Broken (8 page)

Cassidy watched Max leave with mixed feelings. He was determined to be a part of their lives whether she wanted him to be or not. As Zoe’s biological father, he had a right to spend time with his daughter and develop a father/daughter relationship with her. The question was, could she be around Max, day after day and night after night, and still protect her heart? He’d broken it once. She had no intentions of allowing him the opportunity to do so again.

Troubled, she went and locked up after his departure.

As Max returned to Philly, the cauldron of rage brewing inside bubbled up to the surface and threatened to boil over. How dare they? When he considered the endless months of misery, the sheer hell he’d been through, he—

A semi blared its horn as Max strayed too close to its lane of traffic.

Focus
, he ordered himself.
Make it back to Philly in one piece. You can explode later
.

Cutting off that line of thought, he concentrated on driving with grim determination. He had too much to live for to screw up now. Thirty minutes later, he found an open parking space on his mother’s street, parked the car, strode to the door, and knocked firmly.

Gianna answered. Her face lit up at the sight of him. “Max! We weren’t expecting you. Come in.”

He pushed past her. “Where is my mother?”

“Oh!” Gianna’s countenance dimmed at the realization he wasn’t there to see her. “She’s in her sitting room.”

Without another word, Max stalked off. He came to a halt in the doorway, watching the room’s sole occupant. The sitting room was a room his mother had claimed for herself and was filled with frilly, feminine items and furnishings. The colors were done in pale rose and mauve. His mother was seated in her favorite Queen Anne-styled chair, cross stitching while an Italian opera played in the background. Max recognized the familiar voice of Pavarotti.

Her salt-n-pepper hair was pulled into its customary chignon. A pair of black reading glasses attached to a dangling, beaded neck chain perched on the tip of her pert nose. She hummed along with the music, singing occasionally with the music in Italian. Her still slim, regal bearing and mostly unlined face belied the fact his mother was nearing seventy.

“Momma,” he said flatly in greeting, alerting her to his presence.

She glanced and smiled in welcome. “Max! Let me call Gianna. She’ll be so happy to see you.”

“I’m not here to see Gianna. I came to see you.” He kept his voice perfectly even as he entered the room and crossed to stand in front of her.

“There’s no reason you can’t do both,” she said reasonably.

Hands planted on his hips, Max decided it time he stated his position in terms even his stubborn mother would understand. “Momma, let me make myself perfectly clear so there’s no misunderstanding. No matter how much you throw Gianna at me, I won’t marry her.”

“Maximilian, sit down and stop towering over me,” she commanded irritably, changing the subject.

“I prefer to stand.” Wanting to get this whole thing over with and be gone, he said, “I saw Cassidy today.”

“Cassidy?” His mother had the audacity to appear blank. But, in her mind she’d gotten rid of the troublemaker, so why wouldn’t she?

“The woman I was going to marry two years ago?” he prompted.

Her brows furrowed and she stared absently at him. “I thought her name was Amber.”

Max was convinced his mother knew damned good and well to whom he referred. “Not Amber. The woman who was married to Phillip,” he gritted out between clenched teeth.

He caught a flicker of something in her expression before she bent her head, picked up her needlework, and applied the needle. “Oh? I was told she returned to her husband. How are they doing?”

“Phillip is dead.”

The needle paused mid-air. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Yes, I bet you are
. “Cassidy said she called and spoke to you, asking for my contact information. She told you it was vitally important that she reach me.” He continued to watch her like a snake eying prey, waiting for the right moment to strike.

“Did she?” she asked, sounding vague.

“You told her I’d gone to Italy to get married.” There, he saw it. A flicker of guilt. “You lied, Momma. She was in the hospital, struggling to overcome life-threatening injuries, and you lied to her.”

His mother flinched. It was so subtle that if he hadn’t been observing her so closely, he would have missed it. Still, she remained silent.

“Do you know why Cassidy was so desperate to get in contact with me, Momma?” He waited, forcing a response.

After a long pause in which it must have dawned he wouldn’t continue until she answered, she said, “Really, Max, I’m not a mind reader. If she didn’t say, I couldn’t have.”

Max took a deep breath to calm himself. It didn’t work. “She wanted to let me know I had a child. A newborn in the hospital who needed someone to care for it while Cassidy recovered from the car accident that killed her husband and almost killed her and our child.”

His mother’s stricken gaze rose to meet his furious one. “Max, I had no idea. She wouldn’t say what she wanted—”

“So you lied, made sure she wouldn’t call again, and conveniently forgot the matter,” he finished for her. “How dare you? How dare you interfere in my life in this manner?”

She appealed to him. “Max, I was concerned about your soul. You’d gone against the Holy Church and taken up with a married woman. I simply wanted what was best for you.”

“And you get to decide who that is? Who died and made you God over my life?” His voice was so cold, icicles dripped from each word. He stood, fists clenched at his side, physically restraining himself from shaking her.

This time the flinch was visible. Her hands trembled as she set aside the needlework. “I’m your mother—”

“That’s right. My
mother
. You may have helped give me life, but once I became an adult, you lost the right to make any decisions for me. Because of you, I lost over a year of my daughter’s life.”

“The child is a girl?” she asked, her voice tremulous.

“A girl you will never meet. Stay out of my life.”

His mother’s hand flew to her Rosary necklace, and she clutched the cross dangling from it. Seeing it, he said, “May God forgive you because I sure as hell never will.”

Wide eyes displaying both shock and horror, she cried, “Max!”

Unable to look at her any longer, he turned and stormed out. Behind him he could hear his mother calling for him. Max headed straight for the exit, purpose in every step.

Gianna came running down the stairs. “What’s wrong with Signora D? Where are you going? You can’t just leave. She sounds upset.”

“Get out of my way, Gianna, and stay out of my business,” he ordered when she tried to physically keep him from leaving by blocking the door.

The coldness of his voice combined with the suppressed fury in his expression must have convinced her. She jumped out of the way and stood to the side, wringing her hands. He strode past her and out the door, allowing it to slam behind him.

One down, one deceitful, manipulative relative to go.

Max sat, facing the door, in Nicco’s favorite black leather armchair. He clutched a half full tumbler of bourbon in his right hand. The coordinating black lamp sitting on the table beside him cast him in the circle of its golden glow. He felt like an avenging angel waiting to dispense judgment.

Invisible keys turned the locks, and Nicco stood framed in the condo’s doorway. He was frowning.
Bad day, big brother? It’s about to get worse
.

The minute Nicco spotted him, his expression deepened into a scowl. “Max, what’s going on? Momma called, almost incoherent she was crying so hard. All I clearly understood was your name and something about some woman.”

“Nicco, did I ever tell you you were my favorite brother?” Max asked musingly. He took a large swig of his drink while he waited his brother’s response.

“Christ, are you drinking again? I thought you gave it up,” Nicco asked, his disgust evident as he swung shut the door. He flipped the locks and slid his keys in his pants’ pocket, before turning to face him. Nicco stood with his feet apart and hands in his pockets. His casual stance opened his tan sport’s jacket to reveal the white button-down shirt underneath that he’d paired with brown chinos.

Max snapped his fingers as thought suddenly remembering something. “You’ll never guess who I saw today. Cassidy Brannon.” He continued before Nicco could respond. “We had a nice long talk. About you, actually.”

His brother watched him warily.

“For some reason, Cassidy’s under the impression I ended our relationship. Something about the relationship being—what was the word she used? Oh yes—a mistake. Now where, I wonder, would she have gotten an idea like that?” Max carefully maintained his relaxed pose though inside he was a coiled spring, ready to release.

“It
was
a mistake. You were making yourself crazy,” Nicco said self-righteously, raising his arms to cross them over his chest.

Max took another sip. “That’s right.
I
was making myself crazy, not Cassidy.”

“She’s no good for you.” Nicco flung a hand in his direction, gesturing contemptuously. “Look at you. You’ve only been around her one day and already you’re drinking,” he said scornfully.

Max arched an eyebrow sardonically as he lifted his glass. “You think this is about Cassidy?” He drained the contents and set the glass carefully on the table before he gave into the impulse to throw it at Nicco’s head. “This is about my lying, conniving brother and your equally devious mother.”

“Don’t talk about our mother that way!”

He shrugged. “Fine, let’s discuss you. Shall we? Do you have any idea what you did?” he asked in a soft voice that in no way disguised the danger.

“I saved you from a very destructive relationship,” Nicco said in his counselor’s voice.

In a flash, Max was across the room and had Nicco jacked up by his shirtfront against the door. “No, you bastard. You almost destroyed the best thing that ever happened to me,” he growled, letting the full extent of his rage show.

“Max, control yourself! We can discuss this like civilized beings when you’re sober,” Nicco said, trying vainly to free himself but still maintain his dignity.