by Jane Porter
She had to be linked to the mob herself. Had to have insider knowledge. Why else would she be so completely unable to trust him?
“There is nothing here of her original identity,” he said, glancing at the former FBI agent. “According to this paper, she didn’t even exist before she was twelve.”
“That’s right. Everything in her file that would link her to a birth name, birthplace, or birth date was completely erased.”
Vitt kept his expression neutral. “Is this normal protocol for the United States’ protection program?”
“No.”
“But you’ve seen this before?”
The detective hesitated. “Yes. There are two incidences when I’ve seen this happen—when the government is protecting a foreign spy, or a high-ranking member of an organized crime family.”
There it was. The connection to organized crime. Vitt had known it in his gut, but wondered why it’d taken him so long to see it.
“So what do you think we’re dealing with?” Vitt asked, sounding bored.
“She’s the daughter of an American mob boss.”
Vitt felt hard and cold all the way through. It’s what he’d been thinking, but somehow it sounded a thousand times worse spoken aloud. “Are there many in the American government’s witness protection program?”
“A half dozen.”
“Anyone you view a particular threat?”
“One or two, although Frankie Giordano is the one the government is most protective of. He sold out the entire Detroit operation, and Detroit was linked to nearly every other operation.”
Vitt nodded slowly. “Which means Giordano gave up everyone.”
“Yes.”
“If his whereabouts were discovered, he’d be a dead man.”
The detective closed his notebook. “As would his family.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
JILLIAN woke up with sunlight pouring through the windows. She hadn’t drawn the drapes last night when she’d gone to bed. Instead she’d stayed up late, leafing through Italian Vogue and French Elle, magazines Maria had loaned her, waiting for Vittorio to return.
He hadn’t, though.
He’d remained out all night. Or if he had returned, he’d slept elsewhere.
The fact that he’d stayed away worried her. He’d been so upset with her yesterday. And she knew she deserved his anger, but she was also desperate to patch things up. She didn’t know how to live in his house and be shunned by him.
Jillian bathed and dressed quickly before heading to Joe’s nursery to check on him. He wasn’t there so she went in search of him, knowing he had to be with Maria.
But he wasn’t with Maria. He was with his father having breakfast on the terrace just off the dining room.
The soft pink-tinged morning light painted the terrace’s pale stones rose and gold. Large clay pots lined the terrace, and beyond the balustrade the valley and snow-capped Mt Etna dominated the view.
“Good morning,” Jillian said huskily, turning her back on green-and-yellow hills dotted with orchards and farmhouses to face Vitt and Joe.
“'Morning,” Vitt answered, breaking up a breakfast roll into little pieces for Joe who sat in a tall antique high chair at Vitt’s elbow.
She noticed that he barely looked at her and his tone bordered on cold. “May I join you?” she asked uncertainly even as she leaned over to give Joe a kiss.
“It’s your home,” he said, sounding completely disinterested.
She breathed in Joe’s warmth and baby scent for courage before straightening and taking a seat at the glass-topped table.
Kitchen staff immediately appeared to place another setting for her and offer her a choice of espresso or American style drip coffee. Jillian chose the drip coffee and then clutched her hands in her lap to hide her nervousness.
“When did you get back?” she asked, struggling to keep her voice light and normal.
“Last night.”
Her heart fell and ridiculous tears burned the back of her eyes. So where had he slept? And why hadn’t he come to their room? “How did your meeting go?”
“It was interesting.”
“That’s good.” She forced her lips up into a brittle smile and then caught Joe’s eye. He was staring at her as he fed himself a bite of the bread. She smiled more warmly even as her eyes felt grittier, saltier. Please God, don’t let her cry.
“Tell me about your family,” Vitt said abruptly, leaning back in his chair. “You never talk about them.”
“I.I’m not sure what you want to know.”
“Tell me about your father. You said he was a businessman. Sales, I think you said.”
She nodded woodenly. “Yes.”
“And you moved a lot growing up?”
“Yes.”
His eyes narrowed a fraction. “Where were you born?”
“De—” Jillian broke off, bit her tongue, realizing she’d come dangerously close to telling him the very things the government had insisted she never share. “Dallas.”
“Dallas?” he repeated, head tipping to the side. “Which hospital?”
“I don’t remember. I’d have to ask my mother.”
“And where is she?”
“In a retirement community in Florida.”
“We should invite them out for our wedding.”
“They don’t…they don’t…like to fly.”
“Don’t you want your father to give you away?”
She squirmed. “Of course I would, but they don’t travel much and they wouldn’t be comfortable here.”
His lips curved. “Here in our home?”
“No.”
“You mean, here in Sicily?”
“No. That’s not what I mean.”
“So what do you mean, Jill?”
Completely flustered, she bit down into her lower lip, chewed the tender skin. “I’m not close with my parents,” she said at last. “I haven’t seen them in years.”
“They’ve never met Joseph then?”
She shook her head. “They don’t even know he exists.”
“I’m shocked.”
“We’re not all close-knit Sicilian families that dine together every night.”
“Those big noisy meals keep the generations tight.”
“I can’t even imagine.” Jillian had been raised without an extended family. Her mother’s family had cut her off after she married Jillian’s father against their wishes. Her father had been an only son and he’d left home at eighteen to make his fortune in the big city. He’d never bothered to introduce his wife and or children to his parents, even though they only lived six hours south of Detroit. “I don’t even know if I have cousins and I’ve never met my grandparents.”
“Are they still alive?”
“I don’t know.” She made a small sound, a hiccup of laughter tinged by frustration. “I believe both my grandmothers and one of my grandfathers might still be alive, but they were never part of our life.”
“Why not?”
She smiled up at Vitt’s kitchen staff for refilling her coffee. “I don’t know for sure but I think my father had a big ego and far too much pride. I think my mother, having lost her parents when she married my father against their wishes, was terrified of losing my father so she supported him on everything, which meant we didn’t see grandparents, we didn’t do big family holidays. It was always just us, the four of us, Mom, Dad, Katie and me.”
“Where does she live?”
“She’s…she’s—” Jillian broke off, looked away, unable to finish the thought. Gone. Katie’s gone. Everything in Jillian’s life seemed to be about the past. Past tense. Past self. Past life. What she needed was new. What she needed was a future. “Dead. She died. A couple years ago. Katie was only twenty-one.”
“I’m sorry.”
She looked at him, the pain in her eyes giving away far more than she knew. “I am, too.”
Vittorio watched Jill’s expression as she talked about her family. Emotions f
lickered over her face and yet the expression in her eyes never changed. Her eyes revealed grief. Total loss.
“I do think we need to make an effort to include your parents in our wedding. If we set the ceremony for a week from today—next Saturday—we should have plenty of time to invite them and arrange their travel,” he said. “Should we place a call to them before dinner? We can make it a conference call, get everyone on the line.”
She took a quick sip from her coffee cup. “I don’t know if they’ll be around. They might be away…traveling.”
“I thought you said they didn’t like to travel.”
“They don’t like to fly. Or travel far.”
He smiled at her kindly. “You seem nervous. Why would you be nervous?”
“I’m not. I’m just…” she struggled to smile with quivering lips “…overwhelmed. Weddings and castles and change. There’s just been a lot of change, Vittorio. I confess, my head is spinning.”
“I think you just need something to focus on, like picking out flowers and cake and a bridal gown for the ceremony. My mother is handling the guest list. I will take care of the dinner. You just need to select your gown, music, favorite colors, that sort of thing.”
She’d been the one to suggest a formal wedding. She’d been the one to say they needed something public to cement their relationship but suddenly it all seemed very risky. “We’re not thinking a big wedding, are we? Just something small, intimate and elegant?”
“I might be wrong, but I believe the guest list has gotten rather extensive. Since Catania is a small place, everyone knows everyone and it was hard for my mother to limit the guest list. But we can try to keep the church ceremony small and invite everyone else to the party after.”
Jillian felt increasingly queasy as he talked. Why had she suggested another ceremony? Why hadn’t she realized that it could end up big, which would end up attracting a great deal of attention? “Perhaps we should postpone the ceremony a little longer, give us more time to plan.”
“With everyone pitching in, a week will give us more than enough time—” He broke off as his mother approached and got to his feet to pull a chair out for her at the table. “Good morning, Mother,” he said, dropping a kiss on her cheek. “You have perfect timing. We were just talking about the plans for next Saturday.”
“Have you told her about the appointments with the designers?” Theresa asked him, dropping into a chair at the table and crossing one leg over the other. This morning Theresa wore an ivory pantsuit with gold buttons and delicate chains. Her heels were very high, accenting her fashionably slim figure.
“I haven’t heard yet,” Jillian said, with a glance down at her own uninspiring navy slacks and navy-and-cream striped top. She felt so dowdy next to Vitt’s mother, and knew it really was time for a wardrobe update. Less matronly clothes. More stylish and form-fitting.
“You will be meeting with three of our top Italian designers later,” Theresa said smoothly. “One arrived last night, two are flying in from Milan this morning. They will each meet with you for a half hour and then work up a design. Each designer will have a sketch to show you before they leave tomorrow. You get to select your favorite gown and then the winning design will be made this week in time for the ceremony next Saturday.”
Jillian’s eyes grew round. “That sounds incredibly extravagant.”
“It’s an extravagant ceremony,” Theresa replied sharply, “but that’s what I understood you wanted.”
Jillian turned to Vittorio. “I didn’t say I wanted an expensive wedding. And I certainly don’t need three different designers flying in to work up three different designs for me to choose from. One designer would have been more than sufficient!”
He shrugged. “You did say you wanted a beautiful dress.”
“Yes, but even an off-the-rack gown can be beautiful.”
“Because you buy your clothes off the rack,” Theresa said with a sniff. “If you wore couture, you’d know the difference.”
“But I don’t, and I’m grateful everyone is trying to make the wedding special, but simple is good. Simple can be lovely.” Jillian extended a hand toward Vitt. “We can do simple, can’t we?”
“It’s your wedding,” he said, pushing his chair back and getting to his feet. “You’re free to do whatever you want.”
“I thought it was our wedding,” she countered, watching as he ruffled Joe’s dark hair, a gentleness in Vitt’s eyes as he looked at his son.
She’d never seen that expression before. So much tenderness. A look of pure protection.
He really loved Joe, she realized. He truly wanted to be a father.
“It is our wedding,” he answered, “but it’s supposed to be your dream wedding. I don’t care about the particulars as long as you, me and the priest are there.”
Joe was looking up at Vitt now, a gummy smile lighting up his face. Vitt glanced down, caught Joe’s cherubic smile and grinned. “Let me change that to you, me, Joseph and the priest,” Vitt amended, touching Joe’s cheek before walking away.
Jillian watched Vittorio’s back for a moment before realizing Theresa was closely watching her. Blushing faintly beneath her mother-in-law’s scrutiny, Jillian sat taller and turned to face her. “Thank you for your help in arranging everything. I do appreciate it.”
“It was all Vittorio’s doing,” Theresa answered with a careless wave of her hand. “I told him the designers in Catania would do but he has his own ideas. Always has.”
Jillian didn’t know what to say to that and rose to get Joe from his high chair.
“So what do you think of the house?” Theresa asked, clearly determined to fill the silence.
“You have a beautiful home,” Jillian said, sitting down again with Joe on her lap.
“It’s Vittorio’s home. He’s just kind enough to allow us to live in one of the wings here.”
“But I thought the castle had been in the family for nearly a hundred years?”
“It had.” Theresa paused, lips pursed a moment as she chose her words. “My husband experienced a reversal of fortune fifteen years ago. We lost everything, including this place. Vittorio dropped out of university to take a job to help us out. He worked very, very hard. There were a lot of problems and a lot of debt. But six years ago he was able to buy the castle back, along with that beautiful villa in Bellagio.”
Jillian glanced around the sunlight-dappled terrace with the pots of white roses and lavender wisteria. “I had no idea.”
Theresa shrugged. “Vittorio would never tell you something like that. He never takes credit for any of the good things he does—and he does many. But that’s how his father is, too. My husband, Salvatore, never thinks of himself. His family has always come first.”
“It sounds as if you’ve had a good marriage.”
For the first time since meeting her Theresa genuinely smiled. “I couldn’t live without him.” And on that note, she got to her feet and headed back into the house.
Jillian spent some time with Joe, and then when he went down for his morning nap, she met with the first of the three fashion designers.
One of the designers was a woman, the other two were men, and all three were so excessively polite that Jillian wondered what they’d been told by Vittorio.
Each designer took measurements. Two asked her questions about what she’d like in a bridal gown, while the third, one of the men, said he had the perfect design in mind and he’d show her later once he’d completed the sketch.
While the three designers retreated to various wings of the castle, Jillian was summoned to the castle’s large modern kitchen finished in white marble and commercial-grade stainless steel appliances, to meet with a famous pastry chef from New York flown out just to make the wedding cake. The chef had brought samples of six different cake flavors, along with various icings and fillings.
Jillian sampled bite after bite and narrowed the selection down to three—white chocolate cake with a raspberry filling, a butter cake
with lemon cream, and chocolate cake with chocolate mousse—but then didn’t want to make the final decision without input from Vittorio. But he’d gone out for the day.
The chef suggested they use all three combinations with each layer of the cake being unique. Jillian agreed and left it to the chef to come up with the overall design.
“Traditional, unusual, colorful, classic, architectural?” the chef asked, trying to swiftly understand Jillian’s personal style and vision for the wedding.
“I don’t know,” she confessed. “I hadn’t planned on a big wedding, but it’s turning out to be quite formal, so I suppose the cake should be classic. Elegant. Vittorio is very sophisticated. He has tremendous style. I think the cake should at least reflect that.”
The pastry chef scribbled some notes, showed Jillian a book of photographs showing elaborately decorated cakes in all kinds of colors, shapes and tiers. They were all beautiful, Jillian told him, and she’d be happy with any of them.
While Jillian was still poring over the photo album, Theresa entered the castle’s spacious kitchen to let Jillian know the florist was waiting in the dining room to discuss flowers for the wedding and dinner.
Jillian, who’d felt so unsure of herself during the cake tasting, felt far more comfortable talking with the florist. She’d worked with many florists over the years during her career in the hospitality industry and with a little guidance from the florist, quickly chose a theme of fragrant white gardenias, creamy white roses, contrasted by the silver-gray stems of lamb’s ear for softness and texture. The florist suggested weaving in some delicate silver beads for a hint of sheen in the table arrangements, and then for Jillian’s bouquet, the florist thought the long stems should be tied with a pale silver satin ribbon for a little extra sophistication.
Jillian loved the idea, and could suddenly see the wedding she wanted—charcoal, black and ivory colors—with lots of candlelight and glamour.
