Page 1 of A Son Hidden from the Sicilian

CHAPTER ONE

BRIANNAANDERSENWATCHEDout the window as her airplane touched down in Palermo, Sicily. Her stomach was tied in a million knots while butterflies danced across each and every said knot.

Most of the nerves were excited ones. She was going to show her pieces at an international art show. She would have the opportunity to explore a new place. She was going to attend fancy cocktail parties and hobnob with artists from all over the world. People with too much money were going to bid on her art and this all had the possibility to set her up for life.

All her dreams coming true...in this place she didn’t really want them to come true. Because part of her nerves stemmed from worry. Palermo might be a big city, but she knew the chances of seeinghimwere too high. Anything aboveno chance at allwas too high, to be honest.

She put him out of her mind as much she could.Ifshe had to run into him, she would pretend she barely remembered the summer they’d spent together two years ago in Florence. She, a young artist soaking up all the art and history Italy had to offer. He—well, the version ofhimhe’d shown her—a businessman vacationing after a particularly profitable quarter at his company back in his native city of Palermo.

He hadn’t mentioned his business was one of the largest and more profitable in Europe. He hadn’t mentioned he was its owner and CEO, which made him abillionaire. He certainly hadn’t told her anything about the hostile takeover his company had accomplished before his little vacation. And most importantly, he’d never told her why he’d abruptly ended things.

He’d simply been there one day, gone the next.

Brianna had been gutted, she could admit that to herself now, though at the time she’d tried to be so sophisticated and strong. But despite the sadness, she had also been philosophical about the whole thing. What artist didn’t want some wild, temporary love affair in Florence before returning home to New Jersey? It was very worldly and European after all, and she might have pined a bit while pretending to laugh to her friends back home about her stormy, Italian love affair, but then something...bigger had come along.

In the way of a positive pregnancy test. Suddenly, her feelings about the man mattered less than what she was going to do about the little parting gift he’d left her.

She’d been so determined to tell him. She wanted to laugh at the memory. Bitter though the laugh might have been. There had been a few moments of dreaming up fairy tales, yes. She wasn’t immune to wanting a happy-ever-after for a naive little whim she’d indulged herself in.

But then she’d discovered the truth about Lorenzo Parisi. Not just that he was a billionaire. Not just that he’d built an empire from the ground up. But that he was engaged in some sort of feud that had turned violent. Onhisend.

Article after article had painted Lorenzo Parisi as a dangerous, ruthless businessman and billionaire. The accusations had shocked her. At first, she’d refused to believe them. She’d been with him for almost two months and he’d never so much as raised his voice to her or evennearher.

Could he be intense? Yes. Exacting? Absolutely. Had she ever beenafraid? Never once.

But how could so many stories be wrong? She’d pored over every story she could find and it was widely accepted he’d been the driving force behind the attack on his rival’schild. It was that piece of information that had finally gotten through to Brianna.

At the time, her child hadn’t felt real to her. Positive test or not, she’d barely had any symptoms. A little exhaustion, a little soreness. She’d only tested because she’d been so late. So, though she understood she was pregnant, it had still been a kind of fanciful knowledge. A dream of whatcouldbe when she told Lorenzo.

Oddly enough, it was the details of the violent attack on the teenage son of Lorenzo’s rival that had made her put her hand on her stomach and finally fully accept that she would grow, and give birth to achild, should she so choose and everything went according to plan. The baby wasn’t a dream or a fantasy or some possibility. It was a choice to make.

So, in that full realization, she’d come to the conclusion that she could not tell Lorenzo. If this was the truth of him—violence over something as pointless as a few extra dollars when he already had so much—she could not risk herselfandher child to a ruthless and violent man.

She wouldn’t.

So she’d moved in with her parents, kept a low profile, and been blessed with a healthy pregnancy that resulted in a beautiful, wonderful baby boy.

It was only after Gio was born that she’d gotten back into her art again. Something about the sleepless nights and the 24-7 demands of an infant had opened up aneedfor her former creativity, and she’d been fortunate that her involved and helpful parents had never made her or Gio feel like a burden.

Thinking of her parents and Gio, she turned on her phone as the plane finally came to a stop. While everyone bustled around her, Brianna waited for her texts to come through.

When they finally did, she smiled at her phone. All messages from her mother, all photos of Gio. Food-covered face, pulling his grandpa’s hair, cheesing for the camera, and in deep, blissful sleep. She felt a pang at each and every one of them.

And still, she couldn’t regret coming or leaving him behind. He was safe and sound under her parents’ care and she could focus on why she was here.

Her art. Her career. An opportunity to ensure her parents and Gio never wanted for anything.

And above all else, avoiding Lorenzo Parisi.

Lorenzo Parisi stood in the shadowed corner of the art gallery watching the proceedings with grim amusement. No one approached him. A few looked his way then whispered behind their hands. Most made quite the effort to ignore him.

He let everyone do what they would. He knew there was nothing to be done about public opinion that was already out there. That was why Dante Marino had waged such an impressive media war against him.

Whether Lorenzo denied his involvement in the threats against the Marino family, or got angry about such accusations, or calmly explained how he was not to blame...it did not matter. Dante had bought public opinion. He had centuries of family history and respectability at his fingertips. And he’d used them all to his benefit.

Lorenzo could hardly hold it against the man. If Lorenzo had such things at his disposal, he’d use them, too.

But Lorenzo did not come from a long line of ancestors who’d been paragons of society. He did not have the luxury of generational wealth or connections across decades. He had grown up poor, in charge of far too many mouths to feed, and had scrabbled for every last dime and scrap of power.

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