“So, this is the SOB, Rio D’Aquila,” one of the men growled.
“Maybe he prefers his alias,” another man snarled.
“Not that it matters,” a third added.
“It damned well doesn’t,” a fourth said, “because he’s going to be hurting really bad, whatever he calls himself.”
Rio nodded. “Fists first, facts later? That’s fine, if that’s what you want, but at least leave me conscious long enough so I can tell you why I’m here.”
Nobody laughed but then, Rio hadn’t meant it as a joke.
It had taken him three weeks to get past his rage at being used by Isabella, another week before he’d let himself feel the pain of what had happened—
And then, finally, a couple of days ago, he’d come to his senses.
He didn’t believe a word she’d said about sleeping with him because he was socially beneath her. That absolutely was not his Isabella.
As for her having pretended to be inexperienced—he didn’t believe that, either. And even if she had been sexually experienced, it wouldn’t have mattered.
He loved her. He adored her.
And she loved him.
What else could possibly matter?
Her love for him had been in her smile, her touch, her voice, her kisses. She loved him, he loved her, and they were apart because he’d been a stupid, arrogant ass.
He’d told himself she had to give him a second chance.
Really? a sly voice within him had whispered. Just think of how you hurt her. She doesn’t “have” to give you anything.
By last night, he’d been close to crazy. He needed a plan. A logical plan. Logic was what had built him a fortune. Surely, it could win back a woman’s heart.
And suddenly, late this afternoon, it had come to him. A plan. Logical, imaginative, one that would surely work.
He’d headed straight for Tiffany’s.
A gift a day. A heart a day. Diamonds, rubies, sapphires. Yellow gold. White gold. Platinum. All with notes saying he loved her. What woman would resist?
His Isabella. That was who.
The realization hit him as he looked at an exquisite array of jeweled hearts. Pendants. Earrings. Bracelets. Beautiful, all of them—but nothing like this would win Isabella.
Flowers, perhaps. Something simple and beautiful, flowers every day for a week, for a month …
Flowers? For a woman whose life was filled with them?
Rio had thanked the sales clerk. He said he’d look around a little more and he strolled slowly through the store, hoping some brilliant idea would come to him.
A couple was standing near a display case. Rio barely noticed them—but he overheard them.
“Someday,” the man said softly, “someday, babe, I’ll buy you everything in this case. I love you, you know. You—and our baby, growing inside you.”
Our baby, growing inside you …
Rio damned near stopped breathing. He swung toward the couple. The man had his arm around his wife.
His very, very pregnant wife.
Dio! How could he have forgotten that night he’d made love to Isabella without a condom? For all he knew, she might be carrying his child.
Suddenly, there was no time to waste on plans. He knew exactly what he had to do.
A quick call to his lawyer to set things in motion. Within a couple of hours he had what he needed: the location of the bar he’d heard Dante and the rest of the Orsini brothers owned—and the fact that the brothers met there almost every Friday night.
This was a Friday night.
And now, he was here, facing her brothers and a man he figured had to be the formidable Anna’s husband.
They looked as if they wanted to kill him.
He didn’t blame them—but they couldn’t kill him before he told them the truth. Part of the truth, anyway. He had no intention of telling them Isabella might be pregnant. That was too private, too special.
It was between the two of them.
“Well?” the one called Falco said. “You have something to say, say it. Then we’ll beat the crap out of you.”
Rio took a deep breath. “I’m in love with Isabella.”
Four of them laughed. Not Dante, the man who had once been his friend. Dante simply narrowed his eyes.
“We’re supposed to believe a lie told by a liar?”
Rio flushed.
“I lied about who I was. It was stupid but—”
The man called Nick said something vicious and moved forward. Dante put out a hand.
“Let him finish.”
“But I thought it was harmless. I never intended to—to become involved with your sister.”
“Involved,” the one called Rafe said coldly.
All of the men had moved closer, as if to wall him in.
“That was what it was, at first,” Rio said flatly. “Then it changed. And I wanted to tell her the truth.”
“Why didn’t you?” Anna’s husband said.
A muscle knotted in Rio’s jaw.
“I would have,” he said. “But I was afraid I’d lose her.”
“You mean,” Falco said, “you’d lose your innocent little toy.”
“I mean,” Rio said quietly, “I was afraid I’d lose the woman I’d fallen in love with.”
“That’s an interesting story,” Falco said coldly. “Let’s see if we have it straight. You wanted to take our sister to bed, so you told her a lie. Then you fell in love with her, so you went on with the lie.”
Rio looked at Dante. “I was going to tell her that night you showed up. I asked you to give us a few minutes alone, remember?”
“And he didn’t,” Nick said. “Tough.”
“He didn’t, no. And then Isabella said some things—”
“Oh,” Dante said with icy sarcasm, “and she hurt your feelings.”
Rio flushed. “I’m not proud of it, of being so—so goddamned pathetic that I let myself believe what my heart should have known wasn’t true.”
“Pathetic is right,” Falco said. “If a man loves a woman he’d never believe lies about her.”
“Not necessarily true,” said Nick uncomfortably. He knew, all too well, how easy it was to be a dumb SOB who’d listen to his head instead of his heart.
Silence. Then Rafe said, “So, what now? Why are you here?”
“Yeah,” Dante said. “If any of this is
true, why are you here instead of at Izzy’s?”
“I’m here,” Rio said, “because I was born in Italy and I’ve lived my life in Brazil. Both cultures are my own—and there are still those Italians and Brazilians who think it proper to go to the family of the woman you love and tell them you are going to marry her.”
For some reason, the Orsini brothers all looked at Draco
Valenti, who nodded in a way that made it clear confronting the family of the woman you loved made a lot of sense to him.
“You sound very sure of yourself, D’Aquila.”
“I am sure of the fact that I love Isabella and she loves me.”
In any other circle, such male arrogance might have raised some eyebrows. In this bunch, it brought nods of the head.
“We love each other,” Rio said. His voice took on an edge. “And all of you better get used to it.”
Dante raised his eyebrows. So did the others.
“Well, well, well,” he said softly. Then he stuck out his hand. “Go for it,” he said.
Rio shook Dante’s hand, then the hands of the others.
“I’m happy to have met you all,” he said formally.
“Yeah,” Falco said. “But if our Izzy kicks you out, you’ll meet us again—and next time, you won’t be so happy about it.”
The six men grinned at each other, and then Rio hurried from the room.
Isabella sat on the sofa in her tiny living room, shoes kicked aside, bare feet up on the coffee table.
She was exhausted, but not from gardening.
She’d had to stop digging and kneeling and sweating in the sun. You couldn’t do those things and then toss your cookies all over a client’s toes, not if you wanted to keep those clients.
Besides, she’d had something more important to do today.
She’d bought half a dozen early morning pregnancy test kits on her way home from Anna’s last night and finally found the courage to use them this morning.
The EPTs had made things worse.
Two said she wasn’t pregnant, three said she was, and she’d been so nervous she’d dropped one in the toilet before she could pee on it. So she’d phoned her GYN’s office and said she had to have an appointment, no, not in two weeks, not next week.
“Today,” she’d said in the firm voice of the new Isabella. And then the old Izzy had added a very polite “please.”