Sudden Legacy (27 page)

That night, around two in the morning I was rewarded by my phone ringing to life! I clutched my phone like a mad woman and quickly hit “accept”, relief flooding through me at Julien’s name on the I.D. screen.

“Hello?” I asked breathlessly.

There was nothing but loud white noise.

“Hello? Julien?” More noise. Then the line went dead. I started to call him back when I got a text message.

L. Sorry. My reception is shit. What did you need? J

I denied my first reaction which was to feel hurt by his dismissive tone. I was probably reading way too much into it.

I need to talk to you. Can you call me from a landline? It’s important.

His response took less than a minute.

No, I can’t. We’re pretty far off the coast. I’m amazed I’m getting the reception I am. Just text me what you have to say.

This wasn’t something I could text him about. He deserved to hear it from me in my own voice. Plus I wanted to hear his reaction and get an idea of his feelings on the subject.

I’d really rather not. When will you be docking next?

Again his response was immediate.

What is it, Lara? I don’t have patience for these games.

I was definitely not misinterpreting his tone now. My not-so-secret fear was becoming a very ugly reality right before my eyes. I was just a passing fling for Julien. A fun piece of ass to use while on holiday, and quickly be forgotten about. Out of sight, out of mind, good riddance.

Embarrassed anger heated my cheeks. I swiped angrily at my weak, stupid tears. Suddenly I was a daytime talk show candidate, telling my baby daddy I was knocked up via text message. I wasn’t sure whom I was more disgusted with; myself, or Julien.

I’m pregnant.

Nothing could have prepared me for his response.

Get rid of it.

I blinked at the letters on my screen, unsure I had read them correctly. I had. Without warning I was nauseous. Acidic vomit surged up my throat and I raced to the bathroom. I didn’t make it. I got as far as the hall when I clamped my hand over my mouth to no avail. The vomit burned its way through my sinuses. I fell to the floor, gasping and gagging and sobbing loudly, vomit burning my nose and throat, and tears burning my eyes. The hall light blazed on, and I squinted up at a startled Nan.

I shuddered, recalling how I hadn’t gotten another text for months. I had been surprised to see a text alert one morning.

Did you get rid of it?

I was immediately livid. I quickly shot back a reply.

No.

The response was so impersonal. I ran my hand over my rounded belly as I read it again.

This was your choice. Not mine. I want nothing more to do with either of you. I will send the obligatory funds via wire transfer. Do not contact me further except to send your banking information.

I had thrown my phone across the room. It bounced harmlessly off the padded window seat and landed face up on my rug. I could just make out the text message from my spot on the bed.

I couldn’t hate him. Not yet. I thought of my own father; how he had been a scared boy. Julien wasn’t a coward. Surely he would come around...

But of course he hadn’t.

I shook my head to clear it. That was all ancient history. Everything was different now. Julien wasn’t a heartless coward, and I wasn’t a scared single mother. We had each other again. We had the truth.

“No!” Alex shrieked, recalling me to the present. “
I’m
the king!” He clawed at Savio’s closed hand and snatched the chess piece Savio had been holding. Savio sucked in a sharp breath and put his scratched knuckle up to his lips. “
Piccolo bastardo!
” he hissed under his breath. Nonna Vera narrowed her eyes at him with dislike.

“Alex!” I said. “We do not scratch people.”

“But
I’m
the king, Mama,” Alex said in justification. Nonna Vera pulled him into her lap to comfort him. She was surprisingly strong for a woman in her eighties. “
Sì, mio nipote.
You are
il re,
” she cooed to Alex. Taking the chess piece from him, she made it dance up his little arm.

Savio was vibrating with animosity. I hedged a little closer to Alex. Maybe Savio had a few screws loose, or at the very least needed to attend some anger management classes. He was seriously overreacting to being scratched by a toddler.

“I’m so sorry, Savio,” I said in my best what’s-a-mother-to-do voice. “Did he break the skin?”

Savio studied his knuckles, slightly chastened by my scrutiny. “It is nothing,” he said quietly. “Perhaps I will go put some ointment on it.” He rose and sulked out of the room.

I raised my brows at Nonna Vera as if to say, “Did that really just happen?”

After putting Alex to bed and saying goodnight to a very tired Pops and Nan I joined the others in the study. There was a fire crackling merrily at the hearth, and if I didn’t know any better I would swear I was looking in on a happy family. Nona Vera sat closest to the flames, busying herself with needlework of some sort. Julien was at his desk, the ever-present Marla standing not far away, hovering between Julien and the settee where Savio sat engulfed in a game of solitaire.

Élodie had gone to bed, worn out like Pops and Nan. Nona Vera was a night owl and still going strong though it was approaching nine-thirty.

Looking at them one would never guess the complicated relationships ranging throughout the room. Marla and Savio would be leaving in the morning. I couldn’t deny my excitement at the thought of being free of Marla’s simmering presence. I wouldn’t miss Savio and his short fuse either. Good riddance.

Julien was scowling over paperwork. He had fallen astronomically behind on work these past three weeks. Added to the myriad duties of a CEO was the stress of a lurking assassin and an expected coronation looming over his head. I honestly didn’t know how Julien wasn’t cracking under the strain. How ignorant I had been to think an unplanned pregnancy would be enough to send him running scared. Julien didn’t run.

Speaking of assassins and kingdoms, Signore Passarelli was expected any moment now. Martin was bringing him by to discuss next steps in regards to the whole taking-back-a-kingdom thing. Just the thought of all that entailed was enough to give me a migraine. I padded over to Julien and massaged his upper back. He dropped his head in surrender, offering me easier access.

What happened next was so confusing, fast, and terrifying it would be several moments before my brain could properly process the chain of events.

Mr. Martin came in with Signore Passarelli. Signore Pasarelli began greeting the room when his gaze fell upon Savio. He blanched and gasped, “
Principe Macri!”
Savio responded by pulling out a gun -
what?
- and firing at Mr. Martin who was several steps ahead of me in the recognizing danger department. Because my brain tends to shut down during shoot-outs I took the time to note that the silencer on Savio’s gun made his fired shots sound like harmless video game bullets. Pew pew, pew!

Mr. Martin dropped like a stone. Julien was up and over his desk in a flash. He threw me to the ground at which point I lost visual of the goings on. By the time I got my bearings and poked my head above the desk again they were at a stand-off. Julien had somehow managed to get a hold of Martin’s gun and he was pointing it at Savio. Savio in turn was pointing
his
gun right back at Julien. I almost blacked out in terror. I must have made a sound, because Savio nodded toward me, indicating I should join Julien at the end of his gun.

I was shaking as I walked. I was amazed my legs were sound enough to carry me the few feet to my destination. As I neared Julien he shifted so he was blocking me with his body. Savio smiled smugly at Julien’s attempt to shield me. “It is a shame to kill such a beautiful woman,” he lamented. “But I cannot let you live knowing you could be carrying another one of his heirs.”

I didn’t like the way Savio’s hands were shaking with nerves. In marked contrast Julien’s hands were steady, as was his voice as he said, “You don’t have to do this, Savio. No one here has to die tonight.” I spared a glance for Mr. Martin, hoping he wasn’t already a part of the death tally.

“This ends now,” Savio said vehemently. “You must
all
die. Isn’t that right,
Regina Adel?
”

Signore Passarelli’s eyes nearly bugged out of his face as he turned to Nonna Vera and gasped. “Is it true? Are you truly our
Regina Adel
?”

Nonna Vera nodded solemnly. “
Sí. Io sono la regina Adel, Vera Manzetti.”
She saw my confusion and repeated in heavily accented English. “I am Queen Adel, Vera Manzetti of Mugga.”

Again with my brain’s inability to ponder important, relevant matters, I couldn’t help but sputter, “You speak English?”

Nonna Vera met my look of astonishment with kind eyes. “Sí. When is necessary. Is necessary now. I will tell my story before I die.”

Nonna Vera, or rather, Queen Adel, had been pregnant with her first child near the end of World War II. Her small country was in upheaval, still reeling from the chaos inflicted by Mussolini before his fall from power. Fearing for their lives, she and her husband, King Giovani III went into hiding.

Nonna Vera became very agitated at this point in her story. She slipped frequently back into Italian, and it was hard for me to piece together, but somehow she became separated from her husband or he was killed.

Pregnant, alone, and living in fear for her life, Queen Adel made her way south, eventually ending up in Terni. With dangerous men hunting her, and having no means to care for her newborn son, she left him on the steps of a church with a note reading only,
Please care for my Giovani.

Leaving her baby proved too much for her to bear, and within weeks of Giovani’s arrival she found herself at the church orphanage offering her services as a nursemaid in exchange for room and board. It had been the perfect solution. No one would ever suspect the nursemaid at the orphanage of being misplaced royalty, and she got to watch her son grow into a man.

A sob escaped my throat as I realized I might be denied the pleasure of watching my own son grow up. And for what? Politics? I was supposed to die because a psychotic, power hungry man wanted to play King of the Hill?

Savio swallowed hard. A fine sheen of sweat was dampening his face and causing his hair to curl along his hairline. For a moment I had hope that he didn’t have it in him to kill several innocent people, then I remembered poor Mr. Martin, lying in a growing pool of his own blood. I could feel Julien tensing up next to me. He was going to make a move. Savio noticed too. He raised his gun a fraction of an inch. The thunder of the shot echoed off the study walls. Julien flinched at the sound and my heart stopped. It was my greatest fear realized. I was watching Julien die in front of me and the man who killed him would go after my sweet sleeping baby next.

But wait. It was Savio that was crumpling to the ground. It was Savio’s chest that was blooming red with fresh blood. The reasoning center of my brain began stuttering to life again and I realized that the gunshot I heard couldn’t have been Savio’s. His gun had a silencer. I frowned in concentration at Julien’s gun. It hadn’t moved. Turning, I saw Marla. She was a sight to behold, standing next to Julien’s open desk drawer, holding his pistol straight out in front of her like one of Charlie’s Angels.

As I watched her, her arms dropped. She let the pistol fall from her limp hands and sunk to her knees on the floor. “
Mon dieu. Je ne savais pas,
Julien. I had no idea!” Marla shook her head slowly back and forth. Julien quickly took stock of everyone in the room. Satisfied that I was unharmed, he rushed to Martin and felt for a pulse. I just continued to stand stupidly in the middle of the room watching the stain on Savio’s shirt grow bigger and thinking that Julien would make an excellent soldier or paramedic.