A Dark Sicilian Secret

“If his whereabouts were discovered, he’d be a dead man.”

The detective closed his notebook. “As would his family.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

JILLIAN woke up with sunlight pouring through the windows. She hadn’t drawn the drapes last night when she’d gone to bed. Instead she’d stayed up late, leafing through Italian Vogue and French Elle, magazines Maria had loaned her, waiting for Vittorio to return.

He hadn’t, though.

He’d remained out all night. Or if he had returned, he’d slept elsewhere.

The fact that he’d stayed away worried her. He’d been so upset with her yesterday. And she knew she deserved his anger, but she was also desperate to patch things up. She didn’t know how to live in his house and be shunned by him.

Jillian bathed and dressed quickly before heading to Joe’s nursery to check on him. He wasn’t there so she went in search of him, knowing he had to be with Maria.

But he wasn’t with Maria. He was with his father having breakfast on the terrace just off the dining room.

The soft pink-tinged morning light painted the terrace’s pale stones rose and gold. Large clay pots lined the terrace, and beyond the balustrade the valley and snow-capped Mt Etna dominated the view.

“Good morning,” Jillian said huskily, turning her back on green-and-yellow hills dotted with orchards and farmhouses to face Vitt and Joe.

“'Morning,” Vitt answered, breaking up a breakfast roll into little pieces for Joe who sat in a tall antique high chair at Vitt’s elbow.

She noticed that he barely looked at her and his tone bordered on cold. “May I join you?” she asked uncertainly even as she leaned over to give Joe a kiss.

“It’s your home,” he said, sounding completely disinterested.

She breathed in Joe’s warmth and baby scent for courage before straightening and taking a seat at the glass-topped table.

Kitchen staff immediately appeared to place another setting for her and offer her a choice of espresso or American style drip coffee. Jillian chose the drip coffee and then clutched her hands in her lap to hide her nervousness.

“When did you get back?” she asked, struggling to keep her voice light and normal.

“Last night.”

Her heart fell and ridiculous tears burned the back of her eyes. So where had he slept? And why hadn’t he come to their room? “How did your meeting go?”

“It was interesting.”

“That’s good.” She forced her lips up into a brittle smile and then caught Joe’s eye. He was staring at her as he fed himself a bite of the bread. She smiled more warmly even as her eyes felt grittier, saltier. Please God, don’t let her cry.

“Tell me about your family,” Vitt said abruptly, leaning back in his chair. “You never talk about them.”

“I.I’m not sure what you want to know.”

“Tell me about your father. You said he was a businessman. Sales, I think you said.”

She nodded woodenly. “Yes.”

“And you moved a lot growing up?”

“Yes.”

His eyes narrowed a fraction. “Where were you born?”

“De—” Jillian broke off, bit her tongue, realizing she’d come dangerously close to telling him the very things the government had insisted she never share. “Dallas.”

“Dallas?” he repeated, head tipping to the side. “Which hospital?”