had been a roughly stunning sketch in black-and-white then. Now, now she was a hauntingly beautiful painting that had grown into its promise, that would bestow pleasure for years to come.
Her brown eyes, bold and direct, searched the room and settled on him.
A pure bolt of energy flew between them, locking them together as if they were the only people in the room, in the world.
Something inside him, something only she had known leaped and growled at the sight of her again.
Her skin paled under the brilliance of the crystal chandelier even as she held his gaze stubbornly. She held her left hand awkwardly against her body.
Cutting his gaze away from her, which took far too much effort, Leandro stifled the life out of that strange fever in his veins.
Why was she here now, after seven years? On the eve of my engagement of all nights?
Before he could voice a question, Antonio’s stringent words shattered the choking quiet. “It is family here tonight, Luca. Your dirty playthings are not welcome.”
Alexis flinched. When Luca would have interrupted, she stilled him with a hand on his arm. His usually volatile brother relented with a shrug.
Something ugly erupted in Leandro’s gut. Dio, she would make me jealous of his own brother?
Leandro saw her falter, pull a deep breath and then face Antonio. “I’m not Luca’s...plaything, Mr. Conti, nor will I leave before I say what I intend.” Then she leveled that resolute gaze at him. “I need to speak to you alone.”
Leandro hardened himself against the beseeching look in her eyes. After seven years, that she showed up tonight of all nights, there was only one thing she could be after—money. And that perversely made him angrier. “There is nothing you could say to me that you could not say here, Ms. Sharpe.”
“Leandro...” his brother again.
Leandro held up his hand, more than furious now.
How long had Luca been in touch with her? How could there be such...a friendship between them if not so?
And why the hell did he care whatever was between them?
He skewered the woman with his gaze. “Whatever game you’re up to, I’m not playing.”
Anger burned in her eyes, her lithe body faintly trembled with it. “Fine, so be it.” Her voice rang crystal clear in the rapt room, and still he could hear the tremble in it. “I came to tell you that you... I have a daughter.” Her chin rose. “Her name is Isabella Adrian. She’s six years old and she’s beautiful and precious and she...she’s yours.”
“No,” fell from Leandro’s lips, a snarling whisper in the quiet room. “That can’t be.”
His grandfather’s and Salvatore Rossi’s curses in Italian and Valentina’s muffled gasp registered on the periphery of his consciousness.
Lips quivering, Alexis’s chest rose and fell but she held his gaze over the distance. “A DNA test will prove I’m right,” she said, as if she’d prepared the response. But it was the absolute purpose in her voice that held him mute.
A daughter...
His skin felt chilly as if all warmth had been leeched away from the world around him.
And yet, the crystal chandeliers in the room glowed bright, the fire cackled in the marble-wrought fireplace and the moon hung jewel bright in the sky outside.
The world continued spinning whereas all of the control he prided himself on deserted him, leaving him shaken to the core.
He shook his head, gasping for breath.
He looked at Luca. Who looked just as aghast as he did.
Only Alexis stood composed amid the curious and accusing glares aimed at her, her shoulders ramrod straight.
Alexis whose eyes gleamed with pride and love as she claimed that he was a father. Of her little girl.
His child...something Rosa had wanted so desperately for years.
Now, this woman, whom he’d tried to forget, claimed her daughter was his...that his one moment of weakness had led to such a consequence?
Everything inside him clenched tight, as if the merest breath could shatter him. Robbing him of speech even.
“Whatever your scheme, Ms. Sharpe, you have already made a misstep in your bait.” Antonio finally spoke, his accented English falling like hard gravel over the marble floor. “If there were Conti bastards lying around for you to sully our name with, your claim would be believable if you said Luca fathered them.
“Not Leandro.
“Now before I call the polizia—”
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