Italian Mavericks: Forbidden Nights With The Italian: The Forbidden Ferrara / Surrendering to the Italian's Command / The Unwanted Conti Bride. Sarah Morgan
Luigi with my life.’
Fia thought about how kind his head of security had been earlier. He’d had a job to do and he’d done it, but he’d done it with a sensitivity that had surprised her. ‘It’s not about trust. It’s about the fact Luca doesn’t know him. I don’t want him to wake up, find himself in a strange place and be scared.’
Those eyes frowned into hers and he was about to answer when the door opened and the consultant walked in.
Panic gripped her. ‘My grandfather—?’ Now that the moment had come she was almost too afraid to ask the question that had to be asked. As if by postponing it for a few seconds she could change reality. ‘Is he—?’
‘He had an occluded coronary artery. Without rapid treatment he would not be here now. It is without doubt your use of the AED that saved him in those first precious minutes.’ The consultant carried on, talking about heart muscle, clots and drugs, angioplasty and future risk factors but all she heard was that her grandfather was still alive. The rest washed over her in a wave of jargon she didn’t understand and didn’t want to understand.
It was Santo who asked the relevant questions. Santo who discussed treatment options and truthfully she was grateful to him because once again her brain seemed to be working in slow motion.
Eventually all the questions were answered and the consultant nodded. ‘He wants to see you. Normally I would refuse at this point because he needs rest but it’s clear that something is causing him stress. He is very agitated and he needs to be reassured.’
‘Of course.’ Fia flew to the door but the consultant stopped her.
‘It was Santo he asked for. He was quite specific about that. Your grandfather asked for Santo Ferrara.’
Fia felt her knees shake and she glanced at Santo in horror. ‘No! Seeing you will upset him badly.’
‘He is already upset. Apparently there are things he needs to say,’ the consultant told them, ‘so I think it might be helpful for him. But keep it brief and keep any stress to a minimum.’
Santo would tell him that Luca was his child.
How was that keeping stress to a minimum?
Apparently suffering from none of her doubts, Santo strode through the door. ‘Let’s do this.’
She shot after him. ‘Please don’t.’ She kept her voice low. ‘Whatever you think of me, don’t do this. Please don’t tell him yet. Wait until he’s stronger.’ She almost stumbled as she tried to keep up with him, panicking madly, unable to see a single way that this encounter was going to have a happy ending. Why was her grandfather asking to see him? At this stage he couldn’t even know that it was Santo who had saved his life.
Reluctantly, she walked into the room and caught her breath at the sight of the machines and wires that dominated her grandfather’s frail form.
For a moment she couldn’t move and then she felt a warm strong hand close over hers and the reassuring squeeze of male fingers.
Shocked, Fia stood for a moment, distracted by the novel experience of being comforted.
And then she heard a sound from the bed and saw her grandfather’s eyes open. And she realised Santo’s touch wasn’t about comfort, but manipulation.
Instantly she snatched her hand away. ‘Nonno—’ She tried to catch his eyes and reassure him but her grandfather wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at Santo.
And Santo, being who he was, didn’t flinch or look remotely discomfited.
‘You gave us all a shock,’ he drawled, approaching the bed with a confidence that suggested he was a welcome visitor.
‘Ferrara—’ her grandfather’s voice was weak and shaky ‘—I want to know your intentions.’
There was a long pulsing silence and Fia shot Santo a pleading glance, but he wasn’t looking at her. He dominated the room, the power of his athletic physique a cruel contrast to the fragility of the man in the bed.
‘I intend to be a father to my son.’
Time stood still.
She couldn’t believe he’d actually said that. ‘I don’t—’
‘About time!’ Her grandfather’s eyes burned fiercely in his pale face. ‘For years I have been waiting for you to do the right thing—not even allowed to mention your name in case she walked out—’ He glared at Fia and then coughed weakly. ‘What sort of a man makes a woman pregnant and then leaves her to cope alone?’
‘The sort of man who didn’t know,’ Santo replied in a cool tone, ‘but now intends to rectify that mistake.’
Fia barely heard his response. She was staring at her grandfather.
‘What?’ He snapped the words. ‘You thought I didn’t know? Why do you think I was so angry with him?’
She sank into the nearest chair. ‘Well, because—’
‘You thought it was because of a stupid piece of land. And because of your brother.’ Her grandfather closed his eyes, his face pale against the hospital sheets. ‘I don’t blame him for your brother. I was wrong about a lot of things. Wrong. There. I said it. Does that make you happy?’
Fia’s heart clenched. A lump formed in her throat. ‘You shouldn’t be talking about this now. It isn’t the time.’
‘Always trying to smooth things over. Always wanting everyone to love each other and be friends. Keep an eye on her, Ferrara, or she’ll turn your son into a wimp.’ Her grandfather’s frame was racked by a paroxysm of coughing and Fia fumbled for the buzzer. Within moments the room filled with staff but he waved them away impatiently, his eyes still on Santo. ‘There’s one thing I want to know before they pump me full of more drugs that are going to dull my mind—’ his voice rasped ‘—I want to know what you’re going to do now that you know.’
Santo didn’t hesitate. ‘I’m going to marry your granddaughter.’
HE HATED hospitals.
Santo scrunched the flimsy plastic cup in his hand and dropped it into the bin.
The smell of antiseptic reminded him of the night his father had died and just for a moment he was tempted to turn on his heel and walk right out again.
And then he thought of Fia, keeping vigil over her grandfather, hour after hour. His anger was still running hot. He was furious with her. But he couldn’t accuse her of not showing loyalty to her family. And he couldn’t leave her alone in this place.
Cursing softly, Santo strode back towards the coronary care unit that brought back nothing but bad memories.
She was sitting by the bed, her hair a livid streak of fire against her ashen skin. Those green eyes were fixed on the old man as if by sheer willpower and focus she might somehow transmit some of her youth and energy to him.
He’d never seen a lonelier figure in his life.
Or perhaps he had, he thought grimly, remembering the first time he’d seen her in his boathouse. Some people automatically sought human company when they were upset. Fia had taught herself to survive alone.
He compared that to his own big, noisy family. He knew from experience that had it been a Ferrara lying in the hospital bed the room would have been bulging with concerned relatives, not just his brother and sister but numerous aunts, uncles and cousins all clucking and fussing.
‘How’s he doing?’
‘They gave him a sedative and some other stuff. I don’t know what. They say the first twenty-four hours are crucial.’ Her slim