The Sicilian's Bought Cinderella. Michelle Smart

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СКАЧАТЬ why her hands shook. It felt as if her entire insides were shaking, tiny vibrations quivering through her bones and veins.

      She told herself it was because of the situation, her body preparing itself for the biggest fight it had ever undertaken. It was nothing to do with Dante himself.

      The value of this cottage and its land were peanuts for a man of Dante’s wealth but for her sister it meant the world. It would enable her to buy a home that Finn could live in with the freedom to be as normal a child as his condition allowed. That was all Orla wanted—a decent home in which to raise her son.

      Aislin loved her nephew with her whole heart. Finn was her heart. For months she’d sat by his side as he’d lain in that awful incubator in the neonatal intensive care nursery, willing his tiny body to grow, for his lungs to work on their own; praying that one day he would be strong enough to go home...to survive.

      The little fighter had survived, but not without complications. His entire life would be a fight and Aislin was prepared to do whatever necessary to make that fight more bearable.

      Dante’s lawyer had blocked her sister’s every attempt for recognition. Aislin had flown to Sicily determined to confront Dante in person but, again, had been blocked. The security around him was too tight for her to get a foot through it. Breaking into this cottage had been the last desperate resort.

      After a length of time had passed that seemed to be stretched by elastic, Dante finally looked up from the photo.

      Her heart made the strangest clenching motion when his green eyes locked onto hers. There was a hardness in his stare.

      ‘I have never heard of this woman. My father had many lovers. Many men and women have come forward since his death claiming to be his secret love-child. You give me a photograph and claim it is my sister...’

      His thick Sicilian accent soaked into her skin as if her pores were breathing it in.

      ‘I am claiming nothing—she is your sister. You can see the resemblance.’

      He gave a tutting sound that was pure Sicilian. ‘A convenient resemblance.’

      ‘There is nothing convenient about it!’ she retorted hotly, and would have added more had he not raised a palm up.

      ‘If she is my sister, why did she wait until after my father’s death to reveal herself?’

      ‘She didn’t need to reveal herself. Your father paid maintenance for her upbringing until she was eighteen.’

      He sagged slightly at this revelation but it was the briefest of movements, his composure regained in a breath. ‘That is something I can discover the truth of for myself.’

      ‘It is the truth and, if you hadn’t stonewalled her every attempt to speak to you, you would have all the facts at your fingertips.’

      ‘My father acknowledged one child. Me. There was no talk of a secret sister, no death-bed confession.’

      ‘That’s not Orla’s fault.’

      ‘Would she still claim to be my sister if I were to tell you there is nothing left of his estate?’

      ‘That’s because you’ve sold it all off!’

      The look he cast her was full of fake pity. ‘My father was a gambling addict. He sold everything he could to fund his debts.’

      ‘I’ve seen the list of assets.’ That was the only thing Orla’s useless lawyer had been able to get from Dante’s terrifyingly efficient one. ‘He was worth millions. Orla isn’t being greedy. All she wants is a small share of it. Morally, she’s entitled to that, even if you and your lawyer don’t agree. I’m prepared to stage a sit-in in this cottage until you either sign it over to her or pay her off.’

      Before Dante could laugh at Aislin’s nerve, a lock of hair fell onto his forehead and over his eyes. He brushed it back. He needed to get it cut, another thing to add to his ever-long list of things to do.

      ‘The law is on my side. Do you really believe that moving into this cottage—illegally—will get you anywhere?’

      Her eyes spat fury at him. ‘Possession is nine-tenths of the law.’

      ‘Maybe in Ireland. But this is Sicily. My country. My property. My land. I can snap my fingers and have you removed from this cottage and expelled from the country.’

      ‘Try it.’ She jumped back to her feet and snatched the envelope off the table to pull yet another sheet of paper out of it. ‘Try it and I will make sure every media outlet knows what you’ve done. This is not your land, it’s part of your father’s estate. All Orla wants is what she’s entitled to, and this is the authority for me to handle things on her behalf.’

      Dante ignored the letter, although he took note of the pretty hand holding it and the buffed, shapely nails. Then he slowly let his gaze drift upwards, over the curvy hips, the slender waist and the large breasts caressed lovingly in a soft, silver sweater. Simple clothing draped over an outstanding body. As her fragrance snaked its way back into his senses, he experienced a thickening in his loins. Disconcerted with this involuntary reaction to this woman, and at this moment in time, he reached for his coffee.

      Dante freely admitted his libido was strong but the last time he’d experienced an inappropriate erection like this had been in a maths lesson almost two decades ago when his teacher had leaned over his desk to help him and her top had gaped open, exposing her cleavage.

      He made a point of taking a large sip of the coffee, dragging his focus to the matter at hand. For instant coffee, it wasn’t too bad, its heat a welcome respite from the cold that had settled in his spine.

      The resemblance between himself and the woman in the photograph was astounding.

      ‘Has your sister ever lived in Sicily?’

      The neat, pretty eyebrows drew together. ‘No.’

      ‘Say for argument’s sake that your assessment is correct and that my father really was worth millions when he died, what makes you think Orla would be entitled to anything? My father named me as his sole heir. She was not recognised as his child. You have to appreciate that my lawyer and I have been through this many times already.’

      When the first fraudster had tried their hand at claiming on the estate, Dante and his lawyer had discussed all the legalities on the off-chance the fraudster was telling the truth.

      ‘It might have been different if she had lived in my country at any point in her life. I suggest she pays a visit to a Sicilian lawyer and hears for herself that she has no rights.’ He laughed, although humour was the last thing he felt right then. ‘There is nothing for her to have. That list you have is old and dates from my grandfather’s death. My father sold most of the assets on it. The family home never belonged to him and nor did the land in Florence—my grandparents put them in a trust for me to stop my father selling them to feed his gambling addiction.’

      That hadn’t stopped one of the fraudsters taking out an injunction to prevent Dante selling those assets, an injunction his lawyer had overturned in ten days. That fraudster was currently rotting in a Sicilian prison, awaiting trial for fraud.

      ‘This cottage is all he had left and it is not for sale.’ СКАЧАТЬ