Latin Lovers: Italian Playboys. Kate Hardy

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      Marc stiffened in his chair. ‘What makes you so certain all of a sudden? Andre refused a paternity test; he said he had always used protection.’

      ‘He might have used protection but I now have reason to believe it failed.’

      Marc frowned and turned his chair back to his desk, the sudden thump of his heart in his chest surprising him into a temporary silence.

      ‘I have a letter in front of me with a small photo of the child.’ Vito’s voice cracked slightly as he continued. ‘She looks exactly like Andre at that age. It is Andre’s child, I am sure of it.’

      Marc pressed his lips together as he fought to get his own raw emotions under some semblance of control. The death of his younger brother had privately devastated him, but for the sake of his terminally ill father he’d carried on the family business without a single hiccup. The Sydney branch of the Marcello merchant bank was booming and he had every intention of maintaining the punishing hours he’d adopted to block out the pain of his brother’s death.

      ‘Papa.’ His voice was deep and rough around the edges. ‘This is all very hard to take in …’

      ‘We have to get that child,’ his father insisted. ‘She is all we have left of Andre.’

      A tremor of unease passed through Marc at the determined edge to his father’s tone. ‘How do you intend to accomplish this?’

      ‘The usual way,’ his father answered with undisguised cynicism. ‘If you offer her enough money she will do whatever you ask.’

      ‘How much money are you expecting me to spend on this mission of yours?’ Marc asked.

      Vito named a figure that sent Marc’s broad shoulders to the back of his chair.

      ‘That is a lot of money.’

      ‘I know,’ his father agreed. ‘But I cannot take the chance that she might not accept your offer. After the response I sent to her previous letter she might avenge my assessment of her character and deny us access to the child.’

      Marc inwardly cringed, recalling the content of that letter. His father had emailed him a copy and it had certainly not been complimentary. He could well imagine the Selbourne woman reacting to it out of revenge, particularly if what she said was true—Andre had indeed fathered her child.

      He was well aware of Nadia Selbourne’s reputation, even though he hadn’t met her personally. He’d seen one or two photos, however, which had shown a beautiful woman with thick long blonde hair, eyes that were an unusual smoky grey and the sort of figure that not only turned heads but turned on other parts of the male anatomy at an astonishingly rapid rate as well. His brother had been completely besotted with her until her true character had come out. He could still recall Andre’s scathing description of how she had responded when he’d informed her that their short but passionate affair was over. She had hounded him for months, following him and harassing him relentlessly.

      But somehow the thought of his dead brother’s blood flowing through the tiny veins of her child stirred him both unexpectedly and deeply.

      ‘Marc.’ His father’s desperate voice cut across his reflections. ‘You have to do this. It is a matter of family honour. Andre would have done the same for you if things had been the other way around.’

      It was hard for Marc to imagine ever allowing himself to get into the sort of disasters his younger brother had for most of his life, but he didn’t think it worthwhile pointing that out now. His father had already suffered enough; he’d lost his beloved son.

      It had been no secret in the Marcello family that Andre had always been his father’s favourite. His sunny nature and charming boisterous personality had won everyone over virtually from the day he’d been born, leaving Marc with his more serious disposition on the outside.

      He frowned as he considered his father’s plan. What would it take to convince this woman to hand over the child? Would she take the money and go, or would she insist on something more formal, such as.

      His stomach tightened momentarily as he recalled how his brother had told him that Nadia Selbourne was relentless in her search for a rich husband.

      But surely his father wouldn’t expect him to go that far!

      So far Marc had managed to ignore the pressure to marry, although he had come very close a few years ago. But it had ended rather badly and he’d actively avoided heavy emotional entanglements since then. Besides, Andre had always made it clear he was going to marry young and father all the Marcello heirs so the family dynasty would be secure. Marc had decided women were not to be trusted where money was involved. And in the Marcello family a lot of money was involved.

      His heart contracted at the thought of a small dark-haired infant with black-brown eyes—eyes that would one day soon dance with mischief, as her father’s had for his too short thirty years of life.

      ‘So will you do it?’ Vito pressed. ‘Will you do this one thing for me and your late mother?’

      Marc pinched the bridge of his Roman nose, his eyes squeezing shut. The mention of his mother always tore at him deeply, the sharp guilt cutting into him until he felt as if he was bleeding. He still remembered that last day, the way she had smiled and waved at him from the other side of the busy street in Rome. She hadn’t seen the motor scooter until it had ripped the shopping bags out of her hands, spinning her into the pathway of an oncoming car.

      He couldn’t help believing that if he had been honest with her about why he was going to be late, maybe she would not have been killed. His father had begged him, and he had honoured him by doing as he’d asked, but the guilt even now was like a deep dark current that dragged at his feet, weighing him down relentlessly.

      When his brother had been killed so soon after the death of his mother, Marc hadn’t been able to rid himself of the feeling that his father would have grieved a whole lot less if it had been him instead of Andre in that mangled car.

      He let out his breath and, releasing his fingers, answered resignedly. ‘I will see what I can do.’

      ‘Thank you.’ The relief in his father’s voice was unmistakable.

      Marc knew his father’s days were numbered. How much more precious would they be if he could hold his only grandchild in his arms?

      ‘She might refuse to even see me, you know,’ Marc warned, thinking again of that vituperative letter his father had sent. ‘Have you considered that possibility?’

      ‘Do whatever you have to do to make her see reason,’ Vito instructed. ‘And I mean anything. This is simply a business arrangement. Women like Nadia Selbourne expect nothing more and nothing less.’

      A business arrangement.

      What sort of woman was this, Marc thought, who would bargain with the life of a small child?

      He put the phone down a few minutes later and turned once more to the sweeping view outside. His dark eyes narrowed against the angle of the sun as he considered what he’d just agreed to do.

      He was going to visit the one person he hated more than any other in the world—the woman he believed responsible for his brother’s untimely death.

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