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“No,” I say. “Let’s meet tomorrow at a coffee shop. Do you know the Stargazer on 5th and Main?”
“Great. I’ll see you there tomorrow at ten.”
She hangs up before I can change my mind, leaving me feeling shivery and nauseous. I pick up my pallet and a tube of paint, then squeeze a dollop of cadmium red. My gaze hones in on the wildflowers. I need to focus on something other than mafia, massacres, or mob money.
Hours later, I’m still painting when Roman enters the studio. I straighten, my throat tightening with guilt, unable to look him in the face.
He brushes back my hair and plants a kiss on my neck, infusing my skin with warmth. “Sorry about this morning. I had to take care of some things for the family.”
“It’s fine.” I force a smile.
Roman massages my bare shoulders, but his touch is stilted. “Why are you still wearing last night’s dress?”
“What?” I glance down, finding tiny splatters of paint over the beautiful gown, and my eyes fill with tears. “Oh, Roman. I’m so sorry. It’s ruined.”
He takes my chin in his hands and tilts my face, so our gazes meet, and my heart shatters at the intensity of his concern. I’ve never seen Roman look so sick with worry.
I close my eyes, and tears spill down my cheeks.
Roman pulls me into his chest. “It’s just a dress, baby. Don’t worry about it.”
“No,” I rasp. “Something happened today.”
He stiffens, his heart pounding so hard that I feel its vibrations against my chest. “Gil told me about the corpse that fell out of its casket,” he says with a shaky laugh. “Is that why you refused Sofia’s risotto?”
“It’s something I heard from Jim’s dad.”
Roman pulls back, his eyes narrowing, his lips flattening over his teeth. “What did that bastard’s father say?”
“My father is Frederic Capello.”
He freezes, and all the color leeches from his skin, leaving him sickly pale. It’s the strangest expression, even though he’s always so calm. It’s always me who’s controlled by my emotions and him who’s the rock.
Right now, Roman looks like a dam about to break.
“Say that one more time,” he says, his voice even.
Cold sweat breaks out across my skin, and I quake under his stare. “Jim’s dad told me I’m the daughter of the man who framed you for murder.”
“That bastard,” Roman snarls, his gaze darting to the door. “I’ll kill him.”
“Wait.” I grab his shoulders. “Did you hear what I said?”
He turns back to me, his eyes softening. “I heard you, baby, but you’re not your father. You’re the woman I love.”
My mouth falls slack. I’m so confused. Why is his anger directed toward a drunken old man? How can Roman forgive me for something so heinous? Before I can push for answers, he pulls me into a kiss.
His lips are inviting and warm, just as they were yesterday at the casino. The casino he wrestled back from my monstrous biological father. How could he kiss me like this after finding out my heritage?
Maybe he’s in shock. Maybe this kiss is so intense because Roman knows it’s our last. Cracks spread across my heart, each fissure oozing liquid agony. I melt into the embrace, my fingers tangling in his hair. If this is the end, then I want to make it memorable.
Roman lifts me off my feet and carries me into the back bedroom. “Nothing could ever come between us,” he murmurs against my lips. “I love you too much.”
No matter what he says, I can’t believe it. As he lays me onto the bed and trails kisses down my cleavage, I stare at the ceiling, my mind whirring with questions.
Is Roman in denial? How could his love for someone he’s known for less than a month outweigh the depth of my father’s betrayal?
FIFTY-NINE
