“I have to be. Someone has to be.”
Cristiano’s eyes narrowed as he studied her tight expression. “You love her.”
Without a doubt. “Yes.”
“And your husband. Do you love him this much, too?”
Sam’s eyes closed and she sagged inwardly, exhausted, overwhelmed. She’d never loved Johann even though she’d tried initially. She’d thought maybe her kindness, her compassion might save him…that her love could maybe make them a family but she’d been wrong. Naïve.
Opening her eyes, the fatigue weighed even more heavily on her. She felt as if she’d been battling to save Johann for far too many years now. She didn’t know how to keep fighting for him, for the family, for security any longer. The task had become too great, the toll too much. Living with Johann had drained her. “I’ve done my best to protect him.”
“And is that the same thing as love?”
Her lips curved grimly. “It is what it is, Mr. Bartolo.”
Cristiano’s expression didn’t change, and yet Sam felt something shift—her? Him?—and when he spoke again, the mood somehow was different. “I don’t like your husband,” he said. “I have never liked your husband, but I like him even less now.”
“Because he wagered me?”
“And then tried to sell his child, the very child he refused to give to her family.”
Her mouth went dry and she felt like a marionette doll, odd, gangly, all wooden arms and legs. “He wouldn’t sell Gabby.”
“He tried. It wasn’t enough he’d settled his debts with you. He thought perhaps he’d buy back some of his lost property, an even exchange, the town villa for his daughter.”
“No.”
“Yes, indeed.”
Sam looked past Cristiano to the creamy marble columns supporting the ornate stained-glass dome. “And what did you say?” she whispered, her mouth so dry, her throat scratchy.
“I don’t buy children, Baroness.”
She shook her head, shocked. She knew Johann was selfish and a drunkard, a gambler, and a player—but this…it was repulsive. “Do you see why I can’t leave her there? Do you see why I must protect her?”
“Baroness, I have no authority over her. I can’t take her. Only the courts—”
“But I can!” Sam clasped her hands together, leaned towards Cristiano, hands pressed as if in prayer. “I’m still her stepmother.”
“Johann won’t allow it. Not if he thinks he can get me to pay for her.”
“How much?” Sam whispered. “How much does he want?”
“Three million. The price of his town villa.”
Her eyes burned and she smiled bitterly to hide her pain. “I was ten million and his child was only three?”
“My thoughts exactly.”
Sam ground her teeth together, panic growing on the inside. Panic at the future, the present, panic that she was losing her grip on reality, panic that it seemed she was going to lose Gabby.
“Sit back,” Cristiano said. “Breathe. You look as if you’re going to faint.”
She shook her head, woozy and nauseous all over again, and struggled to speak, but couldn’t find her voice, couldn’t even shape her lips. Her face felt stiff, frozen. Her whole body trembled.
Cristiano reached out, touched her arm. “Do you need water?”
She shook her head again. “No,” she croaked, but she did feel terrible. Terrible, horrible, devastated. It was as if her world had been a little snow globe and it had been dropped, shattered.
For a moment Sam did nothing but concentrate on breathing, in and out she breathed, deep slow breaths to ease the pain inside her. But just breathing didn’t help. If she breathed in, it hurt. If she exhaled, it hurt. Nothing would change the pain.
“She’s not your child,” Cristiano said quietly.
Anger rolled through Sam, hot and wild, cutting through her fog. “But she feels like my child, and I’ll protect her like my child, and I will worry about her, and I will worry for her. You can be selfish and cold but I won’t be.”
“No, I know you won’t be. That’s why I wanted you. That’s why I played hard for you. You didn’t fall into my hands by chance.”
If he hoped to reassure her, he was failing, miserably. Every word he spoke only heightened her unease and the sense that everything was changing—quickly, dramatically, drastically—and Samantha resisted change, particularly if it was beyond her control. “You wanted this?”
“Very much so.”
“You can’t take another man’s wife.”
One of his strong black eyebrows lifted quizzically. “You do if she’s neglected.”
Dazed, she gave her head a slight shake and Cristiano merely smiled, a cool smile, much like the glittering light thrown off by the huge chandeliers overhead. Neither his smile nor the bright light above them warmed his eyes now.
“Doesn’t it grate you, Baroness,” he said after a slight pause, “that while you’ve scraped and struggled to pay bills, your husband sat in the casinos for months losing thousands a night?”
It did, oh God it did, but she couldn’t find the words, or the protests. She blinked, held back the tears. “He stopped for a while.”
“Not very long. I know. Because every time he lost, I won. And everything he offered, I took.”
“So this is your fault.”
“He’s a compulsive gambler.”
“It’s a sickness.”
“So I discovered.”
“And could you show no mercy?”
“No.” And his expression slowly changed, jaw firming, cheekbones jutting beneath hard eyes. “I am not a merciful man.”
CHAPTER THREE
CRISTIANO SENT SAM home in a taxi and traveling back home, she glanced at her watch constantly. Two minutes later, five minutes, eight.
She felt obsessed with time. Driven by time. It was a quarter to noon now. Cristiano had said the car for her would arrive at four, which meant she now had less than four hours to pack and arrange her life, less than four hours to say her goodbyes. Which really meant saying goodbye to Gabby. Four hours to say goodbye after four years of being together…
Sam couldn’t fathom it, couldn’t
