“What?” I’ve cried for so long I can’t even remember what he’s replying to.
“You are not at all difficult to love. That’s part of the problem I had, you see,” he tells me, tipping up my face and kissing me on the forehead. “From the first moment, I found you so very easy to love.”
“You did?”
“Oh, yes. I lost my heart to you that first night, I think. You’re so gentle and open—”
“I’m a dishonorable liar who betrayed his own mother.”
“I shouldneverhave said that,” he says firmly, “and I hope you can forgive me. You tried your whole life to be loyal to her. But if someone won’t accept your gift to them, you have a perfect right to give it to someone else.”
“Toyou,” I say. “If…if you meant what you said back there.”
“Oh, yes, I meant it. I love you and I will cherish you until my dying day,” he tells me, his eyes warm. “And I will never let anyone hurt you again.”
“Alessandro,” I whisper, my throat tight. “I love you, too. I really do. It’snotjust an obsession—I need you to know that.”
He smiles. “I believe it.”
“And I’m shutting downCute Crims,” I go on doggedly. “I only hid it before, but I’ll really close it down this time. To show you. Toproveit to you—”
“You have nothing to prove to me, little mouse. I’m the one who has things to make up for. I want to be the kind of man whodeservesyour love. I don’t know that I do, yet—but I’m working on it.”
* * *
We finally get up to his apartment about half an hour later, already beginning to pull each other’s clothes off in the elevator up. But when the elevator doors open at the top, Alessandro stiffens and pushes me behind him. “Someone is here,” he tells me in a murmur.
I have no idea how he can tell. The little foyer from the elevator is devoid of people, and his gun is sitting right there on the bronze table where he left it.
He grabs it. “Whoever is there, you’d better show yourself, because I plan to come in shooting,” he calls out.
The response is a melodic peal of laughter. “Oh, Sandro,” says a familiar voice, and it continues in a stream of Italian, along with the metronomic clack of heels on the polished concrete floor.
Alessandro’s mother comes into view around the corner, holding her arms out wide when she sees us both. “Where on earth have you been?” she asks in English. “I’ve been waiting for ages.”
Alessandro drops the gun at once, but still keeps me a little behind him. “Mamma,” he says, irritated, “how did you get in here?”
“You gave me my own passcode,” she tells him. “Many years ago now, and I don’t think I’ve ever used it, but here I am. And I’m only here because they wouldn’t let me into Redwood Manor. In fact, those guards were unforgivably rude, Sandro, and will definitely need to be taught a lesson.”
Alessandro gives a little sigh. But his mother is smiling at me, beckoning me to come forward and be embraced.
I push past him gently, because I really, really need a hug right now.
Thiskind of hug.
She cradles me close, speaking little phrases to me in Italian that sounds nice, even though I can’t understand what she’s saying. Then she pulls back a little, looks me over, and frowns at Alessandro. “What have you been doing to this poor boy?”
We move into the living area, and Alessandro pulls off his jacket. “Mama, this has to stop. I am Don Castellani now. I don’t need your help, and I certainly don’t need you coming into my home without invitation.”
“Well, then, you’ll be very happy to hear that I’m returning to Italy tomorrow,” she says coolly. But even at her coldest, Alessandro’s mother still has warmth to her. She’s kept her arm around me, comforting me.
“I only came over to let you know that Don Morelli has arrived in the city,” his mother goes on, “and the dinner will be going ahead tonight, as planned. But of course, I’m sure you have everything under control.”
Alessandro is very good at hiding his emotions, but even I don’t miss the slight twist to his mouth. He’d totally forgotten about tonight.
But then, so had I.
“If I were you, my child,” she says airily, “I would make myself presentable and get over to Redwood Manor to oversee the arrangements. But of course, I’m only your mother, only a foolish woman, what would I know? The great Don Castellani doesn’t need his mother telling him what to do—”
