So while her family panicked and searched the globe for Gianni…Teresa was going to try to enjoy the moments she had left with the only man she’d ever love.
Ten
Two days later, Rico arrived home earlier than usual.
Ever since that phone call from Dominick, there’d been new tension between him and Teresa. It was as if they both realized that time was running out and neither of them knew quite how it would end.
Over the last couple of weeks so much had changed between them that Rico wasn’t comfortable with his old plan of revenge and payback. Now he was more focused on Teresa herself and what they might have found together. Though the complication of the Corettis still stood between them.
He knew she was worried about her family. Anxious at the thought of her brothers and father going to prison. And yes, he knew that it was his threats that had brought them all to this point.
The difference was that now he hated to see her on edge. Hated knowing that it was because of him that she had to fear for her family. And he really hated that he was falling under her spell again.
He couldn’t trust her, but that didn’t seem to matter. Old feelings were back and they were growing into something even bigger than they’d once been.
Scrubbing one hand across his face and then shoving that hand through his hair, he tried to find a way through this mess of his own design. But there was nothing. He had backed himself into a corner.
Moving quietly through his darkened house, he headed unerringly for the bedroom where Teresa would be waiting for him. A sharp tug of pleasure dragged at the edges of his heart at the knowledge. Oh, he was in deep trouble.
His steps faltered as he heard low-pitched voices—one of them a man’s—coming from his bedroom. Rico went instantly still. Someone was in his bedroom, with Teresa. What the hell? She wasn’t screaming for help, which only fed the flames of suspicion burning inside. On alert now, he eased closer to the partially closed door and peered inside.
Everything in him urged Rico to charge into that room and find out who the mystery bastard was. But this time his mind won over his instincts. He had to know what was going on and if he slammed in, the hurried conversation would end. So instead he moved closer and listened.
“Bastien, you have to go,” Teresa said, her voice hurried, yet determined.
“Not without you.” The man’s voice was deep and adamant.
Rico’s blood rushed to his head and he curled his fists at his sides. But before he could give in to the jealousy pouring through him as though from a tap turned on full blast, Rico peered into the room and saw an older man, dressed all in black. His gray mustache covered half his face and his bushy gray brows were wiry.
So, not a romantic encounter.
“Your father sent me to get you away,” the man insisted, tossing a nervous glance over his shoulder at the open terrace doors. “He cannot find Gianni or the dagger.”
Teresa sighed. “My brother wasn’t in Paris, either?”
“No.” The old man lowered his voice even further, but his insistence was sharp. “We are still looking, but your father does not wish you to stay with this man—your husband—any longer. He worries for your safety.”
Rico scowled at the door. As if he was a danger to Teresa? Insult slammed into him but was buried deep as he waited for her reply.