The Latin Lover's Secret Child. Jane Porter

called me and I flew out. I sent for the ambulance as soon as I arrived. I knew it was serious. She was feverish. She was definitely ill.”

      “And that was what? A month ago?” Despite his best intentions, Lucio felt the bitterness rise. He wanted to remain calm, controlled, but deep down he’d never forgive Dante for shutting him out.

      “Nearly.” Dante hesitated for a long moment. He appeared at a loss for words. “She is better,” he said quietly. “She may not be the old Anabella yet, but she’s greatly improved from where she was a week ago.”

      Lucio could feel the Count’s concern. Dante genuinely cared for Anabella and Lucio was reminded of the autumn five years ago when he first met Ana and her family. Just seventeen, she was starting her last year of school, and already such a rebel, so at odds with her older brother’s authority.

      Dante and Anabella. The two had gone round and round but no matter what happened between them, they were family.

      Lucio slowly exhaled, the air almost hissing between his lips. “I’m curious about your definition of better.”

      The Count looked at him, puzzled. “Her muscle tone is returning. Her strength is returning, but as you might have noticed, there are some memory issues.”

      Lucio didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Oh, I noticed.”

      There was a moment of silence following Lucio’s answer and as the silence lengthened the Count’s expression grew wary. “What happened? How did she react to you when you arrived—”

      Dante was interrupted by a scream from upstairs, the shout carrying down the stone stairwell into the high ceilinged living room. Dante jerked but Lucio’s features remained hard, impassive. In the six hours he’d been home, he’d heard every sound imaginable.

      “What the hell was that?” Dante demanded, his gaze lifting to the ceiling where the beams had been stenciled in cream, red and green designs.

      Lucio moved swiftly towards the stairs. “Anabella.”

      CHAPTER THREE

      THE furious cry was followed by the sound of bare feet running down the stairs. Anabella practically jumped down the last two stairs, her white shirt untucked, her long hair flying. “What do you want, Dante? What are you planning now?”

      Dante took a stunned step backwards, hands rising to calm his youngest sister. “I came to see you.”

      “And do what?” Her fine aristocratic features were pinched and her dark-lashed eyes bright. She reached up and swiftly knotted her hair into a rough ponytail. “Or do you not think I know what you want to do, what you intend to do?”

      His expression hardened. “I have no intentions,” he said impatiently. “I’m here because you’ve been sick and I’ve been worried.”

      Ana made an indignant sound and her hands flew in quick Italian gestures. “I haven’t been sick. I’ve just been upset. I missed Lucio, but he’s back now.” She drew a quick breath, eyes blazing even hotter. “And no one can keep us apart now. No one, Dante. Not you. Not Mama. Not even all of Mama’s hired soldiers.”

      “You’re being irrational, Ana. I have no desire to keep you apart—”

      “Liar!”

      The color drained from Dante’s face. “Ana.”

      Brilliant tears filled her eyes. “Don’t say my name like that. Don’t say anything to me at all. Ever since Tadeo died you’ve tried to control me. You’re so scared that I’ll turn into Tadeo—but I’m not Tadeo! I don’t do drugs. I don’t drink. I just love Lucio. But even that makes you crazy.”

      “No, Ana.”

      “Yes, Dante. Yes.” She jabbed his chest with the tip of her finger. “You and Mama. Always interfering. Never able to leave me alone.” She broke off, eyes filling with tears, and she looked at him, hurt, confused, angry. “Why can’t I want something different from the rest of you?”

      Dante said nothing and the two stared at each other as if enemies instead of brother and sister.

      She was living in the past. She’d forgotten that she and Dante were the best of friends, forgotten that it was Dante she confided in now.

      “If you don’t go, Dante, I will.” Anabella threw back her head and swiftly wiped a tear from her eyes. “I don’t want to be in the same place with you.”

      Dante looked helplessly at Lucio. “Por Dios. She’s lost her mind!”

      “This isn’t the Anabella you saw a week ago, was it?” Lucio asked grimly.

      “No.”

      “Well, it’s the one I came home to this morning.”

      Anabella grabbed Lucio’s arm. “Don’t talk to him. Have nothing to do with him. He’s not to be trusted.”

      “It’s okay, Ana.”

      “No, it’s not. He’s going to get rid of you. He’s going to do something to make sure you stay away—”

      “Ssssh, chica,” Lucio interrupted soothingly. He cupped her cheek, stroked the warm softness. “It’s all right. You go upstairs. Wait for me. I’ll handle this.”

      Anabella still clung to his arm. “And you won’t leave me?”

      “No. I promise.”

      Reassured, Anabella climbed the stairs but then pausing halfway, leaned over the banister to shoot her brother a contemptuous glance. “I know you,” she challenged Dante. “I know how you think.”

      Lucio had had enough. He headed up the stairs and swung Anabella into his arms. He couldn’t handle much more of this today.

      “Let’s run away,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck, her breath warm against his skin. “Let’s leave tonight. When the others are asleep.”

      He said nothing. He let her keep talking as he finished climbing the stairs. The world she lived in right now confounded him. Where was she? What was going on in her head?

      “They’ll hurt you, Lucio,” Ana said, her hands tightening around his neck. “I heard them talking. They want to keep us apart. They want to make sure we’ll never be together again. Whatever you do, don’t trust Dante. He’s not your friend. He won’t be fair with you.”

      Lucio gritted his teeth, wanting her to be quiet, wanting her to stop with all this chatter. These nonsensical words were like a hammer to his brain. She was dredging up old memories, wretched memories, memories of the night when he’d been beaten so badly that it had been weeks before his broken bones healed, months before he could stand properly.

      “Ana, no one can take you from me,” he said gruffly, walking through her bedroom to the ensuite bath. He placed her in the center of the black marble counter. “We’re together now. You belong with me.”

      “Dante doesn’t think so!” She scooted backwards on the counter until her back bumped the mirrored wall and she stared up at him, eyes dark with anger, her black lashes still matted with tears. “Dante will never accept that I’ve a mind of my own…that I’m capable of making decisions on my own.”

      She looked so small on the counter, and yet so feisty. A caged jaguar.

      He reached up to lightly touch her temple. How much did she remember? How much did she know? “Ana—where are you?”

      Her dark green eyes shone with fresh tears. Her hands fluttered in his. “I am here, Lucio.”

      This was bizarre, he thought. It was like being in a science fiction movie. He was living two lives at one time—the one before and the one right now and it was the oddest, most uncomfortable sensation. “You don’t need to fear Dante,” he said slowly. “And you don’t need to worry about