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“The sun was shining today and I am alive. What could be better?”
Vitt grinned. “Not much, Nonnie.”
His grandmother nodded at Jillian, who was still in the corner with his sisters. “How did this happen?”
“The baby?”
She narrowed her eyes. “I know how babies are made. I had nine of them. But how is it we are only meeting your family now?”
He shrugged. “There were problems. We’re working them out.”
“Good. Children need their mother and father together in one house.”
“I agree.”
She tipped her head, considering Jillian. “She’s Italian, isn’t she? Maybe even Sicilian. Look at her nose, the cheekbones, you can see it in her face.”
His grandmother was smart. He smiled at her and patted her hand. “Would you like to meet her?”
“Why do you think I’m here?”
Laughing softly, he rose to get Jill, but before he could pry Jill away from his sisters, his mother entered the dining room then, pushing his father’s wheelchair.
Vitt hadn’t seen his father since arriving home and approached his father right away, bending over the wheelchair to kiss his father on the
cheek. “Father, you look well. What have you been doing? Chasing Madre around the bedroom?”
His father’s dark eyes shone, and his mouth pulled into a smile. “Impudent dog,” his father said, his voice distorted by the ventilator helping him breathe.
Vittorio had always admired his father, but one of the things he enjoyed most about his father was his sense of humor. “Everyone tells me I take after you.”
Salvatore rolled his eyes before looking toward the corner. “Is that your wife talking to your sisters?”
“Yes.”
“Go get her. I’m anxious to meet her.”
Jillian startled when Vitt suddenly touched her low on her back. “My father wants to meet you,” he said quietly as he drew her away from the others. “He speaks with difficulty, and it’s not always easy to understand him, so please be patient,” he said, leading her across the room to where his father sat.
Jillian’s breath caught in her throat as she spotted the family resemblance between Vitt and his father. Salvatore d’Severano was tall like Vitt, and very broad-shouldered, and while probably once powerfully built, he was now thin, his body stooped, the muscles connecting his large frame slack from years of atrophy.
But while his body appeared frail, his dark eyes burned with a fierce intelligence and his intense gaze seemed to see everything as she approached his wheelchair.
“Did he have a stroke?” she asked, suddenly terribly nervous.
“No. He was shot. It left him paralyzed.”
“He’s a quadriplegic?”
“Yes.”
And then they’d arrived at Salvatore’s side and Vittorio again made the introductions. “Father, this is my wife, Jill. Jill, this is my father, Salvatore d’Severano.”
“Hello, Mr. d’Severano,” she said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“There’s no mister here,” he answered gruffly. “You are my daughter now. Welcome to the family.”
“Thank you.” Her voice was pitched low. “That means a great deal to me.”
