His Betrothed Read online

  “I’m sorry,” he said simply. And then saw his duty—a kindness that would have to be cruel. “We were kids, I was immature—didn’t know what I wanted.”

  Her revulsion was as palpable as it was quickly replaced with a shaken head. The gesture, one nearly of pity, touched him more deeply than pure anger would have.

  The scent of chlorine and roses mingled in the air, and he was brought back to ten years before. When he had first discovered that his role as guardian protector would only be fulfilled if he sent her away. And if he stayed behind.

  He thought he had made peace with his life. He didn’t realize how much it clawed at him until she touched his cheek, marveling at a tear that had slipped unbidden from his squeezed-shut eyes.

  “No, that’s not true,” he said. “I knew exactly what I wanted. I wanted you.”

  “You did have me.”

  “But I didn’t know you knew…about things.”

  “It was the end of my innocence.”

  “Yes, it was.”

  “This place is just like it was that night,” Angel reminisced. The garden was magical, the mist of the pool an intoxicating ether; everything conspired to make her remember, to turn the pages of time back ten years.

  He answered her implicit question with a nod. “It’s the same,” he said, and he glanced up at the lit window on the second floor. “And I still can’t go with you. Please leave. Fly to Las Vegas and take a connecting flight to wherever you live. Somebody could be watching you, so don’t go back directly. Cover your tracks well.”

  “You won’t come with me?”

  “No, I can’t,” he said.

  She stood and intently looked at him before she backed up and, finally finding it within herself to turn around, walked away.

  “Angel, I love you,” he said. “I always have. I always will.”

  She stopped dead in her tracks. She wasn’t sure she had heard him correctly, and she didn’t have the nerve to ask him to repeat himself.

  He strode behind her and touched her hair. She turned around.

  “Damn you, I’m a fool to have loved you,” she said. “I can’t love another man, you know. It is as if you made me your wife and I feel like I’m cheating if I even look at another man. Isn’t that crazy?”

  “Not so crazy,” he said, a dimpled smile letting her know that he understood, maybe even felt the same way. “But it doesn’t change the facts.”

  “And what are the facts?”

  “You have to leave, Angel,” he said. “You’ll be used as a pawn or worse by O’Malley or by your brothers, and you’ll be in danger yourself.”

  “Did you really love me?”

  “Always and forever.”

  “Do you love me now?”

  “With every breath I take. But I still have to send you away. To protect you and to protect others.”

  “Others?”

  “Don’t ask. Just go.”

  “Why can’t I stay?”

  “Because if you stay, I can’t stop myself from wanting you, from wanting you to be my wife. And if you are, then the Martin and Sciopelli families are joined. Think of the power that comes together. Think of the alliances that would be forged.”

  “We could avoid all that.”

  “No, we couldn’t. Think of what our children would represent to people who would do wrong. Think of how they could be used.”

  In a moment of blinding clarity, she understood.

  “We give them what they want by being together. And we’d become something that we now cannot bear to consider. Get out of here, Angel.”

  “I’m not a child anymore,” she said. “I don’t like being told what to do. You can’t order me around like you used to.”

  “Did I order you around?”

  “No, but I did everything that you told me to do. Just because I loved you so much.”

  “How about if I ask you to leave?”

  She hesitated.

  He glanced up at the second-story window. He bristled with sudden impatience.

  “I wish I had a lifetime to give you,” he said. “I wish I had at least a night to make love to you. But all I have to give you is a kiss goodbye,” he said, and thinking he saw a flicker of movement in the second-floor study and not liking the thought of being watched, he picked her up and carried her to the cabana. He kicked the door, slamming it upon the Sciopelli family woes and laid his betrothed upon the chintz cushioned chaise.

  “This is wrong,” Angel whispered, even as her legs coiled around his.

  “You’re right. This is wrong.”

  But the feelings she had kept under wraps for so long overwhelmed any logic that would have propelled her out the door.

  “Is it wrong?” she asked.

  “No, this is right,” he said, surrendering to the potent memory. “This is the first right thing I’ve done in a long time.”

  Chapter Six

  He was sure of himself and his touch. Or maybe it was simply that she brought him back to a time when he was young and bold, when the cynicism and weight of responsibility didn’t crush quite so hard.

  Whether a male confidence intrinsic to himself or a return of youthful innocence swept in by her presence, he was a man of power and passion.

  They made love a first time in great urgency, not even bothering to discard every article of clothing. He had waited, beyond hope, for ten years and could not wait a moment longer once she opened herself to him. When he entered her, she was white-hot and silky soft. And her face glowed radiant in the moonlight, her hair tumbling in seafoam waves on the chaise cushion.

  As he moved against her, she looked at him, that same look of surprise at the moment of ecstasy that she had blessed him with—just once—ten years before.

  And then her contractions did away with all his self-control. He came with her name on his lips.

  The second lovemaking was more slow and deliberate, but also more tender and tragic. Both knew as they lingered in caress that this was a moment of memory, their fingers and lips would have to carry their love in separate hearts, separate lives.

  Finally, it was ten minutes before they really should get back to the house. Then five minutes before their absence would be noted. Both feeling as if the sands of time were slipping through their entwined fingers.

  As they lay on the chaise, they didn’t speak, knowing that the only topic of conversation available was how they would soon be apart. Forever.

  But even in this intimacy, Angel experienced a quiver of rebellion. What if she didn’t do what Zach told her to do? What if she stayed? What if she persuaded him to help her? What if O’Malley could break the chain of crime and free them all? What if…?

  And Zach lay wondering how he would distract and detain the brothers when they learned Angel had fled. When they learned that she had been used by O’Malley. When they turned their claws on Zach and forgot for a moment, as they no doubt would, the uneasy truce they had lived under while he worked in the same office as their father’s most potent enemy.

  Zach jerked his’ head up.

  “What is it?” Angel asked.

  “Noises. From the house. I can’t tell if it’s arguing or singing or—”

  A single shotgun blast answered the question.

  Zach leapt to his feet, struggling with his pearlcovered shirt buttons. He checked that his gun was in his shoulder holster. Angel scrambled behind him, tugging her linen dress down over her shoulders.

  They sprinted past the pool—she was barefoot, carrying her pumps in her hand—down the marble steps of the garden path.

  Zach nearly tripped over his father’s wheelchair in the courtyard.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Your brother took a shot at Rocco,” his father snarled. “But he missed. A drunken argument about the shopping mall.”

  “Not again.”

  “Last time they used fists. It’s getting worse. Dammit, Zach, marry her,” he urged, shoving his oxygen mask onto his face. His next words w
ere barely intelligible, but his point was clear. “Marry this Angel, make peace with this family, or we’re all going to be destroyed.”

  He jerked a hand in Angel’s direction. She stopped dead in her tracks. A terrible keening arose from the house. The two men looked at Angel.

  “What did I do?” she asked.

  Zach shook his head wearily.

  “Get him out of here, Angel,” he ordered. “Help him to my car out front. Here’s the keys. Drive him home. I’m going inside.”

  He didn’t wait for her assent.

  Instead, he pulled his gun out of its shoulder holster and bolted for the house.

  “Go on after him,” Guy Martin, Sr., said, tugging his mask away. He wheezed miserably.

  “He told me to—”

  “No, Angel, do what you think is right. After all, it’s your brothers, my son…and your future husband. I’m not going anywhere. Except if the good Lord asks me for a walk.”

  She hesitated. And then lit off after Zach. In the foyer, Rocco and Guy, Jr., grunting and cursing, were locked in a struggle for a gun. Blood from either or both men smeared the white marble floor as they rolled first one way and then another.

  The gun went off a second time, a bullet ricocheting on a marble panel inlaid along the wall and blasting a crystal vase. Water, flowers and sparkling shards of glass spilled onto the two men.

  Maria screamed and ran up the stairs, telling Tony to stop them. Isabel leaned over the railing to watch, babbling in an excited mix of Spanish, Italian, French and English.

  “Calm down, Isabel,” Mrs. Martin said, giving up on her efforts at ordering Guy to stop fighting. “Maria, let’s get her to her room. This poor girl’s hysterical. She’s probably never even seen a gun before.”

  Standing in the downstairs doorway, Salvatore hesitantly implored the two men to stop fighting and kept an eye on the women taking his fiancée down the upstairs hall.

  “Tony, dammit, do something!” Maria shrieked. “Rocco’s going to get hurt if you don’t!”

  Tony, standing at the foot of the bridal staircase, remained oddly transfixed by the violence, as if he were watching a particularly interesting television program. He did not even flinch when a third bullet was fired, shooting a pane out of the front door.

  Zach stepped to the center of the foyer and, with no more effort than one might use to separate brawling children, yanked Guy to his feet and ordered Rocco to stand.

  The gun clattered to the bloodstained floor as Rocco stumbled upright. Mindful of the broken glass, Angel put on her pumps. Then she slipped between the men, recovered the gun and backed off into the narrow maid’s corridor leading to the kitchen.

  “You all right?” Zach asked, steadying Rocco with an outstretched hand.

  Rocco wiped his bloody mouth and nose with a handkerchief. Fresh blood spurted from his nostrils.

  “Yeah, I guess,” he muttered. “But your jackass brother started it.”

  Guy jockeyed for a resumption of the fight, but Tony stepped forward, reinforcing Zach’s position.

  “Settle down,” Zach warned both men.

  “All I want is what I’m entitled to,” Guy shouted. He eyeballed Rocco. “Your father was fair to me and my family. I got a business to run, I got workers depending on me, and if I don’t get treated fairly by you boys, there’s going to be people who’re going to pay. And it won’t be me or my workers.”

  “Well, things are going to be different with us in charge,” Rocco sputtered, stanching the blood that would not stop. He drew himself up with supreme dignity and peered over Zach’s shoulder. “Things are very different now. You’re talking to the bosses now.”

  “You won’t cut me out!” Guy bellowed. He pushed past Tony and shoved Zach with his left hand, leaving a dark handprint on the bleached white shirt. Both men stared, momentarily distracted by the proof of Guy’s injury. Zach flicked open Guy’s suit jacket to assess the damage.

  “Oh, my God,” he muttered.

  “It’s a shoulder wound,” Guy snarled, clearly peeved at his younger brother’s ignorance. “It’s not much. I’ll recover. It would help if you took a little interest in your family’s livelihood. Then I wouldn’t have to fight these battles on my own.”

  “Actually, Guy, I don’t think there are any battles you’ve ever fought on your own,” Tony said.

  Guy spit at him.

  “You know, Guy, I’ve never liked you,” Tony responded, brushing at the spittle on his lapel.

  “I’m heartbroken. But let’s get something straight, Tony. I won’t be cut out, and frankly, I know so much about what’s going on in your family that I could bring you all down to your knees.”

  “You really don’t know all that much,” Tony said calmly.

  Rocco looked over at his brother, waiting for an instruction to charge. It never came.

  Instead, Tony sighed, shrugging off his suit jacket.

  “Maria, would you make sure Mrs. Tobin gets this to the dry cleaner?” he asked.

  “Sure, Tony,” Maria said, standing at the top of the stairs but not yet daring to come down to the foyer. Tony dropped the jacket on the floor.

  “You bring a gun to my home on the night of my parents’ funeral,” he chided Guy. “You ask to speak about business. We accommodate you. We tell you we are dissatisfied with some of the work your people are doing on the Winnetka Shopping Mall project and that we want a credit.”

  “You don’t want a credit,” Guy snarled. “You want to cut me out of the deal. Besides, that’s not where the money comes from and you know it. It’s what I haul when my trucks are empty that counts.”

  He hazarded a glance at Angel, but she kept her face neutral.

  “Get out of my house,” Tony said calmly. “And don’t come back.”

  “Tony, no,” Mrs. Martin said, from the top of the stairs. “Your parents would be so upset if they could see all of you now.”

  “Actually, Mrs. Martin, I don’t think my father would be so upset,” Tony corrected. “Now, Guy, there’s the door.”

  “Watch your back, Tony,” Guy replied, and he threw off Zach’s arms.

  “Guy, say you’re sorry,” Mrs. Martin pleaded.

  “No way, Ma.”

  Having seen enough, Angel charged into the foyer.

  “Wait, Tony, Rocco, Guy, come on. Be reasonable. We’re all really grief-stricken and shocked by our parents’ murders. We’re not thinking clearly. I’m sure if there’s any kind of disagreement you have, you can resolve it in the morning, when everyone will be less on edge.”

  “I’m leaving, little Miss Sunshine,” Guy snapped. “You don’t waltz in after ten years and set everyone straight. You don’t have a clue what’s going on.”

  “I know you are reacting a little more emotionally than you should.”

  “Angel, it’s not your fight,” Zach said softly.

  “Zach, I just want these guys to stop fighting.”

  Guy shook his head and jabbed a bloody finger toward Tony.

  “If you want war, it’s war you’re going to get.”

  “Fine!” Rocco shouted. “We don’t need your family anymore. It was just our father who kept us tied to your family. And he always gave you work even though you never deserved it.”

  Angel drew closer to Zach. As she did so, she was uncomfortably aware of Tony’s silent scrutiny. He stared at her and then at Zach.

  “Angel’s right,” Tony corrected his brother cautiously. “Perhaps we should stop fighting. Let’s meet tomorrow morning. We’ll talk business and resolve this little problem without any more bloodshed. Guy, get yourself to a doctor.”

  Guy muttered that he was fine.

  “Do what I tell you. It’s just a flesh wound, but still, somebody should see that thing.”

  “I’ll take him to Evanston Hospital,” Zach said. “Angel, take Ma and Dad home.”

  “No way, little brother,” Guy said with as much dignity as he possessed. “The hospital will ask questions about how this
happened. The police will be called in. I’m not that much of a fool.”

  “At least we agree on something,” Tony said. “Take him over to my guy, Dr. Morgan. His house is on the corner of Locust and Elm. He’s discreet—I’ll call and tell him you’re on your way. Rocco, do you need to go see Dr. Morgan, too?”

  “Nah, I’ve just got a bloody nose,” Rocco said, daintily dabbing his handkerchief at his nostrils. He looked over at Tony and then at Guy, Jr. “Sorry, Guy, lost my temper.”

  “Yeah, sorry,” Guy said perfunctorily. “Tomorrow. We’ll talk. Get this settled.”

  “So we’re agreed,” Tony said, bringing his palms together. “No fighting, no precipitous actions until we meet tomorrow morning. We can work this out. Angel’s absolutely right—we’re all on edge, we’re not thinking straight. Right, Rocco?”

  “But, Tony, you said…right, Tony. I mean, right, Angel.”

  Angel handed Zach his car keys, but he shook his head.

  “I’ll take Guy’s car. You drive my father and mother home in mine. Wait there for me.”

  “You’re not taking Angel away from us, are you?” Tony asked.

  “No, of course not,” Zach said. “I’ll get her home later tonight.”

  “You’d better,” Tony warned playfully. “After all, I’m her older brother and I set a very strict curfew.”

  Zach put a helping hand under Guy’s elbow as they walked out onto the porch. Guy swatted him away with his good arm and Zach didn’t push it.

  Angel stood at the front door and watched the two brothers get into the car.

  “Blessed be the peacemakers,” their father said, wheeling up behind her, “for they shall inherit the earth.”

  “Mr. Martin, I hate to correct your quotation of the Bible, but I think it’s the meek who will inherit the world.”

  “The meek never get anything.” Mr. Martin snorted. “Especially not a chunk of the world.”