Brunetti's Secret Son

by Maya Blake

  By the time he cancelled on Saturday, she knew, once again, she’d been foolish to hope. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to take off her wedding rings. Nor could she find the strength to tell Lucca that, no, Mummy and Daddy would never live together again.

  Admitting to herself that she was burying her head in the sand didn’t stop her from doing exactly that. She helped out in the restaurant when she could, but even there she knew she wasn’t on her full game, so she kept her presence to a minimum.

  And then Romeo stopped calling.

  For the first two days, she didn’t have time to worry because she had her hands full controlling Lucca’s misery-fuelled tantrums.

  By the third day she was debating whether to call him. She talked herself out of it for half a day before dialling his number. It went straight to voicemail. Leaving a garbled message guaranteed to make her sound like a lunatic, she sat back, her stomach churning.

  When he hadn’t called by evening, she marched downstairs and strode across the road to where one of his guards was stationed.

  ‘Have you heard from your boss?’

  The thickset man frowned. ‘My boss is across the road.’ He indicated another heavily muscled man wearing wraparound shades.

  She sighed, exasperated. ‘I mean your boss’s boss. Mr Brunetti.’

  ‘Oh. Sorry, miss, I don’t have his number.’

  ‘It’s not miss, it’s Mrs...Brunetti.’ She waved her rings, unnecessarily, then cringed inside. ‘I need to speak to Mr Brunetti.’

  The man snapped to attention, then quickly strode over to his boss. The hushed conversation ensued and Wraparound Shades approached.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Brunetti, but Mr Brunetti requested that his whereabouts not be disclosed.’

  Panic flared through her belly. ‘Why?’

  A shrug. ‘He didn’t say. I’m sorry.’

  Maisie raced back upstairs, her heart crashing wildly against her ribs. She tried Emily’s number and got a message to say she was on sabbatical in Hawaii.

  She spent the night pacing her living room, alternating between leaving a message and hitting Romeo’s video-call button. Both went unanswered.

  By mid-morning she was frantic. And angry. And miserable. For herself and for her son. But mostly, she was angry with Romeo.

  Yanking her front door open, she faced the head bodyguard, arms folded. ‘I’m about to buy a round-the-world plane ticket and drag my four-year-old to go and look for his missing father. I’m assuming your job includes accompanying us on trips abroad?’

  He nodded warily.

  ‘Good, then consider this your heads-up. We’re leaving in an hour. I intend on starting in...oh, I don’t know...Outer Mongolia?’

  His eyes widened.

  ‘Or perhaps you can save us all a wasted journey and tell me what country I should start in.’

  The man swallowed, shifted from foot to foot. Maisie glared harder. ‘You should start in Italy.’

  The relief she’d expected never materialised. If Romeo was in Italy, then... ‘Specifically in Palermo?’

  Another wary nod.

  She raced back to her flat and opened her laptop. The restaurant was closed today, and Bronagh had issued a standing babysitting assistance.

  After debating whether to take Lucca with her, she decided against it, called Bronagh to tell her to pick up Lucca from nursery and booked a solo ticket.

  Until she knew where Romeo was and the reason for his silence, she wasn’t risking taking their son to Palermo.

  After flying in Romeo’s private jet, her cramped economy seat felt like torture. She emerged from the flight hot, sweaty and filled with even more panic when she realised she had no idea where to start looking for Romeo.

  The last time she’d done this she hadn’t been in possession of a last name.

  This time the last name was one that held such power and prestige that, in her state of dishevelled hair and worn jeans, she would probably achieve the same results as last time. Laughter and ridicule.

  Hailing a taxi to a three-star hotel, she quickly texted Bronagh to say she’d arrived, then showered, changed into a blue cotton dress and clipped her hair at her nape. Smoothing on lip gloss, she froze for a second when she realised it was the same dress she’d worn the night she’d met Romeo.

  Hand shaking, she capped the tube and grabbed her bag.

  The weather was much hotter in July than it had been the last time she was here, and a sheen of sweat covered her arms by the time she made it to Giuseppe’s.

  Heart thumping, she sat at a table and ordered a limoncello. Sipping the cool drink more for something to do than anything else, she tried to think through what she’d say to the only person who could give her answers as to Romeo’s whereabouts—Lorenzo Carmine.

  Whether the old man would actually answer her questions was a bridge she’d cross when she came to it. According to the article she’d found online, Lorenzo lived in a mansion once belonging to Agostino Fattore, a man whose picture bore a strong resemblance to Romeo, once you dragged your gaze from the skin-crawling cruelty in his eyes.

  Her fingers curled around her glass, her stomach churning in horror at what the man she loved had suffered. Was probably still suffering...

  Shutting her eyes, she dropped her head into her hands and breathed in deep. She wouldn’t think the worst. She would get her chance to tell Romeo exactly how she felt.

  All of it. With nothing held back.

  Firming her jaw, she opened her eyes and jerked upright in shock.

  He was pulling back the chair at the adjacent table. Sunglasses obscured his eyes and the direction of his gaze suggested he wasn’t looking at her, but Maisie knew Romeo had seen her.

  Her body’s sizzling awareness was too strong to be anything but a reaction to his direct scrutiny.

  A judder shook its way up from her toes as she stared at him, relief pounding through her to see him in one piece. Hungrily her eyes roved over him. His cheekbones looked a little more prominent, and his mouth a lot grimmer, but there was no mistaking the powerful aura emanating from him or his masculine grace when he curled elegant fingers around the tiny espresso cup the waiter slid onto his table a few minutes later.

  He picked up the beverage, knocked it back in one greedy gulp, then stood, extracted a ten-euro note from his pocket and placed it on the table.

  She sat poised in her chair unable to believe he would just leave without speaking to her.

  Then his arrogant head turned her way. Heat sizzled over her skin, far hotter than the sun’s rays as she stared back at him. His hands clenched into fists, then released.

  Without a word, he strode onto the pavement leading away from the waterfront.

  Maisie grabbed her handbag and raced after him. Everything about his quick strides and tense shoulders suggested he didn’t want to be disturbed. But she hadn’t come all this way to be turned away.

  He turned into a vaguely familiar street five minutes later. When she recognised it, she froze, her pulse tripling its beat as she read the name of the hotel.

  She jerked into motion when Romeo disappeared inside. By the time she entered the jaw-dropping interior of the marble-floored atrium, he was gone. She bit her lip and looked around the plush surroundings, wondering whether she would receive the same humiliating reception as she had last time.

  ‘Signora Brunetti!’ A sharply dressed man hurried towards her, his hand proffered in greeting.

  ‘Um, yes?’

  ‘I was asked this morning to look out for you and inform you that the room you seek is Penthouse One.’

  ‘Ah...thank you.’

  ‘Prego. If you’ll come with me, I’ll personally access the private lift for you.’

  He escorted her to the lift, inserted the key and pressed
the button, before stepping back with a respectful bow.

  Clutching her bag against her chest, Maisie willed her pulse to stop racing. But it was no use. Now that she’d seen that Romeo was unharmed, every ounce of adrenaline was churning towards the emotional undertaking she was about to perform.

  Should that fail...

  Her knees buckled and she sagged against the gilt-edged mirrored walls as the lift doors opened. Sucking in a deep breath, she forced one foot in front of the other. The pristine white doors and gold-encrusted knobs loomed large and imposing in front of her.

  Lifting a hand, she knocked.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  HE OPENED THE DOOR after the third round of knocking. And said nothing. Bleak hazel eyes drilled into hers, seething emotions vibrating in the thick silence.

  Maisie cleared her throat.

  ‘You haven’t called in four d-days. Our son is miserable without you,’ she stammered when she eventually found her brain.

  Romeo’s face twisted with agonised bitterness and regret, before it resettled into stark blankness. ‘I’ll make it up to him. My business in Palermo took longer than I thought. I have a month-long business commitment in London starting next week. Once I’m settled, Emily will resume coordinating with you on visiting schedules. I’ll also have my team provide you with useful numbers including my pilot’s so you don’t have to rely on commercial travel. There’s a car waiting for you downstairs right now. My plane will take you back home. Have a safe trip back. Arrivederci.’

  He shut the door in her face.

  Her mouth dropped open in shock for several seconds before, temper flaring, she slapped her open palm repeatedly on the door. When he yanked it open, his face was a mask that covered a multitude of emotions. Emotions he was hell-bent on keeping from her.

  ‘I came all this way and that’s all you have to say to me?’

  He shoved his hands deep into his pockets. ‘What more is there to say? You’ve made it more than clear our son is the only subject on the table when it comes to you and me.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ she replied.

  His jaw worked. ‘Dammit, what the hell do you want from me, Maisie?’ he demanded gutturally.

  ‘For starters, why did you tell the concierge my name with the instructions to let me up when I arrived?’

  ‘Because you’re the mother of my child, and still my wife—at least until one of us decides to do something about it. And also because I have security watching over you and Lucca twenty-four hours a day. I was told the moment you bought a plane ticket to Sicily. I thought I’d save you the trouble of an awkward enquiry at the front desk when you eventually got here.’ The thinly veiled mockery made her skin sting.

  Nervously, she shifted on her feet. ‘Well...okay. I’m here. So are you going to let me in?’ she asked with a fast-dwindling bravado.

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you sure you want to come in? Surely this room holds bad memories for you.’

  She looked over his shoulder and caught sight of the mixture of opulent and beautiful antique and modern furniture, some of which they’d appreciated up close and personal with their naked bodies. ‘They weren’t all bad,’ she murmured huskily. ‘In fact, the night before the morning after was quite spectacular. One of the best nights of my life.’

  He froze, his hazel eyes flaring a bright gold before a cloud descended on his face. ‘What a shame it is then that your worst was finding yourself married to me.’ His voice leaked a gravel roughness coated with pain and her heart squeezed.

  ‘Don’t put words in my mouth, Romeo. I said I didn’t want to be married to you. I didn’t say it was because I hated the idea. Or you.’

  Tension filled his body. ‘What did you mean?’ he asked raggedly.

  ‘Are you going to let me in?’

  He jerked backwards, his hand rigid around the doorknob. His warmth seemed to reach out to her as she passed him, his scent filling her starving senses so headily, she almost broke down and plastered herself against him.

  The suite was just as she remembered. The luxurious gold-and-cream-striped sofa stood in the same place she’d first made love with Romeo. She dropped her handbag on it, her fingers helplessly trailing over the exquisite design as memories flooded her.

  Unable to resist, she touched the glass-topped console table set between two floor-to-ceiling windows, then the entertainment centre, where Romeo had played Pagliacci’s mournful theme tunes while he’d feasted on her.

  ‘Do you wish me to leave you alone to reminisce?’ he enquired tightly.

  She turned to find him frozen against the closed door, his arms folded. He wasn’t as calm as he appeared, a muscle flicking in his jaw as he watched her.

  ‘Why are you standing over there, Romeo? Are you afraid of me?’ she challenged, even though her heart banged hard against her ribs.

  A harsh laugh barked from him, then his face seemed to crumple before he sliced his fingers through his hair. ‘Sì, I’m afraid. I’m terrified of what I feel when I’m around you. And even more terrified of my emotions when I’m not.’

  The naked vulnerability in that announcement strangled her breath. The room took on a brightness that made her blink hard. Then she realised the brightness was her heart lifting from the gloom, hope rising fast and hard, against her will.

  ‘What are you saying, Romeo?’ She couldn’t allow room for misinterpretation. The stakes were higher than ever this time.

  He exhaled. Deep and long and shakily, his massive chest quaking beneath his black shirt. ‘I mean, I love you, Maisie. Of course, I could be mistaken because I really don’t know what love is. But I feel a ravaging emptiness every second of every day that I have to survive without you. I thought I knew what it felt to contemplate a hopeless future until the day you told me you regretted marrying me.’ He shook his head and surged away from the door.

  Striding to the window, he stared down into the street. ‘I haven’t been able to function since that moment. You’re all I think about, all I crave...’ Another juddering breath. ‘Is that love? This feeling of desperate hopelessness?’ he intoned bleakly.

  Maisie moved until she was a few feet from him, desperate to touch him. ‘I don’t know, Romeo. Do you feel the same ache when you imagine us being together instead of apart? Or is it different, better?’ she whispered.

  His head dropped forward, his forehead resting against the cool glass as a tremble moved through his body. ‘Per favore...please, gattina, why are you doing this?’ he groaned roughly. ‘Why are you here?’

  Maisie swallowed. ‘I needed to see that you’re all right. That Lorenzo—’

  ‘Lorenzo is no longer an issue. The famiglia are abandoning his sinking ship. We have a witness who’ll testify to what happened to Zaccheo’s father after my father threw me out that night. Lorenzo is now facing a murder charge. Our combined testimony will put him away for good.’

  She gasped. ‘Why did he attack Zaccheo’s father?’

  ‘Paolo Giordano had the task of disposing of me after my mother left me on my father’s doorstep. My father didn’t want me, so Paolo took me home. Unfortunately, his wife was less than enthusiastic about having another mouth to feed. Paolo had the audacity to offend my father by trying to return me to him after a month. My father set Lorenzo on him.’ He stopped, distant memories glazing his eyes before he shook them off. ‘I made a statement to the chief of police two days ago. He issued warrants for Lorenzo’s arrest. The case may collapse or it may not. Either way, Lorenzo is going to spend some time in prison before the case goes to trial. He’ll know better than to come after me or mine again.’

  ‘So, that was how you ended up on the streets? Because your mother didn’t want you?’

  ‘She was a high-class prostitute. Getting pregnant with me put a huge obstacle in her chosen career. When I became
too much for her, she drove me to a house I’d never visited before, told me it was my father’s house and drove away.’

  ‘Did you see her again?’

  He closed his eyes for a split second. ‘Not until I stayed with her for a week, here in Palermo, five years ago.’

  ‘The week we met?’

  He nodded. ‘She called, finally. After years of silence, she called me. I’d kept tabs on her over the years and knew when she fell on particularly hard times. I found ways to send her money without her knowing it came from me. I didn’t want her contacting me because I was rich. I wanted her to do it because I was her son and she wanted to see me.’ He shook his head, bitterness and pain warring over his face. ‘The week before she died, she finally called. I was elated.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘She wanted the use of my credit card. She wasn’t interested in who I was or whether I could afford it. She had a fast-growing brain tumour and didn’t have long to live. She wanted to die in style. I checked her into the presidential suite at the Four Seasons. And I stayed with her, hoping that she’d show me, in some small way, that she’d regretted giving me away. She didn’t. I held her hand until she passed away and all she did was curse me for looking like my father.

  ‘So, you see, I don’t know if this living, breathing thing inside me is love, or if it’s a twisted need to cling to something that’s damaged because I’ve touched it.’

  The words wrenched at her soul. ‘Please don’t say that.’

  He turned to face her, and his eyes were deep dark pools of pain. ‘That day we met was the first time I accepted that hope was a useless emotion. That love didn’t exist. Not for people like me.’

  ‘Romeo...’

  ‘It’s okay, gattina. I know you don’t love me.’ His shoulders drooped in weary, agonised defeat. ‘I’ll make sure the divorce is fast and the settlement more than generous.’