Nicolo: The Powerful Sicilian

She couldn’t believe Nicolo had offered to do it or that she’d accepted, she knew only that for the first time since her mother had been placed in the institution, walking through the doors and into the brightly lit, overly cheerful reception area didn’t send tremors of anxiety through her. She never knew what to expect. Mama might be cheerful today; she might be despairing. She might not even acknowledge Alessia’s presence, but no matter.

Alessia could face anything; Nicolo was with her.

As it turned out, her mother was at her best. She knew Alessia, smiled and offered Nicolo her hand when Alessia introduced him.

Nick raised her hand to his lips. “Now I know where your daughter gets her beauty, principessa,” he said with a smile.

They didn’t stay long. Her mother’s private duty nurse appeared and said it was time for her nap.

“Alessia,” the princess said, “you must bring your handsome fiancé to see me again.”

“Oh, no, Mama. Nicolo isn’t—”

“I’ll see to it that she does,” Nick said, squeezing Alessia’s hand.

So what if Alessia’s mother believed he was engaged to her daughter? Nick thought as they drove back to the villa on the hilltop. From what Alessia had said, she probably wouldn’t remember meeting him. Why not let her be happy, if only for today?

Besides, the real happiness would be that of the lucky guy who could someday truly make that claim.

Nick felt a strange constriction in his throat. He looked at his lover. Then he reached for her hand and wove his fingers through hers.

Time passed with startling speed.

Nick had previously phoned his PA, arranged for her to shift meetings and appointments. He’d lucked out with the Chicago deal—the banker he was to meet with had to cancel. The same with the Beijing appointment; the Chinese associate had called to ask if they could postpone their meeting for a few weeks.

On a sunny morning, he and Alessia drove to Florence. It turned out that what he’d packed in his carry-on was only enough to take him just so far.

“Man cannot live by one suit, jeans, running shorts and a tux alone,” he’d intoned solemnly that morning, to the sweet sound of her laughter, and she, female to the marrow of her bones, had happily dragged him from shop to shop while he acquired new clothes.

It was her turn, he said after lunch. Over her protests, he stepped inside a shop that bore an elegant name and instructed the beaming sales clerk to outfit his lady from head to toe.

Alone while Alessia tried on dresses and trousers and anything and everything the clerk brought out for his approval, Nick took out his cell phone and did what he’d been putting off doing. He phoned his brothers, a three-way call, Dante and Rafe and him, because Falco was still off on his honeymoon.

“Hey,” Rafe said, “where the heck are you, man?”

“In Florence. I’m, ah, I’m on business for the old man.”

He could almost see his brothers roll their eyes.

“Yeah,” Dante said, “we figured he finally trapped you. How’s it going?”

Alessia stepped onto the round platform in front of him and twirled in a circle. The blues, greens and violets of a very short, very strapless dress swirled around her thighs.

“Nick? How’s it going?”

Nick cleared his throat. “Fine. Just fine.”

“What’s he got you doing, anyway?”

Alessia raised her eyebrows. Nick grinned, gave the dress a thumbs-up.

“Oh, this and that,” he said casually. “You know.”

In New York, sitting across from each other at a desk, Dante and Rafe looked meaningfully at each other.

Uh-oh, Dante mouthed, and Rafe nodded in agreement.

“Listen, man,” Rafe said, “if we can help…”