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The ferocity of his tone dried her words.
Rocco’s grandmother meant the world to him, which meant she’d become immediately important to Mia. It hadn’t been difficult to see why Rocco worshipped the ground his nonna walked on. Her instant, unconditional affection had soothed the deep ache caused by the circumstances of her own mother’s distance and indifference and the slow decline in her health Mia attributed to her lifelong bitterness and apathy.
‘It was never my intention to upset her.’
Rocco inhaled deeply. ‘I’ll give you one last chance. Tell me why I’m here.’
‘Perhaps your hearing is faulty, Rocco. I didn’t summon you here. So why don’t you tell me why you are here,’ she tossed back, fighting rising panic.
He didn’t answer. After several heartbeats, his gaze left hers to conduct a survey of the shabby clutter of the tiny room.
The furniture had seen better days, but wasn’t threadbare. Her grandmother had taken pride in her home, unlike the tiny flat Mia had shared with her mother. That home had reeked of apathy, despair and bitterness, and it’d shown in everything from the dark curtains to the cold floors and the callous disregard Mia had endured. All because she’d deigned to be born.
Mia was a little ashamed to admit that, mingled with the guilt she’d felt at distancing herself from her mother’s cold orbit at the first chance she got by taking a job first in London, and then in Italy, had been a tinge of relief.
But with every dispiriting visit and phone call in those intervening years before ill health had claimed her mother, Mia had been plagued with doubt as to her own worthiness. As to whether she would visit the same indifference and apathy on her future offspring.
It was why she’d been terrified of motherhood. Why she’d refused to even contemplate such a sacred and lifelong undertaking. How could she? When she had no clue what maternal love was? When she had no way of ascertaining whether her mother’s bitterness had rubbed off on her and risked being transferred to her own child?
Of course, she’d had her answer the moment Gianni was placed in her arms.
Gianni.
Thoughts of her son grounded her in the present.
She watched Rocco inspect her house.
She’d taken down the framed pictures and boxed them away so she could repair the peeling paint, but her dwindling finances had stalled that project. Cheap rugs provided relief from the cold hardwood floors and a place for Gianni to play in front of the grated fire when the weather was too cold.
It took seconds for Rocco to take this all in, for his gaze to snap back to trap hers.
‘You need money, sì? Judging from the state of this place, you’re short on cash.’ His head snapped up. ‘Are you sick?’
‘No.’
Suspicion narrowing his eyes, he nudged a finger under her chin. ‘But you need cash?’
Of course she needed cash. Thanks to his effective blacklisting, she’d been forced to give up her much-cherished career. Any other means of earning a living while caring for Gianni was virtually non-existent and the last of her savings was almost gone. But she’d crawl on hot coals to hell before she admitted it to the man responsible for ripping her life apart.
Her hands tightened on the chair. ‘I need nothing from you. Except for you to leave my house.’ Before she did the unthinkable, like give in to the need to touch him.
Go. Please, just go.
Finally, he dropped his hand. She immediately berated herself for wishing it back.
‘I’m beginning to think this has been an...unfortunate mistake.’
She exhaled in relief. ‘Can I trust that it won’t happen again?’ As long as there were no repercussions, she would be grateful.
Icy disdain tightened his face as he turned away. ‘I dismissed you from my life long ago. Believe that I’ve no wish to set eyes on you again.’
‘Trust me, I feel the same.’ Her voice emerged with a calm she didn’t feel. Inside, she wanted to scream. She clamped her mouth together as tears threatened, stung into being by his harsh words.
Blinking furiously, she watched him leave from behind the solid safety of her chair, even now unable to stop herself from feasting hungry eyes on his broad back, recalling the warmth of his skin under her searching caress, the silky luxury of his hair she’d once loved to run her fingers through.
He paused at the door. ‘I don’t know who orchestrated this meeting, but I will get to the bottom of this incident. And whoever is responsible will pay.’
She managed a stiff smile, her muscles threatening to seize up from the rigid control she kept on them. ‘You still haven’t told me why you came here in the first place, but, since I’m not responsible, I don’t much care. Goodbye, Rocco.’
