How could he reasonably expose a child to a man like himself? His recklessness, his carelessness, his sin. Vico strode back to his computer and stared at the report once more and laughed softly.
Fate had other ideas.
How ironic to the extreme that one more of his impetuous decisions would throw him back into a hell he’d tried to climb out of for fifteen years. He’d been so good for so long. Had curbed his impulses, made restitution, did everything right. He’d learned, though, hadn’t he? All the good deeds in the world could never wipe out the evil deed he’d committed.
So be it.
What mattered was the child. His bambino. He would do anything to make sure everything was right. As much as he could make this situation right.
No matter what Lise Helton said.
He knew why she’d lied. He wasn’t good enough to be a father. She was right. He’d give her credit for instinctively sensing the truth. Nevertheless, his pride rebelled and raged at her and her condescension and contempt.
You can’t possibly want anything to do with a child.
Si. She was right. But not for the reasons she assumed.
You’d rather be free to play. You don’t want the responsibility.
It wasn’t the playing he would miss. It was the responsibility he was terrified of.
I just don’t think you’d want to be a father.
Wanting had nothing to do with this.
I don’t think you’d be very good at it.
Vico wondered for a moment if he was having a heart attack. Because the pain in his chest threatened to bring him to his knees. Because Lise Helton might be a cheat and a liar, but she was right in this case.
He wasn’t capable of being a good father.
He’d lost his papa at six. A crushing blow that had changed his life. Not that he’d realized it or acknowledged it until many years later. The loss had turned him from a secure, happy boy in love with his strong papa, into a troubled kid who’d grown into an angry, rebellious delinquent. A stupid boy who’d made many, many stupid decisions. One especially stupid decision that had cost an innocent’s life.
And now, because of his continued stupidity, he’d placed an innocent baby into his care. A light film of cold sweat broke out over his entire body. He was going to fail. Somehow, somewhere in this child’s life, he would come up short.
Still, he was the only father this child had.
The knock on his door shattered his focus on his painful past and scary present.
Vico sucked in a breath and walked back behind his desk. There would be another fight with her. Another battle he would win. This was one thing he could do for his bambino. Be there. Claim him or her. Give the baby his name, his family, and his heritage.
“Vene,” he barked as he sat down in his leather, high-back chair.
Lise Helton walked in with a stiff gait and a glint of rebellion in her eye.
The memory of her, limp in his grasp, came to him. He’d caught her before she’d fallen in a heap at his feet. He’d held her in his arms, guilt at doing this to her weighing heavier than she did. Her long blonde lashes soft on her white cheeks. The warmth of her body sinking into his skin. The sharp, sweet scent of lavender swirling in his head.
She’d finally murmured.
Then she’d opened her eyes and stared at him with the same hazy smile she’d given him when they’d been in bed together. His blood pressure had soared, yet now it was lust driving it, not worry. Every thought was driven from his mind as he’d leaned down to kiss her, take her lips with his.
Which had earned him a big fat wallop on the side of his face.
He’d left. Angry once more. Tortured once more.
But also determined to get what he wanted from her.
A week had gone by since he’d seen her. If he had to guess, he would say she’d lost even more weight. Her power suit hung on her like she was a clothesline. Her skin was pasty, waxy. Her hair, tugged back in a bun, made her appear forty years old.
“What do you want?” Her words were strong and clipped, refuting the weakness of her body.
Not you, his pride responded.
Yet this wasn’t true, even if he willed it so. His body ignored his turmoil as usual with her. His skin burned with need. All his muscles tightened in an instinctive urge to lunge for what he wanted.
“Sit down before you fall down,” he growled.
She huffed, but slumped into a chair anyway. He noticed her fingers were white as her hands clasped in her lap.
Did she realize, like him, they were both doomed? Did she understand they’d be together now, forever? Forever linked by this child?
“Did you have something to say to me?” she demanded, her tone harsh.
Her defiance, her stubbornness in the face of certain defeat, was a complete anomaly in his experience. No woman he knew wanted to defeat him. They wanted to have him. No woman rejected him. They all wanted him. No woman spat at him, cursed him, cussed at him. Every woman cooed and complimented him instead.