Bought by Her Italian Boss

He hadn’t had to warn them to keep the secret. That was a given. He had risen and urged Paolo to come with him, to give Vito time alone.

No, Paolo had said. I’ll stay.

They had sat in silence a long time, the space Paolo’s father had taken up a wide gap between them. Finally Paolo had said, Do you want to punch me?

Yes, Vito had seethed. But he hadn’t. They’d never fought again. They rarely mentioned it. Eventually Vito had learned the name of his biological father and the man’s predilection for violence had sickened him. Then there was the second son’s equally conscienceless disposition.

Vito wanted to believe he was different, but how could he claim to be a better man than what he’d come from when just the thought of those men and their actions put him into a state of mind willing to crush and kill? Vigilante justice was still brute force and only proved he was more like his biological father than he wanted to admit.

So he couldn’t in good conscience make children with a woman without telling her what kind of blood he carried and he couldn’t reveal the truth without endangering his family and the bank.

Therefore, he was a confirmed bachelor, destined to have affairs with women who didn’t expect a future and to commiserate with the struggles of child-rearing from the sidelines.

“Your lips are blue. Come out,” Paolo ordered his son.

“Three more,” Roberto said, holding up three quivering fingers, teeth chattering, narrow shoulders shaking as he prepared to dive for yet another colored rock.

“One,” Paolo said firmly.

“Two,” Roberto responded.

“Everything is a negotiation,” Paolo muttered, making Vito set his teeth because Paolo was complaining about a privilege not every man had. “Two. Then—”

“Paolo!” Gwyn came to the rail above them, at the edge of the pool deck. Her eyes were wide, her face pale. “Lauren says her water broke!”

Paolo went white and grim, swearing tightly. “Out, Roberto. Now. Stay with Vito,” he ordered his son, locking gazes with Vito long enough to cement the command that Vito keep his son from drowning, but also sharing a moment of genuine fear.

It struck Vito that Paolo had never told Lauren why he didn’t find these home births of hers as much of a joke as she did. He knew women could die.

It also told him how volatile his secret still was, if Paolo hadn’t shared it with the woman who was his other half.

“I’ll call the ambulance,” he said to Paolo’s back, pulling out his phone as his cousin took the stone stairs in great leaps, already pushing back his sleeves.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“THAT WAS THE most remarkable experience of my life,” Gwyn said forty minutes later, as the ambulance carried off a grumbling Lauren and an infant boy who had squawked once, latched perfectly, then fallen asleep snuggled against her.

“They’re just going to tell me that everything is fine and I can go home if I want to. I wish you hadn’t called them,” Lauren scolded Vito on her way out the door.

“Humor us, mia bella,” Paolo said with equanimity, buttoning his clean shirt with hands that might have tremored a little, but he’d barely broken a sweat while carrying his wife to their bed and catching their son minutes later.

He’d been very coolheaded, calling Gwyn to bring him the bag he’d prepared with clean towels and receiving blankets, speaking to his wife in a calm, tender tone, using sterilized clips and scissors from the bag to cut the cord himself, as if he’d been a midwife all his life.

Their daughter slept through most of it, waking in time to glimpse her new brother, but quite content to cuddle with Vito amidst all the activity. Roberto called the little girl Bambi, which was adorable, and both children stayed with Gwyn and Vito while Paolo went in the ambulance with his wife. A car pulled out from the house across the street where the drivers and other ancillary staff were staying, following to bring them back once Lauren and the baby had been examined.

Vito didn’t say anything as he closed the door. In fact, his color was down and he took a measured breath as if he’d just dodged a train.

“You’re green around the gills, Vittorio,” Gwyn chided, amused. “Were you worried?” She hadn’t had time to panic and was riding a high of amazement.

“Lauren makes it look easy,” he said in a tone that suggested he was well aware labor and delivery didn’t always go so smoothly.

“I’ll say,” Gwyn responded. “I didn’t even get the water boiled!” She moved into the kitchen where she had managed to snap off the gas on her way to fetch Paolo. “Shall I finish making dinner?”