What a Sicilian Husband Wants

by Michelle Smart

  Looking back, she could hardly credit that she had been so blasé about a man with a gun, but she hadn’t felt the slightest shiver of physical danger. She’d been so naïve she had assumed all Sicilian men carried guns. Fool that she was, she’d thought it all somewhat romantic.

  Inexplicable tears filled her eyes and she blinked them away, sniffing loudly, disturbing Lily, who was busy guzzling her milk. The poor little mite was unaware her happy little life had irrevocably changed.

  Footsteps sounded down the hall, followed by the sound of the front door closing.

  She held her daughter ever tighter. She would rather die than be parted from her.

  Somehow she didn’t think Luca had been the one to leave the house.

  Her intuition was bang on the money.

  He strode into the living room as if he had every right to be there. His chest was still bare; a large white bandage had been placed over the wound on his shoulder, his arm resting in a sling.

  He made straight for the television and turned it off.

  ‘I was watching that.’

  His nostrils flared. Not taking his eyes off her, he reached into his back pocket and produced two passports.

  Blood rushed to her head so quickly it made her dizzy. Her hold on Lily tightened as she watched him, chills crawling up her spine.

  Slowly, he waved the passports at her before sliding them back into his pocket.

  ‘Lily Elizabeth Mastrangelo.’ His words were monotone yet utterly remorseless. ‘Her date of birth puts her at twelve weeks old.’

  He might be injured but he still exuded the latent danger she had once found so exciting.

  Why did he have to loom over her so? At five feet eight Grace was taller than the average female but next to Luca she always felt tiny.

  Why, oh, why had she not moved on sooner? She had got back into physical shape relatively quickly. Obviously if she was comparing her recovery with that of a supermodel who managed to get back into her itsy-bitsy knickers within days, then she had been a failure.

  In reality she had been fit enough to move on a month ago.

  So why had she dragged it out?

  Where had this abnormal lethargy come from?

  Why had she not run the moment she had been fit enough?

  ‘How dare you go through my handbag?’ she said, dredging the words from a throat so arid it hurt to speak.

  His eyes flashed. ‘I have every right. You stole my child from me.’

  Somehow she managed to grind the words out. She would not let him win. Not without a fight. ‘She is not your child. I had to name you as her father because we’re married.’

  ‘Yes, she is.’

  How she longed to slap the arrogant certainty from him.

  ‘You did not have the opportunity for an affair and, besides, you loved me. Our sex life was incredible.’

  A deep flush curled inside her, scattered memories of being wrapped in his arms, naked, his hard strength...

  ‘Loved being the operative word,’ she said, a little more breathlessly than she would have liked. ‘Loved, as in past tense. Lily is not your child.’

  She refused to acknowledge his mention of the S word. The nightmares of the past ten months had been too great for her libido to do anything but wave a white flag. The only ache had been in her heart. And only in the dark early hours, when the world slept, did her heart acknowledge the aching absence within it.

  Luca came before her and dropped to his haunches. The movement caused a fleeting wince to contort his features. The twisting sensation in her belly tightened. Being incapacitated in any form was anathema to him. She could have shot him a dozen times and he would still have the same vital, energising presence.

  ‘Bella,’ he said in a voice that was far too silky for comfort, ‘she has the Mastrangelo hair. And you were still married to me when you conceived her. I know for a fact you did not cheat on me...’

  The tension cramping inside her suddenly exploded and she met his gaze with wild eyes. How stupid was she to think for a single second he would even contemplate Lily being someone else’s? Luca was so insufferably arrogant the thought of his wife cheating would be as likely as the moon being made of Stilton.

  And how stupid was she to have named him as the father on the birth certificate?

  ‘It’s a bit hard to have an affair when your own husband has a tracker in your phone to monitor all your movements, and assigns two bodyguards to chaperone every single movement and report on anything the tracker fails to pick up.’

  Lily had finished her bottle. She stared up at Grace, startled to hear her mother’s raised voice.

  Luca’s lips formed a tight white line. Still on his haunches, he tilted forward. ‘So you admit she is mine? You admit you wilfully kept my daughter’s existence a secret?’

  Forcing her voice down to a lower, calmer tone so as not to distress Lily, Grace stared at him with all the venom she could muster, willing him to feel every syllable that came from her lips like a punch to the gut. ‘Yes. I hid her existence from you, and do you know what? I would do it again. Lily deserves better than to know of the monster who created half her DNA. You might be the sperm donor but I am her mother. She does not need you. And neither do I.’

  * * *

  The poison in Grace’s voice cut through him, as sharp as a dagger.

  Luca had taken one look at Lily and known she was his. He could not say where this certainty had come from but there been no shadow of doubt in his mind. She was his.

  He was a father.

  Now his detestable wife had admitted the truth, he should feel relief. Instead, a raging burn was working its way through his system, a burn he was struggling to contain.

  He would never have imagined such poison being uttered from the lips of his wife, a woman who always saw the best in people and always looked for the humanity in the face of evil.

  He had never imagined she would look at him as if he were the Antichrist itself.

  His guts rolled as he watched her lift their child onto her shoulder and rub her back, her movements gentle and loving.

  The pain in his shoulder was immense. Once they were safely in the air he would take the painkillers Giancarlo had tried to get him to consume. Taking them would likely dull his reactions. Right now he needed every wit about him.

  Unable to look at Grace a second longer, he got to his feet. ‘I’m giving you half an hour.’

  ‘For what?’ she asked tightly, rubbing her nose into their daughter’s thick black hair.

  ‘To pack. Anything not packed will be left behind.’

  That hateful venom came back into her voice. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

  ‘You think not?’ On legs that felt heavier than usual, he paced the small room. Somehow she had managed to cram a treadmill, an exercise bike and a rowing machine inside the tight confines. No wonder she had lost all her baby weight. No one looking at her would guess she had recently given birth. This, from the woman who had once told him with a straight face that she was allergic to exercise. ‘I am not giving you a choice.’

  ‘There is always a choice.’

  Abruptly he stopped pacing and stared at her, making no attempt to hide his loathing. ‘This is how we are going to play it: In exactly thirty minutes we will leave this place and return to Sicily.’

  He took a breath.

  Little more than an hour ago, he had been unaware Lily existed, unaware he was a father. Her thin eyelids were shut, displaying thick black Mastrangelo eyelashes.

  His chest constricted, memories of his early childhood suddenly flooding him. His first memories. Waking up one morning at the age of three to find his parents missing. He remembered Bettina, his favourite maid, who was often given the task of watching over him, being red with excitement. His mother
had gone to hospital to have the baby. He could still feel the eager anticipation he had experienced at that moment. Even clearer in his mind was the memory of his parents arriving home with the baby, his mother’s pale, tired joy, his father’s beaming pride. They had sat Pepe in Luca’s arms on the sofa, and taken pictures of the small brothers together. He had been full to bursting with happiness.

  Lily was the image of the baby Pepe had been.

  This was his daughter.

  And Grace had hidden her from him.

  He looked at his wife. Her eyes were hollow, sunken, as if she hadn’t slept for ten months. He was glad. Her guilt should not have allowed her any sleep.

  ‘You call me a monster,’ he continued, dropping his voice so as not to disturb the sleeping child. ‘Yet I am not the one who vanished without a letter of goodbye. I’m not the one who decided her child would be better off without a father and conspired to keep me out of her life. And you have the nerve to call me a monster?’

  Her clenched jaw loosened but her eyes remained unblinking as she said, ‘I would do it again. In a heartbeat.’

  Blood rushed straight to his forehead, colouring his thoughts, making his skin hot to the touch.

  She had not the slightest remorse, not for anything. He could punish her, severely. He could snatch Lily from her arms and banish her from their lives and she wouldn’t be able to do a single thing about it.

  He could. But he wouldn’t.

  Luca had loved his parents equally but it had been his mother to whom he had gone with his cut knees and scrapes, his mother who had kissed his bruises better, his mother for whom a thousand hugs would never be considered enough.

  Grace loved Lily. And Lily loved Grace. Already the bond between them was strong. It would take a heart of stone to break that bond.

  Children needed their mothers and he refused to punish Lily for her mother’s sins.

  No, Grace’s punishment would be of a different nature.

  Blackness gripping his chest in a vice, he stalked towards her and bent over to speak in her ear. He could smell her fear through the clean scent of her skin and it gladdened him. He wanted her to fear him. He wanted her to curse the day she ever set foot in Sicily.

  ‘You will never have the chance to take her away from me again. Lily belongs in Sicily with her family. You should consider yourself lucky I believe babies thrive better with their mothers or I would walk away with her right now and leave you behind to rot.’ He paused before adding, deliberately, ‘I would do it in a heartbeat.’

  * * *

  Grace closed her eyes tightly and clamped her lips together, trying desperately hard not to breathe. Luca’s breath was hot against her ear, blowing like a whisper inside her. Tiny, tingling darts jumped across her skin, fizzing down her neck and spreading like a wave; responses that terrified her with their familiarity.

  Her lungs refused to cooperate any longer and she expelled stale air, inhaling sweet clean oxygen within which she caught a faint trace of an unfamiliar cologne.

  She forced her features to remain still, forced her chest to breathe in an orderly fashion. But she had no control over her heart. It jumped at the first inhalation and then pounded painfully beneath her ribs, agitating her nauseated stomach.

  Luca wore one scent. He was not a man prone to vanity. Changing his cologne was not a triviality that would come on his radar.

  She blinked the thought away. His mouth was still at her ear.

  ‘You see, bella, you do have a choice,’ he said, speaking in the same low, menacing tone. ‘All I want is my daughter. Her well-being is all that matters to me. You can choose to stay in this cheap cottage, alone, or you can choose to return to Sicily with me and Lily, as a family.’

  ‘I will never be part of your family again,’ she said with as much vehemence as she could muster. ‘I will never share your bed...’

  He interrupted her with a cynical laugh. ‘Let me put your mind at ease on that score. You have borne me a child. I have no need or desire to share a bed with you again. No, I will take a mistress for my physical needs. You will become a good Sicilian wife. You will be obedient and defer to my wishes in all things. That is the price you must pay if you wish to remain a part of Lily’s life. And you will endure it with the grace that should be your namesake.’

  ‘I hate you.’

  He laughed again, a repulsive sound completely at odds with the deep, rip-roaring laughs she remembered. ‘Believe me, you could not possibly hate me more than I hate you. You stole my child from me and, as you know, I am not a man who forgives people who act against me. But I am not a cruel man—if I were, I would take Lily and leave you behind without a second thought. Just as you would do to me.’

  All she could do was stare at him, her heart, her pulses, her blood all pumping so hard her body trembled with the force.

  He straightened to a stand, keeping his eyes locked on her. ‘The choice is yours. Come to Sicily with me and Lily, or stay behind. But know this—if you stay, you will never see Lily again. If you come with us and then decide to leave, you will never see Lily again. If you come with us and I feel your behaviour is not befitting the role of a good Sicilian wife and mother, I will personally escort you off the estate and—’

  ‘And I will never see Lily again,’ she supplied for him dully.

  He flashed his white teeth at her and inclined his head. ‘So, we have an understanding. Now it is time for you to make up your mind. What is your choice to be?’

  CHAPTER THREE

  GRACE DID NOT think she had ever felt as nauseous as she did when the reinforced four-by-four came to a stop before the imposing electric gates. Two on-duty armed guards nodded at them respectfully as they drove through and into the Mastrangelo estate.

  As they travelled along the smooth drive, cutting through rolling vineyards and verdant olive groves, the familiar scent of Sicilian nature at its crispest pervaded the air, flooding her with bittersweet memories.

  After the freezing climate of Cornwall, a part of the UK that tended to have mild winters but was suffering from a particularly acute cold spell, the freshness of Sicily in December was a sharp contrast. The sun had yet to set, the brilliant cobalt sky unmarred by a single cloud. Her thick winter coat lay sprawled across her lap, her jumper warmth enough.

  She turned her mind to her mobile phone and silently cursed.

  She cursed the heavy snowstorm that had engulfed the south-west of England the previous week and made the roads so treacherous. If Lily hadn’t needed to attend the local doctor’s surgery for her three-month inoculation, she would never have attempted the journey. But she had. For safety’s sake she had recharged the phone she had bought in Frankfurt for emergencies, and taken it with her on the hazardous bus journey, not dreaming that to do so would set in motion the wheels enabling Luca to find her. She had switched it back off the minute she returned home to her rented cottage.

  She cursed that she hadn’t dumped the stupid phone the moment she ended her brief calls to her mother and Cara all those months ago. She’d been in Amsterdam, waiting to catch a flight to Portugal. She’d reasoned that if Luca could trace the calls then good luck to him tracking her down at Schiphol Airport. She’d called her mum’s landline but Cara only had a mobile phone. To play safe, she had advised Cara to destroy it. To play even safer, upon landing in Portugal she had hired a car and driven to Spain.

  What she couldn’t curse was using the phone in the first place. Her mum and Cara would have been the first people Luca contacted about her disappearance. After two weeks on the run and no contact, the guilt had been crippling her.

  She looked at him now, sitting in the front passenger seat, his head turned to the side by the window. Such was his stillness she wondered if he had fallen asleep, dismissing the thought almost immediately. He had power-napped on the jet back home but his
naps always evoked images of a guard dog sleeping with one ear up. He would not properly relax until he was safe inside his home.

  As much as she hated him and everything he represented, Grace cursed herself too. The more she thought about the past wasted month, time she should have used moving herself and Lily to a remote Greek island as she had intended, the more she wanted to give herself a good slap.

  She had watched her fill of gangster and mobster films in the ten months since fleeing Sicily, had read everything she could get her hands on about them too. Know your enemy had become her mantra. She had known the second Luca found her he would not hesitate to have her dragged back to Sicily. As she had learned, it was the way of his world, where women were little more than possessions.

  Which again begged the question, why? Why did she not move on when she had known the longer she stayed, the greater the trail she would be creating for him to find her? Even using Lily’s inoculations as an excuse was no good—she’d had over a week since then to get her act together.

  After a couple of miles they reached a larger wrought-iron gate, this one with guard shelters either side, both of which had monitors connecting to the larger security station in one of the estate cottages. From this point onwards, the ground was alarmed. Anyone who stepped onto the land triggered it, the boffins in the cottage using their technology to zoom onto the intruder. In all the time she had lived there the system had only been activated by large animals.

  The head of security, Paolo, came out of the left shelter to greet Luca, tipping his cap as they exchanged a few words. When he spotted Grace in the back he nodded respectfully before returning to his station.

  So he hadn’t lost his job. She could not begin to describe her relief. As the person in charge of all security on the estate, losing the boss’s wife was definitely on the ‘do not do’ list.

  She leaned forward and rested a hand on the shoulder of Luca’s seat. ‘Thank you for letting Paolo stay in his job,’ she said quietly.