‘Larenzo—’ She hurried after him, one arm flung towards him in desperate supplication. ‘Larenzo, please, don’t—’
He could hear the child crying, the voice pitiful and plaintive. ‘Mama. Mama.’
‘Please,’ she said again, choking on the word, and Larenzo ignored her.
Mama. Mama.
He threw open the door and came to a complete and stunned halt as he saw the baby standing in her crib, chubby fists gripping the rail, cherubic face screwed up and wet with tears.
Emma came into the room behind him, breathing hard, and the baby flung her arms out towards her. ‘Mama.’
And Larenzo knew. He would have known just by looking at the child, with her ink-dark hair and large grey eyes, the cleft in her chin. He turned to Emma, who was gazing at him with undisguised panic.
‘When,’ he asked in a low, deadly voice, ‘were you going to tell me about my child?’
EMMA STARED AT Larenzo and saw the fury blazing in his gaze. Why, oh, why had she said that about hiding a baby? She’d meant to be bold, to pour scorn on the presumption, but she’d seen how she’d given him the idea instead. She’d told him about Ava.
Now she sagged against the doorway, completely at a loss as to what to do or say. Larenzo took a step towards her, his hands balled into fists.
‘So this is why you were so desperate for me to leave—’
‘Mama,’ Ava called, her arms still outstretched, and Emma straightened and walked swiftly towards her daughter, scooping her up in her arms, and pressed her cheek against Ava’s downy hair.
‘Please,’ she murmured to Larenzo. ‘Let me settle her and then we’ll talk.’ Although what she could tell him, she had no idea. She’d never imagined this happening, ever. She’d never expected even to see Larenzo again.
Ava continued to snuffle against her chest and Emma soothed her mindlessly, her mind spinning in futile circles. She settled her back in the cot as Larenzo waited in the hall and hoped her daughter might drift off to sleep once more. She’d slept for only twenty minutes, which unfortunately wasn’t that uncommon, but on a good day Emma could count on an hour.
Quietly she slipped out of the room and closed the door. Larenzo stood there, arms folded, eyebrows raised. He opened his mouth to speak but Emma shook her head and pressed a finger to her lips, cocking her head to indicate he should follow her downstairs.
In the kitchen she wiped the counters and tidied up the last of the lunch dishes, needing to keep busy, to keep from thinking how on earth she was going to handle this. Handle him. Larenzo watched her, one powerful shoulder propped against the doorway, everything about him arrogant, assured and definitely intimidating. She couldn’t handle this man at all.
‘You do not deny she’s mine,’ he said finally, and Emma shook her head.
‘How can I? She looks just like you.’
‘Yes.’ He raked a hand through his hair, his gaze shuttered and distant as he shook his head slowly. ‘We didn’t use birth control.’
‘No.’
‘I never even thought...’
‘Nor did I. Obviously.’
‘She must have put a dent in your plans,’ he said after a moment, his voice turning sharp, and Emma narrowed her eyes.
‘What do you mean?’
‘All your travel plans. You told me you liked to move around. Itchy feet, you said.’
She was surprised and weirdly gratified that he’d remembered what she’d said, but also piqued that he was throwing it back in her face now. ‘That changed when I became pregnant.’
‘You never considered a termination?’
Her mouth dropped open. ‘Is that what you would have preferred? Because—’
‘No.’ He shook his head, one swift, violent movement. ‘No. But I could understand if—’
She let out a rush of breath. ‘I thought of it at first, I suppose, but never seriously. I never thought I wanted a husband or children, but I couldn’t...she was a part of me.’ A lump formed in her throat and resolutely she swallowed past it. ‘I loved her even before she was born.’
‘And you’ve been living here since her birth?’ His gaze moved around the small kitchen, and Emma prickled.
‘My sister has been very kind—’
‘Yes, of course. But what about your father? Is he still in Budapest?’
So he remembered that too. ‘Yes, he is, but I wanted to be here. And frankly he wasn’t thrilled about me being pregnant, unmarried, and the father—’
‘In prison,’ he finished flatly, and Emma nodded.
‘In any case, we’re fine here.’
‘But you can’t stay here for ever.’
‘Meghan is happy for us to stay,’ Emma shot back. She wasn’t about to admit to Larenzo that she might need to move out. ‘Anyway, I don’t see how this concerns you, Larenzo—’
‘Are you serious?’ He cut her off, his voice harsh. ‘She’s my daughter.’ He paused, struggling to control his emotions while Emma watched in apprehension. ‘What’s her name?’ he finally asked.
She hesitated, reluctant to part with even that much information. What if Larenzo wanted to be a part of Ava’s life, of their lives? How on earth could she cope with that?
‘Emma, I deserve to know her name!’ His voice came out raggedly, and with a shaft of guilt Emma remembered how he’d told her about his childhood in Palermo, how he’d never had a real family. And with that came other memories of their night together, tender ones that she’d tried to keep herself from remembering. They tumbled through her mind in a bittersweet rush of poignant longing and she was helpless against it. No matter what Larenzo had done, she’d loved this man. For a night.
‘Ava,’ she said quietly.
‘Ava,’ he repeated, and she closed her eyes against the wonder she heard in his voice. ‘How old is she?’
‘Ten months. She was born on Christmas Eve.’
‘Would you have ever told me about her?’ he asked after a moment.
She opened her eyes and stared at him helplessly. ‘Larenzo, you were in prison. You were convicted of about a thousand charges all related to being in the Mafia. How could I tell you?’
He gazed back steadily, unmoved by her argument. ‘The
