A Dark Sicilian Secret(18)

His eyes never strayed from her face, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. “And what would you rather me tell her? The truth? That you ran away when my eighteen-year-old maid told you I was a member of the mafia? That you then hid your pregnancy from me, and then kept my son from me after his birth? Would that be better, Jill?”

She stared into his dark eyes with the flecks of amber around the black pupil. He might be smiling but his expression was one of utter resolve. He was not going to relent. “No,” she said after a moment.

“So we have to come up with a suitable story, one that compromises our integrity as little as possible, because I don’t like lying to family. I don’t believe in lying, much less deceiving my father and mother. But I have a son to think of and I would sacrifice everything to ensure his well-being.”

And looking at him, at the steely determination in those dark eyes fringed by the thickest, blackest of lashes, she believed him. But she also believed that there was always more than one way to accomplish something. Life was full of possibilities. There were always options, and those needed to be considered. “You don’t need to marry me to introduce Joe as your son. He is your son. He will always be your son—”

“Your point being?”

“That it would be easier for both you, and Joe, if you didn’t marry me. Introduce me as Joe’s mother. Let your mother think the worst…that I’m a floozy, or a gold digger, or whatever. But at least this way she’ll be mad at me, rather than at you.”

One of his dark eyebrows lifted. “How good of you to martyr yourself on our behalf. It’s gratifying to know you do still have feelings for me.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“What did you mean?”

Jillian flushed. “That she’ll be angry.”

“Undoubtedly.” He shrugged philosophically. “But I am an adult, a man and the head of my family. I do not answer to my mother, and nor should you fear her. As long as you play your part of the doting wife, she’ll eventually be happy.”

The words doting wife echoed loudly in her head. Jillian’s throat sealed closed. What else would she be? After all, she was the eldest daughter of a famous Detroit mobster. Why shouldn’t she be married to the head of the Sicilian mob?

And then she pictured her sister, followed by an explosion of color. Her sister’s blue, blue eyes. The red-and-gold flames of the car burning. The black-and-white ink of the newspaper article covering twenty-one-year-old Katie Smith’s death.

At least her sister died quickly.

At least she hadn’t seen it coming.

“Surely there are other options we could explore,” she said after a moment. “Roles that would require less acting…roles that would be less of a stretch.”

“And what role would that be? My son’s nanny? My mistress? My what, Jill Smith? Just what role would you now choose to play in life?”

“Joe’s mother.”

“And you may. Provided you’re married to Joe’s father.”

She cringed at the way he said Joe. He meant for her to cringe, too.

“My family has a disreputable history, a history you’ve thrown in my face. But my father has worked hard to change the past, and I’ve continued his fight. We’ve worked too hard, sacrificed too much, to have Joseph inherit scorn or scandal. No one is to know he was born out of wedlock,” Vittorio continued quietly. “He is not to grow up marked by shame.”

They were still climbing but Vittorio downed what was left of his champagne and ignoring the seat belt sign, rose.

“The ceremony will take place in the next half hour, before the baby wakes,” he said, looking down at her. “Find something appropriate in your suitcase for the ceremony, something elegant and festive. Something that could pass for celebratory. I don’t expect you to wear white, but silver, gold or cream would be nice. After all, we’ll want good memories to help us remember our special day.”





CHAPTER FOUR



JILLIAN fumed in her cabin as she confronted her open suitcase. Silver, gold or cream? Something celebratory for their ceremony?

Ha! He was out of his mind. His power had clearly gone to his head. There was no way she was going to dress up in a sparkly party dress for their vows. Because this wasn’t a special occasion and she wasn’t celebrating.

He was the one insisting on the wedding. He was the one forcing her hand.