10: In Which He Says It…Again and Again [CARLO’S POV]

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“A drink, sir?”

Her name was Goldie – at least, I thought it was. Hanging over me, her breasts in my face and the faint smell of her sweat and overcompensating perfume assaulting my nostrils, she couldn’t have been more obvious.

“What are you wearing, signorina?” I asked, tapping my fingertips on the armrest of what Angie had called the Throne. It had been a present at the club opening from Don Romano, the go-to guy for every kind of furniture under the sun. The Throne, in particular, was one of his best creations. With a high back and golden, velvety exterior, it was aptly named and, because I rarely sat in it, was in pristine condition. I noticed things like texture and design. Coming from such an underprivileged background, it was too damn hard not to, even now, when money was no object.

Goldie – or whatever her name was – glanced down at her front. “You mean my top? But...Gio said cream is just like white, only...more interesting. Should I...change?”

“What does the sign on the building say?”

“Eleganza?”

“And what does that mean?”

“Elegance?”

“Sì. Do you really think that – with your breasts on show like a common puttana – you are anything close to elegant?”

She bit her bottom lip and shook her head.

“Signorina, I run a respectable business,” I informed her. “If you want to dress like that, there are plenty of seedy nightclubs for the picking and you are free to leave whenever you so desire. Understood?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’ll have a whisky, no ice.”

She all but scampered away like a hunted rabbit.

“Should you really be drinking in the morning, mio fratello?” Gio called out, approaching me with a bottle of Heineken in his hand, the hypocrite.

“Fatt’i cazzi tuoi,” I muttered, accepting Goldie’s proffered glass. She was fast, I’d give her that.

“Unfortunately, I can’t mind my own business,” Gio replied in English, taking a long swig of beer before sitting on the divan opposite me. “What are you even doing here? You know I’ve got this Eleganza under control. What, you’re running away from the signora?”

I regarded him with a glare over my glass. If Gio were anyone else, I would have punched him for his insolence. As it was, Giovanni Bianchi was Mia’s baby brother and the closest thing to a confidant and brother that I had. Five years my junior, I trusted his judgment more than I did that of my own blood. Angelo had more than proven that water could be thickened if need be.

Fúcking stupido.

“Seems a little quiet today,” I remarked, downing the JD in one gulp and placing the glass on the table.

“Day being the operative word. Business is at night.” Gio arched a brow. “Everything all right?”

I gave him a wry smile. “Are you playing the diary to my Bridget Jones?”

“I knew you were an undercover pússy,” said Gio, setting his empty bottle on the glass table. “Come on. Try me. Problems with the wife? Problems with the law? Both?”

“I don’t care about the law,” I told him with a snort of disgust. “They’re just running in circles. No concrete evidence – nothing. I’m just glad my next hearing is two months away. Marino will get me acquitted. Again.”

“Oh, yeah? Good, good. Fúck this town, though. If we were back in New York, you’d have been scot free a long time ago.” Gio paused. “So I guess it’s your woman. Man, I never figured you for a family guy. I thought you loved your bachelor lifestyle.”

“I have a son.”

Gio blinked at me, silence filling the air. “So that’s why you had the shotgun wedding,” he said after a beat. “You knocked her up. Cristo, Donafrio – ever heard of protection? What the hell happened to you?”

I bit back a retort. Uno...due...tre...quattro...cinque... Making it to five without lashing out was always a surprise.

“I did not...knock her up. Michael’s three.”

“Then I don’t understand.”

“Don’t try to,” I muttered. Mia – sweet Mia who had only wanted to birth a Donafrio – still had no idea that the child that had been intended for her was another woman’s. I wouldn’t break her heart by telling her and Gio would never lie to his sister, no matter how strong our bond was. I valued his loyalty too much to ask him.

“Does he look like you?”

An image of Michael popped into my head. It was fascinating to realise that I had committed every eyelash, every dimple to memory. Family came first to me and Michael was mine. He had my eyes, my hair. He had my blood coursing through his veins and one day, he’d call me his father. I could hear the sound of his throaty laugh; feel the way his tiny fingers pulled at my hair, and inhale the scent of talcum powder whenever he snuggled with me when he was sleepy. At thirty, I knew for certain that billions of pounds, Euros, dollars – whatever – could not amount to a child saying that one word – papà.

“You’ll meet him,” I replied, and the look on Gio’s face told me that I probably looked like a dreamy idiota. I cleared my throat, rising. “I should get going. I have a meeting with Marino in an hour.”

Gio followed suit. “When will I meet her?”

Mai, I thought fiercely. It was irrational to think that; to never want Gio to meet Danielle. He was family. She was family. Why the...jealousy?

Jealousy was inaccurate. It bordered on downright barbaric mistrust. I had noticed it growing over the past week Danielle had been in my house. I continuously thought about what she was doing, who she was doing it with – and the jealousy grew with each passing day. It pissed me off. I had never behaved in such a juvenile manner. Besides, I had nothing to fear. Danielle preferred to hide out at home, claiming she couldn’t face anyone until she was ready.

“Her life is being turned upside down. Chi sa?” I shrugged. “I’ll let you know. Ciao.”

“Ciao,” Gio said, looking at me strangely.

Before I could leave, Goldie – if that was indeed her name – advanced upon me. She’d discarded the unfortunate top and had opted for a more tasteful blouse. I mentally commended her improvisation.

“What is it?” I snapped, in no mood to converse with the barmaid.

She took a step back and I inwardly sighed.

“Scusa. I’m in a rush,” I said, softening my tone. The only woman who had ever ordered me to never raise my voice at her was Danielle. Danielle had a backbone.

“Sorry, sir. I just...well, I just wanted to thank you,” Goldie murmured, wringing her hands together. “I’m glad you didn’t look at my tits.”

“You’re not my type.”

I stepped around her and walked out, annoyed. How dare a staff member talk to me in such a manner? I was going to have to speak to Gio about that, but first, my lawyer and I were going to have a very lengthy discussion.

“I couldn’t stop them,” Gavin explained quickly, getting into the elevator with me. “I apologise, but I just couldn’t stop the lot of them.”

“Don’t. Speak.”

Silence filled the lift until it dinged to a stop outside my door. Gavin made the smart move of retreating to a far corner in the lift, allowing me to leave. What did I pay security for if they let any Tom, Dick and Harry saunter onto my floor?

They were in my living room and Danielle was standing in the centre, crying. Danielle wasn’t supposed to be crying. I couldn’t bear to see cara mia cry; it was a physical pain, something that caught me off guard.

“What did you do to her?” I asked the man I recognised as her father. I’d seen a picture of him before and I never forgot a face.

He was old, but not as old as my own bastard of a father had been when he’d appeared in my life six years ago, wanting money. No, Michael Clarke was far younger than my mother’s first love had been.

“Carlo, don’t,” Dani said softly, hugging herself protectively. She must have assumed that I’d attack her old man in a heartbeat – and I would have, if he admitted to causing her pain.

Michael Clarke was silent, though, and looked as if he were completely out of it. This was one of the few times I regretted my decision to draw the line at household staff. I had no clue about entertaining guests in such a personal setting. It made me…uncomfortable.

“Mr. Donafrio?”

I tore my gaze away from him and finally noticed the two women occupying the other sofa. One of them had the same chestnut-coloured hair as Dani, although greying slightly, and the other looked to be about as tall as me.

“Mrs. Clarke?”

She rose to her feet. “Yes, hi. But actually, I’m not married anymore.”

“Piacere di conoscerla,” I said, taking her hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you.” My eyes travelled to the woman beside her. “And I assume that you are her sister?”

She smiled, and Danielle snorted from behind me.

“No, I’m her partner, Jasmine.”

Of course. The hippie.

“Carlo doesn’t want to hear about that.” Danielle grabbed my arm and tugged me towards her. The electricity that shot through my arm at her touch could have powered a small village. “Could I speak to you, caro?” she hissed, and, although she couldn’t have pulled me even if she tried, I allowed her the notion that she was indeed doing so.

“What’s the matter?” I asked once we were in our bedroom. “Of course, I meant to talk to your parents at some point. I’m not an ogre, Danielle. If they –”

She shook her head. “It’s not that. Well, yes, they’re obviously annoyed, especially given your reputation, and don’t get me started about my brothers…but…”

“But what?” I cupped her face in my hands. Danielle’s skin was the softest I’d ever felt. I didn’t want to think of kissing that skin just that moment.

“My dad remarried,” she whispered, and the tears started all over again.

She buried her face in my chest, her arms snaking around my back. I pulled her into me, kissing the top of her head.

“Isn’t that good news, bella?”

“No,” she whimpered. “God, I’m so infantile. I kept hoping my parents would get back together and now…now there’s no hope.”

“Is she half his age?” Perhaps that was the real problem. Dani would certainly never accept a stepmother her age.

She choked out a laugh into my chest. “It’s my doctor, Elizabeth Gordon. She’s perfectly legal.” I recognised the name. According to Mickey’s medicals, she was his doctor. “They got married the same day we did. How ironic. My useless brothers didn’t even bother to tell me. Am I that pathetic?” She pulled away from me and sat at the foot of our bed. “I’m trying to stop weeping like a baby but everything’s going wrong,” she wailed. “My dad remarrying, this pregnancy, the whole publicity thing… I just… I want it all to stop, Carlo.”

I looked at her. “Scusi? What did you just say?”

Dani blinked at me like a deer caught in the headlights. “Oh crap.” She let out a heavy sigh. “I didn’t want to tell you like this. Clearly your sperm transcends the power of contraception.” She let out a laugh that turned into a sob.

I was frozen to the spot.

Dio mio, ancora?

It explained her bouts of arousal – Dani had been insatiable in bed every day of that week – and uncontrollable temper. It all came down to hormones.

“Well?” she said impatiently, her big, liquid, hazel eyes imploring me. “Say something, dammit!”

I cleared my throat and went to her, crouching at her feet. Was she really worried about my response? Was she worried that two children would be too much for a man like me? Just looking into her anxious eyes, I knew the answer and hated it.

“I realise that I have made the most unforgivable mistake, Danielle,” I began, gently prising her knees apart as I tried to find the right words.

Her eyes clouded over. “Oh, have you?” Her voice could have cut into rock. “Well, I’m not sorry about this mistake. I might not be so overjoyed right now, but I will love this baby even if you don’t want yet another complication in your extraordinarily perfect life, Carlo Donafrio. Just remember that I was fine before I met you and I’ll be just as peachy when you leave me.”

“Are you finished?”

Dani was breathing heavily after her sudden outburst. If she knew how erotic it was to watch the rise and fall of her chest so close to my face, she would have certainly slapped me. Or, even more likely, undressed me. She was confusing that way.

“Because you didn’t let me finish,” I continued, stroking the firmness of her thighs through the fabric of her sweatpants. “Why would you think I wouldn’t want a baby with you? Another one,” I amended quickly. “Dani Donafrio, ti amo. I love you so much that I’m willing to look past your unfamiliarity with the NBA; I love you so much that I would gladly have a soccer team of kids with you; and I love you so much that I’m willing to ignore the fact that you have never said those words to me before. The most unforgivable mistake I have made is not telling you this the minute I laid eyes on you.”

Bene, Donafrio. Didn’t it feel good to get that off your chest?

Dani’s eyes were wide with shock.  I didn’t blame her. I was amazed the words had left my mouth, too.

“What…what happened to lust?” she wanted to know, wringing her hands. “Remember that? What you said on our joke of a wedding day?”

I deserved that.

“I’ve never been in love before,” I confessed. “Dani, don’t look at me like that. It’s the truth.”

She reached out to touch my cheek. “I would never have stayed if I didn’t love you.” She paused. “I lied. I wasn’t okay before I met you. Yes, you piss me off a great deal, but I wouldn’t have it any other way, Carlo Donafrio.”

“I…piss you off?”

She laughed, wiping away the remnants of her tears. “Yes.”

“But you have to admit, the make-up sex is worth it, no?”

Dani’s laugh was like a song. “We’re going to have a baby,” she said breathlessly.

I took her hand in mine, kissing her upturned palm. I heard her breath catch in her throat and was gratified by how instantly she responded to my touch.

“My parents…they’re outside,” she whispered, her eyes never leaving mine as I rose to my feet.

“Ssh…non parlano,” I told her, ignoring the constant vibration of my phone in my pocket. “Let me do all the talking.”

She leaned back onto the bed and propped herself up on her elbows. “I’m listening.” She let out a gasp of surprise when I pulled her vest up, cold air hitting her belly, the belly that was carrying my seed.

“Madre dei miei figli,” I whispered, placing myself between her legs. I pressed my lips against her navel. “You’re the mother of my children,” I translated, “and I will do anything to make you happy.”

“Ti amo,” she breathed out, running her hands through my hair.

I smiled into her belly. “You’re sexy when you speak Italian.”

“Oh God, Charlie?” Dani shrieked, making me straighten up. Why the hell was she calling her brother’s name when we were about to make love?

I followed her gaze to the door.

Charlie Clarke. Of course. He was standing in the doorway with a look on his face that I was quite familiar with. Plenty of men had looked at me that way – the look of a man who was baying for Donafrio blood.

“While you’re in here…doing whatever it is that you’re doing, your son is bawling his brains out and our parents are out there twiddling their thumbs waiting for you,” he said, glaring at his sister. They looked nothing alike.

“Oh God.” Dani righted her top before getting up. “Couldn’t you knock?”

“Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

“Carlo, this is Charlie, my twin. Charlie, Carlo.” She gave her brother a warning look. “Carlo is my husband and that isn’t going to change. I don’t care what you and Adam think because I love him and he loves Mickey and me right back. It’s my life and I’ll live it the way I want to.” She pushed past her brother. “Play nice, boys.”

“I love your sister,” I pronounced, once Danielle had left the room. I removed my tie, discarding it on the bed. The imprint of Dani’s body was still on the bedding. “You have nothing to fear.”

“I don’t, huh?” Charlie folded his arms across his chest. “So what are you scared of, mate? Why the need for so much security?”

The fact that he was standing in my bedroom was proof that my security level was extremely low.

Let’s just get this attack over with, I thought to myself, resigned.

“It’s no secret that I have enemies.”

“Well, guess what. Your enemies become Dani’s enemies. I’m not about to let her put herself in danger for a… Holy shìt, is that you and…Kobe?”

I glanced at the framed photo beside the bookshelf. Gio had insisted that personal pictures added “a certain pizzazz”. I hadn’t had the heart to dissuade him from decorating my room. “You a Lakers fan?”

“Rugby and basketball – that’s my shìt,” Charlie replied, going up to the shelf. “When was this?”

“I don’t remember. I’m a Knicks man myself.”

“But you pose for pics Kobe? I guess you were star-struck.”

“I don’t pose and fawning over celebrities is beneath me,” I muttered, repulsed by the idea, “but the next time I visit LA, you should come with me.”

He turned to look at me, his blue eyes narrowing. “You’re not pulling my fúcking leg?”

Despite myself, I felt a smile form on my face. “I’m not pulling your fúcking leg.”

He grinned. “Let’s talk details, brother-in-law.”

***

“Don’t be ridiculous, Carlo,” she breathed into my ear, wrapping her bare legs around my waist. “Of course you won’t hurt the baby. Now, get on with it.”

I still wasn’t convinced that in the throes of pleasure, I wouldn’t either fúck too hard and crush the baby, or fúck too hard and hit the womb – but Dani was more knowledgeable about this than I. “Sì,” I obliged, beginning to explore her skin. “Whatever you desire.”

Her breasts, so heavy and desirable, were calling out to me in a language I knew well. Arching her back, Dani offered me the hard, caramel nipples of her breasts. Each time I tasted her skin, it felt like the first time. Moaning, she grabbed my hair by the roots, pushing her breasts into my face. I held onto her, sucking on her as if she were my air