A Dark Sicilian Secret

He made it sound so simple. Just step into his car…just look at the papers.

He must think she’d forgotten just how powerful he was. He must think she didn’t remember how seductive and attractive she’d found him.

If she took that one small step, climbed into his car, she feared she’d never be safe—or sane—again.

Jillian swallowed hard, her senses already overloaded. Tall and broad-shouldered, Vitt was undeniably attractive, but twenty months ago she’d fallen for more than his body. She’d loved his mind. He was brilliant. Probably the most intelligent man she’d ever met and she’d enjoyed talking to him more than she’d enjoyed talking to anyone.

Vitt could discuss politics and economics, history and culture, arts and sciences. He’d traveled extensively and obviously had loads of money, but he’d played no games. He’d been warm, sensual—and except for the odd strange phone call, and the sudden secret meetings—he’d been totally available.

And like a love-starved puppy, she’d lapped it all up, soaking it in.

Seeing him again reminded her of just how much she’d liked him and wanted him.

Seeing him again made her realize she’d never be immune to him. “I don’t trust you,” she said, her voice husky with emotion.

“The problem in a nutshell.”

“Don’t mock me.”

“I’m not. But your lack of trust has created terrible problems for both of us.”

She looked away, bit her lip hard, so hard it drew blood. “I want to see the paperwork, but I won’t get into your car,” she said steeling herself, suppressing all emotion. “Don’t try to make me.”

Vittorio was still walking toward her and he slid his hands into his black coat’s pockets. “I didn’t want it this way, cara. I didn’t want it hard on you.” He was just a foot away now and she scrambled to the side. He moved past her, heading to the open limousine door. “But if you insist,” he added with an eloquent shrug, “then so be it. We’ll do it this way.”

Vittorio ducked his head and slid into the backseat of the car with its tinted windows. Jillian watched as one of the bodyguards climbed into the car and then the other. Vitt’s men weren’t coming for her after all. They were going to leave her alone.

She should have felt relief. Instead she felt fear and dread claw at her throat.

Something was wrong, very, very wrong, because Vittorio would never give up, which meant, if he was leaving her here, and letting her go, he’d already won.

He had Joe. He’d found her son.

Stomach heaving, she rushed toward the car, throwing herself at the door to prevent it from closing. “What have you done?”

Vitt looked at her from the interior of the car. The car’s yellow-white light cast hard shadows on his face, making his eyes look almost black and his expression fierce. “It’s what you wanted.”

“What I want is for my son, my baby, to be with me. That’s what I want—”

“No, you had that opportunity and you turned it down. You said you wanted to be left alone. I am leaving you…alone.”

Jillian didn’t remember moving or launching herself at him, but suddenly she was in the car and the limousine was moving and she was sitting on the black leather seat, next to Vittorio with his two thugs on the seat across from theirs.

“Calm yourself,” Vittorio repeated. “Joseph is fine. He’s in my safekeeping and with the court’s permission, will be flying to Paterno with me tonight.”

Jillian’s stomach rose and fell and panicked, she searched Vitt’s eyes for the truth. “You’re bluffing.”

“No, cara, I’m not bluffing. We had an early lunch together, Joseph and I. He’s a delightful little boy, full of charm and intelligence, although I wouldn’t put him in yellow again. It doesn’t suit him.”

For a moment she couldn’t breathe. Nor could she think. Everything within her froze, and died a little bit.

She’d dressed Joe in a golden-yellow T-shirt this morning and tiny adorable blue jeans. She’d thought he looked like sunshine and it’d made her smile and kiss his neck where he smelled so sweet. “What have you done with him?”

“Besides treat him to a healthy lunch and ask that he be put down for a nap? Nothing. Should I have?”

“Vittorio.” Her voice was hoarse, anguished. “This isn’t a game.”

“You’ve made it one, Jillian. You’ve only yourself to blame.”