Slowly, his head lifted, his eyes locking with mine. I saw the uncertainty or maybe it was hope. “Do you remember me, even though it’s been so long?”
I tensed. “I forgot only because my brain suffered but it took just one small reminder, a photo and I remembered some things I guess. You’re my baby brother, you’re family.”
He let out a shaky breath. “Tell me about our parents.”
Relief flooded me, warm and overwhelming. “You look just like him, like our father. You have his eyes, his smile, his hair, even his laugh.”
That earned me another laugh, his shoulders softening, his gaze more direct. “Tell me more.”
I nodded and began to speak, talking about him, about us, about our house, the laughter, the happiness. He asked for more and every answer seemed to draw us closer, a bond hidden beneath years of memory loss that fizzled away with easy smiles.
When I finally fell silent, he sat up straighter, drawing a deep breath. “Can you come back tomorrow?”
My heart melted, in the best way. “I’ll come every day if you want me to.”
His eyes shone and he glanced away quickly, subtly wiping at them with the heel of his palm. And for the first time since I walked in, he appeared like the baby I lost, the brother I never got to protect, the family I thought I’d never have again.
“Yes, I’d like that,” he murmured giving me the only reason I needed not to return to Italy, for now.
Ten minutes later, we left the room and he allowed me a hug. I said goodbye with a kiss to his brow, reluctant to let him go but I possessed no way of stopping him. Not with my uncle hovering and the two men standing guard at the door or the other two escorting Kai out of the suite.
“Are you staying the night?” my uncle asked.
I dragged my gaze away from my brother’s retreating figure and accepted the glass of water he held out. Taking a long sip, I enjoyed the feel of the cool liquid sliding down my throat. “Yes,” I replied, setting the glass down on the coffee table. “Thought I’d spend a few days here getting to know Kai, if that’s okay?”
“I’m sure it will be fine. Perhaps meeting Ajay first might help clinch that deal?”
I chewed my bottom lip unsure if I was ready to meet the son of the man who kidnapped my brother. “Are they mafia?”
That stunned my uncle into a coughing fit. When he finally stopped, he cleared his throat, poured himself a glass of water and downed it. “What makes you say that?” He uttered what sounded like a nervous laugh.
“A feeling.” One mafia man was already enough to contend with; another would just make me lose my mind completely. Of course, there was still Remo’s response to deal with when he found out my threat to marry another was real or that I ran.
“Come, I’ll take you to meet him.” He ushered me toward the door.
Forty-five minutes later, we drove through tall gates and stopped outside a large mansion. I stepped down from the vehicle, observing the patrolling guards armed with rifles and stiff expressions. Silently, I followed my uncle through the wide oak doors, down marble passages until we stopped outside a large heavy door.
“Ajay’s expecting you. Do you have any questions for me?” he asked. I shook my head. “Nothing about him or his family?” He seemed shocked.
I shrugged. “I can ask him, can’t I?”
He smiled. “Sure. I’ll be here when you’re done.”
“Okay.” I replied and stepped through the door he held open.
The room was nothing like I expected. No darkness, no armed guards, no ominous shadows. Just a sunlit living space with warm wooden floors, glass walls and a single man standing at the far end, pouring tea into two porcelain cups like we were about discuss books or the weather. Not the fact that his father took my brother or I was being forced into a marriage I didn’t want.
He turned then and I froze.
After the arrogant, demanding likes of Remo and the forced nuptials, I wasn’t sure what to expect. An ogre perhaps. The man looking at me though, was handsome, strikingly so. A quiet kind of beauty, refined jawline, neatly combed dark hair, gold-rimmed glasses, white shirt and pants. He didn’t look like a criminal, more like someone who apologized to strangers when they bumped into him.
“Miss Sharma,” he greeted, voice smooth, warm, polite.
I nodded, unsure how to react.
“I’m Ajay,” he offered, smile wide, welcoming. “No titles necessary.”
I expected cruelty, arrogance, the sick smirk of a man who knew he held something precious over me. Instead, he gestured to the sofa.
