Brunetti's Secret Son

Why? So he could continue to live in this fool’s paradise?

‘I’ve learned to my cost that there’s a difference between listening and hearing.’

Romeo’s mouth twisted. ‘You sound like a damn agony-aunt talk-show host. A very bad one.’

‘Mock all you want. You’ll learn the difference soon enough.’

Used to Zaccheo providing solid, formidable opinions when needed, Romeo wondered whether his friend was going soft in the head. A glance at him as he strolled to the window to look down at the beach where his wife and Maisie had headed proved otherwise. The ruthless man was behind those strong features.

Zaccheo turned towards him. ‘What are we going to do about Palermo? We need to resolve it soon before my wife decides she doesn’t want to be married to me any more, either.’ The mocking tone belied the brutal intent in his face.

Romeo shook his head. ‘Fattore’s absurd demands started all of this. Eva’s right. You need to be with her and the boys in New York. I’ll handle Lorenzo and Carmelo.’

The old man was what had set all this in motion. And while he was grateful for having his son in his life, he couldn’t let the nuisance carry on any longer.

The need to teach Fattore’s ex-lieutenant a salutary lesson charged through him and he rolled his tense shoulders. ‘I should’ve gone with my instincts and cut Lorenzo off at the knees much sooner, instead of entertaining his foolishness.’

‘You needed time to find out what he was capable of.’

‘And now I have.’

His phone buzzed and he looked at the screen. Speak of the devil.

‘Lorenzo.’ His blood boiled as he put his phone on speaker. ‘You’ve saved me the trouble of a phone call.’

‘Bene. You have good news for me, I hope.’

‘I don’t deal in hope, old man. Never have,’ Romeo snarled.

Zaccheo gave a grim smile and sipped his whisky.

‘Whether you like it or not, you have blood ties to this family. Your father left it to you. You can’t just turn your back on it.’

Romeo exhaled through the need to punch something. He managed to suppress his rage and frustration and glanced at Zaccheo.

The man he considered his only friend also wore an expression of quiet rage. Romeo knew Zaccheo had learned a thing or two about seeking retribution from his wrongful imprisonment several years ago. Just as he knew the threat against his sons would need to be answered.

But he also knew getting dragged into a Mafia war wasn’t what either of them wanted. What he wanted was to be done with this in a single, definitive way.

He hardened his voice so there would be no mistaking his intent.

‘You’ve insisted on shoving my parentage down my throat every chance you got to suit your needs. Well, you got your wish. I’ll be in Palermo in seventy-two hours. I promise, you won’t like the news I deliver.’

He ended the call and threw the phone on the sofa. About to down his drink, he noticed Zaccheo’s rising tension as he stared at the beach far below. In a split second, his friend’s disbelieving expression turned into bewilderment. ‘Madre di Dio, is that...? Are they...?’

Romeo followed his gaze, and horror swept through him. ‘Yes, they’re swimming in the ocean,’ he supplied grimly. And Maisie was further out, almost at the point where the ocean floor dipped dangerously.

‘Porca miseria, only my wife would decide to swim in the Pacific Ocean fully clothed and at five months pregnant with twins.’ He sprinted towards the door with Romeo fast on his heels.

They reached the beach in minutes, with Zaccheo a few feet ahead of him, just as Eva waded ashore. Romeo didn’t have to guess that she was exhausted, despite the sheer exhilaration on her face.

Exhilaration that turned into wary apprehension when she spotted her husband’s thunderous look. She put out her hands. ‘Zaccheo—’

‘Not a single word, dolcezza, if you know what’s good for you,’ he sliced at her, before scooping her into his arms and striding off the beach.

Romeo rushed past them, toeing off his socks and shoes. He’d discarded his jacket and shirt as they raced from the villa. He dived into the water, striking out for the lone figure a quarter of a mile away.

He reached Maisie in minutes. And she had the audacity to look at him with a puzzled expression.

‘What are you doing out here? Is Eva all right?’ she asked.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ he snapped.

‘I thought it was obvious.’ She searched the beach, her face turning anxious. ‘Is—’