When Frank had brought Rhea to Key West three years ago, he had told Elena that he’d hired a live-in nurse for Grace. And that’s how Rhea had been disguised—how the household at Santa Palazzo had come to accept her.
Grace’s health over the years had gradually gotten worse, and she needed constant care. Rhea had been a nurse in Chicago for seven years. The situation had worked on all levels.
“Talk to me, Rhea. What can I do to help?”
“I don’t want your mother to know what’s happened. She’s too fragile. She needs bed rest and no excitement for at least forty-eight hours. And your father…when he learns what happened tonight he’ll know why I had to…”
“Leave. You are, aren’t you.”
“I can’t wait, Elena. I’ll go crazy waiting for your father to get here.”
Elena reached out and tugged Rhea to the bed. Pulling her down to sit next to her, she said, “Mother would have died tonight if you hadn’t been here to help her. If you leave, she’ll have no one.”
Rhea pushed her long blond bangs out of her eyes. “You’re wonderful with your mother, Elena. You are why your mother has survived all these years. You and your father. She’ll be fine until Frank comes. He’ll order a replacement nurse within twenty-four hours.”
“Why can’t we just call the police and tell them that Nicci’s been kidnapped? Tell them that you know who did it, and—”
“I can’t do that,” Rhea said quickly. “Nicci’s father is a powerful man in Chicago. When I left I didn’t tell him I was pregnant. I didn’t say where I was going, either. I just left. I had my reasons. Good reasons. But…”
“I was always curious about Nicci’s father,” Elena admitted. “Is that where he gets his black hair and dark eyes? Does his father have black hair? You’re so fair, and Nicci’s so dark.”
“Joey’s Sicilian. His family…” Rhea glanced at Elena’s dark hair, then her earthy brown eyes, “they all have black hair and dark eyes.”
“Did you run away because he hurt you, Rhea? Was it Nicci’s father who gave you the scars?”
Rhea saw Elena focus on the thin white line on her lower lip, then on the one that slipped into the corner of her left eye—the scar that had made her wear an eye patch for months. The scar that had nearly blinded her.
“It wasn’t like that. Joey never hurt me.”
Elena frowned. “Then, I don’t understand.”
“I was in an accident.” Rhea shivered, remembering Stud’s angry eyes as he’d picked her up and hurled her through her bedroom window. Her ex-husband had claimed he hadn’t meant to hurt her, just to knock some sense into her. Elena didn’t need to know the sordid details of Rhea’s past, however, or the dangers that threatened her once she returned to Chicago. And likewise, Rhea didn’t want to dwell on her ex-husband…or Joey.
Especially not Joey.
There was no rational explanation for falling in love with him three years ago. It had been one of those crazy chance meetings at a time when she should have been too wary of any man to notice the black-haired Sicilian in the hospital corridor during one of her unscheduled late-night visits.
At the time, she didn’t know what caught her attention first, the meticulous way he dressed or his shockingly deep voice. Later, she came to realize it was neither. What had drawn her to Joey Masado was the hidden tenderness in the depth of his dark eyes despite his poignant tough-guy image—a goodness and a fairness that defied reason, as well as rumor.
“How soon are you leaving?”
The thought of returning to Chicago scared Rhea. But she forced a weak smile. “As soon as I can book a flight. While I pack, will you call the airport? I need to get out of here before the storm hits and they start grounding planes.”
And before Frank comes home and tries to stop me.
“Will you come back?”
“Yes. I’ll be back. With Nicci.” Rhea knew that it was the only way to defuse the time bomb—if she and Nicci returned to Santa Palazzo. How she was going to manage that wasn’t clear just yet, but she would focus on that once she had faced Joey and knew that Nicci was all right.
Elena shoved her long black hair away from her face, and stood. “I’ll call the airport.” She headed for the door, then turned back. “I love you and Nicci. I know I’ve never told you that, Rhea. But it’s true. I can’t imagine either of you not in my life.”
The uncertainty of the situation brought tears to Rhea’s eyes, and she came off the bed quickly. “I love you, too. I’ve always wanted a sister, and you’ve been that to me. Thank you for accepting me into your home, Elena.”
“Oh, Rhea.” Suddenly Elena rushed back and threw herself into Rhea’s arms. “If you need me, I’m here. Don’t forget that. Don’t forget me.”
The drive to the airport was hampered by heavy rain. When Rhea boarded the plane it was in a downpour, the wind so savage that she was glad she had worn jeans and her brown suede jacket.
When the plane was finally airborne, she pulled the silver cross from her pocket and stared down at it. Unbidden, the image of Joey, half naked, wearing the silver cross nestled against the black hair on his chest materialized, and with it a fierce longing that had her feeling anxious as well as frightened.
Three years hadn’t dimmed his powerful image or the emotions that had kept the memories alive. If anything, the years had sharpened the picture in her mind’s eye, and strengthened her belief that for a brief moment in time she had experienced heaven on earth.
It rained throughout the night. All the way through Florida and Georgia. Hours later, Rhea changed flights in Nashville, and as she watched the dawn of a new day from her seat among the clouds, a small private aircraft made its final descent onto a runway at Chicago’s O’Hare International. And like the tough Sicilian heritage Niccolo Joseph Masado had been born into, the black-haired two-year-old boy asleep in his father’s arms never fussed or blinked an eye as his uncle Tomas landed the sleek white Cessna in a rush of speed, tires squealing on black tarmac.
As choices went, this one had been easy. There had been risks involved, but then, Joey Masado was used to taking risks. He was a suit-and-tie businessman, considered the best moneyman in Chicago. But tonight, unshaven, wearing jeans and a sweater, he’d been simply a father on a mission to claim what was rightfully his.
Joey reached out and straightened the blanket that covered his sleeping son. He was smaller than he’d expected. He couldn’t help but worry about that. What if the boy was ill, or had been born sickly?
When he’d learned he had a son—a son he hadn’t known existed until his brother had waltzed into his office three days ago and slapped the proof down on his desk—he hadn’t believed it was possible. But the proof was no longer just a glossy photo, a flat image of a black-haired little boy walking on the beach hand-in-hand with his mother. The boy was flesh and blood.
His flesh and blood.
If the boy’s mother had been anyone other than Rhea Williams, Joey would have refused to believe the child was his. He had always been careful when he’d climbed into a woman’s bed. He’d never lost his head or forgotten himself. That is, not until he’d laid eyes on the sexy blond with the sad blue eyes.
No, Niccolo was definitely his son. He was as certain of that as he was of why Rhea had run away from Chicago three years ago. He had always thought she had vanished out of fear of her ex-husband. But now he knew that wasn’t the case. Pregnant with his child—a Masado child—she had run to escape him and what their son would surely become if she stayed.
As hard as it was to accept,