‘I’m completely indifferent.’
She looked up in surprise. ‘Really? Most Sicilians are passionate about everything to do with their homeland.’
‘Probably because they have a connection to be passionate about—’ He stopped suddenly and his jaw clenched.
She watched him try to rein in his control and her chest tightened. ‘And you don’t?’
Tension gripped his frame. ‘Not for a long time.’
Her tablet dimmed, but she didn’t reactivate it. The flash of anguish in his eyes snagged her attention.
‘Because of your father?’ she pushed.
His eyes narrowed. ‘Why does this interest you so much?’
The question took her aback, made her ask herself the same thing. ‘I...I thought we were making conversation.’
‘This is one subject I prefer to steer clear of. Capisce?’
‘Because you find it upsetting.’
He cursed under his breath and raked back his hair as that stubborn lock fell over his forehead again. ‘Not at all. The subject of my father fires up my blood. I just prefer not to discuss it with near strangers.’
Despite cautioning herself to stick to business, she found herself replying, ‘Haven’t you heard of the saying make love not war?’
‘Why do I need to choose one when I can have both? I’ll make love to you and I make war with Giacomo.’
‘For how long?’
‘How long can I make love to you? Is that another challenge to my manhood?’
‘I meant your father, and you know it.’
‘I intend to keep going until one of us is in the ground.’
She gasped. ‘You don’t really mean that, do you?’
Again that flash of pain, gone before it’d even formed. ‘Sì, I do.’
‘You know, he called you poison.’
This time the anguish stayed for several seconds, shattered his expression. Her heart fractured at the pain she glimpsed before his face settled into neutral indifference. ‘He’s right. I am poison.’
His unflinching admission made her heart contract. ‘What happened between you two?’
‘I was born.’
* * *
Narciso watched her try to make sense of his reply. She frowned, then shook her head. ‘I don’t understand.’
He wanted to laugh but the vice gripping his chest every time he thought of Giacomo made that impossible. He rose and walked to the bar at the mid-section of his plane. Pouring two glasses of mineral water, he brought one to her and gulped down the other. ‘That’s because you’re trying to decipher a hidden meaning. There is none. I was born. And Giacomo has hated that reality ever since.’
‘He hates being a father?’