Page 21 of A Son Hidden from the Sicilian

You crushed me.

Two years ago, he had given no thought to what she might feel. Not really. Oh, he’d known she’d be hurt. He knew she fancied herself in love with him and was just waiting for him to say it first.

He’d known all of that. But leaving had been an act of survival. Self-protection. He’d been more worried about gettinghimselfout than what the aftermath might be forher.

Even now, he hesitated to put himself in her shoes. He could not be sorry for what he’d done. It was the only course of action he’d seen then. Now.

What might have happened if he’d stayed? If they’d found out about Gio’s existence together?

You would have been there from Gio’s first breath.

You would have torn the world apart.

He did not particularly care for that much clarity or insight into himself. Into the man he’d been two years ago. He would have handled it—Brianna, a child.

But he would have done it badly. Two years ago, Saverina had only just gone off to university in England—her dream, and with his youngest sibling out of his house, it had been the first time he’d had the time or space not to be the 24-7 father figure in his siblings’ lives. A child would have been...

Why was he thinking about this? It did not matter. Hehadn’tknown. Brianna had kept Gio from him. He didn’t need to hold on to his anger over that—it was hard to when he understood her motivations were about protecting Gio. What he needed to donowwas figure out how to move forward.

His people were still outmaneuvering Dante when it came to press coverage. So far, only a few piddly gossip sites had picked up the story and only the most die-hard of gossipmongers cared.

It would spread. You couldn’t shove a story back into a bottle once it escaped, but he would have the time to crafthisversion of what that story would be. Dante wanted to paint him the villain. The deserter.

This wouldn’t work for a wide variety of reasons. But Lorenzo had to have a good story in place as counterpoint. Irrefutable counterpoint.

He could marry Brianna. He ignored the spurt of something that went through him—an emotion that would do no one any good, so best not identified or labeled.

There was no good story to excuse away the two-year discrepancy between pregnancy and a union. Besides, this was a rather traditional way of thinking—marry the mother of your child. Dante and Marino Industries were traditional. Old money. Royal ties.

Lorenzo had always known he couldn’t compete with that. So he’d fashioned himself a start-up. Sleek. Modern. The violence accusations had been a hit, but knowledge of a secret son would not be unless he pretended he was as traditional as Dante and this hidden son was a blight, abastard, rather than a gift.

Instead, Lorenzo would create a modern story. He would use the truth and paint Dante and his unfounded accusations the villain that had kept him from his son. He and Brianna had parted amicably. And now, like so many others in his position, they would co-parent. Reasonable, responsible adults who had engaged in a short affair and were now fond of each other, but definitely not meant for something like marriage.

Though it wouldn’t work if they both remained single. There would be too much room for a variety of gossip. No, he would need to get the ball rolling on finding someone else to marry. To create the perfect image of blended family.

Dante Marino’s counterpoint. Always.

Lorenzo’s potential wife would need to be someone who fit his vision for a modern billionaire. Definitely not anAmerican. Ideally, someone with traditional ties he could use for Parisi Enterprises, but who knew how to work the press. Maybe someone in publicity. He would have his assistant create him a potential list.

He would not think of Brianna whispering his name while he’d touched her.

If he kept everything about business, love would never muddy the waters.

He sent a few missives off to staff and then, noting it was almost time for dinner, changed gears. He would find a way to win the press wars with Dante, but here at home, in private, he needed to win over his son.

He went to his wing. Stefano had two little ones, so Lorenzo had made sure the estate was outfitted for them whenever Stefano came to visit. It made Lorenzo an uncle, not a grandfather, and considering Stefano was only a few years younger than him it was hardly unorthodox. Still those two little hellions made Lorenzo feelold.

He bypassed this feeling by going to a bin of toys, fishing out the plastic creature he knew to be buried in there, and then returned downstairs. As he headed toward the dining room, he heard the soft sounds of voices—no doubt Brianna and her family.

He came around a corner, coming face-to-face with the quartet. Gio, who had been running forward, came to a skidding halt right at his feet. Slowly, the boy looked up and up, like he’d just run into a monster in a horror movie.

Lorenzo crouched and held the plastic tiger between them. “This was my brother’s,” he offered without preamble. “Perhaps you’d like to play with it during dinner.”

Gio studied the tiger. He looked back at his mother, then at Lorenzo. He grabbed the tiger, then quickly retreated behind Brianna’s legs.

She reached down and stroked his dark hair. “Gio. What do you say?”

The boy peered at him from safety behind Brianna, but he was clutching the tiger. “Tank you,” the little boy muttered, not making eye contact. Though he darted little glances Lorenzo’s way as they headed into the dining room and then all throughout dinner, while he played with the tiger in between Brianna’s urgings to him to eat.

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