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Rocco’s heart hammered the way it never had before as he faced the door. Reaching out, he grasped the doorknob.
‘That’s not Gianni’s room,’ Mia’s husky voice said from behind him.
He jerked back with a mixture of relief and trepidation. For in that instant, before his hand had closed over the knob, he’d felt as if, somehow, he’d failed his son. That by cutting Mia off so completely, maybe he’d somehow been to blame for not knowing of his son’s existence.
Which was ridiculous, he reminded himself. He’d done nothing wrong. He’d thrown Mia out of his life because she’d turned out to be a thief and a liar. And while he wouldn’t have chosen such a person as the mother of his child, the situation was what it was. But if the child behind the next door was his, a fact an unknown instinct was warning him was so, he would move heaven and earth to make up for the time he’d lost. Taking a deep, restorative breath, he faced her. One look at his face, and she moved swiftly along the short corridor.
She stopped in front of a door painted a bright yellow. Stencils of racing cars and teddy bears danced on the frame and a brightly coloured sign proclaimed it as Gianni’s Kingdom. The smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth was quickly suppressed beneath the torrent of emotion raging through him.
With a beseeching look at him, Mia slowly opened the door and tiptoed in.
Rocco stood on the threshold, knowing without a shadow of a doubt his life was about to change for ever. But he couldn’t have turned back if his life depended on it.
He stepped into the room. The curtains, stencilled with another racing-car theme, were drawn against the afternoon sun, so at first he couldn’t see the small lump burrowed underneath a brightly coloured blanket.
Another step brought him closer to the cot.
A tremor went through him at his first glimpse of his son.
Dark curls peeked out from the top of the blanket. Even that small sight had the power to stop Rocco’s breath. As he watched, the boy stretched in his sleep, a slow, indulgent movement that revealed the full impact of his perfect, innocent, heart-stoppingly beautiful face. A face that marked him, without a shadow of a doubt, as a Vitelli.
A face that Rocco knew he would treasure for ever.
CHAPTER THREE
FOR THE SECOND time in the space of an hour, Mia watched, fascinated, as Rocco Vitelli froze into absolute stillness. Were it not for the pulse that raced in his neck, she would’ve believed he’d turned into one of the polished marble statues of his beloved Palermo.
Haltingly, she took another step closer and cast a frantic glance at him. His eyes were on Gianni, the feverish blue fastened with staggering intensity on her son.
Their son.
Gianni was lost in the land of slumber, the effects of swimming and running around in the park having taken their toll. Her gaze returned to Rocco and the resemblance between father and son hit her dead in the chest. Not having seen them this close before, she’d had no warning how strong the likeness was between them. Confronted with it now, there was no doubt.
Gianni had the beginnings of the strong Vitelli jaw, the dark slashed eyebrows and high cheekbones of his antecedents.
Beside her, Rocco drew in a shuddering breath. Slowly, his fist unclenched and reached towards his son. Long, strong fingers caressed one plump curl, which immediately clung into his touch. With trance-like movements, he sank down until his face was almost level with Gianni’s through the slats in his cot.
‘Mio figlio,’ he breathed. My son.
Without warning, Gianni’s eyes popped open.
Father and son stared at each other for one heart-stopping moment.
Mia forgot to breathe. Her nails dug into her fingers as her limbs froze.
Then just as abruptly, Gianni blinked, rolled onto his side and promptly went back to sleep.
Mia’s breath shuddered out as Rocco surged to his feet. He seemed to have trouble breathing. He swallowed several times, his eyes still fixed on their sleeping son.
Then, utterly awestruck, her heart leaping into her throat, she watched a single tear roll down his cheek. With a shaky hand, he brushed it off his face. His massive shoulders heaved as he inhaled. Her own eyes prickled, and she bit her lip to stop the distressed sound in her throat from emerging. Before she could utter a word, he stepped back from the cot.
When he turned to face her, his face was clenched tight, but his eyes were ablaze with turbulent emotion.
‘Downstairs. Now, per favore,’ he bit out.
Without looking back at his son, Rocco left the room.
Mia took her time, composing herself while slowly tucking the blanket more securely around her son.
