Chapter Ten
Mia
As the limousine drove through the nighttime streets of Naples—with Vito brooding on the other side of the car, ignoring me as he sent a series of texts, his thumbs flying over his phone—I had the brutal recollection of the last time I’d been with him in the city.
The helicopter ride to his estate, the gun battle at dawn, that feeling of exhilaration, of being more alive and terrified than I had ever been before or since.
Weirdly, I wasn’t terrified anymore. In fact, I felt strangely calm.
I observed the chic, happy people still partying only a few hours before dawn in the sidewalk cafes and nightspots we passed.
Their lives seemed so much less complicated than mine.
Not that I would have risked hurting my baby, but would they help me if I jumped out of the car?
Somehow I doubted it. And what would be the point anyway?
Vito would still know I carried his child no matter what I did now.
‘Where are we going?’ I asked.
Vito looked up from his phone. His eyes narrowed.
Wasn’t I even allowed to ask a question?
‘I thought we’d be on a boat by now…’ I prompted.
He’d mentioned an island, after all. Last night, I had hoped there might be some kind of law enforcement by the docks so I could alert them to my predicament, but was that really an option?
As upset as I still was with Vito for kidnapping me, and as determined as I was not to let him take my freedom away, did I really want to see him hurt or imprisoned?
He stared at me, gauging whether he could trust me with the information.
I waited, refusing to relinquish eye contact. He could only bully me if I let him.
Eventually he said grudgingly. ‘We will take a helicopter to Isla Donna from the Naples palazzo, but first we must make a stop in the city.’
‘What for?’ I asked, surprised he had deigned to give me this much.
His gaze zeroed in on my abdomen. ‘I have made an appointment with the top obstetrician in the city.’
‘In the middle of the night?’ I asked, then realised how gauche I sounded when his lips twisted into a cynical smile.
He didn’t reply, but then, he didn’t have to—when he wanted something, he got it.
But why had he made the appointment? Was he concerned about having manhandled me in London? Somehow I doubted that, given he’d had no qualms about tying me to the bed on the plane, then bringing me to an earth-shattering orgasm.
The car stopped outside a large ornate neoclassical building with a gold plaque on the wall outside announcing it as A Garabaldi’s practice. Lorenzo opened the door and Vito got out, then leaned into the car and held out his hand. ‘Come, Mia.’
I stared at his outstretched fingers but refused to take them.
‘I’m healthy. There’s no need for me to see a doctor,’ I said, not wanting to engage with the possibility he cared about my health, or the baby’s, scared it would weaken my position even more if I began to hope for something that wasn’t there.
‘I have a midwife at home who’s been looking after my antenatal care. ’
‘You will not be seeing her again, Mia,’ he said, his voice tight, but the tone a tiny bit less arsey than usual. ‘I have arranged for medical care on the island, but it will take a few days to set up the equipment and hire the staff. Until then, I must ensure you and the baby are well.’
Did he truly care about me, about the baby?
I swallowed, the rawness in my throat—and the sting of emotion—disturbing me. Surely that reaction could only be due to the tumultuous events of the past eight hours. Being kidnapped could make anyone emotional, especially someone whose hormones were totally out of whack.
How could he care about me when he had kidnapped me?
What if my hope that he did care was a layover from that little girl who had wondered occasionally what her dad might be like—and if he might change his mind one day and suddenly appear to claim me as his?
I’d killed those idiotic daydreams a long time ago, and I was much stronger for it.
My dad, whoever the hell he was, had been a deadbeat.
No surprise there. I wasn’t responsible for his choices.
I was only responsible for my own. And letting that naive hope in again now, that need for a man’s approval, would be the worst possible thing to do when I was already vulnerable enough.
He snapped his fingers, making me jump. ‘Vieni, Mia. We do not have all night.’
The impatient demand cauterised the sting of emotion.
I climbed out—deciding it was best to get the exam over with—but ignored his helping hand to make a point.
I was tired and out of sorts and my emotions far too close to the surface, meaning attempting to figure out Vito’s motivations tonight was not a good idea—especially as I was struggling to make sense of my own.
Vito placed a controlling hand on my lower back to usher me into the building and up the stairs, while his men stood guard outside.
The warm, heavy weight of his palm sent a wave of sensation through my already overwrought body, and I shuddered. He sensed the reaction I couldn’t disguise. His hand travelled down to cup my bottom, making me even more aware of that proprietary touch.
‘Your body knows you are mine, Mia,’ he murmured against my neck as we reached the landing. He opened the door without knocking. ‘Even if you refuse to accept it.’
Heat spread up my neck, the denial locked in my throat behind the unwanted ball of emotion, as Vito directed me into the doctor’s surgery.
An older man appeared, his face flushed. He bowed his head, and they had a conversation in Italian—his tone was obsequious, while Vito’s was curt.
The doctor didn’t introduce himself to me.
He simply nodded profusely and led us both into a large back room where the lights had been dimmed and the shutters closed.
Although there was a couch and an examination table, as well as a lot of expensive state-of-the-art equipment including what looked like an ultrasound machine, the room smelled of lavender and fresh linen and was luxuriously decorated.
A far cry from the tiny midwife’s office in my local clinic back home.
The obstetrician handed me a gown and said in perfect English, ‘Please take off your clothing and get on the examination table.’ But he didn’t make eye contact.
I could sense his fear, though. What had Vito threatened him with to get him to see me at this hour, I wondered? Then tried not to think about it. I already knew how ruthless Vito was. Dwelling on it wasn’t going to make my life easier.
As I went to put on the gown, Vito seated himself in an armchair with a view of the examination table, clearly planning to watch the whole thing. I tried not to let it intimidate me. He was the father of this child, and not acknowledging that fact until now had been a mistake.
But as he lounged in the armchair, it made me think of a panther watching his prey. His gaze raked over me with that unsettling combination of awareness and arrogance. The devastating once-over had sensation sinking into my abdomen again as I headed to the screen in the far corner of the room.
I stripped as quickly as I could. The gown was one of those surgical things which was wide open at the back, so I kept my panties on.
Even so, I felt hopelessly exposed as the doctor helped me to climb onto the examination table.
As I sat there feeling small, aware of Vito watching me, the doctor asked me a series of routine questions while he checked my blood pressure, reflexes, breathing and a whole host of other things the midwife in London had never bothered with.
Exhaustion started to overwhelm me, the obstetrician’s calm, patient voice soothing in the shadowy room, the questions similar to ones I had answered before about my medical history.
‘What was the date of your last menstruation?’ he asked softly as he finished taking a series of blood samples and untied the tourniquet.
Before I could remember the answer, though, Vito replied from the shadows in Italian, ‘Il bambino è stato concepito il dieci maggio.’
I’d almost forgotten he was there. But my tired mind translated the relevant words bambino, concepito and dieci maggio as the doctor scribbled the information in his notes.
Vito leant into the pool of light cast by the lamp beside his chair to rest forearms roped with muscle on his knees. The array of tattoos on the tanned skin made him look even wilder and more dangerous as his hot gaze swept over me, branding my skin.
The tenth of May was the night our baby had been conceived. The confidence with which he announced it felt like a declaration of his ownership. Not just of the baby, but also of me.
Brutal emotion blindsided me—the possessiveness in those crystal-blue eyes both terrifying and strangely intoxicating.
The fierce memories of that night, when he had got me pregnant…
and all those hazy memories from my childhood, constantly dreaming about the dad I’d made up in my head, who would appear one day and want me—and Evie, even though he wasn’t even her dad—and take care of us the way our mum never had, merged in my consciousness.
I shivered and looked away, trapped in that possessive gaze, aware now I was bound to Vito in a way I could never undo. That I wasn’t sure I wanted to undo that connection only disturbed me more.
‘Lie down and I will do a scan,’ the doctor said, snapping me out of my own thoughts.
But as I lay back, I was far too aware of Vito’s watchful presence. My emotional state was so raw my skin felt tight, while my sex was still felt tender from Vito’s attentions on the plane.
The doctor switched on the equipment and lubricated the probe. I listened to the mechanical hum of the machine booting up and tried not to read too much into the intimacy of this moment, when Vito would see our baby for the first time.