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He rubbed his hands together and got to his feet. ‘Eccellente. Let’s get going.’
‘Transfer the money and then we can go.’
‘You don’t want it in cash?’
‘I’d prefer it transferred.’
He sighed and pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket. ‘Name of the account?’
‘Miss Orla O’Reilly.’
He looked up briefly with a frown. ‘You don’t want it in your own account?’
‘The money’s not for me. It’s for our sister and nephew. Orla’s skint and the money you’re going to give her once you’ve had the DNA test could take weeks to come through.’
‘You’re not going to keep any of the million for yourself?’
‘I’ll get her to buy me a pizza from it.’
Was she for real? ‘Are you looking for a sainthood?’
She threw her school teacher stare at him again.
He shrugged. If she wanted to let the entire million slip through her fingers, that was her loss. ‘The account details?’
She recited them to him.
He looked up from his phone again. ‘You know your sister’s bank details by heart?’
‘She was in a bad car accident three years ago that left her in a coma. I took care of all her finances and stuff while she was in hospital and recovering from her injuries.’
‘Is that why her son was born prematurely?’
A dimness filtered over the grey eyes. She nodded.
Why this information should make his finger hover over the sum he was about to transfer, he did not know. This time yesterday he hadn’t even known of Orla’s existence.
Had his father known she’d been injured?
Had his father known he had a grandchild?
A fresh barb sliced through him at the reminder of the secrets and lies his father had kept from him for twenty-seven years.
Dante stared at the beautiful redhead, knowing he had to keep his focus on the primary reason for keeping her in Sicily and paying her such a substantial amount of money. Aislin was the key to convincing Riccardo D’Amore that he was not the sum of his parents’ parts. Just because they shared a sister did not mean he could allow himself to be side-tracked. Orla’s accident was history…
But the after-effects lived on in her son. His nephew.
They were nothing to do with him, he told himself grimly. They were strangers to him and would remain that way. A shared bloodline did not make them family and, even if it did, Dante had had enough of family.
He’d loved his mother with all his boyish heart and she’d abandoned him. He’d been close to his grandparents but their constant sniping and bad-mouthing of each other, and their respective expectations that he would take sides, had been a drain. His extended family were just as bad. He’d adored his father. Salvatore had been a fantastic if unconventional father when Dante had been small, father and son always there for each other through all the ups and downs life had thrown at them; and now he’d learned that beneath that closeness had been the most monstrous of secrets.
His father had been a gambler and a playboy but Dante would have trusted him with his life.
Turned out his father had been the greatest liar of them all.
Why embrace a sister when every other member of his bloodline had lied, abandoned or emotionally abused him?
No more. He was better on his own.
