The Sicilian's Secret Son. Angela Bissell

who?’ she demanded.

      His jaw hardened. ‘My father.’

      A chill ran up her spine. ‘Why?’

      ‘I don’t know,’ he said tightly.

      She shook her head, confused. ‘Haven’t you asked him?’

      ‘No,’ he said.

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘Because he’s dead.’

       CHAPTER TWO

      LUCA WONDERED WHAT, if anything, it said about him that he could announce his father was dead and feel nothing but loathing for the man.

      Annah’s blue eyes widened, but she didn’t offer any trite words of condolence, and her silence strengthened Luca’s suspicions that his father had done a damn sight more than place her and their son under surveillance.

      At some point she and his father had met. Luca didn’t know when or why, but Franco had clearly put the fear of God in her. Why else had her reaction to seeing Luca been to draw a weapon? That the sight of him could provoke fear and panic in anyone, let alone in this woman—the mother of his child—made him feel physically ill.

      It’d taken his investigator three days to locate her, during which time he’d gradually come to terms with the knowledge—or the ninety-nine percent certainty at least—that he’d fathered a son.

      Travelling by private jet from Palermo to Exeter, and then by road to this deathly quiet English backwater, had given him time to mentally prepare as much as he could for something so far outside his realm of experience.

      It was a luxury he had denied Annah by turning up here unannounced, so he’d expected shock and even defensiveness and guilt, given she’d raised his son without his knowledge for the last four years.

      But abject fear?

      Even his touch, meant only to calm and gently restrain after disarming her, had induced a wild, trapped look in her eyes. And at the first mention of their son she had turned fierce and possessive, like a tigress protecting her cub. Protecting his cub.

      For some reason he’d found that inordinately sexy.

      The bell over the door jingled and, just like when he’d arrived and again when his man had come and gone, the sound evoked memories of the old-fashioned ice-cream parlour he and his brother had frequented in a small fishing village near their childhood home.

      As did anything relating to his brother, the memories stirred a sense of disquietude, and he cast them aside and looked towards the entrance, hoping his bodyguard had not returned. Mario’s muscle-bound physique intimidated most people, men included, and Luca had noted how Annah’s fear had escalated in response to the big man. Luca had told him to go back to the vehicle and stay there. Mario’s job was to put himself between Luca and danger, but Annah was no more a physical threat to Luca than he was to her.

      However, it wasn’t Mario but a wiry, bald-headed man who entered the shop and crossed to the counter.

      Annah turned to him, subtly putting distance between her and Luca. ‘Hi, Brian. I’m so sorry but I’m running behind. If you can wait I’ll have it ready in a couple of minutes.’

      ‘No problem, see to your customer first,’ he said, acknowledging Luca with a courteous nod.

      Annah shook her head. ‘I’ll do Caroline’s now. She wants the bouquet for a client meeting at three.’ She sent Luca a stiff smile. ‘I’m sorry. Perhaps you could come back in ten minutes?’

      Luca gave her a look. She would not get rid of him that easily. ‘I can wait.’

      ‘Great,’ said Brian. ‘I’ll just pop over to Dot’s. Back in a tick.’

      The solid workbench behind Annah stretched along the wall at a right angle to the counter. Luca chose a spot at the end, leaned his hips back against the wooden edge, and crossed his arms over his chest.

      Annah jammed her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes at him.

      He stared back. ‘You and I are going to have a conversation.’

      ‘Fine,’ she said in a tone that told him it wasn’t. She pointed to a spot behind him. ‘I need my shears.’

      Luca glanced over his shoulder at the ‘weapon’ he’d wrested from her earlier. He picked up the shears and held them out, one eyebrow raised. ‘Can I trust you with these?’

      She gave him a withering look and snatched them out of his hand, then set to work, her nimble fingers moving quickly as she snipped and pruned.

      He looked around. The shop wasn’t large but the space was well utilised, the décor stylish and contemporary. An elegant logo stencilled on the large front window read ‘Scent Floral Boutique’. His investigator’s report had revealed that Annah co-owned this business. Luca recalled her talking that night in London about her ambition to open a floral studio with her friend.

      ‘Congratulations on the business,’ he said.

      She paused her work and stared at him.

      He added, ‘It was your goal, was it not?’

      After a moment’s hesitation, she said, ‘Yes. It was.’

      ‘You should be proud.’ As soon as he said it he realised the words sounded patronising. It wasn’t how he’d meant them. He knew well the challenge of building a business from the ground up. He’d built a successful private equity firm in New York. It had taken five years of relentless work, but he didn’t regret a single minute. There was something deeply satisfying about earning a legitimate living—a concept his father had never embraced despite Luca’s attempts to steer him down a respectable path.

      A village floristry shop and a billion-dollar investment firm were light years apart on the business spectrum, but the over-arching principles for success were the same.

      And Annah wasn’t only running a business, she was raising a child.

      His child.

      A responsibility she shouldn’t have to shoulder alone—and wouldn’t have to from now on.

      She resumed her work. Luca pulled out his phone. If he didn’t occupy himself he would stand there watching her and his mind would end up going where it shouldn’t. As it was he had noticed too much. Her exquisite bone structure; her flawless complexion; her slim yet curvaceous figure. Her eyes were still that startling shade of blue, her long hair still golden and glossy.

      Five years ago, he wouldn’t have believed Annah Sinclair could grow more beautiful. But she had.

      Frowning, Luca stared at his phone and concentrated on his email until Brian returned. Annah handed him the large bouquet she’d skilfully fashioned out of the flowers and greenery on her workbench and, after Brian had left, locked the door and flipped an open/closed sign on the glass to ‘Closed’. She strode to the rear of the shop, untying and removing her red apron as she went, leaving a plain outfit of slim-fitting black trousers and a long-sleeved white top.

      She hung the apron on a hook. ‘I can give you half an hour, but then I need to pick up my son.’

      He put his phone in his pocket. ‘From where?’

      ‘Nursery.’ She turned. ‘We can talk up here,’ she said over her shoulder, and started up a flight of stairs.

      Luca followed. The stairwell was narrow and the steep stairs creaked under his weight. He concentrated on where he put his feet rather than looking at Annah’s backside swaying above him. At the top she paused on a small landing, opened a door, and led him into a large room.

      A rush of warmth and sunlight greeted him. He looked around. The long open-plan space incorporated