Page 8 of The Convenient Cosentino Wife

After several long moments Adriano wiggled off Clare’s lap and stood on his own two feet. His expression revealed curiosity and after another moment of scrutinizing the guest, the child crossed to Rocco with the same athletic grace he’d shown when running onto the terrace. Now he stood quite still before his uncle, scrutinizing him from head to toe. “Zionottio?” Adriano asked.

Rocco glanced at Clare and she smiled at him, clearly proud of Adriano’s perceptiveness.

Rocco was impressed, as well. “Zio,” Rocco looked back at the child.“Italiano,”he confirmed.

Adriano extended his hand.“Mi chiamo Adriano.”My name is Adriano.

Rocco felt a stab of pain thinking how much his brother would have loved this child. But with Marius gone, Rocco would do everything he could to protect the boy. He took the child’s small chubby hand in his, and gave it a formal shake. “It’s nice to meet you, Adriano.”

Adriano gave a firm shake back, but he wasn’t smiling. He looked serious, his brows pulling in concentration. Marius, for his part, was rarely serious, always quick to smile and laugh. Marius loved a joke, and although bright, found it difficult to focus on academics, excelling instead in sports. And friends. He’d had countless friends. He was a true friend, and loyal, and of course, handsome, charming and generous to a fault.

Rocco’s lips twisted.

Clare spoke, suggesting Adriano show his uncle how good he was playingcalcio, or soccer. Adriano glanced at Rocco, checking his interest. Rocco nodded at him.“Mi piace molto il calcio,”he assured him.

Adriano seemed to approve as he finally gave Rocco a smile and with a dash he was running to pick up his ball. He threw it down the terrace, and then chased after the ball, intercepting it before it could bounce downstairs. He kicked the ball right, and then left, as if showing off his footwork. As if he himself was in a game.

Rocco couldn’t help smiling, touched, and amused, because there, in the fancy footwork, in the intense concentration was Marius.“Lui e bello,”Rocco said quietly.He’s beautiful.

Clare nodded, sudden tears in her eyes. “He is,” she agreed.

They applauded Adriano as he raced up and then down the terrace, and then finally Adriano came to his mother’s side, and leaned against her legs. His face was flushed and he had a sheen of perspiration on his brow.“Com’e stato?”he asked his mother.

“Wonderful. You won the game, didn’t you?” she answered in English.

Adriano laughed. “There was no game, Mama. It was just the warm-up.”

“Aren’t you tired now?” she asked, giving him a little hug.

“No.” Adriano flexed his arm, showing a nonexistent bicep. “I am very strong.”

“You are. But maybe perhaps you’d like a little gelato, just because you’ve worked so hard?”

Adriano jumped and clapped.“Sì!”

“Then go find Ava and tell her I said you could have one scoop of gelato. Just one, though, as we don’t want to spoil your appetite for dinner. Understand?”

“Sì, Mama.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek and then with a wave at Rocco he ran into the house, the door closing silently behind him.

Rocco hadn’t even realized he’d been holding his breath until the door had closed, and then he exhaled, pain splintering in his heart. Adriano was very much like Marius in some ways, handsome and athletic, but he’d also inherited Clare’s keen intellect.

With Adriano back in the house, Clare should have felt better, safer, but instead her nerves were wound tight, her shoulders tense, her insides knotted.

She was waiting for whatever would come next.

Whatwouldcome next?

Now that Rocco had seen his nephew, would he be satisfied? Would he summon his helicopter back and leave, curiosity answered? Somehow she doubted it. Somehow she knew this was just the beginning. But of what? That was the question. This wasn’t a chance meeting. Rocco had been searching for them and clearly he’d been intrigued by Marius’s son...so what would Rocco want now?

Rocco left his chair and passed behind her and she found herself stiffening, as aware of him as if he’d reached out and touched her. Her skin prickled everywhere, the hair on her nape rose and a shiver raced through her. Her stomach, already in knots, lurched and she drew a slow breath, trying to ignore the wave of unease rushing through her. There was no reason she should be anxious. He had no power over her. He couldn’t hurt her. He wasn’t a man who hurt people—words from Marius’s lips more than once. Rocco might look scarred and fierce, but he wasn’t dangerous. Not to her, or to Adriano.

And yet, she wanted Rocco gone. Soon. Now.

But she said nothing, letting him prowl about, once again inspecting the terrace, the view, the ocean brilliant beneath the September sun.

“Thank you,” Rocco finally said, breaking the silence. He’d walked halfway down the terrace before returning.

“For?” she asked, trying to gather her calm.

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