Page 1 of Hidden Heir, Italian Wife

PROLOGUE

Brielle Hughes wascutting the crusts off her three-year-old daughter’s toast when the keypad on her rent-stabilized Brooklyn apartment beeped.

“It’s only me,” her mother called out. “I came to ask if you saw the headlines.”

“About?” Bree ignored her phone in the mornings, preferring to give Sofia her undivided attention until she dropped her at day care and was headed to work.

“Your boss getting married. Good morning, good morning.” Melissa Diaz showered affectionate kisses on both of them, looking and smelling fantastic.

“I made a picture for you, Gigi.” Sofia tilted an earnest smile upward.

“Another one? I’m so lucky.” Melissa had moved with them to New York from Virginia Beach two years ago, to help Bree with day care. Last year, she had married the love of her life and now lived a few blocks away, but often dropped by unannounced as she headed out to start her own workday.

She was a stunning woman in her mid-fifties thanks to the skincare regimen she had developed as a beauty queen in her teens. Her startling blue-green eyes against chestnut brown hair and a honey-gold complexion meant she was often called “exotic,” which annoyed her, but her unique look continued to land her modeling gigs. They were usually ads for antiaging cream and book covers about midlife wellness, but they were a nice addition to the thriving photography business she ran with her husband.

Bree took after Melissa with a similar tall, slender build and unusual eyes, but she wore her hair in a sleek bob that she touched up with a straightening iron every morning.

“It’s on the fridge.” Sofia was their outlier, taking after the Italian American Bree had only known for a day. Sofia had dark brown eyes and near black hair that curled into ringlets when bound in a pair of pigtails like today.

“I’ll take it home when I come next time, so I don’t wrinkle it while I’m out today.”

“Are you talking about Sheila?” Bree asked as she slid the triangles of toast to Sofia. “She’s been married for years. I was at her twentieth anniversary last August.”

“Tank you, Mama,” Sofia said from her booster seat.

“You’re welcome, baby,” Bree said absently, watching as her mother pulled out the chair across from her.

“Your real boss.” Melissa clicked on her phone and quoted, “‘Domenico Blackwood married Evelina Visconti in a private ceremony yesterday, sending stock prices soaring.’”

“That must be a misprint. We’re not allowed tosaythe V-word at work. There’s a huge feud between the families.”

“That’s what I thought you told me when that story came out a few weeks ago, about those two being stranded on an island in Australia.”

“That’s also something no one dares mention around the office,” Bree said wryly.

“Well, they’re married now.” Melissa offered her phone.

Bree still had to dress and drop Sofia, but she quickly scanned the article, astonished to learn that yes, the owner of WBE, the hotel chain where she was an associate manager in operations, had married a woman purported to be his sworn enemy.

The press release was short, but a related article speculated what it meant for the competing hotel chains. Bree skimmed the recap of the legendary feud and glanced at the photos. The first showed the newlyweds, who were objectively gorgeous. There was a snapshot of Dom with his father, who had died before Brielle started at WBE.

A third photo showed the Visconti family: Evelina with her parents and—

“Oh, myGawd.” She nearly dropped her mother’s phone into her scrambled eggs.

“What’s wrong?” Melissa frowned with concern.

Bree was incapable of speech. She used her trembling fingers to enlarge the image, focusing on the middle brother’s face.

It couldn’t be.

She flicked to the caption, reading it again, looking for the name Jax or Giacomo. How many times had she searched those names, lacking a surname and having only the vaguest sense he lived in Naples and had a family cottage on Lake Como? How many times had she tried to find him—or at leastseeif she could find him—despite the fact they had agreed their affair would only last one magical afternoon?

A single day that had created a miracle.

She flicked her gaze to Sofia, who was blinking curious brown eyes at her while licking peanut butter off her finger.

Bree looked back at the caption.

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