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‘Yes, but first, nappy change.’
And then, please, God, let Rocco have disappeared quietly without making a fuss by the time she returned downstairs. The notion that she was grasping at straws stayed with her as she changed Gianni’s nappy, but she refused to let go of the hope as she clutched her son—who in turn clutched one yellow and one red racing car in his fists—and made her way downstairs.
With each step she recalled her conversation with Rocco just before Gianni woke up. Was it true? Had someone instigated the accusations against her, dragged her to court under fabricated charges, all without Rocco knowing? That seemed too unthinkable, so impossible, that she couldn’t begin to wrap her head around it. She paused as another, equally unthinkable, thought struck her.
If Rocco hadn’t known of his son’s existence, what would he do now that he knew? The image of his face when she accused him of knowing and deliberately ignoring Gianni’s existence rose in her mind.
What had he said?
You think anything will come between me and my flesh and blood?
What did that mean? Her veins filled with ice as possible new interpretations tumbled through her mind. Did Rocco mean to take her son away from her? Somehow declare her an unfit mother and demand full custody and spirit her son away to Italy?
Suddenly desperate to know his intentions, she hitched Gianni securely onto her hip and clambered down the remaining stairs.
Only to find her prayers had been answered.
Her living room was empty.
After a rough night where tossing and turning had alternated with anxious pacing in the close confines of her bedroom, dawn came with Mia being no further enlightened as to Rocco’s true intentions. Was he coming back? Or was he going to disappear just as quickly as he’d appeared, leaving her life in even deeper turmoil?
Somewhere in the long dark, daunting hours of the night, she’d realised that she’d been too distressed to question him further when he’d claimed he’d had nothing to do with the restraining order under whose shadow she’d lived for over three years. As the weak sunlight snuck around her curtains, she also realised she was still as in the dark about every charge thrown at her as she’d been when she’d demanded Rocco leave.
If he hadn’t instigated those charges against her, who had? And to what end? It turned her blood cold at the thought of someone being so cruel, as to do that to her and her unborn child.
During her time in Italy, first as Rocco’s structural engineer on his latest resort-building project, and later as his fiancée, she’d met countless people who inevitably passed through the life of an influential and powerful billionaire. Most had been pleasant, some not so much, but wracking her brain, as she’d done many times during the night, she’d come away with nothing but a throbbing headache.
Rocco’s cousin Alessandro, and his wife, Allegra, had been cool and dismissive towards her when Rocco had moved her from his Milan apartment into the Palermo villa he shared with his nonna soon after their engagement. With Alessandro’s departure for Brazil where, as Rocco’s right-hand man, he’d been spearheading the push of Vitelli Construction into Latin America, their relationship had never truly blossomed. If Mia was honest, she’d never felt any genuine warmth from Alessandro, but she wouldn’t have stooped so far as to accuse him of orchestrating such a hideous vendetta against her.
Which brought her to another dilemma. If the order and charges against her were bogus, trying to overturn them would involve hiring a lawyer or a private investigator to prove her innocence and that, of course, would cost money. Precious money she couldn’t afford.
So she was back to square one. She had no means of fighting the injustice done against her, no way of proving it unless she found the money from somewhere.
She was still burning millions of brain cells over the issue when her doorbell rang just after nine. Setting Gianni’s breakfast of Marmite soldiers down in front of him, she brushed crumbs from her fingers and went to answer it.
Rocco stood on her doorstep, large, imposing and dangerously handsome, dressed from head to toe in black. Her stomach executed a perfect triple somersault, the blood rushing through her veins at the speed of light, both independent actions causing her a light-headedness that had her clinging to the doorknob for support.
He really had no right to look this good first thing in the morning, she thought bitterly, especially when she knew she looked far less than her best, her brief glimpse of herself in the bathroom mirror as she’d splashed water on her face having confirmed that fact.
‘You look like you’re going to a funeral. And did your hearing die along with your conscience? I distinctly recall asking you not to come back.’ The words spilt from her lips before she could stop them but she refused to take them back, simply because she hated the way he made her heart beat twice as fast just with his presence; hated the way he made every cell in her body sing with life and her legs turn to jelly just by being there; she hated the way he seemed to glow with life when she felt worse than death. Most of all she hated the clamouring instinct that warned her he wasn’t here to enquire about her health.
‘Still get testy when you don’t get enough sleep?’ he countered smoothly, his lips twitching with amusement, before slipping his impressive bulk past her to enter her cottage.
‘Whether I did or not is nothing to do with you,’ she forced through clenched teeth only to grit them further when he sent her a mocking glance. ‘What are you doing here anyway?’ Conscious of Gianni in the next room, she tried for an even tone, even though she wanted to shriek the words at him.
‘You really expect me to stay away after what I discovered yesterday?’ he questioned, incredulous.
She turned to shut the door, taking a few precious moments to regroup. When she turned, he was facing her, his intense blue eyes narrowed as he raked her from head to toe. The scrutiny did nothing to ease the pounding in her chest or the sudden careening of butterflies in her stomach when his return gaze paused for an indecent amount of time on her breasts.
‘I was hoping you’d respect my wishes, yes.’ Her voice emerged shaky and slightly feeble. She cursed herself. And him. His ability to upset her equilibrium with just a look wasn’t going down well in light of her tumultuous feelings this morning.
‘Don’t be so naïve, Mia. I have a son whose existence I’ve only just been made aware of. I intend to form a relationship with him. Unfortunately for you, no amount of wishing on your part will make that fact disappear. I’ve already informed Nonna that her suspicions were right.’
Where she’d failed miserably, his tone was smooth and even, moderated, she suspected, for the sake of Gianni, who was banging on his high chair in the kitchen.
As if pulled by a magnet, Rocco turned towards the sound.
‘Wait,’ she whispered urgently, although she knew she was only delaying the inevitable.
