he swore. The vulgar words were followed by several more in Italian. Finally he shouted, “He’s my son, damn you! How dare you steal my flesh and blood?”
“Steal? I didn’t steal him, Joey.”
His nostrils flared as he regarded her with cold eyes. “When were you going to tell me about him, Rhea? When he was five? Ten? Twenty?”
Rhea refused to give in to the urge to scurry behind his desk. She’d been in similar situations before—a hundred times before. She knew better than to cower, or run. Standing her ground, she said, “He’s my son, too. I gave him life.”
He gave a rude snort. “That’s the controversy of the century, darlin’. I believe I gave him life.”
His words sent Rhea’s eyes down his hard body to that area that…yes, had been responsible for giving her son life. Feeling caught, she jerked her gaze back up. “Tell me when I can see my son?”
“When hell freezes. How does that sound?”
“It sounds like something Stud would say, not you.”
Another string of Italian obscenities scolded the air.
“You have so much, Joey. All I have is Nicci. A child needs his mother.”
“But not his father?”
“I never said that. Never wanted that.”
“What did you want, Rhea?”
She had wanted to share their son. To be a family. But that hadn’t been possible. “I wanted my baby born healthy.”
Her words gave him pause. “And is he healthy?”
“Yes.”
“What kind of mother denies a child his father, Rhea? A father who wants him and has the means to take care of him? If a child can’t trust his mother to have his best interests at heart then who the hell can he trust?”
Rhea’s own mother had walked out on her when she was seven. A few years later her father had died, and she’d been placed in an orphanage. From the minute Nicci was born, all her energy had centered around being a good mother to him. No, not just a good mother—the best mother ever.
“You can accuse me of many things, but not of being a bad mother. Nicci can trust me, Joey. I’ve kept him safe and warm and happy since the second I learned I was pregnant.”
“The way I see it, what you kept him was fatherless.”
“That wasn’t my fault.”
“You’re the one who left. He didn’t even know about me until last night.”
“You told him you’re his father?”
“I am his father. Yes, I told him.”
Rhea rarely swore, but she did now. “Dammit, Joey, you’re a stranger to him. Scaring him half to death in the middle of the night, then confusing him about who he is… You—”
“He’s not confused or scared.”
“How the hell would you know what he is? You’ve been a father less than twenty-four hours.”
“Not by choice.”
Rhea squeezed her eyes shut, her concern for Nicci escalating. She didn’t realize she’d forgotten to breathe until a wave of dizziness stole her balance. She swayed, but before she fell, a strong hand gripped her upper arm. Startled, she blinked her eyes open to find Joey directly in front of her. His fingers bit into her arm as he stared down at her. Unable to hold his gaze, she looked past him to their reflection in the large gilded mirror behind the bar.
Joey’s size dwarfed her, and again she realized that she was no match for him, and that maybe it would have been smarter to wait for Frank.
Suddenly he let go of her arm and walked around her. “One or two scars… Not bad. You didn’t lose your eye.”
From the mirror, she watched as he studied her as if she were on an auction block. He circled again, this time stopping behind her. Leaning in, his lips brushed her ear. “Were you able to nurse my son?”
The question might have seemed strange, even crude, to anyone else, but Rhea knew why Joey had asked it. Her dance with death had kept her in chest bandages for weeks. She had still been in them when she’d left town. Nonetheless, the intimacy of the question brought a hot flush to her cheeks. She had slept with this man, had come apart in his arms, yet their affair hadn’t really gotten under way until after Stud had put her through her bedroom window and in danger of losing her eye and her right breast.
He came around and faced her. “Well?”
The heat from her cheeks spread over her face and down her neck. She’d agreed to some reconstructive surgery to repair the damage, but then she’d learned she was pregnant and had decided against it. “Yes, I nursed Nicci.” Not waiting for him to delve into her answer and embarrass her further, she stated, “Are you telling me you’re not going to let me see my son, Joey?”
“He’s not here. He’s spending the morning with a friend.”
Rhea tensed. “He’s with a stranger. Can you trust this person?”
“I wouldn’t have left him with her, otherwise.”
Her. Sophia D’Lano… He’d left their son with his wife. “Is she competent?”
“Of course she’s competent.”
“How can you be sure? Nicci’s a very active child. If you’re not used to dealing with children, then—”
“Lavina Ward is used to children. And she would never let anything happen to my son.”
That was not the answer Rhea had been expecting. Not at all. “Are you saying Jackson’s mother is watching over Nicci right now?”
“That’s right.”
Jackson Ward wasn’t only Joey’s friend, he was her friend, too. At least, he had been three years ago. He had worked with her ex-husband at the police department. He was, however, nothing like Stud. Jackson was good and honest, and his mother was the reason he had grown up that way. She was a hard-working woman who supported her family as the owner of Caponelli’s Restaurant in Little Italy.
“She’s agreed to help me out until I can hire a nanny.”
Rhea’s maternal instinct flared. “Nicci doesn’t need a nanny, Joey. He needs his mother.”
“But not his father?”
“All right, yes, we made a baby. And, yes, I didn’t tell you. But you weren’t honest with me, either. You never told me you were engaged to Sophia D’Lano.” She spun away from him and walked deeper into his spacious office. Turning, she said, “I’m telling you right now, the only way your wife will raise my son is over my dead body, Joey. Do you hear me? I won’t abandon him out of fear of what you’ll do to
