too?”
“Allergies? What kind of allergies? You said he was healthy.”
“He is healthy. Just allergic to carrots.”
“Carrots? What else?”
Rhea hesitated, then said, “I should let you find out the hard way, Joey. But at whose expense? It wouldn’t be yours or your professional’s, it would be at Nicci’s expense. Still, a nanny won’t know that he likes peas better than squash. Or that thunderstorms make him wake up crying. Or that he gets constipated if he doesn’t drink enough juice. But I know those things, Joey. I know them because I’ve been with our son every minute since he was born.” On a roll, she jabbed herself in the chest. “Me! The only professional he needs! His mother!”
He reached out and covered her mouth with his hand. “We’re not going to fight in the hall where he can hear us,” he whispered hotly.
Rhea opened her mouth and bit down hard on the side of his hand, so frustrated and angry that she reacted before she thought.
“Maledizione!”
The minute she let go, she warned him off with her extended arm. “I’m the one who should be caring for our son. But have it your way…daddy. Father knows best, right?”
She turned then, and quickly headed for the door. She didn’t want to go, but he was going to send her back to her cell “with a view,” anyway. At least this way, she wouldn’t have to be led away like a criminal on her way back to lockup.
She’d almost reached the door when he caught her in the foyer and turned her around. Backing her against the wall, he easily pinned her there. He leaned in and snapped, “Damn you, Rhea… Damn your hide.”
“And damn your hide right back, Joey. Now let go! Or I’ll—”
“Or you’ll what?”
Instead of telling him, Rhea hoisted her knee.
As she clipped him in the crotch, Joey swore, then wedged his knee between her legs and gave her his weight. “You should have told me you were pregnant, damn you.”
“You should have told me you were engaged to Sophia D’Lano.”
“I’m Niccolo’s father.”
“I’m his mother.”
The room fell silent as he stared her down. A full minute lapsed before he said, “Then, the answer is simple, isn’t it?”
His voice was no longer full of anger, but of resignation.
“Nothing is simple when it comes to you, Joey. Not one damn thing.”
He raised his hand and brushed a finger over the scar on her lower lip. “Say it? Say you’ll do whatever you have to, for the sake of our son. I want to hear you say it.”
If she refused him this time, she might never see Nicci again. Never hold him, or hear his sweet voice call her “Mama.” Life wouldn’t be worth living without her son, and she was sure Joey had figured that out. He knew he had her boxed into a corner. A very tight corner.
Her chin quivered, but Rhea kept it up, anyway. “Okay, Joey,” she whispered. “I get to care for Nicci, and—”
“I get whatever I want.”
There was more silence. Rhea’s chin continued to tremble, and Joey’s eyes bored into her as if he was waiting for her to change her mind. But she wasn’t going to, and when another minute passed, he dropped his hand and stepped back.
“There’s an empty bedroom across the hall from Niccolo’s room. You can move your things in there. Tomorrow morning, meet me in the sunroom at seven sharp. I’ll tell the cook she has the morning off. Two eggs, three strips of bacon, juice and coffee, Rhea. Questions?”
She shook her head.
He turned and swung the door open. “Gates, Ms. Williams is moving again. Get somebody downstairs to pack her things.”
“And where will she be moving to, sir?”
Rhea heard several graphic words, all of them in Italian. Then, “Where do you think, Gates?”
“Sir?”
More Italian. “Get her suitcases up here within the hour, Gates. Capiche?”
Joey headed for the Stardust Bar on the tenth floor of Masado Towers, intent on getting drunk. The idea behind the Open Twenty-Four Hours sign out front was to give the night owls a place to light—all night long, if need be.
With half-moon shaped booths in midnight-blue leather and a million neon stars scattered on a black ceiling, the atmosphere echoed the eclectic food and drinks, especially the latter, with names like Midnight Sun, Pink Cloud and the famous Moonshot.
As Joey stepped inside, he saw Lucky and Jackson seated at a corner table. Flagging a waitress, he ordered a double scotch, then slid into the booth.
“Who’s watching Niccolo?”
Joey scowled at his brother. “You know damn well who’s up there with him. Why in the hell did you stick your nose in my business? I was handling things.”
“You were handling things, all right.” Lucky turned to Jackson. “You should have seen it, Jacky. Joey was in the bathtub with his shoes on, juggling my screaming nephew like he was a slippery eel. Mio fratello can make a hundred grand a day pushing buttons on his computer, but when it comes to—”
“Shut up, Lucky.”
When Jackson chuckled, Joey nailed his best friend with an ugly look. “I don’t want to hear what you’re thinking. Save it until I’m in a better mood.”
Jackson schooled his grin. “I wasn’t going to say anything, Joe.”
“Like hell you weren’t.”
“Well, maybe I was going to make one small comment. An observation.”
“Just one?”
“Yeah, one. I was going to say, I’m glad it’s you and not me. Becoming an overnight father, I mean.” Jackson glanced at Lucky. “Did you get pictures? Nicci’s first bath with Daddy? We could put them on Ma’s conversation wall at Caponelli’s.”
Joey swore, then reached for the glass of scotch before the waitress could set it down. After he’d inhaled it, he said, “Let’s get drunk.”
“Drunk?” Lucky grinned. “Hell, yes. Let’s. It always makes me feel better.”
Jackson elbowed Lucky. “Joey doesn’t need to get drunk. Neither do you.”
“Yes, I do,” Joey argued. “I just moved Rhea into the penthouse.”
Joey ignored Jackson’s shocked look and reached for his drink. When he realized it was empty, he looked at Lucky, who appeared more surprised than Jackson. “Get me another bottle,
