One Night: Sizzling Attraction: Married for Amari's Heir / Damaso Claims His Heir / Her Secret, His Duty. Annie West

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       CHAPTER FOUR

      THE ROOM WAS EMPTY. Everything was gone. Nothing to identify who might live in this tiny little house in Rome. No toys to show that a child played here. No pots or pans in the kitchen to prove that there was a mother who lived here. A mother who had cooked dinner every night, regardless if the meal was comprised of the most modest portions.

      Even the blankets that were usually fashioned into a nest in the corner of the living area were gone.

      And there were strangers standing there. Strangers who were smiling although there was nothing to smile about.

      His toys were gone.

      But worst of all, his mother was gone.

      No matter how many times he asked where she was, no one would answer. He asked until he was hoarse, until his voice was gone, and still there was no answer. Only smiling, and strange assurances that everything would be fine, when he knew nothing would ever be fine again.

      The room was empty, and he couldn’t find anything that he needed.

      * * *

      Rocco woke up, his body drenched in sweat, his heart hammering so hard he feared it might burst through his chest. His bedroom was, of course, not empty. He was sleeping on a king-size bed with lush blankets and pillows covering every square inch. In the corner, he could see his dresser, and mounted to the wall the flat-screen TV. Everything was here, just as it should be.

      Most importantly, he was not a small crying child. He was a man. And he was not helpless.

      Yet for some reason, in spite of the realization that he had been having his usual dream, the unease didn’t let up. His chest still felt as though it was being squeezed tight, a large hand wrapped around his throat.

      He got out of bed and walked over to the bar that was next to the door. He needed a drink, and then he could go back to sleep.

      He flipped on the light and reached for a bottle of Scotch, pouring himself a generous amount, his hands shaking. As he lifted the glass to his lips, he replayed the dream in his mind. And suddenly the face of the child changed. It wasn’t him any longer, but a child with her mother’s defiant expression and wavy black hair.

      He swore and slammed the glass down onto the bar top. There was no reason for him to take part in the life of the child Charity was carrying. The odds that she was truly pregnant were slim. The odds that she was carrying his child slimmer still. It was a tactic to use him. She was a con woman, just like her father, and he knew it.

      Yes, she had been a virgin, he knew that, too. But perhaps she had not been. Perhaps it was all part of her elaborate ruse. He couldn’t be sure.

      He should forget this. Forget she had ever come to see him. It would be easy for him to send a certain amount of money to her every month, money he would never even look at. She would be cared for, as would the baby, and he could go on as he always had.

      Yet again, his mind was filled with large, sad brown eyes.

      He looked down into the Scotch as though it betrayed him, then lifted the glass and hurled it at the wall, watching it shatter. It left a dark blot behind, a spray of liquid clearly visible, and shards of glass on the floor. He didn’t care.

      And he shouldn’t care about Charity Wyatt and the baby she might or might not be carrying.

       You would abandon your child? Is this what you have become?

      He did not hear the questions in his own voice, but a voice from far in the past. His mother. Who had left luxury with his father to give birth to him. Who had, before that, sold all of her jewelry, all of her clothes. A mother who had worked nights at a factory, walking a dangerous route home in the early hours, alone.

      His mother had given her all, until she had lost her life in pursuit of caring for him.

      And he was going to leave his child with nothing more than an СКАЧАТЬ