The Secret Kept from the Italian

Maisie turned to him, fear in her eyes. ‘She’s asleep—’

‘I’ll be quiet. Don’t deny me this, Maisie. I haven’t even seen my own daughter yet.’ He paused, his gaze boring into hers. ‘Please.’

Pain flashed across Maisie’s face. Why was she so reluctant to let him into Ella’s life? What was she so afraid of? I know what kind of man you are. Antonio’s gut cramped at the memory. Maisie knew too much, and that was why she kept him at a distance. Yet he couldn’t let his own failures and weaknesses stand in the way of a relationship with his daughter. That much he knew—in his bones, and in his heart.

‘All right,’ Maisie said quietly, and she beckoned him down a narrow hall, pausing outside the door. ‘Please be quiet,’ she whispered.

‘I said I would.’

Maisie pushed the door open with her fingertips and then tiptoed in, Antonio following behind, holding his breath. The room was small, its limited space taken up by a double bed and a cot next to it. Antonio’s gaze took in the rumpled duvet on the bed and the feminine pyjamas crumpled on the floor, before he trained it on the tiny, perfect form in the cot.

He crept forward, his heart pounding hard as he looked down at his daughter. She lay on her back, one tiny fist flung up by her face, her wispy baby curls as dark as his own hair, sable lashes feathering her plump cheeks. If Antonio had had any notion to confirm his fatherhood with a paternity test, it evaporated in view of Ella. She was so very clearly his, from the dark hair to the tiny cleft in her chin. Her breath came out in a sigh, and Antonio’s heart clenched with love, painful but good. So good.

‘Ella.’ He whispered it, just to hear the name on his tongue. To claim ownership, or at least begin to. Gently he reached down and with one fingertip he stroked her soft, round cheek.

‘Antonio...’

‘She’s still asleep.’ He glanced at Maisie standing next to the cot, her hands clasped together as she chewed her lip. She looked uncertain and fearful but also emotional. The three of them were a family, whether they wanted to be or not. That much Antonio knew.

Slowly he backed away from the cot, and Maisie followed him out of the room. Back in the living room Max was standing by the tiny alcove kitchen, looking mutinous. Maisie just looked tired.

‘I’ll go now,’ Antonio said shortly. ‘But I’ll be back tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow—’

‘We have much to discuss, Maisie. You know that.’ She acknowledged this with a jerky nod of her head. ‘I’ll pick you and Ella up at ten in the morning,’ Antonio told her. ‘And then we’ll start making decisions.’ His tone was final and commanding, and Maisie flinched as she nodded again, her chin jutted out at a stubborn angle, but she didn’t disagree.

Antonio glanced at Max, who was glaring at him, and then back at Maisie. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he said. As he left he didn’t know whether it had been a threat or a promise, or which Maisie had taken it as.

CHAPTER SEVEN

MAISIE PLACED ELLA, just fed and content at least for a few minutes, on a soft pink blanket before hurrying around in a pointless attempt to tidy up the apartment’s tiny living space.

She’d barely slept last night, her mind racing from all the revelations, spinning in constant circles as she tried to second-guess what Antonio would want. How much he would demand. And how much she would be willing to give, although whether she’d have any choice was another matter.

Max had wanted answers from her, but she’d been too tired and overwhelmed to explain. Before he’d gone to work this morning, he’d insisted that she not make any rash decisions. ‘We can consult a lawyer, Maisie. This Antonio guy doesn’t have all the power.’

‘But he is Ella’s father, Max,’ Maisie said quietly. ‘I can’t deny him access to his daughter on moral grounds, never mind legal ones.’ Which left her with a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. Would Antonio really insist that he have Ella for half the year? It seemed inconceivable, and yet she knew he was ‘Ruthless Rossi’. The man was capable of anything, and he had destroyed lives without so much as a flicker of an eyelid. One article had detailed the five hundred jobs he’d ruthlessly cut when a company had hired him to manage a hostile takeover.

Ella started to stir and fuss just as the doorbell rang. Maisie straightened, sparing her flustered reflection a single glance in the mirror. Her face was flushed, her hair wilder than usual, and she had not one but two stains on the fresh sweater she’d put on that morning.

Grimacing, she went to the intercom and buzzed Antonio up. As soon as he entered the room she felt the need to take a step back, to draw a breath. He was so much. Had he always been this tall, looked this strong? He wore a navy-blue suit with a paler blue shirt and a cobalt tie that made his eyes look even bluer. Everything about him was sharp and magnetic and powerful.

He smelled of the woodsy aftershave Maisie remembered from a year ago, and just like that she was back in that darkened office, her body at his delicious mercy. That was the last thing she wanted to be thinking of now.

From her place on the blanket Ella let out a cry of protest at being ignored, and Maisie went to scoop her up, grateful for the distraction.

‘What’s wrong with her?’ Antonio asked as Ella continued to fuss.

‘Nothing’s wrong with her. She’s just a baby. That’s how they are.’

‘Hmm.’ Antonio surveyed her, Ella cradled against her chest. ‘I don’t know anything about babies, to be honest.’

‘I didn’t, either, before Ella,’ Maisie admitted with a wry laugh. ‘It’s been a steep learning curve.’

‘I’m sure.’ He thrust his hands in the pockets of his trousers, looking ill at ease and incongruous in her tiny, shabby apartment. Maisie stroked Ella’s downy hair, wondering what had driven Antonio to step up as a father. It seemed,

she had to admit, a little out of character.