Heir To His Legacy: His Unexpected Legacy / His Instant Heir / One Night Heir. Chantelle Shaw

‘Why don’t you go to bed and get some sleep. You look all in. We’ll talk again in the morning.’

      Not trusting herself to remain in the same room as Sergio when she was tempted to murder him, Kristen swung round and walked out of the room. Sleep! She laughed hollowly as she marched up the stairs. She felt as limp as a wrung-out dishcloth and with the threat of losing her little boy hanging over her she doubted she would ever sleep again. But when she slid between the sheets her brain mercifully decided that it had had enough for one day, and her last thought was that she must set the alarm on the bedside clock.

      * * *

      Sergio woke to the sensation of his eyelids being prised open. After spending a hellish night on the most uncomfortable sofa he had ever encountered, he craved a couple of hours more sleep, especially when he glanced blearily at his watch and saw that it was five-thirty in the morning. He blinked and refocused on the angelic face hovering above him. Nico was staring at him with his big brown eyes framed by unbelievably long lashes. When he saw that Sergio was awake, he grinned.

      ‘Daddy...’

      Sergio felt his gut twist. ‘Papà,’ he said softly. ‘I am your papà.’ And you are il mio bel ragazzo. My beautiful boy, he thought to himself. Propping himself up on one elbow, he watched Nico line up his toy cars on the carpet. ‘Is Mummy still asleep?’

      Nico nodded. ‘I got dressed,’ he said proudly, patting his shorts.

      That would explain why his T-shirt was on back to front, Sergio mused. He smiled. ‘Clever boy.’

      Nico lay on his stomach so that he could push his cars along the floor and Sergio suddenly froze. His eyes were drawn to the black bruises on the backs of the little boy’s legs. Bile rose in his throat. Santa Madre di Dio! The marks were sickeningly familiar. When he had been a child, his legs had often been covered in bruises after a beating.

      Swallowing hard, Sergio noticed another mark on Nico’s body where his T-shirt had ridden up.

      ‘Hey, little guy, let me turn your shirt around for you,’ he murmured.

      Nico obediently stood up and, as Sergio drew the shirt over his head, his breath hissed between his teeth at the sight of several more bruises on the child’s ribs.

      ‘How did you get hurt?’ He somehow managed to keep his tone light.

      ‘I was very naughty,’ Nico told him with an innocence that tore Sergio’s heart to shreds.

      His head spun. He didn’t know what was happening here. Everything inside him rejected the idea that Kristen could have inflicted the bruises on Nico. It was true she hadn’t convinced him that she was an overly caring parent and he was deeply suspicious of her motive for finally deciding to tell him that he had a son, but it was hard to imagine that she would hurt her child.

      But no one would ever have believed that his charming, beautiful mother had been capable of mental and physical cruelty, Sergio thought grimly. Patti had been the patron of a children’s charity, but to her own child she had been a confusing figure—at times overly loving so that he had felt swamped, but she had been prone to violence when she had succumbed to her personal demon, alcohol, and at those times he had been afraid of her. He remembered the sick feeling in his stomach whenever she had summoned him to her study to be punished for the most minor misdemeanour. No one had heard his cries, and no one had come to his rescue—including his father.

      Deep within Sergio’s soul the scared, unhappy little boy he had once been took over his logical thought processes. A fundamental instinct to protect his child surged through him and he stood up and lifted Nico into his arms. ‘How would you like to fly on an aeroplane, piccolo?’ he murmured.

      His heart turned over when Nico looked at him with his big, brown, trusting eyes. ‘I will always protect you,’ he promised his son gruffly, and was rewarded with a smile that somehow eased the loneliness that had haunted him since he had been a small boy who had longed to be with his own father.

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      WHEN KRISTEN OPENED her eyes she was puzzled to see a stream of bright sunlight filtering through the chink in the curtains. The house was quiet and, unusually, she was alone. Nico had a habit of climbing into her bed in the early hours and he would prod her awake and insist that she read him a story. He must still be asleep, she thought as she stretched, making the most of having the bed to herself.

      She looked at the clock and her heart did a painful somersault. It could not be half past nine!

      A frantic glance at her watch confirmed the worst. She leapt out of bed and cursed as she stubbed her toe on the bedside cabinet. Pulling on her dressing gown, she hurried along the hall and discovered that Nico’s room was empty. It was unlike him to go downstairs on his own, but maybe he’d grown bored of waiting for her to wake up, she thought guiltily. Hell, she would have to phone Steph and apologise for being late for work for the second day in a row. With a dozen thoughts running around her head, Kristen pushed open the sitting room door and felt a flicker of unease when she saw that no one was there.

      The blanket and pillow Sergio had used to make up a bed on the sofa were neatly folded, and Nico’s toy cars were scattered across the carpet. Trying to control her panic, she continued into the kitchen. The half-drunk mug of coffee on the table indicated that Sergio must have left in a hurry. In the silence, the ticking of the clock seemed unnaturally loud. Fear cramped in Kristen’s stomach. There had to be a reasonable explanation for Sergio and Nico’s disappearance, she told herself.

      Catching sight of the empty space where Nico’s Wellington boots were kept by the back door, she felt weak with relief. Maybe Sergio had taken him for a walk or to the park.

      The doorbell rang and she hurried to answer it, determined to impress on Sergio that he must not take Nico out without informing her first. But the man on the doorstep was a stranger—a short, swarthy man dressed in a suit, who introduced himself as Bernardo Valdi, Sergio’s lawyer.

      ‘Signor Castellano asked me to visit you.’ The lawyer spoke in English but with a strong Italian accent. ‘It might be better if we continue our discussion inside the house,’ he added gently when Kristen gasped.

      She stepped back to allow him to enter the hallway, suddenly finding that her legs felt like jelly. ‘Where is Sergio? And, more importantly, where is my son?’ she demanded in a trembling voice. Her fear returned, making her stomach churn as a terrible truth slowly dawned. ‘He’s taken him, hasn’t he? Sergio has taken Nico.’ Her voice rose. ‘He won’t get away with it. He has no right. I suppose he’s gone back to the Hotel Royale. I’m going to call the police.’

      ‘Calm yourself, signorina,’ the lawyer said in a quietly authoritative voice. ‘Signor Castellano has been granted an emergency custody order of his son.’

      ‘Emergency...’ Kristen stared at the lawyer dazedly, wondering, hoping that this was all a horrible nightmare. ‘On what grounds?’ she whispered.

      ‘The signor was concerned for the child’s welfare after he saw bruises on him.’

      ‘Dear God! He thinks I hurt Nico?’ Nausea threatened to overwhelm her. ‘I have to see Sergio and explain.’ She stumbled down the hall. ‘I’ll get dressed and go straight to the hotel.’

      ‘They are not there, signorina. Signor Castellano flew to Sicily on his private jet an hour ago, and he has taken his son with him.’ Bernardo Valdi gave an exclamation as he reached Kristen’s side just in time to catch her as her knees sagged.

      * * *

      The taxi had turned off the main highway running from the airport at Catania to the coastal town of Taormina, and was now heading along narrow roads leading to the Castellano estate. Kristen stared out of the window at the breathtaking Sicilian countryside and felt an ache in her heart. Everywhere was unchanged and familiar, as if time had stood still for the past four years. Farmhouses and small villages dotted