Dante's Marriage Pact (16 page)

“But I don't want to.”

Ignoring the petulant retort, Shayla stood, pulled her grandmother to her feet and hugged her. To her surprise the hug was returned, long and hard and tight. “
And
when you get there, you're staying. I need my family close by.”

“No, I couldn't,” she protested. “My home—”

“Is near me and Stefano.” Shayla pulled back and grinned at her. “Besides, think of how much it'll annoy Draco.”

Leticia hesitated, gave it some thought, then chuckled. “I do believe you just sold me on the idea.”

“W
hat are you doing here, Sev?” Draco demanded, scrubbing sleep from his eyes.

His cousin shoved past him into the suite. “I might ask you the same question. I've been to the house. You weren't there. Your wife wasn't there. Is Stefano with you or her?”

“I don't much care for the way you said ‘her,'” Draco growled.

“Too bad. I don't much care for the fact that your wife swindled the Dantes out of millions of dollars.”

As though from a distance Draco heard himself roar. Saw his fist fly through the air and connect with Sev's chin. Watched his cousin crash to the floor. He swore, long and loud, more angry with himself than with Sev. “She didn't swindle us.”

Sev jiggled his jaw in order to determine whether or not it still worked. Once he satisfied himself on that count, he said, “Well, someone sure as hell did. You gonna hit me again if I get up?”

“That depends. Are you gonna say something I'll have to hit you for?”

Sev climbed to his feet. “Where is she, Draco?”

“Atlanta.”

And that's all he knew. While he'd been busy hammering on the suite door late in the afternoon after their fight, Shayla had called the house and left a painfully brief message on the answering machine. “I'm in Atlanta.” Her voice had come across cool and remote, the sugar in her Southern accent tart with vinegar. “I'll be in touch soon.”

That was it.
Soon
. What the hell did soon mean? Tomorrow? Next week? Next year? When she was eight and a half months pregnant with their next child? He returned to their house in Sausalito, but it took him all of a single hour to realize he couldn't handle living in his own home. Not without Shayla. Not with her ghost and the ghost of his son haunting every damn room.

So he'd thrown some clothes in a duffel and moved back into the suite. Not that this place had been much better, though a good part of a fifth of Scotch had gone a long way toward easing his pain. Or it did until Sev's arrival in the wee hours of the morning.

Draco checked his watch and saw a blurry 10:02 a.m. The hell with it. Considering the night he'd had, ten was the wee hours of the morning for him. And he sure as hell didn't appreciate waking to someone pounding on the door, especially when it was an unwelcome echo to the pounding in his head.

“Atlanta,” Sev repeated. “Your wife flies off to Atlanta with your son right after we discover the Charleston mines are depleted and you don't find anything odd about it?”

“Right now the Starship
Enterprise
could have landed in the middle of Union Square and I wouldn't find anything odd about it,” he snarled.

“Son of a— You're
drunk!
”

“Not anymore. I'd
like
to be drunk. Right now I'm some where between hungover and unconscious. Maybe a couple more shots and I can tip the scales in the appropriate direction.”

“Screw that. You need to sober up and deal with this.”

“Yeah? Good luck making me.”

Draco barely got the words out of his mouth before Sev grabbed him by the shirtfront and wrestled him in the direction of the master suite. Maybe if he hadn't used up what little energy reserves he had landing that punch on Sev he'd have put up a better fight. It wasn't until he found himself on the tile floor of the shower with icy cold water pouring down on him that he fully woke—and awoke with a roar of fury. By the time he dragged his sorry backside out of the stall and into dry clothes, Sev had a steaming cup of coffee ready to go. He shoved it into Draco's hands. To his utter humiliation all he could do was whimper pitifully while he poured the scalding liquid down his throat.

“Some dragon you are,” Sev sneered. “You were always the most ferocious when we were kids, the toughest of us. There wasn't any dare you wouldn't take. You weren't afraid of anything, ever. Now look at you.”

“Who says I'm afraid?” he shot back, relieved to hear the power return to his voice.

“Then why aren't you fighting for what's yours? Why haven't you flown out to Atlanta and taken back what belongs to you? Or have you given up?”

“Never!”

“Then, damn it, Draco, go get her.”

Draco shot his cousin a grim look. “So she can explain about the mines, or because she's my wife?”

Sev shrugged. “Does it really matter? One way or the other this all has to be straightened out.”

As much as Draco hated conceding the fact that his cousin was right, he didn't waste any more time. He downed another cup of coffee, along with a half-dozen aspirin, and headed home. Once there, he arranged for one of the Dante jets to be fueled and prepared for takeoff. He didn't bother packing an overnight bag. He didn't intend to be gone that long. Just long enough to retrieve his bride and his son, and possibly take a few shots at the Wicked Witch.

All the while the question nagged at him. Was his wife complicit in the swindle, or another innocent victim of her grandmother? Had she planned all along to return to Atlanta once the Dantes discovered the Charleston mines were depleted? Or was there another explanation for her vanishing act?

Unable to help himself, he stared at the detritus of his wife's presence in his life, the feminine bits and pieces she'd left behind. A bottle of perfume, its familiar fragrance lingering in the air, a fragrance that twined through his senses and elicited memories of their passionate lovemaking. He ran a finger over the jeweled hair clips clustered on the dresser, clips that attempted to confine the mass of her dark hair. Clips that he'd taken great delight in removing so he could watch that glorious length rain down her shoulders and back. He picked up a pair of heels kicked hastily in the direction of the closet and tucked them away. No doubt she hadn't because the baby started fussing and she'd gone running to his rescue. Draco flinched.
Stefano
. Dear God, how he missed his son. Missed those deep, dark brilliant eyes that were so much like his mother's. Missed that crazy little infant giggle he gave whenever Draco tickled his round little belly. Missed the energetic kick and squeal each time he walked into Stefano's nursery.

Snatching a deep breath, Draco started for the steps, intent on heading to the airport, when something stopped
him, turned him in the direction of his son's room. He didn't question, just surrendered to his gut instinct.

He opened the door, wondering what had drawn him here. Everything was in place—more or less. The hamper half-full of discarded baby clothes, the closet slightly ajar, no doubt from the last time he'd pillaged the toy boxes, looking for a new treat for his son. One of the dresser drawers gaped ever so slightly. And the crib… He closed his eyes. The crib, so empty and silent. He gathered himself, started to turn.

And saw it.

The wall behind the crib was no longer empty. At some point during the past twenty-four hours, the mural had been completed. A huge dragon occupied most of the formerly vacant space. Draco stared in amazement. One look and he could tell the creature was meant to be him, or a dragon version of him. Fierce, hazel-gold eyes glittered a warning, one echoed by the intimidating stance and defiant expression on the dragon's face. It said, “I protect all who dwell here.”

Curled within his dragon arms was a beautiful princess with flowing hair of richest ebony. A princess whose jet-dark eyes mirrored love and adoration for the creature who held her. A princess who looked exactly like his wife. The dragon's tail wrapped around her, and clinging from his tail was an adorable hatchling. The babe dangled from the very tip by his sharp teeth, a mischievous expression painted across his tiny dragon face.

Stefano.

A memory stirred, something Shayla had said at the suite before they'd been interrupted by the phone call about the mine. He'd just finished offering her the apartment, or a house or a condo, offering her the freedom he'd have given anything to withhold from her. And she'd said… His brow wrinkled in concentration.

She'd said, “What if I told you I don't want to move? That
I want to stay with you. Would you force us to go?” There had been a tremulous smile on her mouth and a look in her eyes….

That's when he knew, knew without hesitation or doubt. And he also knew what he had to do about it.

 

“What are we all doing here, Draco?” Sev demanded. He poured two cups of coffee before returning to his seat at the Dantes' conference table. He handed one of the cups to his wife and took a long swallow from the other. “You have the entire family gathered and we've been sitting twiddling our thumbs for the past twenty minutes waiting for you to get to it.”

As it turned out, Draco hadn't flown to Atlanta as planned. It hadn't been necessary, not with Shayla and Stefano on their way home. Instead, he'd called an emergency meeting of the family. “Then you've answered your own question, haven't you, Sev?” he responded coolly. “You're twiddling your thumbs.”

“Listen up, smart guy. I have better things to do with my time—”

“No, you don't.” Draco's gaze landed on each of them in turn—brothers, sister, cousins, wives, parents, grandparents, before settling on Primo. “There are a lot of issues to resolve, both old and new. And by God, every last one of them is going to be resolved today.”

His brother, Rafe, grinned at his wife, Larkin. “I get chills when he turns all tough and domineering, don't you?”

“Stuff it,” Draco snapped, but his smile stole some of the sting from his words. He checked his watch, his cell phone, then shot off a quick text message. Behind him the door opened and Juice stepped in.

“They landed almost an hour ago,” he announced in his
rumbling basso profundo voice. “Should be here any minute.”

“Thanks,” Draco said. “Help yourself to coffee and take a seat wherever you can find one.”

“Hey, Juice.” Luc greeted his former employee with a huge grin. “What are you doing here?”

The tank-size man swallowed Luc's hand in his. “Have some information your brother would like me to share with you all.”

No sooner had he helped himself to coffee than the door opened again. Finally. Finally, she'd arrived. Shayla swept into the conference room, her chin set to combat mode. To Draco's amusement it perfectly matched the tilt of Leticia's chin.

“Welcome home,” he murmured for her ears alone. He scooped up his son, who pumped his little legs and burbled in baby pleasure. “I've missed you.” His gaze fell on Shayla's grandmother. “Or most of you.”

Leticia sniffed, took one of the empty chairs near his and glared at him. “Well? The least you can do is offer me some tea. It's been a long flight and though I may not look it, I'm not a young woman.”

“I'll get it,” Shayla said.

She hadn't responded to his greeting and he took that to mean there were still a lot of roadblocks between them. Well, he'd see what he could do about knocking a few of them down. As soon as his wife and—heaven help him—grandmother-in-law were seated and supplied with drinks, he began.

“We're going to start with Leticia Charleston, since most of this is her story.” He fixed his gaze on her and went straight for the jugular. “You've had it in for the Dantes since day one. I can understand why you blame us for your bankruptcy, although you and I both know the depletion of your mines
was the true culprit. But there's more, isn't there? More to your wanting revenge.”

She didn't bother arguing the point. She simply inclined her head in agreement and said, “It was because of Dominic Dante.”

“Dad?”
Sev said, surging to his feet. Anger ripped through that single word and Draco could tell it took every ounce of restraint to keep his cousin from calling Leticia an unforgivable name. Beside him, Primo and Nonna joined hands and shifted closer to one another. “What the hell are you talking about? How could Dad have anything to do with this mess?”

“Sev, please,” Francesca murmured, tugging her husband back into his seat. “Let's hear her out.”

Leticia waited until the room fell silent again. “He flew out to meet with my husband, oh, decades ago it must have been. But William wouldn't receive him. Told him to go away. He didn't, of course. None of you Dantes ever did what you were told and he was no different.”

“Grandmother,” Shayla said with a sigh. “You do notice we're a bit outnumbered here. Please try for just a shred of tact.”

“Let them do their worst,” she snapped. Her eyes swept the assembled group and she returned hostile look for hostile look. “Dominic had the unmitigated gall to approach me. He claimed we stole away one of his top designers, a woman named Cara Moretti. He demanded I return her.” Leticia's eyes flashed. “As if she were a piece of furniture or a ring he'd misplaced. I told him to go straight to the devil. If he couldn't keep good help, how was that my problem?”

The name dropped like a stone among the Dantes. “There must be more to the story than that, Leticia,” Draco insisted. “You don't swindle an international company out of millions of dollars because of unmitigated gall.”

She gave an elegant shrug. “Dominic swore he'd get even with us. I simply laughed at him. Charlestons was in its heyday back then. Our two businesses were locked in fierce competition. Why would I give you Dantes anything or anyone who might tip the scales in your favor?”

“Did you tell your husband about Dominic's demand?” Primo asked heavily.

“Good gracious, no. Why would I do that? William had a hair-trigger temper. I felt it best to simply let the matter rest.” She took a dainty sip of her tea, added a second packet of sugar and slowly stirred. “We liked Cara, even though she came to us pregnant and unmarried. She worked for us for a number of years and then moved on.”

Nonna pushed back her chair and stood, her face a mask of grief. “I will wait elsewhere,” she announced, her accent heavier than Draco had ever heard it. Then it failed her altogether and she switched to Italian. “The baby. He is an innocent. He has no place here. I will take him in the other room with me so this does not touch him.”