“You stole my son from me, Gia.”

Now she’ll wear Di Fiore’s ring!

Commanding Santo Di Fiore is stunned to see Giovanna Castiglione again. Her unexpected appearance at his luxurious party in the Bahamas leaves him craving answers. Why, after that one forbidden encounter, did she leave? But when Gia reveals their secret consequence, Santo won’t let her go a second time. The Italian will claim his son—and Gia as his wife!

Experience the passion in this marriage of convenience romance

JENNIFER HAYWARD has been a fan of romance since filching her sister’s novels to escape her teenage angst. Her career in journalism and PR, including years of working alongside powerful, charismatic CEOs and travelling the world, has provided perfect fodder for the fast-paced, sexy stories she likes to write—always with a touch of humour. A native of Canada’s East Coast, Jennifer lives in Toronto with her Viking husband and young Viking-in-training.

Also by Jennifer Hayward

A Deal for the Di Sione Ring

A Debt Paid in the Marriage Bed

Kingdoms & Crowns miniseries

Carrying the King’s Pride

Claiming the Royal Innocent

Marrying Her Royal Enemy

The Secret Billionaires collection

Salazar’s One-Night Heir

The Powerful Di Fiore Tycoons miniseries

Christmas at the Tycoon’s Command

His Million-Dollar Marriage Proposal

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Married for His One-Night Heir

Jennifer Hayward

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07285-4

MARRIED FOR HIS ONE-NIGHT HEIR

© 2018 Jennifer Hayward

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Who knew an unmitigated hair disaster

would turn into an almost twenty-year friendship?

Grazie mille for your amazing input on this story,

Silvano Belmonte.

Our brainstorming sessions were so much fun!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

“SO, WHAT DID they think?” Giovanna De Luca leaned back against the windowsill of her boss’s office, a cup of coffee cradled between her fingers as she absorbed the brilliant sunshine that flooded through the space that served as the epicenter of power for Delilah Rothchild’s luxury Caribbean hotel chain.

To look at her, one would have bought the deliberately casual picture hook, line and sinker. That she hadn’t just completed the most important assignment of her life, with the decor she’d done for a series of private residences on Delilah’s flagship Bahamian resort that would sell for upward of 20 million dollars each. That she was as cool as a cucumber as she waited for the feedback from the initial round of prospective buyers Delilah had met with this morning. But inside, her heart was racing.

Delilah, however, knew better. Knew she was a master at hiding her emotions. “I have verbal expressions of intent for all but two of the villas,” she announced, a Cheshire-cat smile curving her lips. “Which will be snapped up in the second round, leaving them desperate for more. Due in large part,” she allowed, tipping her head at Gia, “to you. The interiors knocked their socks off, Gia. They were mad about them.”

Gia released a breath she hadn’t known she was holding on a quiet, even exhale. A warmth flooded through her, spreading from her fingertips to her toes, then sinking deep to wrap itself around the thrumming beat of her heart. She had worked day and night to make sure those villas were perfect. To position them as the irresistible showpiece that would launch the opening of this phase of Delilah’s development to critical acclaim. But it went much deeper than that.

The Private Residences at the Rothchild Bahamas had been her opportunity to give back to Delilah everything she’d given to her. To prove the bet the hotelier had made on her had been the right one. To prove to herself she could do this—that she could have the career she’d always dreamed of.

She closed her fingers tighter around the coffee cup she held, fighting back the rush of emotion that chased through her. “I’m so happy to hear that,” she said huskily. “I know how much this project means to you.”

Delilah fixed a laser-sharp, bright blue gaze on her. The woman was legendary for her ability to read a person in under a second flat. Her gaze was warm, however, as it rested on Gia, the bond they’d formed over the past two years undeniable. “You deserve every bit of the kudos. This wasn’t personal, Gia, it was business. You earned it with your talent.

“Which is also,” Delilah added, rolling to her feet and crossing to the bar, “a cause for celebration.” She poured herself a cup of coffee, then turned and leaned against the counter. “I’m having a barbecue tonight to celebrate Junkanoo. Not a big thing—just some friends and a few business acquaintances. A chance to kick back and have a glass of champagne. Put on a pretty dress and come.”

Gia shook her head in a refusal that had become customary. “I was looking forward to a night at home. A couple of hours with Leo, a good book and a glass of wine.”

Delilah pointed her cup at her. “You need a life, Gia. It’s been two years since Franco was killed. You are twenty-six years old. Working yourself to the bone, then spending all of your time with Leo, isn’t any kind of a life.”

She thought it was the perfect life. Her three-year-old son, Leo, meant everything to her. She had walked away from her family—one of the most powerful organized-crime syndicates in America—to protect him. He was happy and thriving and that was all that mattered.

“Besides,” Delilah added, a crafty smile curving her mouth, “there is someone I want you to meet. A friend of mine who does international financing. He is single for the first time in forever, he is nice and he is loaded. And,” she added on a low purr, “he is divine-looking. As in drop-dead gorgeous.”

As in the last thing she was looking for. Getting involved with another rich, powerful man after her life had been ruled by such men held no interest for her. Getting involved with any man wasn’t in her plans after her disastrous marriage to Franco. But she would never say that to Delilah, the woman who had given her sanctuary in the months following her husband’s targeted assassination. Who had been her lifeline ever since.

“I’m not interested in being set up,” she said firmly. “But maybe you are right about me needing to get out. Will I know anyone there?”

Delilah named a couple of women she worked with at the hotel. Gia thought about the hours after Leo went to bed, when there was no escape from the loneliness that had consumed her life. When she missed her mother so much it felt like her insides were being torn out. When what-ifs infiltrated her head, taunting her with what might have been.

Her stomach curled. She didn’t want to go there tonight. Her new life was wonderful—amazing—and everything she’d always dreamed of. She was moving forward, not backward. Delilah was right, it was time for her to start living again. Tonight would be the perfect opportunity to dip her toe back in.

She lifted an eyebrow. “What should I wear?”

Delilah’s eyes flashed in triumph. “Wear something summer fun. Sexy.”

Gia shook her head. “I am not letting you set me up, Delilah. This is about me getting out to have some fun. That’s all.”

“You should still wear something sexy.”

* * *

Gia settled for a dress that was neither sexy, nor conservative. A bright coral, with a wrap-front ruffle, it showed off the golden tan she’d acquired while living in the tropics, as well as the smooth length of her legs with its short, flirty skirt.

Anticipation nipped at her skin as she kissed Leo good-night, left him with his babysitter, then walked the short distance from the villa where she lived on Delilah’s exclusive Lyford Cay estate, up to the main house. To not have her bodyguard, Dante, tracing her every step was still a novelty she couldn’t quite fathom. To step out her front door and not wonder what was going to be on the other side was a peace she couldn’t articulate.

But there was also trepidation as she climbed the hill toward the sprawling colonial-style mansion, ablaze with light. She didn’t remember what it was like to go out for a carefree evening of fun. Had no idea how to even approach it. Maybe because her life had rarely, if ever, afforded her that luxury.

Tonight, however, she was Giovanna De Luca, not Giovanna Castiglione. She was free.

The barbecue, held on the beachside terrace of Delilah’s home to celebrate the popular Bahamian Junkanoo summer festival—a celebration of the arts on the island—was already in full swing when she arrived. A spectacular sunset stained the sky, a fiery pink-and-gold canvas for the festivities as the torchlight climbed high into the night. In the midst of that exotic atmosphere, the guests enjoyed fresh fried fish straight off the grill, rum-based refreshments and a steel band—the classic island experience.

Gia hesitated on the fringe of the group, an age-old apprehension slivering through her. Once upon a time she had been judged for who she was, the family that she came from, rather than the girl she’d been. It had broken her heart—that sense of always being an outsider no matter how hard she had tried. But Delilah quickly spotted her, drew her into the crowd and slid a drink into her hand.

The welcome cocktail, which was heavy on the rum, eased her nerves. As did the handsome financier Delilah introduced her to. He was charming and a gentleman to boot. She might have no intention of getting involved with him, but the clear attraction in his eyes was a boost to her ego, which had taken such a hit with Franco, she wasn’t sure the wounds were ever going to heal.

Relaxing into the vibe, the alcohol warming the blood in her veins, she cast an idle glance over the crowd, surveying the new arrivals. A tall, fair-haired male that Sophie, the hotel’s glamorous publicity director, was chatting up claimed her attention. Muscular and well-built, he was undeniably commanding in his white shirt and dark pants that showed off every rippling, well-honed inch of him. But it was when her gaze rose to his elegant profile that her breath caught in her throat.

It could not be. Not here. Not now.

But it was.

Her heart stuttered an erratic rhythm in her chest, its jagged beat reverberating in her head. Frozen to the spot, her companion’s words faded to the background as she absorbed Santo Di Fiore’s formidable, charismatic presence. Six foot two inches of lean, hard male, he had the perfectly hewn face and golden hair of an angel. A woman could drown herself in those velvety dark eyes.

And for a night, she had done just that. One kiss—one perfect passionate kiss on a stormy evening in Manhattan four years ago—had changed everything. An attempt to escape her fate had dissolved into a fire neither of them could extinguish—a hunger that had been almost a decade in the making.

She went hot and cold all at the same time, desperately wishing he was an illusion, because Santo Di Fiore had been her biggest mistake. Her most unforgettable, costly mistake—the repercussions of which had set into motion a chain of events she could never have foreseen. But he had also given her the most precious thing she possessed.

Santo looked up and cast a lazy glance over the crowd. Every muscle in her body seized tight as his gaze came to rest on her, a hint of male interest flickering through his dark eyes, followed by a frown that marred his brow.

Shock descended into fear—a bitter layer of it that coated her mouth. She turned away before he could focus on her, her purse clutched to her chest. She looked different. There was a chance he hadn’t recognized her, but she doubted that luck would hold. She needed to get out of here now.

Spinning on her heel, she headed through the crowd. But before she could make an exit, Delilah descended upon her with one of the investors who’d purchased two of the private residences that morning and her escape route was blocked.

She pasted a smile on her face and tried desperately to pretend that her world wasn’t crashing in on her.

* * *

He should be on a plane back to New York, stickhandling the most important launch in Supersonic’s history, dispensing with the hundreds of emails that had piled up in his inbox while he’d spent the weekend playing in a charitable golf tournament alongside his brother, Lazzero. Instead, Santo Di Fiore was on a tropical island being schmoozed by the current queen of the luxury-hotel market.

Really, he’d had no time. But given he and Lazzero had bet the bank on Elevate—the new running shoe they’d promised investors would set the world on fire—gaining access to Delilah’s exclusive clientele list wasn’t an opportunity he’d been able to pass up. So after a tour of her impressive flagship property that afternoon, where the hotel maven had expressed her desire to house a half a dozen of his Supersonic boutiques in her hotels, he and Lazzero had been invited to soak up the local atmosphere before flying out in the morning.

He brought his glass to his lips and tipped back a mouthful of Scotch. Under normal circumstances, the delectable redhead, who’d been all over him in far more than a business sense ever since the tour, would have been adequate compensation for the expenditure of time. Instead, he was consumed by ghosts—ghosts he’d thought long ago put to bed. Because surely the sophisticated blonde across the crowd couldn’t have been Giovanna. She had beautiful raven-dark hair she’d always worn long and wavy, swearing she’d never cut it short.

He brushed his wayward thoughts aside with an irritated twist of his lips. Giovanna Castiglione had married another man. They were over. End of story. That her husband had been taken out in a targeted hit, that she hadn’t been present at any of the functions where their social circles might have overlapped since, that she was a widow, available now, was inconsequential to him. The Giovanna he’d fallen in love with had been an illusion. She’d never existed.

So why the hell couldn’t he get her out of his head?

Lazzero, who’d finished his conversation with a slick-suited real-estate developer, joined him at the bar. “So what do you think of Delilah’s offer?” he prompted.

“If we could get the pop-up retail in place in time for Elevate, it could offer us an entrée into a whole different clientele.”

“Not a problem.” Lazzero dismissed the if. “Our retail teams have done it in a month. So we scale—we make it happen. My only question,” he allowed, tipping his glass at Santo, “is whose hotel chain do we like more for this? Stefano Castiglione’s or Delilah’s? They are two entirely different propositions.”

A bitter taste filled Santo’s mouth. Once he hadn’t been good enough for Giovanna—Stefano Castiglione, her father, had made that very clear. Now, Stefano wanted to partner with him because he ran the most buzzed-about athletic-wear brand on the planet, because the famous personalities representing his clothing would make a huge splash at his casinos? Hell would freeze over before he did business with the man who had put those emotional bruises in Gia’s eyes.

“Castiglione has a bigger reach,” Lazzero pointed out. “Don’t let your personal feelings about this cloud your professional judgment.”

“What personal feelings?” Santo responded curtly. “The man is a criminal. Just because he’s bought half of Washington and Hollywood with his money and influence doesn’t mean I want to do business with him.”

Lazzero had grown up around the corner from the powerful Castiglione family, just as he had. Knew that along with being one of the most powerful real estate and gambling czars in the United States, his empire reaching from New York to Las Vegas, Stefano Castiglione was reputed to carry darker connections beneath that smooth, charismatic facade of his as the head of an international crime syndicate.

“We aren’t doing business with him, Laz.” He dismissed the notion with a shake of his head. “End of story.”

His brother hiked a lazy shoulder. “I wasn’t actually suggesting we do business with him,” he drawled. “I was merely yanking your chain to see how you would react. Which was predictable.” His brother narrowed his gaze on him. “You’re still hung up on her.”

“Who?”

“Gia.” Lazzero waved a hand at him. “You’ve gone on a tear through half the women on the planet since her, but you’re not even remotely interested in any of them. Take tonight, for instance. You could have had that redhead—the publicity girl. What’s her name... Sylvie? Sophie? Instead, you are completely distracted.”

“Because I should be back at the office working.”

“Says the man who likes to socialize more than he likes to breathe.” His brother rolled the Scotch around his tumbler, the amber liquid flickering in the torch light. “So if I were to tell you that Gia is standing behind you it would be of no interest to you?”

He turned to stone. Fingers locking around his glass, he swiveled, his scan of the crowd pinpointing the woman he’d spotted earlier talking with Delilah and another guest. His heart stalled in his chest as he took her in. Confirmed what he’d instinctively known. It was Gia.

Clad in a vibrant coral dress that hugged every inch of her curvaceous figure, she was thinner than he remembered, her gorgeous long, dark hair cut into a sophisticated blond bob that gave her a completely different look. Her cheeks were gaunt under her perfect, dramatic bone structure, her eyes deep, dark pools of green that seemed to vibrate emotion.

Exactly as they had that night four years ago when she’d given him her innocence, then walked away, as if what they’d shared had meant nothing. When she’d married another man.

Turn around, he told himself. Pretend she isn’t here. Do exactly what you said you would do if you ever saw her. But he stayed where he was. Gia looked up. She froze as their gazes collided, her eyes widening beneath long, dusky lashes. Like a curtain coming down over her face, the blood fled, rendering her whiter than a sheet.

A midnight storm darkened those beautiful eyes. Twisted something in his insides tight. Maledizione. Why tonight? Why here, when she hadn’t been seen in public for an eternity?

“Santo,” Lazzero said on low note. “She is bad for you. Nothing good ever came of the two of you. Leave it alone.”

He was wrong, Santo corrected silently. They had been good that night. Perfect. Before she’d torn out his heart. And even though he knew he should stay away, he couldn’t seem to do it.

He set down his glass on the bar, ignoring his brother’s muttered imprecation as he threaded his way through the crowd toward where Gia stood. But when he got there, she was gone, Delilah and the other guest immersed in conversation. Instinct took him to where Gia stood at the edge of the terrace, looking out at the water, a silent, delicate figure silhouetted against a sparkling, dark blanket of blue.

The image struck him as particularly appropriate, because hadn’t it always been Gia against the world? Gia, who’d hovered on the outside, sitting by herself in the high-school cafeteria the first time he’d ever seen her, shunned by her fellow students because of who she was. Because she’d been escorted to and from school by her bodyguards, her friendships vetted and discarded by her powerful father before they’d ever had a chance to take flight.

He would never forget the shy smile that had lit up her face when he’d plunked his tray down beside hers and asked if the seat beside her was taken.

She turned as he approached, as if she’d sensed his presence, that same invisible thread tethering them together that had always defied reason. Her spine rigid, her face set in a mask he couldn’t possibly decipher, she looked haunted. Guarded. Vulnerable. It awakened a primitive need to protect inside of him that was as instinctive as it was irrational.

“Santo,” she said huskily, unleashing that insanely sexy voice that had haunted his dreams. “I had no idea you would be here tonight.”

He came to a halt in front of her. Dug his hands into his pockets. “Delilah is hot on the idea of putting our boutiques in her hotels. Lazzero and I were on the way home from a golf tournament in Albany. She suggested we drop in.”

Her long lashes brushed the delicate line of her cheeks. “That’s exciting. Delilah has some of the biggest key influencers on the planet on her client list. It would be the perfect partnership.”

“We think so.” He held her gaze. “I was sorry to hear about your husband.”

She inclined her head. “Thank you. It was a shock. It’s taken me some time to process it.”

He would have bought her cool, collected act if it wasn’t for the white-knuckled grip she had on her clutch. The tremor in her voice that dismantled his insides. “Gia,” he said softly, stepping forward to sweep a thumb across her jaw. “Are you okay?”

She flinched away from his touch, a quick, reflexive movement that sent a hot rush of emotion through him. “I’m fine. You know I didn’t love him, Santo. What my marriage was and what it wasn’t.”

“I’m not sure what I know and what I don’t,” he growled, “because you walked away without a word.”

“Santo—”

He waved a hand at her. “You dropped off the edge of the earth for two years, only to show up here tonight. Forgive me if I had to ask the question. Old habits die hard.”

She anchored her teeth in her lush bottom lip. “I work for Delilah. I have for the past couple of years.”

He frowned. “You live here?”

She nodded. “You know I never wanted that kind of a life for myself. When Franco died, it was my opportunity to reach out and take everything I had been denied. Delilah,” she explained, “is an old friend of the family on my mother’s side. She offered to help me create a new life for myself. Gave me a job as a designer for her hotels and a place to stay. No one,” she stated evenly, “knows me as Giovanna Castiglione here, they know me as Giovanna De Luca.”

And she wanted to keep it that way. He struggled to wrap his head around that revelation. “And what does your father think of all of this?”

Her chin hiked, a tiny, but imperceptible movement. “He doesn’t know.”

He frowned. “What do you mean, he doesn’t know?”

“I mean he doesn’t know where I am. No one does, Santo. I left the life. I walked away.”

She’d left the life? Walked away? A surge of astonishment coursed through him. “You ran away?”

A fire darkened her emerald eyes. “I am a Castiglione, Santo. You know who my father is. What was I going to do? Tell him I wanted out? Tell him I was done? You don’t simply walk away from a life like mine. You run and you don’t look back.”

He ran a bemused palm over his jaw. “So let me get this straight,” he began. “You married a man you didn’t love because your father decreed it. Because your family means everything to you. And then, when your husband is gunned down in broad daylight outside of his casino, you walk away from that family and all the protection it affords to hide in the Bahamas, where you are open and vulnerable prey?”

“It’s been two years. There is no longer that kind of a threat.”

There was always a threat. He dealt with it as one of the world’s richest men. She faced it because of who she was. But apparently, he conceded dazedly, no one knew where she was.

He arched an eyebrow. “And what do you intend to do? Run for the rest of your life?”

“No.” Defiance was painted in every centimeter of her ramrod-straight spine. “I intend to live the life I’ve always dreamed of. I have everything I’ve ever wanted here, Santo. I’m never going back.”

He studied the visible tension etching the sides of her eyes and mouth. Two and two weren’t adding up to four here. Something was way off. But he didn’t have the opportunity to push it further because Delilah descended upon them with an effusive “Darlings” to talk about the pop-up retail she envisioned for the Elevate launch.

Gia had designed one of the retail spaces he’d admired earlier on his tour of the hotel, done in partnership with a French high-fashion brand. Delilah thought Gia and his own designers would be the perfect working combination, a suggestion Santo couldn’t refute because he’d loved the poolside boutique space Gia had created, an oasis that drew the hotel’s clientele in the highest heat of the day. She clearly knew how to meld two distinct brands into a show-stopping, utterly unforgettable space.

Unfortunately, his brain wasn’t functioning on all cylinders at the moment as he attempted to follow the conversation, because none of what Gia had told him made sense. Why did she look so terrified if she had the perfect new life? Why would she leave her family to live on her own in the Bahamas when the blood ties that had always bound her had been sacrosanct?

Why had she not come to him?

Four years of not knowing, of wondering why she’d left that morning, piled up in his head until he couldn’t think of anything else.

He needed closure—once and for all.

But first, he needed answers.

CHAPTER TWO

GIA PLEADED A headache and escaped the party shortly after her conversation with Santo and Delilah ended. She’d barely managed to keep it together during that encounter with Santo, terrified she’d say something she shouldn’t, reveal something she couldn’t. But the need to ensure he didn’t blow her cover had been paramount.

She’d thought she was safe. That she was finally free after all of this time spent creating a new identity for herself, avoiding any kind of a social life where she might have been recognized. Delilah would have comprehensively vetted the guest list. But Delilah couldn’t have known about Santo. No one knew. Apart from her mother and Franco.

She said good-night to Desaray, her babysitter, then went to check on Leo. Her son was fast asleep, his thick, long lashes shading his cheeks, his thumb stuck in his mouth, his sturdy little body curled in the fetal position in his cozy, white-framed bed. She smoothed a hand over his glossy blond hair and pressed a kiss to his soft, scented cheek.

He was so peaceful, her love for him so all-encompassing, he calmed her nerves. But she still couldn’t settle enough to sleep, so she changed and got ready for bed, then headed to the kitchen for some warm milk.

She had the feeling Santo hadn’t bought her story for a minute. That he’d thought it was as full of holes as she’d known it was. But she was also sure he would never betray her trust—that he would keep her secret. The bigger problem was the business he was conducting with Delilah. If he was considering putting his Supersonic boutiques in her hotels, he would have ongoing interests in the Bahamas. Which would never work.

Dismay clogged her throat. Surely, he would send one of his minions to oversee the project? Chances were, he’d never be here.

But what if he was?

A rap at the door brought her back to reality. Thinking Desaray must have forgotten something, as she was apt to do, she turned off the burner under the milk, padded to the front door and swung it open. “What did you—” She stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of Santo, lounging against the door frame.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. Acutely aware of the expanse of bare skin her silk nightie revealed, she wrapped her arms around herself as the humid, floral-scented air pressed in on her lungs. “Santo,” she croaked, “what are you doing here?”

“Getting some answers.” He brushed past her into the house before she’d even registered he’d moved. Scared her heart might jump right through her chest, she turned to face him.

“How did you know where I live?”

“Your joke to Delilah about sliding down the hill to get home.”

Dammit. She bit the inside of her mouth. Really, she hadn’t been in her right head. She’d simply been desperate to get out of there.

She had to get rid of him. But how?

She looked up at him, then wished she hadn’t, the connection between them crackling like an electrical storm. It reverberated all the way through her, right down to the tips of her toes. Sucking in a deep breath, she corralled her racing thoughts, reaching desperately for the aura of outward calm she had perfected as a Castiglione. “About what?” she enquired evenly, pressing a palm against the frame of the door.

“About why you are really here. What’s really going on with you.”

“We’ve been through that already. It is also,” she said pointedly, “far too late for this type of a discussion.”

“I wholeheartedly agree. I would have preferred to have had it four years ago, but better late than never.”

Her stomach dropped. He wasn’t going to give up. She knew Santo. He was like a dog with a bone when he wanted something. “My head is pounding,” she prevaricated. “If you insist on doing this, can we do it in the morning?”

“I’m flying out tomorrow, so no.” He gestured toward the living room. “Should we talk in there?”

Panic surged through her veins. “No,” she said as calmly as she could manage. “We can do it on the porch. It’s cooler out there.”

He waved a hand at her. “Lead the way.”

She closed the door. Directed him out onto the veranda that ran the length of the villa and overlooked the sparkling midnight waters of the bay. A gentle breeze lifted the leaves of the palm trees, the sweet smell of bougainvillea and frangipani filling the air. But she was too frozen to take in any of it as Santo lounged back against the railing and regarded her with a silent look.

Feeling far too exposed, she wrapped her arms around herself and lifted her chin. “What would you like to know?”

“Why the hell you are hiding in the Bahamas when your mother must be worried sick about you. What were you thinking, Gia?”

She hadn’t been thinking. She’d been doing what she’d needed to do to protect Leo. And she’d do it a million times over.

“I left them a note. They know I’m safe.”

A flicker of dark emotion moved through his gaze. “Why didn’t you come to me?” he growled, the undertone of frustration raking a path across her skin. “You know I would have helped you.”

Her lashes lowered. “We were over, Santo. We had both moved on. What was the point?”

“That’s a lie,” he countered softly. “Why did you leave that morning without saying goodbye, Gia? Why run?”

“Santo,” she breathed. “Don’t.”

His mouth twisted. “Don’t ask why you walked into my arms that night and gave me your innocence? How we could have shared what we shared only for you to walk away and marry another man? Why I woke up the next morning alone, without an explanation? Not a note. Nothing.” A lift of his eyebrow. “Which of those things do you imagine confounds me the most?”

She closed her eyes, a hot, searing pain moving through her until it hurt to breathe. “You knew I was promised to him, Santo. You knew I was going to marry him. There was never any doubt about that.”

“I thought you’d changed your mind.” He threw the words at her in a charged voice that skittered through her insides. “You were emotional that night, Gia. Intensely vulnerable. You didn’t want that kind of a life for yourself. You wanted better.”

“And then I realized what I was doing. I was getting engaged in front of half of Las Vegas the next night. How was I going to walk away? It would have destroyed my father’s honor. His reputation. The Lombardi family’s reputation... It was not undoable, no matter how much I wanted it to be.”

She was Sicilian. A Castiglione. That she would marry Franco Lombardi, the heir to a Las Vegas gambling dynasty, was a fact that had been cast in stone since the day she’d turned fourteen, when her father had approved the match between his only daughter and the eldest Lombardi son. A match that would cement his empire.

Pursuing the career she’d always wanted, marrying a man she loved and walking away from her destiny had never been options for her, something she’d foolishly forgotten during that impulsive, explosive night with Santo.

There had been no more time left to wonder what if. To look for solutions that didn’t exist. To want what she could never have.

She drew in a deep breath. Then exhaled as she met Santo’s dark, tumultuous gaze. “I convinced myself it would be easier if I simply left,” she said huskily. “There was no future for us, Santo. You know that.”

He stepped closer, his expensive aftershave infiltrating her senses with devastating effect. “You know what I think?” he murmured, his warm breath skating across her cheek. “I think we will never know because you walked away, Gia. Because it was easier for you to surrender to the inevitable than to face what was between us.”

The brush of her bare leg against the muscled length of his thigh unearthed a shiver that reverberated through her. Heat pooled beneath her skin at the memory of what all that hard muscle could do. How it could take her to heaven and back. How it might have been worth every disastrous moment that had followed.

She watched, hypnotized, as his gaze darkened to midnight. As the power of what they created together took hold. One step and she would be in his arms. One tilt of her head and her mouth would be on his.

It would be magical. Unforgettable. Which had always been the problem between her and Santo. Because if he knew what she really was, who she was at her core, what she’d done, he wouldn’t want her anymore.

Her pulse was a frantic, flurried beat she couldn’t seem to control, and she took an unsteady step backward. “You’re right,” she agreed breathlessly, staring up into all that black heat. “It’s history under the bridge. You have moved on and so have I. So maybe we should agree on that and call it a night.”

A myriad of emotions flickered across his hard-boned face. As if he was debating whether or not to agree with her. She drew in a breath and waited, only to have his attention captured by something behind her, a bemused expression moving across his face.

An ominous thud started somewhere in the region of her heart. Warning bells rang in her head as she turned around slowly to find Leo padding out onto the porch, his thumb stuck in his mouth, his blue blanket trailing behind him. Clearly woken by their raised voices, he directed a big dark-eyed stare at Santo.

Gia stepped toward him, desperate to head off disaster. But there was no way to prevent it. Her son, cheeks flushed from sleep, golden hair ruffled, took his thumb out of his mouth, walked the last couple of steps toward her and held his chubby arms out to her. “Up.”

She picked him up and cuddled him close to her chest, her pulse pounding so loud in her ears it was like a freight train running through her head. Santo took in the scene, a frown creasing his brow. The curiosity in his gaze deepened as he stared at Leo. Then his eyes widened, shock flaring in those midnight depths.

It was like looking at two mirror images of each other.

She saw the moment realization dawned in Santo’s eyes. Watched the blood drain from his face.

* * *

Santo took an unsteady breath as he stared at velvety dark eyes that could have been his own. At the noticeable cowlick that had infuriated all three of the Di Fiore brothers as they’d grown into adulthood. He ruffled the hair of the child in front of him.

It could not be. The child could be Lombardi’s... Except there was no sign of the angular-faced Italian in the little boy clinging to Gia—there was only the identical image staring back at him. A bone-deep recognition echoed through him—a deep, primal pull in his gut unlike anything he’d ever felt in his life.

And then there was the panic arrowing through Gia’s eyes. The stark fear painted across her face as she held the little boy close. The events of the night started piling up in quick succession, bombarding him with the impossible. Why Gia had been so terrified to see him. Why she’d been so anxious to get rid of him.

Because she’d been guarding a secret she’d spent four years preserving.

Somehow, he found the presence of mind to pull himself together. “I didn’t know you had a little boy.” He set his gaze on Gia’s stricken face. “How old is he?”

She didn’t answer. For so long, so damn long, his heart climbed into his throat. “Dannazione, Gia. Answer the question.”

“He is three years old.”

The earth gave way beneath his feet, any reality he’d thought he’d ever known replaced by a grey haze that threatened to envelop him whole. But the little boy had settled now and was staring at him with big, dark, curious eyes that held the slightest bit of apprehension, and the silence on the porch was deafening.

“Friend?” the little boy whispered, looking up at Santo.

Friend? Santo almost choked on the word.

A strangled look crossed Gia’s face. “Yes,” she murmured. “A friend. And you should be in bed.” She glanced at Santo. “I need to—”

“Go,” he instructed curtly, as if she wasn’t about to carry his son away from him. As if the world wasn’t disintegrating beneath his feet. “We’ll talk when you get him settled.”

It was the longest ten minutes of his life as he paced the length of the porch, a chorus of cicadas keeping him company as a red haze built in his head. He had used a condom that night—he was sure of it. Except the night had been long, condoms had been known to fail and, quite honestly, the last thing he could remember was Gia stripping down to a skimpy piece of lace and then there had been nothing after that except the hot, sensual explosion that had followed.

Uncertainty dogging his every step, he forced himself to keep a lid on the violent emotion coursing through him until he confirmed what he already knew.

Gia’s face was deathly pale when she returned, slipping quietly onto the porch. Dressed now in cropped yoga pants and a T-shirt, she smoothed her palms over her thighs as she came to a halt in front of him.

“He is mine.”

The muscles in her throat convulsed. “Yes.”

A fury, unlike any he’d ever known, rose up inside of him. He clenched his hands into fists at his sides, attempted to control it, but it escaped his bounds, rising up into his throat until all that emerged was a primal sound of disbelief.

“Santo,” Gia said haltingly, “you need to let me explain.”

“Explain what?” he exploded. “That I have a three-year-old son you haven’t told me about? There isn’t one possible reason on this earth you could give me which would explain why you would keep something like this from me.”

“Franco,” she choked out. “He was going to kill you.”

His jaw dropped. “What are you talking about?”

She sank back against a pillar. Pressed a hand against her temple. “I found out I was pregnant a couple of weeks before I married Franco. I was scared, terrified. It was a disaster, given the circumstances. I had no idea what to do. I couldn’t go to my father—that was inconceivable. So I went to my mother. She told me I had to tell Franco.”

“You should have come to me,” Santo grated out. “It was the obvious choice, Gia.”

“And done what?” Fire flared in her eyes. “I was about to marry one of the most powerful men in the country. A pivotal match that would cement my father’s business interests in Las Vegas, which were, at the time, in jeopardy. There was no way out.”

He gave her a thunderous look. “And so you simply chose to marry Lombardi instead, when you were pregnant with my child?”

“There was nothing simple about it.” She threw the words at him with a ragged heat. “Franco was beside himself with fury. My impulse, my walk on the wild side had put the entire partnership in jeopardy.” She dragged a hand through her hair. Sucked in a deep breath. “Once Franco had finally calmed down, he told me we would have to make it work. That he would take my son as his own and give him his name. As long as no one ever found out the truth. As long as I never saw you again.”

Her eyes glittered a deep green as they lifted to his. “He said if I did, he would find out, he would hunt you down and he would kill you.”

Maledizione. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I can protect myself,” he rasped. “You should have come to me, Gia.”

She shook her head, eyes bleak. “Nothing would have protected you against him. He had the power to eliminate anyone he liked. He could and would do it. There was no doubt in my mind he would.”

His brain buzzed with incomprehension. He understood Gia was intimidated by her powerful, charismatic father. Always had been. It was why she’d married Lombardi in the first place. To humiliate her father by walking away from her marriage would have been unthinkable. But to have passed his son off as Lombardi’s? To lie to the world about his parentage? It was unfathomable to him.

He fixed his gaze on hers, his fury a hot pulse against his skin. “So you allowed my son to be raised by Franco Lombardi? In the same culture of violence you were brought up in? That same culture of violence you hated so much?”

She shook her head. “I protected Leo. He was never exposed to any of it, Santo. I wouldn’t tolerate it. Franco knew that.”

Leo. His son’s name was Leo. He absorbed that mind-boggling fact. “Why leave then? After Franco died? Why walk away from your family?”

An emotion he couldn’t read flickered over her face. “Franco was murdered in broad daylight. I didn’t feel safe. I didn’t trust Leo’s safety with anyone but myself. So I ran.”

He bit back the surge of anger that coursed through him at the thought that his son could have been in danger. “To Delilah?”

“Yes.” Her lashes lowered. “I had known Delilah from some work I’d done on Franco’s hotels. We’d become friends even. I think she always knew there was something wrong with my marriage, but she never said anything. She just said if I ever needed anything, I could come to her. So I did. I explained my situation with Leo, that I didn’t want him to live that kind of a life, and she offered to get us out.”

“So your mother knows where you are?”

“Yes,” she acknowledged. “She’s the only one who does. We keep in contact via Delilah.”

He rubbed a hand against the stubble on his jaw, brain reeling. Addressed the one point he couldn’t wrap his head around. The obvious, simple choice she should have made. “If Franco was out of the picture, what stopped you from coming to me then?”

Color rode high on her delicate cheekbones. “You were with a different woman every week. In a different city on a different continent building Supersonic, Santo. You were not, in any way, prepared to settle down, that was clear. And you had obviously moved on.”

“Gia,” he growled, feeling himself slipping over the edge of reason. “Tell me the truth.”

Her beautiful eyes shone a luminous green. “I was afraid,” she admitted quietly, “that you would never forgive me for what I’d done. That you might take Leo away from me.”

She might have been right. Because right now, all he could feel was the fury burning through his veins. The anger that rose in a wild flood, stripping him of the ability to think.

He was a father. He had a three-year-old son. He had missed so many moments, so many milestones, things he would never get back. Priceless memories.

It was so far from the vision of the perfect family he’d had for himself, he couldn’t even begin to contemplate it. Because that was what he’d always wanted—the family he’d never had. A family like his best friend Pietro’s growing up—a warm Italian brood he’d been enveloped in when his own family had been shattered apart. Instead, he had a son he hadn’t known about, a woman who’d chosen another man over him, a woman he couldn’t trust. A woman with whom the complications ran a mile deep.

He wanted to scream.

Nothing should have prevented Gia from telling him the truth about his son no matter what the circumstances had been. Nothing. But he was also smart enough to know that he wasn’t in any condition to be attempting rational thought at the moment.

He turned and braced his hands on the railing while he stared out at the sparkling bay. He was supposed to be leaving in the morning. He could safely say that wasn’t happening. In fact, he didn’t want to let his son out of his sight. But Gia and Leo—who he assumed had been named after her grandfather—were safe for the night, since Delilah’s security was second to none. And he needed a chance to breathe.

Gia set a nervous gaze on him as he turned around, clearly attempting to anticipate his next move. “What are you thinking?”

“That I need time to think.”

She gave him a beseeching look. “We have a good life here, Santo—Leo and I. He is happy. Well adjusted. He plays on the beach every afternoon and he loves his friends. He won’t ever have to suffer the stigma of being a Castiglione.”

“He should be a Di Fiore.” The thick surge of emotion in his voice reverberated through the stillness of the night. “Goddammit, Gia. Have you any idea of what you’ve taken from me? Stolen from me?”

She blanched. Lifted her chin. “Yes, I do,” she said quietly. “But I did what I thought was best for Leo.”

A harsh sound choked its way out of him. “I know you think you did. That’s what astounds me. You think so much like a Castiglione, you don’t know the difference between what’s right and what’s wrong.”

A shattered look spread across her face. He ignored it, his brain too full to think. “Here’s how this is going to go,” he said tersely. “I will contact you tomorrow. At which time you will be there, Gia, or I will use every legal resource I have to find you, and when I do, you can kiss your son goodbye, because there isn’t a court on this earth that wouldn’t award me custody of Leo with your criminal past. The time for running is over.”

CHAPTER THREE

GIA COULDN’T SLEEP. She sat in a chair on the veranda, staring out at the ocean as the deep dark of a Caribbean night set in with all its requisite sparkling stars, attempting to absorb the fact that her secret was out after three long, painful years of keeping it. She wondered what the ramifications would be, because surely there would be consequences. Santo’s parting speech had made that clear.

Her stomach curled into a tight ball. She pressed her palms against it, as if willing it would smooth out the knots that made it hard to breathe. Had she really been foolish enough to think she could keep her secret forever? That her love for Leo would be enough to sustain the two of them in this sanctuary she’d created? That somehow, somewhere along the way, the truth wouldn’t eventually come out?

She’d pushed aside that fear every time it had surfaced, because Leo’s safety had always been paramount. But her betrayal sat in the back of her mind, festering and dark. Because she’d known what she was doing was wrong. She’d been clear on that, despite Santo’s scathing appraisal to the contrary. There had simply been no other way out.

But now, as the guilt pushed its way out into the open, filling her chest with its heavy weight, it threatened to consume her. Her decision had seemed so clear-cut in the moment. Protect her son. Do what was necessary. But after witnessing the naked emotion on Santo’s face tonight, allowing herself to acknowledge what she’d stripped him of, it didn’t seem so straightforward anymore. It felt selfish. Unforgivable.

And couldn’t all of this, she acknowledged, hugging her arms tight around herself, have been avoided if only she hadn’t had that one weak moment?

She had resigned herself to her marriage to Franco on the eve of her engagement party. Had always known her purpose in life was to cement the Castiglione bloodline through a powerful political marriage, rather than to pursue the dreams she’d had. But running into Santo in the airport lounge they’d both been scheduled to fly out of that night had thrown her into disarray.

A stormy winter night had cast havoc across the eastern seaboard, grounding all of the flights for the evening. Flustered, because she’d known Franco would be furious with her, she’d accepted Santo’s offer to find her a hotel room alongside his. They’d ended up having dinner together in the bar of the hotel because the weather had been that bad.

It had been time to catch up properly, both of their lives since high school frantically busy, with Santo building a company and her finishing off a design degree and an internship at a high-end Manhattan firm. They’d kept in touch—a party here, a coffee there—but both of them had accepted the fact that to put some distance between them was the wise thing to do. But she’d never been able to break that bond completely. Santo had been the haven she’d run to when life became too much.

Her thoughts had been a circular storm of emotion that had mirrored the gale-force winds raging outside, the knowledge of what she was about to do, the fear of what she’d been about to commit herself to, had clawed at her throat. Her decisiveness had stumbled, replaced by a desperate desire to control her own destiny, if only for one night. For the chance to know what it would be like to be with a man like Santo, who had grown from the eighteen-year-old boy she’d first met into a formidably beautiful man who made her heart race like one of the jet engines that had ceased flying overhead.

They’d polished off an expensive bottle of Amarone over a dinner she hadn’t been able to eat, an ever-present, pulsing attraction throbbing across the table between them, a living force she’d never been able to quell. She’d watched Santo extinguish it with that superior self-control of his, her heart sinking as he’d suggested they should both get some sleep.

Which might possibly have worked, had they not ended up alone in a silent elevator as they’d been whisked high into the sky. Had her desperation not reached a fever pitch about halfway there, her fear and frustration closing the distance between them. And then there had only been Santo’s arms. A hotel room she wasn’t sure belonged to him or to her. A night she would never forget a second of no matter how long she lived, every single piece of clothing they’d removed a revelation of what it had felt like to be alive.

One night for herself before she’d married a man she didn’t love.

And then had come the harsh reality of morning. Of what she’d done. Of what was ahead—a glittering, star-studded party at the Lombardis’ Las Vegas home to announce her engagement to Franco. The day she would officially become his.

Maybe it had been easier to run than to face what she’d done. How she’d felt about Santo. Maybe she’d convinced herself he would move on as he always did and she would end up brokenhearted. And maybe, it had been the coward’s way out, exactly as he’d suggested.

She finally stumbled to bed in the early hours. She woke bleary-eyed, sure her safe little world was about to be blown to smithereens, and there was nothing she could do about it.

She dropped off Leo at the hotel day care, her heart in her throat as she watched him toddle off to join the others, a smile on his face. She couldn’t lose him. He was all that she had. It had been them against the world for the past three years. She felt helpless in a way she hadn’t in forever and it threw her back to a version of herself she never wanted to be again. Never would be again. Powerless. At the mercy of the forces surrounding her.

Delilah, always a lethally accurate barometer of her moods, appeared in her office shortly thereafter. Clad in a brilliant scarlet suit, her perfectly manicured nails colored to match, she looked as impeccable as always.

“Clearly, I have failed in my efforts,” she observed, her ever-present coffee cup in hand. “Poor Justin left brokenhearted. Although I think I might have been sabotaged by outside forces. Is there something I should know about you and Santo Di Fiore?”

Gia’s stomach curled. “You picked up on that?”

“It was hard not to,” Delilah said drily. “The tension between you two was palpable. He was barely paying attention to anything I said.”

She swallowed past the giant knot in her throat. “Santo is Leo’s father. His real father.”

Delilah’s jaw dropped. Coffee sloshed out of her cup and over the side. She set it down on the cabinet, shaking the liquid from her hand. “I’m sorry. Could you say that again?”

Gia found a napkin in her desk and handed it to Delilah. “Santo and I had a night together before Franco and I married. We conceived Leo.”

Delilah stared at her, gobsmacked. “But how? Why? You knew you were going to marry him.”

“I was frightened. Scared. Santo was there.” She sat back in her chair and drew in a deep breath. “We had known each other since high school. He was a senior in my freshman year. The most popular boy in school—the star athlete everyone loved. I was persona non grata. A Castiglione. No one wanted to hang out with me, and even on the rare occasion they did, Dante made quick work of them.”

“But Santo,” she reminisced, her heart pulsing, “walked right up to my table in the cafeteria. Sat down and started chatting away as if it was the most natural thing in the world that the most popular guy in school would want to talk to me.” She sank her teeth into her lip, remembering how tongue-tied she’d been. “I was completely dazzled by him.”

“You fell in love with him,” Delilah concluded.

“It wasn’t so simple. I was promised to Franco. We—” she hesitated, searching for the right words “—became friends. We use to run together in the mornings. Talk afterward in the stands. And there was more,” she conceded. “An attraction that grew between us. Dante caught on to what was going on and my father sent a message through him. That I was not a possibility for Santo. That I never would be.”

She told Delilah how her friendship with Santo had grown into something special. How he’d been the one she’d always run to. The night her sixteenth birthday party had fallen apart at the seams when her new friend, the one she’d thought might actually become a best friend, hadn’t shown up because she’d been forbidden to. The afternoon she’d found out she’d been accepted for a glamorous exchange program to France, only to be told it posed too much of a security risk. The day she’d secured a spot on the track team only to find out her father had ensured it instead with his strong-arm techniques. Santo had always been there.

And then, there had been that night with him that had turned her life upside down. She told Delilah about Franco’s fury, and the promise she had made to him to never see Santo again.

Delilah’s sapphire gaze deepened with understanding. “Which was why your marriage to Franco was so rocky. Because of Leo.”

“Yes.”

Delilah frowned. “How did Santo take the news about him?”

“Not well.” The understatement of the year.

Delilah sighed and took a sip of her coffee. “This is a mess,” she said finally. “You know that. Santo is one of the most powerful men on the planet. Does he want his son?”

She nodded. That much was clear.

“Then I would suggest,” Delilah advised, “that you attempt to reason with him. It’s your only option. And,” she added quietly, eyes on Gia’s, “you might want to figure out how you feel about him while you’re at it. There are clearly some unresolved feelings there between you two.”

She intended to ignore the latter piece of advice completely, because Santo clearly hated her for what she’d done. She wasn’t sure about the first part, either. The Santo who had walked away from her last night had been a cold, hard stranger she couldn’t hope to know. She didn’t think reasoning with him was going to work.

But she had to try, because everything banked on her succeeding. Convincing Santo she had done the right thing.

* * *

Santo stood leaning against the railing of the terrace of his suite as a stunning pink sunset blazed its way across the sky. He’d spent the night before attempting to absorb the mind-numbing news that he had a three-year-old son. Walking for hours on the beach in an effort to work past the emotion consuming him. To figure out his next step. Which had produced a single, yet irrefutable solution to the situation he now found himself in.

He’d gone through it with his lawyer in New York this morning, his proposed solution the one his chief legal counsel deemed “the cleanest one possible.” The complex process of having Leo’s paternity corrected was another story. It was a land mine of red tape to negotiate that left him with a dark cloud in his head. Which hadn’t necessarily been lessened by his brother’s parting words that morning.

You know what I’m thinking.

Yes. And it would never be him. His father had married his mother, a Broadway dancer, when she’d become pregnant with his child. Had been so blindingly in love with her, with the thought of her, he hadn’t considered the consequences of tying himself to a woman who would never be happy. Who had never wanted to be a wife or a mother. Who had married him for his money and then proceeded to make his life miserable from that day forward.

Which was not how his relationship with Gia was going to proceed. His father might have allowed his emotion to rule him, he might have allowed emotion to rule him the first time around with Gia, but this iteration of their relationship would be based on rationality. On putting their child first.

She showed up at six-thirty sharp, exactly as he’d known she would, because he held all the cards in this unspeakably difficult situation she’d created, and he intended to use them. His plan, however, was momentarily derailed when he opened the door and found her on the threshold.

Clad in a knee-length, olive-green dress with a halter-style top, the soft drape of the material accented her perfect curves, doing particular justice to her amazing backside, which had used to make every boy in school stop and stare. Then walk the other way when they remembered who she was.

Hauling his gaze upward, he refused to allow himself to fall into that trap. He focused, instead, on Gia’s pinched face. Bare of makeup, except for a light-coloured gloss on her lips, there were shadows painted beneath her brilliant green eyes. She looked vulnerable. Apprehensive. Scared. Which normally would have tugged at his heartstrings, but not this time.

He waved her into a seat. “Would you like a drink?”

She shook her head. Perched herself on the arm of a chair instead. He moved to the bar, poured himself two fingers of Scotch, because he sorely needed it, added some ice, then turned to face her, leaning a hip against the marble.

Gia dug her teeth into her lip, eyes on his. “Santo,” she began haltingly, “I don’t think we were entirely rational, either of us, last night. It was an emotional discussion. Perhaps we can start over—discuss this situation with a fresh perspective?”

He cradled the glass between his fingers. “Actually,” he murmured, with a contemplative look, “I woke up with excellent perspective. You stole my son from me, Gia. You kept his existence a secret for three years, one you would no doubt have continued to keep had it not been for last night. So, from now on, I will be the one calling the shots and you will be the one listening.”

She swallowed hard, the delicate muscles of her throat pulling tight. “You need to be reasonable.”

“Believe me, this is reasonable after the thoughts that have been going through my head.” He inclined his head. “Who is taking care of Leo while you’re here?”

“His babysitter. I thought it better we spoke in private.”

“And during the day when you work?”

“He goes to the hotel day care.”

“Day care?” He said the words as if they were dirty, which they were to him, because the idea of his son being cared for by strangers was just that unpalatable to him.

“I work,” she pointed out. “I have a successful career, which allows me to support my son. The day care is amazing. Leo loves it. Everyone there is wonderful.”

“So he is growing up without a father and a mother?”

Her head snapped back, her green eyes firing. “On the contrary. I start and finish work early every day. I spend the better part of the afternoons with Leo, as well as the evenings. He never wants for love or affection, Santo, and the socialization with the other children is good for him. He needs to learn to bond with other kids.”

Which she never had. He, however, knew the flipside. What it was like to come home to a nanny who had never lasted, and then later, when he’d been a teenager, to come home to nothing at all when his mother had walked out on them.

He’d been thirteen when she’d left after his father’s business had gone bankrupt and his family had lost everything—the house, the car, every piece of solid footing he’d ever known. His father busy drowning his sorrows at a local bar, Nico working to support the family, Lazzero off in his basketball-obsessed world, it had been unspeakably lonely to come home to the empty, dingy apartment they’d lived in. So he’d gone to his friend Pietro’s instead. Enveloped himself in the freely given warmth that had been bestowed upon him there.

Something Leo was never going to have to do.

“I have no problem with my son socializing with other children,” he bit out tersely. “In fact, I’m all for it, Gia. My issue here is that you have not only deprived Leo of his father, you have deprived him of his extended family as well, because you have walked away from yours and stripped him of mine.” He pointed his glass at her. “Nico and Chloe have a two-year-old boy named Jack. A cousin he doesn’t even know. How is that fair?”

Any color that had been in her cheeks fled. She hugged her arms tight around herself, her eyes glittering with emotion. “I am so sorry,” she said huskily. “I am, Santo. I do understand what I did was wrong, despite your opinion to the contrary. But I did what I thought was best for Leo at the time and I would do it a million times over, because I never want him to grow up like I did. As a Castiglione. That was the only thing in my head when I left.”

He absorbed the defiant tilt of her chin. The fire in her eyes. That was what had kept him up all night. The fact that she believed, in her own misguided way, that she’d done the right thing. Because Gia had only ever known one world—a world in which the blood ties that bound her—family, loyalty—meant everything. A world in which power and intimidation reigned supreme—except that she’d held no power in that world. In her mind, there had been no way out.

He regarded her with a hooded gaze. “What were you going to tell Leo when the time came? The truth? Or were you going to tell him that his father was a high-priced thug?”

She flinched. Lifted a fluttering hand to her throat. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” she admitted. “We’ve been too busy trying to survive. Making a life for ourselves. Leo’s welfare has been my top priority.”

Which he believed. It was the only reason he wasn’t going to take his child and walk. Do to her exactly what she’d done to him. Because as angry as he was, as unforgivable as what she had done had been, he had to take the situation she’d been in into account. It had taken guts for her to walk away from her life. Courage. She’d put Leo first, something his own mother hadn’t done. And she had been young and scared. All things he couldn’t ignore.

Gia set her gaze on his, apprehension flaring in her eyes. “I can’t change the past, Santo, the decisions I made. But I can make this right. Clearly,” she acknowledged, “you are going to want to be a part of Leo’s life. I was thinking about solutions last night. I thought you could visit us here... Get Leo used to the idea of having you around, and then, when he is older, more able to understand the situation, we can tell him the truth.”

A slow curl of heat unraveled inside of him, firing the blood in his veins to dangerously combustible levels. “And what do you propose we tell him when I visit? That I am that friend you referred to the other night? How many friends do you have, Gia?”

Her face froze. “I have been building a life here. Establishing a career. There has been no time for dating. All I do is work and spend time with Leo, who is a handful as you can imagine, as all three-year-olds tend to be.”

The defensively issued words lodged themselves in his throat. “I can’t actually imagine,” he said softly, “because you’ve deprived me of the right to know that, Gia. You have deprived me of everything.”

She blanched. He set down his glass on the bar. “I am his father. I have missed three years of his life. You think a weekend pass is going to suffice? A few dips in the sea as he learns to swim?” He shook his head. “I want every day with him. I want to wake up with him bouncing on the bed. I want to take him to the park and throw a ball around. I want to hear about his day when I tuck him into bed. I want it all.”

“What else can we do?” she queried helplessly. “You live in New York and I live here. Leo is settled and happy. A limited custody arrangement is the only realistic solution for us.”

“It is not a viable proposition.” His low growl made her jump. “That’s not how this is going to work, Gia.”

She eyed him warily. “Which part?”

“All of it. I have a proposal for you. It’s the only one on the table. Nonnegotiable on all points. Take it or leave it.”

The wariness written across her face intensified. “Which is?”

“We do what’s in the best interests of our child. You marry me, we create a life together in New York and give Leo the family he deserves.”

* * *

Gia’s stomach dropped, like a book falling off a high shelf. She stared at Santo, horrified, not sure which of his proposals she was most taken aback by. The idea of being forced into another marriage she had no interest in, that it would be with a man who now clearly hated her for what she’d done. Or the thought that he expected her to give up the life she’d made here to return to New York.

She shook her head. “I can’t do that. My life is here now, Santo. Everything I have is here. Leo loves it. You can’t just ask me to give all of that up.”

His face was unyielding. “I run a Fortune 500 company. My business is headquartered in Manhattan. I can’t base myself in the Bahamas, however enticing that prospect may be. It is not logical.”

She rubbed a palm against the back of her neck. Thought about how completely she’d severed herself from her life. How impossible, how undoable, it would be to simply pick it back up again. Her father had moved the family to Las Vegas a decade ago, when he had concentrated the business on the gambling end of things, but he still had business interests in New York. A collision would be guaranteed.

Her skin went cold. “I can’t go back to New York,” she said adamantly. “You know what that would mean, Santo. Leo would be exposed to my family. He would become a Castiglione.”

A cold fire lit his ebony eyes. “Leo will become a Di Fiore. He will be protected as such—as will you. Which leads me to the final part of my offer. Leo will have no contact with your family. Ever. Those ties will remain severed. Unless it’s your mother on a supervised visit approved by me. If you break that condition, our agreement will become null and void.”

And she would lose Leo. There was no need to even ask the question. She could tell from the look on his face. Ice formed on Gia’s insides. “My father will never tolerate such an arrangement, you know that. My brother, Tommaso, has never had a boy. Leo is his grandson—his future heir.”

“Your father has bigger things to worry about.” Santo picked up a newspaper that was folded on the breakfast bar and handed it to her. She scanned the page. Found the story he was referring to near the bottom.

Castiglione Thumbs His Nose at Congressional Hearings. Her heart jumped into her mouth. She skimmed the story, which talked about the new attorney general’s determination to crack down on the resurgence of organized crime in the United States with a series of congressional hearings set for next month in Washington. Her father, unsurprisingly, had been invited to testify on the subject. He had, also unsurprisingly, refused to attend, electing to take a lengthy sojourn to Calabria instead.

She inhaled a deep breath. This would kill her mother. Her father was everything to her. Her whole life was built around him.

“They will go after his business interests,” she said huskily. “My brother, next.”

“Perhaps,” Santo agreed. “But that would take time. Meanwhile Tommaso will run things in Vegas while your father lawyers up. Which, I’m assuming, he will do.”

Undoubtedly. Her father, meticulous with the details in which he protected his empire, would take his time to ensure he was fully shielded against the proceedings before he resurfaced. The battle he’d been fighting against law enforcement had been the bane of his existence, providing an undesirable spotlight when the famiglia would prefer to operate in the shadows.

“He will come back,” she said flatly. “He will never trust my brother with the leadership. He will make himself impenetrable and then he will plead the Fifth. At which time, he will find out that Leo and I are back. I can’t risk that.”

“You aren’t going to deal with him, Gia. I am.”

Oh, no. Her heart dropped. That would never work. That would be a disaster. “You know how he feels about you, Santo.”

A smile that wasn’t really a smile twisted his lips. “That he thinks I’m not good enough for you? Oh, that message came across loud and clear a decade ago. Funnily enough though,” he drawled, “we are on an equal playing field now. It will be interesting to see how that plays out.”

Her stomach curled at the thought of it. But that fear was quickly replaced by the panic that surged up her throat. “You’re going to tell him you are Leo’s father.”

His black eyes glittered. “You’re damn right I am, because that man is never going to set eyes on Leo again. He needs to know that.”

Gia felt the world dissolve beneath her feet. This was a nightmare. This could not happen. She needed to do something to stop it before it did.

She covered the distance between them with shaky steps, coming to a halt just centimeters from him. Her heart jammed in her chest at how gorgeous he was in a white shirt rolled up to the elbows and dark jeans that molded to his thighs to perfection. She had always been able to appeal to his softer side. He had never been able to resist her, and right now, she wasn’t above using whatever means necessary to prevent him from shattering her world apart.

“Don’t do this,” she said softly, “You’re angry—I understand that. What I did was wrong. But I can’t go back there. I’m never going back.”

His gaze slid to the fingers she had wrapped around his arm, tensile muscle that vibrated beneath her touch. It was, she recorded silently, her second mistake of the past five minutes, because everything went up in smoke then, the slow rise of heat between them palpable as he lifted his gaze to hers, dark as ebony. And, suddenly, she was so tangled up in him she couldn’t get out.

“Santo,” she murmured. “No.”

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