international company so he had to work at all hours of the day.

He’d told her about his company, too, and she was fascinated by his newest acquisition—the purchase of three venerable, five-star hotels in Eastern Europe—and she’d fantasized about leaving her hotel job in Turkey and going to work for Vitt, helping him overhaul his newest hotels. After all, hotel management was her area of expertise, and she imagined them traveling the world together, exploring, working, making love.

And then on day fourteen, one of Vitt’s young housemaids shattered her illusions with the whispered question, “You’re not afraid of the Mafioso?”

Mafioso.

The word chilled Jillian’s blood.

“Who?” Jill asked, striving to sound casual as the maid’s eyes darted toward the bathroom door where Vittorio was showering. The maid was only there to bring fresh towels but apparently her curiosity had got the best of her.

“Your man,” the maid answered, handing off the stack of plush white towels. “Signor d’Severano.”

“He isn’t—”

“Sì. Everyone knows.” And then the maid disappeared, hurrying away like a frightened field mouse.

And then the pieces fell into place. Of course. It all added up. Why hadn’t she seen it before? Vittorio’s immense wealth. His lavish lifestyle. His strange, secretive phone calls.

Jillian had wanted to throw up. Instead she used her phone to do a quick internet search while Vittorio dressed and the d’Severano name pulled up pages and pages of links and stories and photos.

The maid had been right. Vittorio d’Severano, of Catania, Sicily, was a very famous man. Famous, for all the wrong reasons.

Jillian ran away that very afternoon, taking just her passport and purse and leaving everything else behind. Clothes, shoes, coats—they could all be replaced. But freedom? Safety? Sanity? Those could not.

Jillian gave up everything that day. She gave notice at the hotel, gave up her apartment, left Europe and all her friends, vanishing as if she’d never existed.

She knew how to do that, too. It was something she’d learned at twelve when her family was taken into the American government’s Witness Protection Program. Since twelve she’d been an imposter of her former self.

Jillian became Heather Purcell in Banff, Canada, and worked for four months as a hotel operator at the Fairmont Hotel at Lake Louise in the Canadian Rockies. It was there in Alberta, Canada that she’d discovered she was pregnant.

“You had to know I’d eventually catch you,” he added kindly. “You had to know I’d win.”

Trapped. The word rushed at her, just as the relentless waves crashed onto the sand. But she wasn’t a quitter. She was a fighter. And she wouldn’t give up. She’d learned through hard experience to be tough, and had been fighting like mad ever since she discovered she was pregnant to protect her child from a life that would destroy him, because Jillian knew that life. Jillian’s father had once lived that life, dragging them all into hell with him.

The rain fell harder, slashes of cold wind and water that drenched, chilling her to the bone, but Vitt looked sleek and polished and unperturbed. But then, Vitt always looked sleek, and polished, and unperturbed. It’s what had drawn her to him in the beginning. That and his beautiful face.

“But you haven’t won,” she said from between chattering teeth. “Because you don’t have him, and you can torture me, or kill me, or whatever it is you do to people, but I won’t ever tell you where he is—”

“Why would I ever want to hurt you? You’re the mother of my son, my only child, and therefore precious to me.”

“I know what I am to you. Dispensable. You made that more than clear eleven months ago when you sent your thugs after me.”

“My men are hardly thugs, and you’ve turned me into an adversary, cara, by keeping my son from me.” Vittorio’s voice momentarily hardened to match the set of his lean, hard jaw before easing again. “But I’m willing to put aside our differences for our son’s sake. So, please, come. I don’t like you standing so close to the edge. It’s not safe.”

“And you are?”

His dark gaze raked the cliff and her shivering, rain-soaked figure. “I suppose it depends on your definition. But I’m not interested in semantics. It’s time to get out of the cold.” And with a decisive step toward her, he shot out his hand, reaching for hers.

But Jillian couldn’t, wouldn’t, let him touch her. Not now, not ever again. She leaned away, pulling back so violently that she lost her footing, crying out as she fell. Vittorio, blessed with quick reflexes, grabbed her wrist and held on tight.

For a split second she dangled in midair, nothing beneath her but the beach and crashing waves, and then her fingers wrapped around his wrist and she squeezed tight.

He could save her.

He would, too.

Vitt hauled her back up from over the edge, pulling her onto her feet and into his arms.

She shuddered as her body came into contact with his. Even wet, he was big and solid and overwhelming. So very overwhelming and she collapsed against him, needing, craving warmth and security and safety.

His arm wrapped around her tightly, holding her firmly against him. He felt good. Warm. Real.

For a moment she imagined he might still possibly have feelings for her. For a moment she imagined that maybe they could find a way to raise Joe together, and then reality crashed into her.

Was she mad? Had she lost her senses completely?

There was no way they could be together, no way to raise Joe together. She could not allow Joe to be drawn into the d’Severano world, and yet as Vittorio’s oldest son, it’s what would be expected of him. And expected of Vitt.

Anguish and heartbreak beat at her. “I can’t do this, Vitt,” she choked, as he wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her steady against him. “I won’t be part of your life. I can’t.”

He slid his palm across her cheek, pushing heavy blond hair back from her cold face. His hand was warm, so warm, and the caress sent a shiver through her.

“And what is so wrong about my life?” he asked, his voice pitched low.

For a moment she could think of nothing. What could be wrong when Vitt held her so securely? How could feeling good be bad?

Her cheek tingled from his touch and her insides did crazy flips. She struggled to put together a coherent sentence. “You know,” she whispered, thinking of her father, his ties to the Detroit mob and the terrible consequences for all of them, although no one had paid more dearly than her sister.

“Explain it to me.”

“I can’t.” She trembled against him, acutely aware of every place his body pressed against hers. His chest against her breasts. His hips tight against her pelvis. His thighs against her thighs. The contact was both exquisite and excruciating. Her body loved it, him. Her body wanted so much more. Her mind, though, revolted.

“Why not?” He stroked her hair over her shoulders into smooth wet waves down her back.

She drew back to look into his eyes. It was a mistake, as her heart turned over. He was beautiful. Beyond beautiful. But also so very lethal. He could destroy her with the blink of his eyes and no one would stop him. “You know who you are,” she whispered. “You know what you do.”

The edge of his full sensual mouth lifted, and he tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear, his fingertips lingering a moment against the back of the sensitive lobe. “It appears that you’ve tried and convicted me without giving me an opportunity to prove my innocence, because I am innocent, cara. I am not the man you imagine me to be.”

“You deny you are Vittorio d’Severano? Head of the d’Severano family of Catania, Sicily?”

“Of course I do not deny my family or my heritage. I love my family and am responsible for my family. But how is being a d’Severano a crime?”

She held his gaze. “The d’Severano family fills pages and pages of history books. Blackmail, extortion, racketeering…and those are the misdemeanors.”

“Every family has a skeleton in the closet—”

“Yours has at least a hundred!”

His dark eyes glittered, the brown irises flecked with gold. “Do not disparage my family. I have nothing but respect for my family. And yes, we are a very old Sicilian family. We can even trace our ancestors back a thousand years. Something I don’t think you can do, Jill Smith.”

She winced at the way he said her name. He made her feel common and cheap. But wasn’t that his point? He was Vittorio d’Severano and she was no one.

He was right, of course. She was insignificant, and she had no one she could turn to, no one strong enough, powerful enough to protect her, because who would fight the mafia for her? Who would take on Vittorio, when not even the American and Italian government could bring him down?

But even knowing the odds, she still had to fight, because what were her options? Let Vittorio take Joe from her? Never. Not in a million years.

Which brought her to her senses. What was she doing in his arms, her body taut against his? It was insanity, that’s what it was, and she fought to regain control. Jillian struggled against his chest. “You forget yourself,” she gritted. “This is America, not Sicily and I do not belong to you. Let go.”

He released her and she took a step away, and then another, walking blindly in the downpour in the opposite direction of her house because she’d never lead Vitt there. Never in a million years.

“Where are you going?” he called after her.

“Continuing with my walk. Need the exercise.”

“I’ll join you.”

“Please don’t.”

But he followed her anyway, although at a more leisurely pace.

Gut churning, mind whirling, Jillian splashed through puddles as she walked, trying to figure out how to lose Vitt, how to keep him from discovering Joe’s whereabouts.

She hadn’t brought her cell phone with her, so she couldn’t call Hannah and warn her. She hadn’t brought money, either, so it wasn’t as if she could catch a cab from town.

And so she just kept walking, and the rain kept coming, and Vitt continued following.

“How far are you planning on going, Jill?” he asked her, as they approached an intersection and the pathway turned into a sidewalk with a four-way stoplight.

“Until I’m tired,” she answered, worried that the light remained red while his limousine purred just feet away.

The limousine continued to the corner and made a partial turn, blocking the intersection. Blocking her access to the crosswalk. Suddenly the doors of the black limousine opened and two of Vitt’s bodyguards emerged.

In any other situation she might have laughed. Who but Vitt would have bodyguards that dressed like Italian fashion models? His men wore elegant suits, exquisite leather shoes and belts, and shaded their eyes with the latest in designer stylish sunglasses. They were sophisticated and well groomed and didn’t blend in. They had never blended in. But Vittorio had to know that. Vittorio Marcello d’Severano left nothing to chance.

The bodyguards watched her with professional interest. They were clearly waiting for a signal from Vitt, a signal he had yet to give.

“Tell them to move,” Jillian said, turning to look at Vitt.

“But I just told them to stop there.”

“Yes, but I can’t cross the street with them blocking the way.”

“I know. But we can’t just walk all day. We have things we have to discuss. Decisions that must be made.”

“Such as?”

“How we’re going to manage joint custody of our son—”

“We’re not. He’s mine.”

“And which country he’ll attend school in.”

“The States. He’s American.”

“As well as Sicilian,” Vitt countered softly. “As well as half mine. You can not legally keep him from me.”

“Nor can you legally take him from me.”

“Which I wouldn’t do.” He patted his chest. “Fortunately, I have excellent legal counsel, and have spent the past few months working with the best American and Sicilian attorneys. Everything’s been handled. I’ve taken care of the paperwork. The documentation is here. You’ve had him the first eleven months of his life. I’m entitled to the next.”

“What?”

He nodded. “We’re to share him equally, or, cara, darling, you risk losing him completely.”

“Never!”

“You’ll be found an unfit mother should you try to run off with him again. And you don’t want to be found in contempt of the court. It would seriously damage your chances of ever getting custody back.”

Jillian stared at Vitt in horror. “You’re making that up.”

“I’d never lie to you. And I never have. If we step into the car, I’ll show you the paperwork where it’s dry.”

He made it sound so simple. Just step into his car…just look at the papers.

He must think she’d forgotten just how powerful he was. He must think she didn’t remember how seductive and attractive she’d found him.

If she took that one small step, climbed into his car, she feared she’d never be safe—or sane—again.

Jillian swallowed hard, her senses already overloaded. Tall and broad-shouldered, Vitt was undeniably attractive, but twenty months ago she’d fallen for more than his body. She’d loved his mind. He was brilliant. Probably the most intelligent man she’d ever met and she’d enjoyed talking to him more than she’d enjoyed talking to anyone.

Vitt could discuss politics and economics, history and culture, arts and sciences. He’d traveled extensively and obviously had loads of money, but he’d played no games. He’d been warm, sensual—and except for the odd strange phone call, and the sudden secret meetings—he’d been totally available.

And like a love-starved puppy, she’d lapped it all up, soaking it in.

Seeing him again reminded her of just how much she’d liked him and wanted him.

Seeing him again made her realize she’d never be immune to him. “I don’t trust you,” she said, her voice husky with emotion.

“The problem in a nutshell.”

“Don’t mock me.”

“I’m not. But your lack of trust has created terrible problems for both of us.”

She looked away, bit her lip hard, so hard it drew blood. “I want to see the paperwork, but I won’t get into your car,” she said steeling herself, suppressing all emotion. “Don’t try to make me.”

Vittorio was still walking toward her and he slid his hands into his black coat’s pockets. “I didn’t want it this way, cara. I didn’t want it hard on you.” He was just a foot away now and she scrambled to the side. He moved past her, heading to the open limousine door. “But if you insist,” he added with an eloquent shrug, “then so be it. We’ll do it this way.”

Vittorio ducked his head and slid into the backseat of the car with its tinted windows. Jillian watched as one of the bodyguards climbed into the car and then the other. Vitt’s men weren’t coming for her after all. They were going to leave her alone.

She should have felt relief. Instead she felt fear and dread claw at her throat.

Something was wrong, very, very wrong, because Vittorio would never give up, which meant, if he was leaving her here, and letting her go, he’d already won.

He had Joe. He’d found her son.

Stomach heaving, she rushed toward the car, throwing herself at the door to prevent it from closing. “What have you done?”

Vitt looked at her from the interior of the car. The car’s yellow-white light cast hard shadows on his face, making his eyes look almost black and his expression fierce. “It’s what you wanted.”

“What I want is for my son, my baby, to be with me. That’s what I want—”

“No, you had that opportunity and you turned it down. You said you wanted to be left alone. I am leaving you…alone.”

Jillian didn’t remember moving or launching herself at him, but suddenly she was in the car and the limousine was moving and she was sitting on the black leather seat, next to Vittorio with his two thugs on the seat across from theirs.

“Calm yourself,” Vittorio repeated. “Joseph is fine. He’s in my safekeeping and with the court’s permission, will be flying to Paterno with me tonight.”

Jillian’s stomach rose and fell and panicked, she searched Vitt’s eyes for the truth. “You’re bluffing.”

“No, cara, I’m not bluffing. We had an early lunch together, Joseph and I. He’s a delightful little boy, full of charm and intelligence, although I wouldn’t put him in yellow again. It doesn’t suit him.”

For a moment she couldn’t breathe. Nor could she think. Everything within her froze, and died a little bit.

She’d dressed Joe in a golden-yellow T-shirt this morning and tiny adorable blue jeans. She’d thought he looked like sunshine and it’d made her smile and kiss his neck where he smelled so sweet. “What have you done with him?”

“Besides treat him to a healthy lunch and ask that he be put down for a nap? Nothing. Should I have?”

“Vittorio.” Her voice was hoarse, anguished. “This isn’t a game.”

“You’ve made it one, Jillian. You’ve only yourself to blame.”

“What about Hannah?” she asked, referring to her wonderful new sitter, a sitter she’d found two months ago just after she’d rented the house. “Is she with him?”

“She is, but you don’t need her anymore. We’ll get a proper nanny in Sicily, someone who will help teach Joseph his native language.”

“But I like Hannah—”

“As do I. She’s been a very good employee. Has done everything I’ve asked of her.”

A cold, sick sensation rushed through her, making her want to throw up. With a trembling hand Jillian wiped the rain from her eyes. “What do you mean, you’ve asked of her?”

Vittorio’s mouth curved, which only made his handsome face look harder, fiercer. “She worked for me. But of course you weren’t to know that.”

CHAPTER TWO

SHE was sitting as far from him as she could on the limousine’s black leather seat. Vitt had expected that. She was upset. As well she should be.

He’d just turned her world upside down. As they’d both known he would.

Nothing so far today had surprised him. Jill was the one in shock. Water dripped from her thick sweater and the ends of her hair, and her teeth chattered despite the fact the heater blasted hot air all over them. He found the temperature stifling, but left the heater on high for her, thinking it was the least he could do considering the circumstances.

His limousine had done a U-turn and was approaching the private road off the scenic coastal Highway 1 that led to her cul-de-sac.

Jill’s rental house was small, brown, with very 1950s architecture, which meant nondescript. It was a house surrounded by soaring evergreens. A house with a plain asphalt driveway. A house that would draw no attention. Jill was smart, far smarter than he’d given her credit for, but once he understood her, once he understood how her mind worked, it was easy to lead her right into the palm of his hand.

The house.

The nanny.

The job opportunity.

He’d known she was in Monterey County for the past four months, but he didn’t want to frighten her away until all his plans were in place. And to help her feel safe, secure, he’d wooed her into complacency by posting the rental house information on a coffee shop bulletin board where she went every day to get her latte. Thirty people called on the house before she finally did. He’d turned thirty people down before Jill made the call, and asked to see the house.

She toured the house with one of his company employees, a lovely woman named Susan who worked for him in his San Francisco commercial real estate office. It was Susan who casually mentioned the job opportunity at the Highlands Inn, an opportunity created for her as he owned the hotel, along with another thirty others spread over the globe.

Jillian had interviewed for the job, and while chatting with the hotel’s resource manager, the manager dropped into the conversation that she was just about to let her nanny go as her children were now all of school age, and did Jillian know of anyone looking for excellent, but inexpensive, child care?

Jillian pounced.

The trap had been set.

Jillian was his.

In hindsight, it sounded easy. In truth, it’d been excruciating. He’d wanted to rush in and seize his child, know his child, help raise his son. But he didn’t. He waited, fighting his own impatience, knowing that everything he did was watched.

The d’Severano name was a double-edged sword. People knew and feared his family. His grandfather had once been the don of one of the most powerful, influential crime families in the world. His family had been intimately involved with the Mafioso for generations. But that was the past. Vittorio’s business ventures were all completely legal, and they’d remain legal.

“Shall we go to your house so you can change?” he asked.

“I’m fine.”

“But aren’t we close?”

“No.”

“You don’t live near here?”

“No,” she repeated, staring out the tinted window toward the street.

He gazed out to the street, too. It was a blur outside the window. Rain drummed down, dancing onto the asphalt. It’d been raining the day he’d met her in Turkey, too. Absolutely pouring outside.

And so instead of taking the car to his next meeting, he lingered in the lobby waiting for the rain to let up. It was while he was waiting Jill crossed the lobby, high heels clicking on the polished marble floor.

He’d known from the moment he saw her across the lobby of the Ciragan Palace Hotel in Istanbul she was beautiful, and she’d shown remarkable intelligence during their first dinner date in the Caviar Bar Russian Restaurant, but he had no idea she could be so resourceful. This woman sitting next to him was street-smart. Savvy. Far savvier than many of the businessmen he regularly dealt with.

“I know your house is close, but if you don’t want to go and collect anything…” He allowed his voice to drift off, giving her the opportunity to speak up.

Instead she lifted her chin and her fine, pale jaw tightened. “No.”

“Then we can go straight to the airport, and I’ll have your house emptied and your possessions packed and stored.”

He’d gotten her attention now. Her head snapped around, her eyes blazed at him. “My house is none of your business!” she snapped furiously.

“But it is. Who else would have reduced the rent on an ocean-view home from fifty-six hundred a month to fourteen hundred for a single, unwed mother, with no references or credit, and her young son? I own the house. And you, cara, are my tenant.”

He saw the moment his words registered, saw it in the widening of her eyes and then the clenching of her jaw.

“Your house?” she choked.

He shrugged. “My house. My nanny. My hotel.”

“What do you mean, your hotel? I’ve never stayed at an expensive hotel—”

“But you’ve been employed by one the past sixty days, haven’t you?” He smiled faintly. “The Highlands Inn is part of my International Prestige Collection. Or did you not check that on Google?”

Her lips parted. And her brown eyes practically shot daggers. Brown eyes. So very interesting. Her eyes had been a dark sapphire-blue some twenty months ago.

“You set me up,” she whispered.

“What did you expect? That I’d let you get away with abducting my son?”

“I didn’t abduct him. I carried him, gave birth to him, loved him—”

“Good. And now you can love him from the comfort and security of my home in Sicily.”

“I will not live in Sicily.”

“Fine. You can come and go, and visit us whenever you’d like, but the courts have agreed that based on your erratic behavior, and your inability to provide financially for the child, Joseph will make his permanent home in Paterno with me.”

“But I have provided for him! I’ve always managed—”

“With my help, yes. You forget, cara, that the courts are fully aware that I provided you with a home, a job and child care. They understand you couldn’t have survived without me.”

Her hands balled into fists. “That’s not true. I was fine. We were both doing fine!” “So you say.”

She fell back against the seat. “You tricked me.”

“I did what I had to do to be with my son.”

“And now that you have him?”

“He’ll live in Paterno at my family home.”

“What about me?”

“You will live with us until he’s eighteen and then when he leaves for university, you can go, too. You’ll be free to travel, buy a new home, start a new life, but until then, you will live with us in my home.”

Jillian dug her nails into her palms. “I’m a prisoner?”

His gaze settled on her pale face, studying the high cheekbones, straight nose, full lips and strong chin. “Absolutely not. You’re free to come and go, but Joseph will remain with me, to be raised by me.”

“So he’s the prisoner?”

“He’s an infant, and my son. He needs guidance, and protection.”

“From your enemies?”

He regarded her steadily. “I have no enemies.”

“Except for me,” she said beneath her breath.

“You didn’t used to be.” He spoke the words just as softly, and her color stormed her face, staining her cheeks a hot pink, a clear indication that she also remembered how responsive she’d been in his bed.

A translucent bead of water fell from a tendril at her brow to her temple. With an impatient swipe of her fingers she knocked the water from her face but not before he noticed how her hand trembled.

She was flustered. Good. She should be. He was furious. Beyond furious. Jillian had hidden her pregnancy, until she had accidentally bumped into one of his employees while taking the baby for a walk. On hearing the news, he’d worked out the dates and rung her immediately. Jillian had the gall to first deny the baby was his, and then when he demanded a DNA test, she ran from him, keeping his son from him for nearly the entire first year of Joseph’s life.

Jill should be punished. And there would be consequences.

“In fact, I can still see you at the wheel of my new Ferrari in Bellagio,” he added. “You loved driving it, didn’t you? But then you loved everything about our time together at the villa in Lake Como. Including spending my money.”

“You make it sound like I had a thing for your money.”

“Didn’t you?” he countered, signaling his driver to move on.

“No!” she answered fiercely, as fresh pink color darkened her cheekbones, highlighting the shape of her delicate face. “Your money meant nothing to me. It still doesn’t.”

“So you didn’t enjoy the private jet, the villa, the servants, the car?”

“Things don’t impress me,” she threw at him, averting her head once more, giving him a glimpse of her neck and nape.

Her skin was pale, creamy, flawless, and his gaze traveled slowly over her, studying her elegant features and the mass of blond hair that hung in damp loose waves over her shoulders. The blond hair color was something new as well.

“I see. You were there for me.” He studied her lazily, as though trying to decide if he liked her better as a glossy chestnut brunette or this California beach-girl blonde, but his lazy, relaxed demeanor was a façade, because on the inside he was wound hard, and tight.

Never in his life had he been played the way she played him. Never. It still astonished him. Jill Smith had seemed so innocent. Sweet. Pure. God, he’d misjudged her. But now he knew, and he’d never be foolish enough to make that mistake again. “You cared for me.”

She met his gaze directly, her chin lifting. “I did care for you.”

“Past tense.”

Her eyes looked enormous but she didn’t back down. “Past tense.”

He glanced briefly out the window at the twisted, gnarled limbs of a cypress tree before focusing on her. “So what changed, Jill Smith?” he asked, emphasizing her name because her name, like the rest of her life, was invented. Jillian Smith didn’t exist. Jillian Smith was a fabrication. A very good one, but a fabrication nonetheless.

Her lies had made it difficult to track her down, but he was persistent, and he’d succeeded.

Now all that was left was bending her to his will to ensure his son’s health, wealth and happiness.

“Nothing happened.”

“No? Nothing happened?” One black eyebrow lifted quizzically.

“No.”

“No one whispered in your ear? No one told you something that sent you packing?”

Her jaw dropped a little before she snapped it closed, and yet even then she looked sick. Scared. He wondered if that’s what she felt that day in Bellagio when his young housemaid told Jill he was part of the mafia. Silly housemaid to talk of things she knew little about. Silly girl to think he wouldn’t find out. His staff had to know there were security cameras everywhere.

“What did you do to her?” Jill whispered hoarsely.

“Fired her.” And then he rolled his eyes at Jill’s expression. “You think I’d hurt an eighteen-year-old girl for saying the word Mafioso? Ridiculous. That just proves how little you know of me. I am not a cruel man. I do not hurt people, or give orders to have people hurt. That’s barbaric.”

And still she looked at him warily, her emotions volatile as fear, anxiety and uncertainty flitted across her face one after the other. “So you really do mean to take me to Sicily with you?”

“Yes,” he answered decisively.

“And you won’t keep me from Joe?”

“Not as long as you cooperate.”

A tiny pulse jumped at the base of her throat. “What does that mean?”

“It means you’ll cooperate. You’ll do what I ask you to do cheerfully, pleasantly and immediately.”

Apparently she didn’t like the sound of that as her brown eyes shot daggers at him. “And if I don’t?”

“You will be sent packing.”

“You can’t do that.”

“No?” His dark gaze met hers and held for long, tense seconds. “You will be living in my home, in my country, among my family and my people. Who will stop me? Hmm?”

She inhaled sharply. “You can’t use Joe as a weapon against me,” she whispered, her voice failing her.

“But isn’t that what you did to me?”

“I was trying to protect him—”

“From me, yes, I figured that out. But Jill, what a serious, terrible, tactical error.”

Her gaze searched his, a deep line of worry between her eyebrows. “And if I cooperate for seventeen years?”

“You’ll remain with us, enjoy my protection, wealth and all the privileges of being part of the d’Severano family.”

“And yet if I stand by and cooperate, you’ll succeed at turning him into one of you.”

“You make us sound like a horde of vampires.”

“You’re not much different, are you?”

“According to today’s popular culture, vampires are in.”

“Not with me.”

“You’re anti vampire?”

“I’m anti bullies, thugs and thieves. I’m anti predators. Anti organized crime. Anti anyone who forces other people to their knees.”

“È gran pazzia lu cuntrastari cu du nun pô vinciri nè appattari,” he quoted, then translated the Sicilian proverb for her benefit, “It’s insane to oppose when you can neither win nor compromise.” The corner of his mouth quirked. “You’re either shockingly brave or stupid, Jill, considering you have so much at stake.”

“A great deal is at stake. We’re talking about the life of a little boy. What we do now will impact him forever.”

“Exactly so.”

“Which is why I can’t just roll over, Vittorio, and pretend that who you are, and what you do, is good. Your values and morals aren’t mine—”

He’d heard enough, more than enough, actually, and tuning out the rest of her speech, he gestured to one of his men, who then tapped the glass partition, getting the chauffeur’s attention. The driver immediately slowed and pulled off the highway onto the rain-lashed shoulder.

“It’s a shame that we couldn’t come to an understanding, but I suppose it’s better now than later,” he said calmly, knowing he was just about to destroy what was left of her world. “I did want this to work out. I think we could have made it work. Unfortunately, I can see it’s not going to happen. So let’s make the break now and be done with it. No point in dragging the pain out.” He leaned to the side, opened the back door. “Goodbye, Jill.”

Her lips parted with surprise. “What?”

“Your house is just a half mile back. Not far, but certainly not comfortable in the rain. Do be careful. The pavement is undoubtedly slippery.”

She crumpled into the seat, her expression one of horror. “Vittorio,” she protested, her voice strangled.

She looked hurt and bewildered. Shattered. But of course she’d be dramatic. Everything she said and did was extreme. But he’d had enough of her dishonesty and distortions. He despised lies and he’d worked too damn hard to restore respectability to his family to allow anyone, much less Jill Smith with her questionable morals and secretive past, to dishonor the d’Severano family.

“Jillian, come. Let’s be honest. How can we possibly hope to raise our son together when you dislike me so very much? I want him to be safe and loved, not torn between us. But you would hurt him. You’ve turned me into a monster and you’d try to turn him against me—”

“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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