by Dana Delamar
“Leave us be.”
“I said, let her go.” Nick shouldered past Cristoforo and stepped up close to Leandro. “I won’t ask again.”
Leandro’s response was to jerk her against his side and let loose a string of insults in Italian, which Nick, mercifully, seemed not to understand. When Nick didn’t react, Leandro switched to English. “Only trash would interfere between a man and his fiancée.”
Nick’s brows winged up and his eyes snapped to hers. “You’re engaged?”
She shook her head. “This is the first I’ve heard of it.”
He turned back to Leandro. “Then you’re not engaged, mate. Let her go.”
Leandro released her arm, but only to take a swing at Nick. Nick easily evaded the blow and lashed out himself, nearly connecting with Leandro’s jaw. The only reason he didn’t was because Cris managed to grab Nick’s arm at the last minute and haul him bodily back and away, quickly inserting himself between Nick and Leandro. Cris placed a restraining hand on Leandro’s chest while guards from the d’Imperio and Andretti families surrounded them, guns pointed at Nick.
“Stop this. Now,” her brother growled, his voice deep and commanding, using a tone Delfina had never heard from him before. Shocked, she saw him with new respect. He was the same old Cris, with his curly dark hair and heavily muscled build, but his usually laughing eyes and mouth were stern now, grim even, as he scowled at Leandro and Nick.
“No one insults me in my own home,” Leandro said, his voice low.
“I wasn’t insulting you. I was defending a woman from being manhandled,” Nick said.
“I do not know this word, ‘manhandled.’”
“Roughed up.”
Leandro rolled his eyes. “Are you hurt?” he said to Delfina.
“No.” She resisted rubbing her wrist and gave Nick a pleading look.
Nick let out of gush of air. “I must have been mistaken. You two seemed to be struggling.”
“Just a lovers’ spat.” Leandro straightened his jacket. “My fiancée doesn’t like public displays of affection.”
Delfina ground her teeth together. If he thought she was marrying him, especially after this, he was out of his mind. “Cris, can you take Nick out back? We need a minute alone.”
“You’re sure?” Nick said.
She nodded and watched Cris escort him out to the party, then she turned to Leandro. “You are not to touch me again without asking.”
He put his hands up in the air. “Delfi, you wound me.”
“You’ve been acting like an ass, and you know it.” She stared at him hard. “How can you expect me to love you when you treat me like a possession? I’m a person, Leandro, not a thing. You can’t just grab me, no matter what our fathers think or say. Understand?”
He said nothing. Gio poked him in the arm. “She’s right, you idiot. If you weren’t so damn high, you’d know better.”
Leandro ignored his sister. “I’m sorry.” He rubbed his face and gave Delfina a half smile. “I was so excited and happy, and you weren’t. I got angry. Who wouldn’t?”
Delfina stepped closer to him. “Don’t let it happen again.”
“Of course.” He reached out, slowly this time, and touched her shoulder, his fingers tracing the outside of her arm until he reached her hand, which he clasped loosely. “I wanted to announce our engagement tonight. May I?”
Dread washed through her. “Let’s do that another time.”
He leaned down, and when she turned her head, refusing him her lips, he pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Fine. But my patience is nearing an end, principessa.”
So is mine. “May I have a moment with Gio, please?”
He stepped back from her. “As you wish.” He left, heading up the stairs to the bedrooms above. Hopefully he’d stay up there the rest of the night.
Her throat started to ache as Gio put an arm around her shoulders. Papà had lied to her. “What am I going to do?” she whispered, her voice cracking.
Gio patted her back. “He’s always been an arrogant ass and maybe that’s gotten worse lately, but he still worships you, Delfi, the way he always has.”
Pushing up the sleeve of her dress, Delfina revealed the red marks on her wrist. “What about these?”
Gio frowned. “I believe him. He didn’t mean to hurt you. You know how he’s mooned after you since we were kids. The way you reacted—I’m sure it wounded him. Badly. I’ve never seen him act like that before.”
Delfina smoothed her sleeve back down and rubbed her wrist. “How can I marry him if he’s like this? The drugs—he’s out of control, Gio. Even if he was sober, it’d be hard. But this—it’s impossible.”
Gio squeezed her shoulder. “You’ve only got two choices if you won’t marry him.”
What was she talking about? There were no other choices. “And what would those be?”
“One: you run away.” Before she could interrupt, Gio raised a finger for silence. “But we both know that’s stupid. Your father would find you. So really, there’s only one choice. Get yourself pregnant by someone else.”
Delfina coughed with laughter. “Davvero, Gio? That’s my other choice?”
“You’d have to marry the guy, so pick wisely.” Gio’s face turned sly. “What about your white knight? The one who came to your rescue?”
She pushed a hand against the foolish flutter in her chest. “Not possible.”
“Why? Is there something wrong with him? He looked fine to me. Actually, I take that back. He looked positively yummy.”
“Nick is Enrico Lucchesi’s son, that’s why.” Unfortunately.
“What?” Gio’s eyes widened and her mouth opened. “He’s the love child?”
“Yes.”
“Madonna. I don’t believe it,” Gio whispered.
“You can’t tell anyone.”
“What’s he doing with your family?”
“It’s a long story.” She glanced over Gio’s shoulder and saw Nick’s father walking in. “I’m going to have to tell you later.”
Gio followed her gaze and gripped her shoulder hard. “You invited your uncle?”
“Yes. Just this morning.”
“Delfi, what are you up to? Your father will flip.”
“And so will Nick. Which is why I need to talk to my uncle. In private.”
“Use my room. Now go,” Gio said, giving her a little push. “I’ll keep your Nick company.” As Gio batted her lashes, Delfina suppressed a laugh. It was impossible to rattle Gio for long.
Turning, Delfina lost her smile. She headed toward her uncle with a rock in her stomach. Nick was going to hate her for what she’d done. He’d probably never speak to her or trust her again.
But someone had to save him. Someone had to intervene. She had to be that someone, or she’d never be able to live with herself.
An invitation to Delfina Andretti’s birthday party, issued in person by Delfina herself, was the last thing Enrico Lucchesi had expected. Well, next to lasting peace with the various branches of the Andretti family. He was glad she’d come in person that morning so that they could get past any embarrassment in private. Little more than a month ago, they’d been engaged to be married. And now he was married to the love of his life.
Delfina had been matter-of-fact about meeting Kate, and so gracious and direct about facing the discomfort between them, that there’d hardly been a moment of unease between them all.
But now, as he and Kate and Antonio pulled up before the d’Imperio home, Enrico’s nerves jangled. He hoped he wasn’t putting Kate and their child at risk. It was one thing to face Delfina. Another to face the rest of her family, so soon after Carlo’s death at his hands. The truce between their families had always been fragile, never more so than now. But as Delfina had said, what better way to celebrate and reinforce the new peace he and Dario had recently brokered? Still, he’d brought along Ruggero. Just in case.
They walked up to the house amid a crush of young people and members of other fam
ilies. The d’Imperios had several maids and a butler, who greeted the guests and took their coats. Enrico helped Kate with her coat, encountering a momentary bit of awkwardness when Antonio, his capo di società, reached for it at same time.
“Sorry,” Antonio mumbled and blushed, his fair skin mottling to the roots of his blond hair. Not so long ago, Antonio had posed as Kate’s husband for a couple weeks, during the horrible time when Enrico had wondered if he’d ever win his beloved back. But here she was, smiling at him, her green eyes and auburn hair shining as he took her coat.
“Ti amo,” he murmured in her ear.
Kate’s smile broadened and she brushed a hand along his shoulder. “Me too.” She took in the grandeur of their settings. “I never thought I’d say this, but your home is virtually spartan compared to this.”
He put an arm around her and pulled her close against his side. “Our home. And”—he motioned at the soaring, glittering space—“our home is hardly spartan. More restrained, perhaps.”
“This verges on Donald Trump levels of gaudiness,” she whispered.
He chuckled. “Gianluca wants the best of everything. There is no harm in that.”
“Unless it’s hurting my eyes.” Kate pretended to shield her gaze from the sparkling surfaces around them.
He gave her a tight squeeze. “We should meet our hosts; we can talk about how they live later.”
She poked him playfully in the ribs. “Yes, Dad.”
“You mean Papà-to-be.” He placed a palm over the barely discernible swelling at her belly. If he didn’t know she was pregnant, he’d never have guessed. She had been too thin when they’d met, but she’d put on enough weight now to soften the contours of her body. Contours he loved to explore, to touch. He let his hand slide down to the small of her back, his fingers resting just above the luscious swell below. His wife. His, at last.
He surveyed the foyer, seeing several people he recognized, but none of the Andrettis. They must have headed to the garden out back, where from the sounds of it, the party was already in full swing. He started to guide Kate that way when someone tapped his shoulder.
“There you are,” Delfina said.
“In the flesh.” He leaned forward to kiss her cheek, but the crinkle between her brows stopped him. “What is wrong?”
She started to shake her head, then stopped. “I’m not sure if I’ve done the right thing now.”
“What are you talking about?”
“My father is up to something.”
“Color me unsurprised,” Kate said, giving voice to Enrico’s thoughts. Would Dario forever be at his throat? Enrico had tried to forgive Carlo his sins, but Carlo had pushed and pushed until Enrico had no other choice but to take Carlo’s life. Couldn’t Dario see that? Or could he only see that Enrico was avenging his family?
“What specifically is going on?” Enrico asked Delfina.
“I think rather than try to explain, I’d best show you.”
Enrico, Antonio, and Kate exchanged glances, then they followed Delfina up the stairs to a bedroom with a terrace overlooking the pool, Ruggero bringing up the rear. Delfina beckoned them out onto the balcony. Music and chatter from the clumps of guests below drifted up to them. “Do you see that young man by the pool? The one talking to Cristoforo and Giovanna?” She pointed to a tall, dark-haired man Enrico would have recognized anywhere.
An electrical sizzle shot through his body, arcing down his spine and settling into a roiling mass in his belly. Nico.
Kate turned to him, an uncertain expression on her face. “He looks just like you. Is that Nick? Your son?”
Antonio let out a grunt of astonishment. “What?” he asked, his eyes darting from Kate to Enrico. “What son?”
I should have told him. Too late now. “I fathered a child in England during my betrothal.”
“And that is him?” The hurt on Antonio’s face made Enrico’s throat tighten. “So what was I? The standin?”
“Tonio, no.” Enrico stepped forward, reaching for his shoulder.
Antonio shrugged away from him. “I suppose now you will want to install him as your capo di società.”
The roiling in his belly settled into a hard lump of clay. “That will never happen.”
Antonio snorted, and Kate put a hand on his arm. “Nothing’s going to happen to you, Tonio,” she said.
“Signora, no offense, but blood is thickest. It is bad enough the rest of the Lucchesis hate me. Now I learn there’s a son.” Antonio turned to Enrico. “You should have left me in that orphanage in Rome where you found me.”
This was all going so wrong. If only Delfina had prepared him. But even if she had, would it have made a difference? He took a deep breath; only the truth would assuage Antonio. “Nico will never replace you. He works for Interpol.”
He might as well have set off a bomb. Antonio, Kate, and Ruggero stepped away from him. Delfina was the only one who stayed put. “You knew,” he said, turning to her.
She nodded, her face miserable. “He’s a ‘guest’ of my father’s. I didn’t know what else to do.”
Madonna! The air slammed out of his lungs, and he grabbed the railing of the balcony. His eyes darted from Cristoforo Andretti standing beside Nick to Dario, Benedetto, and Lorenzo Andretti standing off in a group across the pool. He’d thought Nico was safe. But here he was, surrounded by Andretti wolves. How had this happened?
And how was he going to save his son?
“I need to speak to him. Now.” He spun around, heading back into the room, ready to charge downstairs. Delfina stopped him before he reached the hall.
“Wait.”
“I have to go to him.” He started to push past her, but she dug her fingers into his arm.
“Zio, he might not react the way you’d expect.” Delfina hesitated. “He’s got very strong feelings about you.” She dropped her hand from his arm and stepped back. “They’re not good.”
The words shredded his skin like shards of glass. “That does not matter. I am still his father, he is still my son.”
“I don’t think it’s that simple.”
“It is that simple.” But perhaps their meeting shouldn’t be public. “Figure out a way to bring him in here.”
“Do you need help collecting the heir?” Antonio asked her.
Delfina crossed the room to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Tonio, don’t be like this.”
“How should I be?” Antonio’s bitter tone cut through Enrico’s worry about Nico. His son wasn’t the only pressing problem. He should’ve officially adopted Antonio a long time ago. Now…. He looked at Antonio, who looked away. Now it was too late.
Maybe it was too late with both of his sons.
Delfina’s brother guided Nick out to the gardens at the rear of the house. His heart had slowed, but when he thought about that guy’s hand squeezing Delfina’s wrist, his ears roared with white noise. No wonder she didn’t want to marry the bloke. He’d wanted to pound the guy silly, but that sudden display of firepower had snapped him out of it. He wasn’t in England anymore; he was surrounded by mobsters, men who settled disputes with guns instead of fists. He had to find some other way to help her. “Fucking bastard,” he muttered.
Cristoforo scooped two glasses of champagne off the tray of a passing waiter and led them over to a table by the pool. “I wanted to let you do it, Nick. Hell, I wanted to do it myself. But I can’t cross my father, at least not publicly.”
He took the champagne flute Cris offered and downed the sparkling wine in one gulp, the bubbles fizzing in his nose and making him cough. Christ, Clarkston. It’s not a bloody pint. He caught his breath. “You can’t let him marry her off to that tosser.”
“I know.” Cris twirled his champagne flute, watching the bubbles rise up the sides of the glass. “I’ll talk to Papà. He’s going to be hard to shake—he wants the d’Imperios in his pocket—but Leandro’s behavior disrespects my sister and our family name.”
“What if you can’
t persuade him?”
“Then Delfi is going to have to cope.” Cris took a swallow of his drink. “But don’t worry—if Leandro gets out of control, there are ways to handle it. Even if my father doesn’t approve.”
He leaned closer to Cris. “What do you mean?”
Delfina’s brother stared at him for a long moment. “Drug addicts overdose all the time.”
Leandro’s an addict? That explains a lot. “You’d do that for her?”
His eyes were dark and still. “She’s my sister.”
At least someone in her family gave a damn. “How can your father treat her like this?”
Cris signaled a waiter for two more glasses. Nick sipped his carefully this time, waiting for Cris to speak. Finally he said, “You didn’t grow up here. It’s hard to understand, but what we do, it doesn’t work without a strong family, without strong connections. Blood connections, ties between the families. All of us—we marry for the right connections. Delfi complains, but I have no more choice than she does. I’ll marry the daughter of someone my family needs as an ally, and I’ll smile when I do it, even if she has the face of a goat. It’s my duty.”
“Fuck.” Nick sipped the champagne again.
Cris grinned. “That’s what a mistress is for.”
A hand slid across Nick’s back. And then a short curvy girl—Delfina’s friend—appeared beside him. “Who’s talking about mistresses?” she asked.
“Me, of course.” Cris’s eyes did a slow pass over the girl’s body, and Nick had to admit that what he saw from the side looked very fine.
“You wouldn’t need one if you married me,” the girl said.
“I wouldn’t want one.”
Her smile broadened, then she turned to Nick, her fingers twirling a few strands of her hair. “Aren’t you going to introduce me, Cris?”
“Forgive me. Giovanna d’Imperio, Niccolò Clarkston.”
“Nick,” he said. He took the delicate hand she held out to him. She ran the fingers of her other hand through her blond-streaked hair while she inspected him from head to toe. “You’re Delfina’s friend,” he said. “She calls you Gio.”
