Italian Mavericks: Forbidden Nights With The Italian: The Forbidden Ferrara / Surrendering to the Italian's Command / The Unwanted Conti Bride

‘You gave us all a shock,’ he drawled, approaching the bed with a confidence that suggested he was a welcome visitor.

‘Ferrara—’ her grandfather’s voice was weak and shaky ‘—I want to know your intentions.’

There was a long pulsing silence and Fia shot Santo a pleading glance, but he wasn’t looking at her. He dominated the room, the power of his athletic physique a cruel contrast to the fragility of the man in the bed.

‘I intend to be a father to my son.’

Time stood still.

She couldn’t believe he’d actually said that. ‘I don’t—’

‘About time!’ Her grandfather’s eyes burned fiercely in his pale face. ‘For years I have been waiting for you to do the right thing—not even allowed to mention your name in case she walked out—’ He glared at Fia and then coughed weakly. ‘What sort of a man makes a woman pregnant and then leaves her to cope alone?’

‘The sort of man who didn’t know,’ Santo replied in a cool tone, ‘but now intends to rectify that mistake.’

Fia barely heard his response. She was staring at her grandfather.

‘What?’ He snapped the words. ‘You thought I didn’t know? Why do you think I was so angry with him?’

She sank into the nearest chair. ‘Well, because—’

‘You thought it was because of a stupid piece of land. And because of your brother.’ Her grandfather closed his eyes, his face pale against the hospital sheets. ‘I don’t blame him for your brother. I was wrong about a lot of things. Wrong. There. I said it. Does that make you happy?’

Fia’s heart clenched. A lump formed in her throat. ‘You shouldn’t be talking about this now. It isn’t the time.’

‘Always trying to smooth things over. Always wanting everyone to love each other and be friends. Keep an eye on her, Ferrara, or she’ll turn your son into a wimp.’ Her grandfather’s frame was racked by a paroxysm of coughing and Fia fumbled for the buzzer. Within moments the room filled with staff but he waved them away impatiently, his eyes still on Santo. ‘There’s one thing I want to know before they pump me full of more drugs that are going to dull my mind—’ his voice rasped ‘—I want to know what you’re going to do now that you know.’

Santo didn’t hesitate. ‘I’m going to marry your granddaughter.’

CHAPTER FIVE (#u0241d7e0-98ba-5b5d-a1a3-a78148fefb12)

HE HATED hospitals.

Santo scrunched the flimsy plastic cup in his hand and dropped it into the bin.

The smell of antiseptic reminded him of the night his father had died and just for a moment he was tempted to turn on his heel and walk right out again.

And then he thought of Fia, keeping vigil over her grandfather, hour after hour. His anger was still running hot. He was furious with her. But he couldn’t accuse her of not showing loyalty to her family. And he couldn’t leave her alone in this place.

Cursing softly, Santo strode back towards the coronary care unit that brought back nothing but bad memories.

She was sitting by the bed, her hair a livid streak of fire against her ashen skin. Those green eyes were fixed on the old man as if by sheer willpower and focus she might somehow transmit some of her youth and energy to him.

He’d never seen a lonelier figure in his life.

Or perhaps he had, he thought grimly, remembering the first time he’d seen her in his boathouse. Some people automatically sought human company when they were upset. Fia had taught herself to survive alone.

He compared that to his own big, noisy family. He knew from experience that had it been a Ferrara lying in the hospital bed the room would have been bulging with concerned relatives, not just his brother and sister but numerous aunts, uncles and cousins all clucking and fussing.

‘How’s he doing?’

‘They gave him a sedative and some other stuff. I don’t know what. They say the first twenty-four hours are crucial.’ Her slim fingers were curled around her grandfather’s. ‘If he wakes up now he’ll be angry that I’m holding his hand. He’s not great at the physical stuff. Never has been.’

Santo realised that this woman’s whole life revolved around the man currently lying in the bed and the child fast asleep in his car.

‘When did you last eat?’ It was the automatic Ferrara response to all moments of crisis and he almost laughed at himself for being so predictable.

‘I’m not hungry.’ Her voice was husky and she didn’t shift her gaze from her grandfather. ‘In a minute I’ll go and check on Luca.’

‘I just checked him. He hasn’t stirred. He and Luigi are both asleep.’

‘I’ll bring him in here and tuck him up on the chair. Then you can go home. Gina will come and I need to call Ben and ask him to cover tomorrow.’

Santo felt an irrational surge of anger. ‘He doesn’t need to. I’ve already sorted that out. My team will take over running the Beach Shack for the time being.’

Her spine tensed. ‘You’re taking advantage of this situation to take over my business?’

Santo held on to his own temper. ‘You need to stop thinking like a Baracchi. This is not about revenge. I’m not taking over your business, just making sure you still have one to come home to. I assumed you didn’t want to leave your grandfather’s bedside to cook calamari for a bunch of strangers.’

Her cheeks were pale. ‘I’m sorry.’ Her gaze skated back to her grandfather. ‘I am grateful to you. I just assumed—’

‘Well, stop assuming.’ Her fragility unsettled him. And it wasn’t the only thing that unsettled him. The response of his body was equally disturbing. His feelings were entirely inappropriate for the surroundings. ‘You can do no more here tonight. Your grandfather is going to sleep and it’s not going to help anyone if you collapse. We’re leaving now. I’ve told the staff to call me if there is any change.’

‘I can’t leave. It’s too far to get back here again if something happens.’

‘My apartment is only ten minutes from here. If something happens, I’ll drive you. If we leave now you can still get some rest and my son can wake up in a proper bed.’ He’d been trying not to think about that side of things, putting his own emotions on hold in order to maintain the delicate balance of a situation that could only be described as difficult.

Perhaps it was the logic of his argument. Perhaps it was the words ‘my son’. Either way, she ceased arguing and allowed him to lead her away from the bedside to the car.

Ten minutes later Luca was tucked up in the centre of an enormous double bed in one of his spare bedrooms.

Santo watched as she spread pillows on the floor next to the bed. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Sometimes he rolls. I don’t want him to fall onto the tiled floor,’ she muttered. ‘Do you have a baby alarm?’

‘No. Leave the door open a crack. Then we’ll hear him if he wakes.’ Santo strode out of the room and she followed, her eyes tracing every detail of his apartment.

‘Do you live alone?’

‘You think I’m hiding women under the sofa?’

‘I just mean it’s very big for one person.’

‘I like the space and the views. The balconies face over the old part of the town, not that I think Luca will be that discerning. What can I get you to eat?’

‘Nothing, thank you.’ Restless and tense, she walked over to the doors that led to the balcony and opened them. ‘Don’t you keep these locked?’

‘You’re worrying about my security?’