her father roared. “This does not concern you.
Signor Orsini? I demand an explanation.”
“Demand?” Rafe said softly.
“Indeed. I am waiting for you to explain your actions.”
Her father’s face was like stone. Chiara had seen men cower from that face. Orsini, for all his studied toughness, surely would do the same. That patina of arrogant masculinity would crumble and he’d tell her father the entire story.
“I don’t explain myself to anyone,” the American said coldly.
Her father stiffened. “You came here to beg my forgiveness for an insult half a century old. Instead, you insult me all over again.”
“I don’t beg, either. I offered you my father’s apology, and I apologized to your daughter. As far as I’m concerned, that ends our business.”
Chiara held her breath. The room seemed locked in stillness, and then her father’s lips curved in what was supposed to be a smile. But it was not; she knew it.
Still, what he said next surprised her.
“Very well. You are free to leave.”
The American nodded. He started for the door as her father strode toward her.
“On your feet,” he snarled.
Raffaele Orsini had already opened the door, but he paused and turned around at her father’s words.
“Let’s be clear about something, Cordiano. What happened—that I kissed your daughter—wasn’t her fault.”
“What you say has no meaning here. Now, get out. Chiara. Stand up.”
Chiara rose slowly to her feet. Her father’s face was a study in fury. She knew he would have hurt her if she were a man, but some old-world sense of morality had always kept him from striking her.
Still, he would not let what had happened pass. Raffaele Orsini could insist that the kiss had not been her fault until the end of eternity. Her father would never agree. A woman was supposed to defend her honor to her last breath.
She had not.
Someone had to pay for the supposed insult her father had suffered and who else could that someone be, if not her?
Her father’s eyes fixed on hers. “Giglio!” he barked.
The capo must have been waiting just outside. He stepped quickly into the room.
“Si, Don Cordiano?”
“Did you hear everything?”
The fat man hesitated, then shrugged. “Sì. I heard.”
“Then you know that my daughter has lost her honor.”
Rafe raised his eyebrows. “Now, wait a damned minute…”
“All these years, I raised her with care.”
“You didn’t raise me at all,” Chiara said, her voice trembling. “Nannies. Governesses—”
Her father ignored her. “I saw to it that she remained virtuous and saved her chastity for the marriage bed.”
“Papa. What are you talking about? I have not lost my chastity! It was only a kiss!”
“Today, she chose to throw away her innocence.” The don’s mouth twisted. “Such dishonor to bring on my home!”
Chiara laughed wildly. Rafe looked at her. Her cheeks were crimson; her eyes were enormous. Somehow the tight bun had come undone and her hair, thick and lustrous, swung against her shoulders.
“I’ve brought dishonor to this house?”
The don ignored her. His attention was on his capo.
“Giglio,” he said, “my old friend. What shall I do?”
“Wait a minute,” Rafe said, starting toward the don. Pig Man stepped in his path; he brushed him aside as if he were no more than a fly. “Listen to me, Cordiano. You’re making this into something that never happened. I kissed your daughter. I sure as hell didn’t take her virginity!”
“This is not America, Orsini. Our daughters do not flaunt their bodies. They do not let themselves be touched by strangers. And I am not talking to you. I am talking to you, Giglio, not to this… this straniero.”
Pig Man said nothing, but his tiny eyes glittered.
“I cannot even blame him for what happened,” Cordiano continued. “Foreigners know nothing of our ways. It was all my daughter’s fault, Giglio, and now, what am I to do to restore our family’s honor?”
Holy hell, Rafe thought, this was like something out of a really bad movie. The furious villain. The terrified virgin. And the pig, licking his thick lips and looking from the woman to the don as if the answer to the question might appear in neon in the space between them.
“Okay,” Rafe said quickly, “okay, Cordiano, tell me what will stop this nonsense. You want me to direct my apology to you? Consider it done. What happened was my fault entirely. I regret it. I didn’t mean to offend your daughter or you. There. Are you satisfied? I hope to hell you are because this… this farce has gone far enough.”
He might as well have said nothing. Cordiano didn’t even look at him. Instead, he spread his arms beseechingly at his capo.
Giglio was sweating. And all at once Rafe knew where this nightmare was heading.
“Wait a minute,” he said, but Cordiano put his hand in the small of Chiara’s back and sent her flying into the meaty arms of his capo.
“She is yours,” he said in tones of disgust. “Just get her out of my sight.”
“No!” Chiara’s cry echoed in the room. “No! Papa, you cannot do this!”
She was right, Rafe thought frantically. Of course Cordiano couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t.
But Cordiano had taken a telephone from his desk. It, at least, was a symbol of modernity, bright and shiny and bristling with buttons. He pushed one, then spoke. Rafe’s Italian was bad, his Sicilian worse, but he didn’t need a translator to understand what he was saying.
He was arranging for Chiara and Pig Man to be married.
Chiara, who understood every word, went white. “Papa. Please, please, I beg you—”
Enough, Rafe thought, He tore the phone from Cordiano’s hand and hurled it across the room.
“It’s not going to happen,” he growled.
“You are nobody here, Signor Orsini.”
Rafe’s lips stretched in a cold
