A Dark Sicilian Secret - By Jane Porter Page 0,39
number of years. We do know that the entire family, a family of four—mother, father and two daughters—was placed in the program fourteen years ago but we don’t know why.”
Vittorio calmly studied the paper in his hand, his relaxed features revealing none of his inner tension. There was a reason Jill had run from him in Bellagio. She’d heard the word Mafioso whispered and disappeared like a thief in the night. And she’d kept running until he’d found her. But she remained terrified of him. She’d made it clear she didn’t trust him, or believe that he wasn’t connected to the mafia. She’d said so several times.
She had to be linked to the mob herself. Had to have insider knowledge. Why else would she be so completely unable to trust him?
“There is nothing here of her original identity,” he said, glancing at the former FBI agent. “According to this paper, she didn’t even exist before she was twelve.”
“That’s right. Everything in her file that would link her to a birth name, birthplace, or birth date was completely erased.”
Vitt kept his expression neutral. “Is this normal protocol for the United States’ protection program?”
“No.”
“But you’ve seen this before?”
The detective hesitated. “Yes. There are two incidences when I’ve seen this happen—when the government is protecting a foreign spy, or a high-ranking member of an organized crime family.”
There it was. The connection to organized crime. Vitt had known it in his gut, but wondered why it’d taken him so long to see it.
“So what do you think we’re dealing with?” Vitt asked, sounding bored.
“She’s the daughter of an American mob boss.”
Vitt felt hard and cold all the way through. It’s what he’d been thinking, but somehow it sounded a thousand times worse spoken aloud. “Are there many in the American government’s witness protection program?”
“A half dozen.”
“Anyone you view a particular threat?”
“One or two, although Frankie Giordano is the one the government is most protective of. He sold out the entire Detroit operation, and Detroit was linked to nearly every other operation.”
Vitt nodded slowly. “Which means Giordano gave up everyone.”
“Yes.”
“If his whereabouts were discovered, he’d be a dead man.”
The detective closed his notebook. “As would his family.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
JILLIAN woke up with sunlight pouring through the windows. She hadn’t drawn the drapes last night when she’d gone to bed. Instead she’d stayed up late, leafing through Italian Vogue and French Elle, magazines Maria had loaned her, waiting for Vittorio to return.
He hadn’t, though.
He’d remained out all night. Or if he had returned, he’d slept elsewhere.
The fact that he’d stayed away worried her. He’d been so upset with her yesterday. And she knew she deserved his anger, but she was also desperate to patch things up. She didn’t know how to live in his house and be shunned by him.
Jillian bathed and dressed quickly before heading to Joe’s nursery to check on him. He wasn’t there so she went in search of him, knowing he had to be with Maria.
But he wasn’t with Maria. He was with his father having breakfast on the terrace just off the dining room.
The soft pink-tinged morning light painted the terrace’s pale stones rose and gold. Large clay pots lined the terrace, and beyond the balustrade the valley and snow-capped Mt Etna dominated the view.
“Good morning,” Jillian said huskily, turning her back on green-and-yellow hills dotted with orchards and farmhouses to face Vitt and Joe.
“'Morning,” Vitt answered, breaking up a breakfast roll into little pieces for Joe who sat in a tall antique high chair at Vitt’s elbow.
She noticed that he barely looked at her and his tone bordered on cold. “May I join you?” she asked uncertainly even as she leaned over to give Joe a kiss.
“It’s your home,” he said, sounding completely disinterested.
She breathed in Joe’s warmth and baby scent for courage before straightening and taking a seat at the glass-topped table.
Kitchen staff immediately appeared to place another setting for her and offer her a choice of espresso or American style drip coffee. Jillian chose the drip coffee and then clutched her hands in her lap to hide her nervousness.
“When did you get back?” she asked, struggling to keep her voice light and normal.
“Last night.”
Her heart fell and ridiculous tears burned the back of her eyes. So where had he slept? And why hadn’t he come to their room? “How did your meeting go?”
“It was interesting.”
“That’s good.” She forced her lips up into a brittle smile and then caught Joe’s eye. He was staring at her as he fed himself