Nicolo: The Powerful Sicilian

A stern-faced woman named Signorina Felini taught her otherwise.

Signorina Felini had been hired specifically for her supposed expertise in science. Almost from the start, things went badly.

When she could not explain why the moon was sometimes full and sometimes barely a sliver, Alessia went to the villa’s huge library, found a book on astronomy and, with a little diligent research, found the answer. The signorina was not pleased, nor was she pleased when Alessia corrected her version of why there were different seasons in the year.

The end came when Alessia asked what would it would be like if an astronaut fell into the sun.

“Such a thing is impossible,” said Signorina Felini brusquely.

“You mean, he’d burn up before he reached it?” Alessia asked.

Her teacher frowned. “The sun is up there. All else is down here. That is why no one could possibly fall into it.”

Alessia’s mother happened to overhear the conversation. Nella Antoninni knew little about the sun and the sky but she knew enough to put an end to the signorina’s employment. A new tutor with a provable degree in earth sciences took her place.

One night, after Alessia and Nicolo had been together for almost two weeks, she awoke to his kisses on the nape of her neck, the sexy stroke of his fingers on her nipples. And just before she lost herself in passion she suddenly thought, This is how it would be to fall into the sun.

Flame. Heat. Knowing that you were burning up and not caring, never caring because soon you would be reborn…

Except, she thought the next day, as she put her foot into the palm of her lover’s hand and let him help her into the saddle of the mare she’d taken to riding, except she had already been reborn.

She was Nicolo’s lover. And he was hers.

Her lover. And—and her love.

The realization swept through her, left her breathless. She clung to the mare’s reins, watching as Nicolo swung onto the back of a black stallion, her eyes, her very soul, taking in his beauty, his grace, his power, his air of command. He was sexy and gorgeous, a man any woman would want….

But love wasn’t possible. That couldn’t be what she felt. Love didn’t come this quickly, not unless it happened in fairy tales and this was the real world, not a fairy tale. She couldn’t love him. She was confusing love with passion. With desire. And yes, she desired him all the time. His arms around her. His mouth on her. His hands exploring her. His body, possessing hers…

“Alessia.” Nicolo’s voice was low. Rough. His eyes were hot as he watched her. “What are you thinking?”

Her heart was a swollen balloon, about to burst. She was sure he knew precisely what she was thinking. All she had to do was whisper her answer.

You, she would say, as she had so many times the past days, and he would get down from his horse, hold up his arms and she would go into them and he would take her to the villa and even before their bedroom door closed, they’d be undressing each other, touching each other and perhaps this time, this time as he entered her he would say, Alessia, my Alessia…

“Principessa? Signore? Scusi, per favore…il principe—vostro padre—lui è qui!”

The maid who’d come after them was breathless with excitement. It was, evidently, one thing to deal with a princess—but a prince, the Prince Antoninni…

Alessia all but groaned. Her father was here. He would spoil her happiness. He would demand something, anything, and despite the fact that she was an adult, that she was here with her lover, she felt her heart start to plummet.

“Sweetheart?” She blinked. Nicolo stood beside the mare, arms raised, not to carry her to bed but to a confrontation with her father.

“Baby,” he said softly, “come to me.” And she all but tumbled into his outstretched arms.

Her safe haven, she thought in wonder. Her safe, warm haven against the world.

The visit didn’t last long.

Nick wasn’t very surprised. Though he had never before met the prince, he’d formed an opinion of him and it wasn’t complimentary.

Antoninni’s daughter was virtually living with a stranger. Yes, she was old enough to make her own choices. Still, if a man’s daughter became involved with a stranger, wouldn’t he want to have a conversation with that stranger, face-to-face? Wouldn’t he be interested in getting a feel for his daughter’s lover?

Logically, the answer was “no.” Nick couldn’t recall ever meeting any of his mistress’s fathers. Still, this was Italy. This was Tuscany. It was a place still caught in the cultural trappings of an earlier time.

And then there was the fact that Antoninni had gone to an acknowledged crime boss for a loan. That, the same as Alessia, he probably assumed that Nicolo, by virtue of being Cesare’s son, was a thug, too.

Add it all up and that changed things, didn’t it?