Page 14 of Banished and Pregnant by Her Sicilian Billionaire Husband

He gave me his word that he’d tell me to my face.

And yet...

“Then why did you break it?”

His fists clench and unclench, and seeing this makes me want to...oh, I don’t even know what I want to do since my poor, stupid heart is just as confused. It’s torn between pounding against my chest at the fact that this is the closest I’ve ever been to him in eight long years...

But at the same time, my heart is also doing the best it can not to break into pieces because it still remembers that night...

No no no no no.

I think I would have jumped out of the car then and there if I didn’t have my little girl sleeping in my arms.

This can’t be true.

This can’t be.

This...this isn’t right.

But I know what I’m looking at.

I finally realize where the driver’s taking us.

And when my stunned, horrified gaze finally flies back to Marcello—

“Y-You can’t be serious,” I choke out. “Tell him to stop—”

But Marcello’s lips only tighten. “I can’t.”

I can feel myself starting to shake as the car turns off the Drive, then off the main road, the trees closing in over the top of us, bare and black in the October light.

“My home is the only place where I can keep both of you safe.”

Chisa

I FELL ASLEEP IN MY husband’s house.

That’s the first thought I have when I come awake in a blue sitting room I used to know, with my glasses sliding off my face and under a blanket somebody put over me while I was too far gone to notice.

Then I remember why I’m in it, but by then my whole body has already gone cold.

“Mama, there’s a ROOM for me!”

My daughter comes thundering down the corridor in her socks, skids through the doorway and nearly takes out a side table.

“With my name on the door! In gold! It’s got a window seat, a bed with a roof on it, and a whole shelf of books I haven’t read yet, which is basically impossible, Mama, because I’ve read almost everything.”

“A bed with a roof on it?”

“It has curtains. You pull them round and it’s a tent.” She climbs onto the arm of my chair. “Also this house has eleven toilets. I counted! Who needs eleven toilets? Where do they all go?”

She’s fine. That’s the thing I can’t get over. Six hours ago two men came out of a van at her, but she’s up here counting bathrooms.

“Baby.” I catch her hand. “How’s your hand?”

“It’s got a plaster with a duck on it.” She shows me. “Nonna Ana put it on.”

Nonna Ana.