The Sicilian’s Stolen Son

Perfect only in a nightmare, Luciano reflected grimly. No way was he linking his name to a woman who was no better than a thieving hooker, not in a paper marriage of any kind.

He was employing a nanny, Jemima thought wretchedly as panic snaked through her in a cold little shiver of foreboding. Clearly Luciano was planning to remove Nicky from her care as soon as he could.

Luciano surveyed his infant son, who was engaged in contentedly falling asleep against his mother’s shoulder. He could rip him away from Jemima as he himself had once been ripped away from his own mother. All right, he had been almost three years old but he had never forgotten the day he was torn from his mother’s loving arms. Of course there had been a lot of blood and violence involved and naturally he had been traumatised by the episode. He would not be doing anything of that nature. He despised Jemima Barber but he did not wish her dead for having crossed him. At the same time, however, he deeply resented her hold on his son.

‘Nicky’s very emotional,’ Jemima remarked cautiously. ‘He does get upset quite easily.’

‘I’m surprised he’s so fond of you. You’ve spent most of your time in London and left other people looking after him,’ Luciano condemned.

‘I’ve spent much more time with him than you appreciate,’ Jemima protested, tilting her chin. ‘Of course he’s fond of me...’

‘But you always planned to give him away,’ he reminded her coolly. ‘As long as the pay-off was sufficient. Shouldn’t you have prepared him better for the separation?’

An angry flush illuminated her pale porcelain skin. ‘I didn’t know if there was going to be a separation!’ she fired back awkwardly.

‘I would let nothing prevent me from claiming my son. Since you disappeared there has not been a single day that I haven’t thought of him,’ Luciano proclaimed, dark honey-rich eyes glittering with challenge. ‘He is mine—’

‘Yes...’ she conceded raggedly, her breath catching in her throat below the onslaught of his extraordinarily compelling gaze. ‘But handing him over isn’t going to be as simple...er...as I once thought it would be.’

Luciano shrugged a broad shoulder without interest. ‘You convinced a psychiatrist that you knew what you were signing up to do and could cope with it.’

Desperation slivered through Jemima’s taut frame. ‘Things change...’ she whispered.

‘I want my son,’ Luciano told her bluntly.

The germ of a wild idea burst into being inside Jemima and flew straight from brain to tongue without the benefit of any filter or forethought. ‘Couldn’t I be your nanny? Even for a little while?’

Luciano studied her in disbelief. ‘My nanny? You? Are you crazy?’

‘Only until he settles into his new life. You’d be getting a trained infant teacher to look after him. I’m well qualified with young children.’

‘But you’ve never worked with them?’

‘Of course I have work experience.’

‘Before you decided that you much preferred earning easy money as an escort?’

Jemima froze. ‘An...es-escort?’ Her voice stumbled over the mortifying word. ‘That’s a dreadful—’

Luciano sighed. ‘I know everything about you. You can’t lie to me. You were working as an escort in London and you were very popular with older men until you began to steal their wallets. I spoke to the agency that made your bookings for you before deciding to dispense with your services.’

Her lips parted and then closed again. She had turned white as snow, shock thudding through her, her heart thumping loudly in her eardrums. She didn’t want to believe him but she did because Julie’s love of money had been much stronger than her self-respect. An escort? An escort offering extras? Jemima squirmed, raw humiliation bowing her head. Working as an escort had given her twin the chance to steal. And sadly, the stolen credit cards had only been the tip of the iceberg, she acknowledged wretchedly. Seemingly Julie had been as willing to sell herself as she had been to sell her son.

‘It was an exclusive escort service,’ Luciano conceded, recognising her mortification and less gratified by it than he had expected to be.

‘So I wouldn’t be quite what you want in a nanny,’ Jemima breathed, stricken, receiving that message loud and clear from his attitude.

‘I’m afraid not. My security team will pick Niccol? up tomorrow and bring him up to London for the day. I’ll send the nanny with them.’ Luciano read her consternation with ease. ‘Naturally I want to spend time with my son.’

‘Before you do...what?’ Jemima pressed helplessly.

‘Before I take him home to Sicily with me,’ Luciano fielded. ‘You know how this must end, Jemima. Why make it more difficult for all of us?’

Jemima subsided like a pricked balloon. Julie had accepted payment and signed the agreement. There was no escape clause unless she was willing to run screaming to the media with her sad story. And where would that get her? More importantly, what would it gain Nicky? Notified of the circumstances of Nicky’s birth, the social services would probably step in to take charge of Nicky and decide his future and there was no guarantee that Luciano would get him either. In fact there was every chance that Nicky would be placed in an adoptive home and neither Jemima nor Luciano would ever see him again. Seeking outside help would be the wrong thing to do, she decided in despair. The very fact she had lied and faked being Julie to hold on to her nephew would be held against her by the authorities...and by Luciano if he ever found out the truth.

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_c81ecb63-33a1-5031-be41-3f3933625a38)

‘SO COULD I have a lift with you up to London?’ Jemima asked the nanny cheerfully. ‘I assure you that a lift is all I want, but my being in the car will make it easier for you to get to know Nicky and I can run through his routine with you as well.’

‘Er... I...’ Nonplussed, the nanny, who had introduced herself as Lisa, hovered on the doorstep and looked at the tall, broadly built bodyguard standing behind her for direction.

The bodyguard dug out a cell phone and punched in a number and Jemima got the obvious message: nothing could be done because no plan could deviate in the smallest way without Luciano Vitale’s permission and approval. She scolded herself for thinking that she was being clever when she had come up with the idea the night before. Yet she truly wasn’t trying to interfere with Luciano’s day with Nicky. She simply wanted to be more accessible if anything went wrong.

‘I just thought I could take the opportunity to do some shopping,’ she fibbed nervously as the bodyguard’s conversation in staccato Italian continued at length.

‘Mr Vitale makes all the arrangements,’ Lisa told her with an apologetic smile. ‘I don’t want to screw up my first day on the job. It would be handy, though, to know a little more about your son.’

‘Miss Maurice?’ The bodyguard handed the phone to the nanny.

Jemima watched the woman stiffen, straighten her shoulders and pale as she evidently received her instructions while answering yes and no several times. She then extended the phone to Jemima.

Realising that it was now her turn to receive her orders, Jemima laughed out loud, stunning her companions.

‘So glad you’ve found something to laugh about today,’ Luciano drawled, sharp and swift as a stiletto stabbing at her down the line.

‘Oh, please don’t take it like that,’ Jemima babbled in dismay. ‘I promise you that you won’t see or hear from me today. I just want to be in London...to...er...shop—’

‘I can hear the lie in your voice—’

Her blood ran cold in her veins.

‘You got a sixth sense or something?’

‘Or something. Tell me the truth or I will not consider the idea,’ he told her coldly.

‘I wanted to be within reach...you know, in case you needed me. That’s all.’

At his end of the line, Luciano gritted his perfect white teeth. Where the hell did she get the nerve to bug him like this? He expelled his breath in a hiss of impatience. ‘Why would I need you?’

‘Not you, him,’ Jemima stressed. ‘And dial back the tension, Luciano. Nicky can be very temperamental. He works best with calm, quiet and soothing—’

Luciano was incredulous. ‘Let me get this straight—you are telling me how to behave?’

‘But not in a rude way, in a helpful way,’ Jemima emphasised.

‘You are irritating me,’ Luciano growled soft and low.

‘Ditto.’ Jemima groaned out loud, having forgotten her audience. ‘Less of the growly stuff would be nice but not if you replace it with the rave-from-the-grave voice.’