The Italian's Demand

She groaned in exasperation and scrambled to her knees. ‘You don’t get it, do you? This isn’t some little upset he’s had. He’s traumatised. You’re wrong!’ she protested desperately.

‘No! You are!’ His angry tone and the stop sign he made with his hand had a horrible finality about them. ‘Now it is your turn to listen. Lio is my son and I love him. There’s nothing more to say about the matter. Because of what you have said, I will not take him now but I will wait until the morning when he and I can make friends—’

‘But—!’

‘However,’ he rolled on regardless, ‘I will stay here tonight. I, too, cannot risk him being snatched from under my nose—’

‘I wouldn’t do that!’ she flung indignantly.

‘No? You seem very passionate, very determined to prevent me from bonding with my child,’ he observed, dark eyes reproving her.

‘Bond if you can!’ she hurled, knowing he wouldn’t. He’d see the extent of the problem in the morning. Then he’d have to concede defeat. ‘Be my guest,’ she added bitterly.

‘Your guest? This is my house,’ he pointed out sharply. ‘At least, the debt is mine. You are the guest. And in the morning, you will pack his things—and Linda’s bills and papers—and when he and I have played together for a short while, we will then fly to Italy.’

‘And if he won’t play?’

‘We go. That’s final.’

She stared in horror. ‘But…you can’t do that! And…Italy! I—I wouldn’t ever s-see him!’ she stuttered, utterly appalled that Vittore meant to ignore everything she’d said.

She’d be miles away from Lio and he’d be crying his heart out, lost and scared… Her face crumpled, misery welling up to choke her.

‘It’s not that far away. You can visit,’ Vittore said, quite gently as if he recognised the extent of her affection and felt sorry for her. ‘You are his aunt and therefore will always be welcome. My mother would like to meet you, I’m sure. And whatever you say to the contrary, you will be properly thanked for what you have done. Tomorrow you can get on with your life,’ he soothed, patting her bare thigh consolingly, ‘which I am sure has been put on hold for the past two months.’

Words failed her. Numb with disbelief, she gazed blearily up at him, so overwhelmed by tears that she couldn’t argue her case any further.

‘Please don’t cry,’ he said gently.

‘I’m not crying!’ she raged, stupidly denying the obvious and crossly catching up the salty drops with her tongue as if that might hide them.

‘I understand that this is difficult for you,’ he murmured, voice, hands and eyes combining to placate her. ‘You’ve looked after him for many weeks and have become attached to him—’

‘Attached isn’t the right word,’ she muttered miserably. ‘Super-glued is closer.’

‘We both know he has to come back to Italy with me,’ Vittore went on relentlessly. ‘Tomorrow.’

‘No—!’

‘Excuse me,’ he said, his manner short and sharp. ‘I want to look at him again and then I will collect my overnight bag from my hire car and find somewhere to sleep.’

He strode to the door. She opened her mouth to protest but nothing came out other than a choking cry. For a moment she heard his steps falter and then they quickened and faded.

Unbelievably distressed, Verity slumped in a heap, sobbing her heart out for baby Lio and for herself.

In a few hours the light of her life would be gone. All too vividly she could picture the scene tomorrow: Lio, screaming at being parted from her, fear and hysteria in his eyes, his body rigid with terror.

‘No!’ she whispered sickly.

The image was too painful to bear and she pressed her hands against her face in an effort to obliterate it. She felt quite desolate. Vittore’s plan was brutal. Anything could happen to Lio’s fragile emotions. Anything.

She would stop Vittore. She didn’t know how, only that she must. Tormented and racked with misery, she wept uncontrollably for her little nephew, terrified that Vittore’s insensitive handling would be the ruin of little Lio.

CHAPTER FOUR

IN A state of euphoria, Vittore stripped off his clothes and took a shower, then slipped naked into the bed in the nursery, beside Lio’s cot. For a while he lay propped up on one arm, watching his sleeping son with deep love filling his heart.