Page 11 of A Son Hidden from the Sicilian

His exact way was always best.

Or so he’d always thought. Until they moved into the buzzing room full of people and drinks and art and Lorenzo caught a glimpse of the last man he wanted to see here.

Dante. Over in a corner, laughing with a few other businessmen Lorenzo recognized as clients of Marino & Family Industries.

A dangerous temper swept through him. All those swirling feelings of anger, of indignation, of hate. This man was trying to ruin everything the Parisi name stood for, and it was worse now. Before it had just been him.

Now it was his son.

There was no reason Dante should be here. No reason at all. Except to bother Lorenzo in some way, and Lorenzo had a terrible feelingthiswas what his publicist had been chattering at him about that he’d been ignoring. Something about pictures in the paper. He’d been so focused on discovering he’d had a son that he hadn’t paid any mind. There werealwayspictures of him splashed about after he attended an event.

Now he wondered if those pictures had included Brianna.

Brianna. Here and on his arm, while that pit viper turned his attention from his cronies to Lorenzo across the room.

No.

Lorenzo maneuvered Brianna into a corner. “You’ll have to excuse me,dusci. I must talk to this odious businessman. Why don’t you go make your necessary artist rounds?”

“I thought I wasn’t to leave your side.” She didn’t say this in disappointment, but in suspicion. Her eyes narrowed as she studied his face.

He could not let her in on the danger Dante posed. It would complicate things. So he lifted her hand, brushed his mouth over the knuckles, making sure to keep eye contact. Holding her hand gently until a faint blush crept into her cheeks.

“Ah, but I trust you, my sweet Brianna.”

The flush on her cheeks deepened so much that desire twined with satisfaction for having put her off guard.

He turned away from her, to head Dante off at the pass. He didn’t look back at Brianna. It would give away too much to both his rival and the woman in question.

He met Dante halfway between the man’s initial starting point and Brianna. “Hello, Dante,” he greeted jovially, as it always set the man on edge when Lorenzo refused to deal in anger or veiled threats.

But tonight Dante only smiled. “Why have you sent off your companion? I wished to compliment the artist on her...alluring work.”

Lorenzo did not outwardly react. Such sad little provocations didn’t tend to work on him quite so effectively, but he would blame the roiling anger inside of him on the fact everything had changed this morning when his investigator had delivered the news.

“I did not know you were such a fan of the arts, Dante,” Lorenzo offered with a smile that was likely sharper than it should be. “But I’m sure your compliments can be given by way of buying a piece.”

“I was thinking more of funding the artist herself.” Dante sipped his drink. “She’s beautiful. American, a pity, but beautiful.”

Lorenzo knew the emotions vying for purchase were more complicated than just hating this man. Something darker, with claws. Something far too close tojealousy. And a wave of old concerns that he would never,everhave again. Because no matter what he’d done or not done in his life, he would never allow himself to sink into the pain and suffering of his parents.

He was connected to Brianna now. He had a son. It left him too close to all the mistakes they’d made. But he was stronger.

Better.

“Perhaps you should better fund your staff, Dante. Last I heard there was quite the labor squabble in your offices in Rome. Best to focus your funding there, I should say.”

Dante’s self-satisfied expression flickered, but only for a moment. Which had Lorenzo bracing himself.

“There’s quite a hubbub around you today,” Dante continued, his eyes lingering on Brianna as she toured the room, led by her manager.

“Is there?” Lorenzo returned, thankful his voice could sound bored when his blood boiled and every effort right now was going to repressing old memories of his mother. What she had done. What she had lost. To men like Dante. All because his father had not been man enough to put his family first.

All because oflove.

Lorenzo would correct these mistakes. Always.

“Last night you made quite the splash slobbering all over the American artist,” Dante continued.

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