Somebody's Angel (#5 in a Military Romance / BDSM Romance series) (Rescue Me)

by Masters, Kallypso

  Marc squeezed Angelina’s hand. “I asked her to join us, Mama. Whatever we discuss affects her, too. She’s a part of my life now.”

  Dio, he loved his girl. He placed more trust in Angelina than he had in any other woman—ever. So why did he fall short of committing to her completely? Merda, he’d been close to proposing to her several times but never could. What kept holding him back? She’d become a part of his life but would never be a permanent part if he didn’t overcome his irrational fears and ask her to marry him.

  He hoped that finding out what secret Mama had kept from him all these years would be one of the keys to unlock his inability to commit.

  Mama motioned them to the seating area. “Please, both of you sit down.” After offering them refreshments from the pots on the coffee table, she took her seat across from them. They could have been in a business meeting, rather than having a family discussion.

  “Where’s Papa?”

  Mama averted her gaze. “He…had some errands to run.”

  Mama fiddled with the napkin in her lap but didn’t advance the conversation. No doubt Mama knew what they were here to discuss, but he’d better make sure.

  “Over New Year’s weekend, Melissa said some things that I wanted to ask you about.”

  “Yes, I can imagine she did, based on the visits she paid to me later that weekend—and this morning.”

  Concerned the gold-digger might still be causing trouble for his family, he cautioned, “Mama, you need to cut her out of your life. She’s looking for trouble and money, nothing more.”

  “Do not worry. She no longer has any hold over me.”

  No longer? What hold could Melissa ever have had, other than being Gino’s fiancée at one time long ago? Marc’s chest constricted, and Angelina reached out to stroke his thigh, reminding him to breathe.

  “So what she said is true?”

  Mama met his gaze at last. “What exactly did she say?”

  Why did he get the feeling Mama wasn’t going to divulge any more information than she had to?

  “She said Gino and I were adopted.”

  She sighed before taking a sip of her tea. “It’s complicated.”

  “We’ve got all day, Mama.”

  She sloshed some of the tea onto the napkin in her lap as her hand shook. He’d seldom seen his mother in any state other than total control, except for the time in Germany and again a few minutes ago after the confrontation with Melissa. Numbness enveloped him as he began shutting down his emotions, preparing himself for the worst. He looked out the window to the mountains, wishing he could be out there now. Angelina’s hand stroking his arm kept him in the moment when all he wanted to do was escape.

  Get a grip, man. Stay focused.

  Steeling himself for whatever his mother was going to reveal, he turned his gaze back to her. Were he and Gino even brothers? How much of his life had been a lie?

  Mama seemed a million miles away—or perhaps only as far away as the Lombardy region. Then, in a low voice, she began to tell her story.

  “My younger sister, Emiliana, was my mama’s favorite.”

  Marc had no difficulty commiserating with his mother about not being the favorite. He’d felt that way about Gino most of his life. Still did, in fact. He didn’t know much about Aunt Emiliana, other than she’d died young and that she was Mama’s half-sister. Gramps had gotten Marc’s grandmother pregnant during the Second World War while she nursed him back to health in the winter of the Apennine-Po Valley campaign. His Mama had found Gramps when Marc was about ten, prompting the D’Alessios’ move to Colorado.

  During her early childhood in Italy, though, Mama had been raised by her mother and her grandmother, without the presence of a father figure, until Emiliana’s father came along a few years later.

  Shit, his family tree already was complicated enough, but Marc had a feeling the story was going to make it even more so before he sorted it all out.

  “Emiliana married Paolo Solari when she was twenty-one.” She made a face when saying the man’s name as if she’d just eaten something distasteful. “He was thirty and from a wealthy Lombardia family.”

  So his aunt married well. Good for her. “What does that have to do with Gino and me?”

  Mama didn’t try to hide her annoyance, piercing him with a glare. “I’m telling this story, Marco. It will become clear soon. Just listen.”

  “Scusa. Please, continue.”

  Mama placed her cup and saucer on the coffee table and sat back, once again avoiding his gaze. “I worked as a domestic in one of the mountain lodges Paolo’s family ran. I dated him a couple times before he met my sister.” Resentment. Sounded as if there must have been some kind of rivalry between the sisters for this Solari guy, not unlike Marc and Gino both lusting after Melissa.

  Marc decided to keep his mouth shut and let Mama tell her story the way she wanted.

  “Emiliana married Paolo.” Mama cleared her throat. “Not too long after, they had a little boy.”

  She had his full attention again. Gino? Sounded as though Aunt Emiliana had been pregnant already when she married. Must be something in the water in Lombardy.

  “Being tied down with a baby didn’t fit their busy young lifestyle.” Censure crept into her voice again. “They hired my best friend to be a nanny to their son.”

  If she wouldn’t say, he needed to ask, even though he wasn’t supposed to interrupt. “Gino?”

  Mama nodded but didn’t look up from playing with the edge of her napkin. Angelina stroked his arm, but he didn’t need comforting or grounding. He needed answers. Truth. He hung onto Mama’s every word, definitely in the moment now.

  She brushed a tear from the corner of her eye with the back of her hand and continued in a whisper, “You were born three years later.”

  Well, there he had it. He and Gino were the sons of two people he knew nothing about—the Solaris. His Aunt Emiliana—no, his mother—was dead, but what about his father?

  “Is Paolo still living?”

  Mama’s fingers stilled. Her nostrils flared, but she continued to stare at the floor and nodded. “He retired and now lives in Siena.”

  “You’ve kept in touch?”

  Her eyes opened wide, and she met his gaze at last. “Mio Dio, no!” The vehemence in her words took him by surprise. The man was her brother-in-law, but apparently there wasn’t any love lost between Mama and this Paolo Solari man.

  But he was also Marc’s father.

  “What happened to Emiliana?”

  “She died young. A fast-growing cancer.”

  His mother rarely spoke of her sister. Papa, the man Marc had considered his birth father and papa all these years, had only told him his Aunt Emiliana—no, his mother—had died tragically at a young age. Cancer? Marc always assumed it had been an accident of some kind.

  Dio, his head hurt trying to process all this incoming intel. Marc had seen photos of her before, including the ones in the slideshow yesterday, but had been told very little about the woman who had given him life.

  Did Papa know all this? Clearly, he had to know he wasn’t the father of Gino or Marc, yet he’d never treated them differently than Carmella and Sandro. Papa was solitary and non-demonstrative with all of them, but he loved his family. Marc assumed Papa was Carmella and Sandro’s biological father, at least. Mama’s slip yesterday that they were celebrating their thirtieth anniversary made it sound as though they married before Sandro came along.

  If the photo he’d seen of Mama and Papa in front of the church with Marc and Gino had been their wedding day, then they must have married when Marc was about three and Gino six. Had Papa chosen not to be a part of this discussion today because he wasn’t Marc’s birth father or because Mama kept him away?

  Marc was finding more questions than answers here.

  “Does he know about me?”

  Mama nodded and glanced at her lap again. “He let Papa and me adopt you and Gino after Emiliana’s death.”

  A tear s
plashed onto her hand, and she surreptitiously tried to wipe it on the napkin. Marc was halfway across the room before realizing he needed to offer comfort to the only woman he’d ever consider his mother. He sat beside her on the settee and put his arms around her, stroking her back.

  Losing a sibling, compounded with survivor’s guilt, was something Marc understood all too well. That the two sisters had grown estranged before Emiliana’s untimely death only made it worse. Marc missed Gino every day, even though he’d been gone ten years now. The pain and guilt never went away. He regretted the precious time he had lost before Gino deployed for the first and only time.

  Realizing Mama wasn’t getting any younger, Marc didn’t want another falling out between himself and any other members of his family. She was the only mother he’d ever known. Mama wrapped her arms around his waist and held on tightly. She hadn’t hugged him like this since she and Papa had shown up in his hospital room at Ramstein back in 2004.

  “I never meant to hurt you, Marco. I thought I did the right thing.”

  “Shhh. You did a great job raising Gino and me, Mama.” He patted her back, hoping she would stop crying. His mother had always been stoic and aloof. He didn’t like seeing this side of her knowing—in part—his insensitivity and questions had caused it.

  “You’re my child as much as Alessandro and Carmella are.”

  If not for her, he might not have had any mother at all. “Mama, no one else could ever be a better mother than you have been.” He realized as soon as the words came out that he truly meant them and wasn’t merely saying what she needed to hear. From what she’d said, Paolo wasn’t cut out to be a father. He and Gino had been lucky their then-aunt and uncle had taken them away from what their lives might have been like.

  Mama withdrew from him, dabbing at her eyes with her napkin before looking directly at him. “Marco, I made so many mistakes, things I regret to this day.” More tears spilled from her eyes.

  Please stop crying, Mama.

  “That man didn’t deserve to have two beautiful boys like you and Gino.” She looked down at her lap. “I’m just sorry I couldn’t have taken you away sooner, Marco.”

  Why did she keep apologizing for something that wasn’t her fault?

  Stop crying, Marco.

  They won’t keep you if you’re a baby.

  Gino’s admonishment blasted into his consciousness and nearly brought him to his knees. Marc needed no further reminders; he never cried.

  A buzzing in his ears yanked him from the scene, and he found himself hiding in a cold, dark place staring into the face of…a wolf?

  “…Come out now, Marco.” Mama? No…

  He stood too quickly and swayed on his feet. Blood rushed through his veins, increasing the pounding in his head. Angelina wrapped her arms around his waist from behind him before he realized she’d come to stand next to him. He held on to her arms to further ground himself as he tried to draw from her support, her strength. Slowly, the room stopped spinning, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that walls were closing in on him.

  Trapped.

  He needed to run. Now. “Mama, I need some fresh air.” He turned to Angelina and handed her the Porsche keys. “Stay with Mama until Evelyn comes in. I’ll have her call Papa.”

  She whispered, “Marc, are you okay?”

  He nodded as he made his way toward the door. “I need some time to think. Meet you back at the condo.” He gazed at his mother, who had stopped crying but sat immobilized on the sofa.

  What the fuck was the matter with him? He should be consoling her, not running away. Unable to shake the need to flee, Marc nearly sprinted toward the door.

  Escape.

  “Marc, I’ll meet you back at the condo!”

  He nodded but didn’t turn around.

  * * *

  Angelina left Mama’s office as soon as Evelyn came in to take over consoling Mama. The story she thought Marc feared most had been confirmed—he had been adopted but by an aunt and uncle, not strangers. He had been handling the news so well. What caused him to suddenly snap and run out?

  Fewer than five minutes behind Marc, she wasn’t sure if he’d walk around the property to get his head on straight or go directly back to his parents’ penthouse condo. She knocked on the door as she tried to get her breathing under control. The moment he opened the door, the shuttered expression in his eyes told her Marc had shut down emotionally—again. His lifelong beliefs about who he was had been shattered.

  There probably wasn’t a damned thing she could do to ease his pain, but she could hold him, talk with him, love him. She reached out, but he sidestepped and motioned her into the foyer.

  “I’ve packed everything. We can leave as soon as you’re ready.”

  She glanced at their suitcase near the door. How had he done that so fast? Her gaze returned to him. “Marc, I think we should talk.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  She reached out to stroke his arm, “But there is.”

  He wrenched his arm away from her and glared at her. “I said there’s nothing to talk about. If you need to hit the head before we leave, do so now. Otherwise, let’s shove off.”

  She’d learned over the months that Marc didn’t revert to Navy jargon unless he was seeking to hold onto a sense of stability. Security. She wished he’d find that sense of security in her, but it hadn’t happened yet.

  Blinking back the tears, she turned toward the elevator. “I’m ready. Let’s go home.”

  Maybe on the way back to Marc’s place, they could talk. Or would he retreat into his head as he had so many times since New Year’s? Worse yet, would he run to the mountains—away from her—where he knew she most likely wouldn’t follow?

  The drive back to Denver was a silent one, each lost in his or her own thoughts. Once home, Marc unloaded the car and left soon after to go downtown to the store. He said he needed to meet with Brian to discuss weekend sales figures and see what treks had been scheduled for the coming week, but he could have done all of that over the phone. Clearly he just wanted to be away from her tonight.

  The house was cold, and she jacked up the thermostat on her way to the bedroom. Exhausted from the emotionally draining two days, she shivered and crawled under the duvet seeking warmth and sleep. As if she could sleep without Marc’s body snuggled against her backside. Despite having to sleep without him many nights lately, she’d never gotten used to it.

  Would she ever get him to face whatever it was he feared so much?

  Please stop running, Marc.

  Just when he’d started to open up and let her in, insisting that she be included in the meeting with Mama, he had quickly tugged the mask back over his face and made his escape. He hadn’t seemed upset to hear Mama confirm he wasn’t her son by birth, so what caused him to shut down? Maybe it was a delayed response to the news—emotional shock.

  Angelina couldn’t imagine how she’d handle discovering she wasn’t the biological daughter of her Mama and Papa or learning that her brothers were half-siblings. Mio Dio! Carmella and Sandro weren’t Marc’s siblings at all but his cousins instead! She didn’t blame Marc for going into a tailspin, but surely he knew the youngest two D’Alessios only knew him as a brother and weren’t going to treat him differently once they were told the truth. Angelina doubted Carmella and Sandro had any clue about their gnarled family tree, but the four children had been raised together as siblings and always would be. Mama and Papa loved them all equally.

  Oh, Marc. Come back home. I need to hold you.

  If Marc continued to shut her out, they’d never break through whatever kept him running. She refused to continue to let him push her away when he was at his most vulnerable. He needed her now more than ever, even if he couldn’t admit it.

  She shivered and turned onto her back before scooting up and sitting flush against the headboard. Maybe if she’d brought some flannel PJs with her, she wouldn’t be shivering, but Marc preferred she sleep in the nude. Not a proble
m when she had his body heat and hot sex to keep her warm. But the flannels she lusted for at the moment were packed away in a storage facility at Aspen Corners with most of her furniture.

  As much as she wanted something more with Marc, she might have jumped into living together too soon. What did they really know about each other? Their negotiations for play scenes might have given her a false expectation of the level of trust and intimacy they had established in reality.

  While she’d never been able to ditch the feeling that he wasn’t being as open with her as she needed him to be, she had hoped he’d change and that this relationship would lead to something permanent.

  No, she wasn’t going to give up on him this easily. Marc was a good man, just going through some things he wasn’t processing very well right now. They were compatible in so many ways. She would hang in there with him and try to find ways to break through those protective walls he surrounded himself with.

  Why did he feel such a need to run and hide from her?

  One thing she knew for certain—there would be no body heat, kink, or hot sex tonight. Missing Marc more than ever, she tossed the covers back and went to the closet where she pulled out one of the white silk shirts he’d worn but not yet sent to the cleaners. The bergamot and lemony scents of Armani Code assailed her. She started to put the shirt back on the hanger and choose one he hadn’t worn, but with tears in her eyes she brought it to her face with both hands, inhaling deeply.

  Marc.

  Why was he distancing himself from her? Tears sprang to her eyes as she swallowed past the lump in her throat. This long-sleeved, square-hemmed shirt wouldn’t provide her with any warmth and barely covered her hips, but just having Marc’s scent surrounding her made her feel warmer inside.

  Angelina pushed her arms through the sleeves and rolled the cuffs several times to get them past her wrists. She struggled with three of the buttons covering her chest before giving up on the rest. Why couldn’t men’s shirts button the same way women’s did?