“You’re still my daughter,” he said softly. “The child my heart beats for.”
She wanted to sneer, but it hurt. It hurt so bad.
“You killed,” she whispered. “Drugs, rape, murder. Ah God.” She wiped her face with her hands, shaking, shuddering with the horror of the information she had learned once her father had been arrested. “You, Uncle Martin, Beau, all of you. You were criminals. What Marco did to me when he kidnapped me was gentle compared to your crimes.”
“I never harmed a child,” Gio bellowed then, his hands pulling from his slacks, raking through his hair. “I never harmed an innocent, nor did I or Beau rape anyone. There were rules. Marco broke those rules when he took you.”
“You should have never lied to me,” she yelled back furiously. “Why didn’t you just tell me you were a murdering mafia lord and that was the reason I wasn’t allowed beyond the walls of our estate? My God in heaven, perhaps then I would have understood why they hurt me.”
Gio seemed to shudder. Her pa-pa. She saw her pa-pa in this man, no matter how hard she tried not to.
“Beau was not part of that business,” he finally said heavily. “It was the reason he was gone so often—he could not stomach the path I could not veer from.” He shook his head slowly. “When they took you, I died inside.”
“They had me six weeks,” she sneered. “Six cuts, Gio. Do you remember them?”
“God, Sarita! I see them every night in my nightmares.”
She was only barely aware of Ethan motioning the others out of the room. Even her father’s bodyguards left silently, closing the door behind them, leaving her alone with Gio and Ethan.
“Beau was working to legitimize our holdings,” he breathed out roughly. “For him, I had agreed to turn the business over to your uncle Lucian. We were negotiating this with Lucian the night you were taken.” He shook his head wearily. “I do not excuse myself, Sarita. Not what I have done, or for what I have been. But you were always my light. My precious child. More to me even than my son. And you know this.”
She had been the spoiled princess. The baby. She had been loved by her father, by her brother. Cherished after the death of her mother.
“My name is Sarah,” she whispered.
She didn’t know what to say, how to feel. She only knew that if Ethan let go of her, she would sink to the floor in pain.
“This one, he calls you ‘Sair’?” Her pa-pa nodded to Ethan behind her.
She narrowed her eyes. “Only Ethan calls me ‘Sair.’”
“Ah. And only you call him ‘Ethan,’ when all others call him ‘Cooper.’” He nodded. “Yes. It is the way of love, eh?”
She stared back at him silently as he moved and sat down in one of the large chairs that sat close to the wall.
He leaned forward, his tall, broad body almost too large, even for Ethan’s furniture. His elbows rested on his knees, his hands were clasped between them as he regarded her.
“Sarah,” he sighed her name. “I make no excuses for what I was. And I take full blame for how Marco terrorized you.” He shook his head, and when his eyes lifted, she saw the tears in them. “For you, I would have died. Beau searched for you, and I feared he would die in the attempt to rescue you. He was enraged. So I went to the authorities. And”—he spread his hands—“I let you go. You were the only bit of innocence in my life. My sweetest daughter. And I thought I could let you fly as I knew you should, away from the ugliness of who and what I was.” His expression turned fierce. “But I cannot.” He rose to his feet, paced, and turned back to her. “You are my child. My daughter. You will give this man children. Blood of my blood.” He thumped his chest, crossed his arms over it. “Fight me all you wish. I will move to this town if I must. I will be where you are. I will tell all, you are my daughter, who I love, who I treasure. I will not let you go as you wish.” He glared at Ethan, then at her. “And my name is not Gio. My name is Ronald.” He lifted his head proudly. “For my great-grandfather. Who was pure. Who was not part of that life you so abhor. I am Ronald Caspari. An immigrant.” His voice lowered. “A father.”
She stared back at him in shock.
“And you think it’s so easy? That I can just forgive?”
He shook his head, his glance moving once again to where Ethan’s arms were wrapped around her.
“Not easy,” he said softly. “But I hope, perhaps in time, you can find it in yourself to remember the man who loved his Sarita. His precious angel.”
That first tear slipped free. Her pa-pa never cried. He was fierce, and he was strong.
“Don’t.” She shook her head, feeling her eyes well with tears as well. Because she remembered her pa-pa. She remembered, and oh God, how she had missed him.
“Ronald Caspari hasn’t committed any crimes, Sair,” Ethan whispered.
“Don’t excuse him,” she cried out.
“I’m not excusing him, baby.” He rubbed his chin against her head. “You’re allowed the choice, Sair. It’s not either-or. And hell, I’m not exactly a saint. We both know that.”
“He killed.”
“I protected what was perhaps not rightfully, but all the same, mine,” her father breathed out roughly. “But unlike Carlos and others, Sarita, I never warred on innocents. I never kidnapped a woman or a child and brought them pain. Neither did I approve such an action. Never could I have. You were my guide, child.” He shook his head. “From the day of your birth, you were my guide. Your sweetness and light ensured no child was harmed by my hand.”
“Giovanni Fredrico was known as Gio the Giant. The Gentle Giant,” Ethan reminded her.
“Why are you defending him?”
“Because a daughter’s need for her father never goes away, Sair,” he said. “You’ll never stop grieving for him. And you’ll tear yourself up inside. Better to pick your battles with him, and make sure he walks the path you choose for him from here on out. He’s less of a threat to our peace of mind that way. Besides, someone has to give you away when we get married. I don’t think Casey or Turk would look good in a tux.”
She swung around. Blinked.
“Did you think I’d let you get away from me?” His smile was pure male confidence and a hint of wickedness. After all, her father was standing there.
“You didn’t ask me to marry you,” she pouted. “Maybe I wanted all the trimmings?”
He snorted. “Naw. You didn’t. Or you wouldn’t have picked the shadiest character in town to trip with that sneaky heart of yours. I’ve fallen, Sair. Right at your feet. I’m not asking for marriage, I’m damn well demanding it.” He touched her cheek, cupped it with his palm. “And your father isn’t asking for forgiveness, just a chance.”
She turned back to her pa-pa, watched as he ran his hands over his face and stared back at her bleakly.
Gio the Giant was dead. Ronald Caspari might not be perfect, but she still remembered the love. Her pa-pa holding her, protecting her, laughing with her.
“Pa-pa,” she whispered, shaking, realizing Ethan had slowly let her go.
Her father’s lips trembled. She took a step, and then he was there. Crossing the distance to her, his hard arms wrapped around her. He lifted her against him, and the scent and sounds of her childhood washed over her.
The father she had so adored. Could she forget his crimes? She couldn’t forget. But neither could she forget that he had saved her. Given himself and all he possessed to protect her. He wasn’t perfect, but he was still her pa-pa.
Ethan watched, crossed his arms over his chest, and glared at Gio. It was the look of a determined man, imposing his own will. If Sarah’s father ever hurt her again, if she was ever harmed again because of him, then Gio the Giant would be dead in fact as well as in fiction. It was a look the other man well understood, and over his daughter’s head, he nodded.
“I give to you my daughter,” Gio said huskily as Sarah finally moved from his arms. Taking her hand, he laid it in Ethan’s. “She is the light to my soul,” Gio continued. ??
?My treasure.”
Ethan smiled and pulled his woman close again.
“She was mine the minute she moved here and I set eyes on her, Mr. Caspari. I tripped over my own two feet and lost my heart.”
“You didn’t?” Sarah stared at him, shocked. “You didn’t. I would have seen it.”
“I covered it damned well.” He grinned. “But have no doubt, sweetheart, you were the first girl to make me fall. Head over heels.”
Gio Fredrico stared at the couple. Beau, he wouldn’t be pleased, but ah, his son, he was often too arrogant, too certain of life. He had wanted to protect Sarita between them. Having this man, so rough, so obviously a real man, hold his precious sister would grate on his pride.
But, his Sarita was safe. She was loved. And Gio had a feeling any man who attempted to take what Cooper deemed his would find himself perhaps knocking on the gates of hell. No, Ethan Cooper wasn’t a man to cross. But he was definitely the man for Sarita.
She was his child. But she was Cooper’s woman. And she was safe.
And, he brightened. Perhaps soon, there would be babies. Ah yes, Gio thought. Grandbabies. Life was perhaps about to get very, very good.
sheila’s passion
prologue
vengeance.
It had been so long coming.
So many years waiting, searching.
Hating.
Ah God¸ the hatred.
It was like a wound festering deep within the soul, growing more tender by the year, refusing to release the acrid bitterness that filled it.
And it all centered on one man. On a monster who had destroyed countless friends and family. Who had, with a single, thoughtless decision, caused centuries of traditions to be wiped out. Destroyed as though they had never been.
And there had been no price extracted for the betrayal.
There had been no punishment, no atonement; there hadn’t been so much as an “I’m sorry” or a sprig of flowers on the gravesites of those who had died because of the choices he had made.
And many had died.
A son had begun the slaughter as his father, the one so many followed, stood by, helpless, his loyalty centered on the daughter he had adored.
The daughter’s life had meant more to that father than the traditions that had sustained a people for so long. That daughter had held his loyalty, his entire focus, rather than the people who trusted him with their lives.
There was a reason why marriages were arranged within their world. A reason why children were fostered out to other families throughout the years. There was a reason why fathers were often separated from their daughters and sons from their mothers.
To maintain the sanctity of tradition. To ensure family love and loyalty never came ahead of the decisions that might not be in the child’s best interests.
Giovanni Fredrico had broken the trust of his people in his attempts to save the daughter he had so cherished. The child conceived with the woman he had wed after the death of his first wife—Giovanni had broken tradition and married for love. In doing so he had begun the destruction of all that had been given into his safekeeping.
Had the families known it was a love match rather than a marriage of tradition, as they and her family had sworn, it would have been dissolved with her death. She would have been killed by order of the other families immediately.
Watching Giovanni now—Gio the Giant, they had always called him—regret welled, but it hadn’t paid Gio to teach his son that it was love that mattered rather than tradition. Gio, with his ready smile, his pocket of candies and coins, and his genuine love for children. He had been as treasured as any favored uncle by those who knew him. Those who lived beneath his rule gave him more loyalty than to their fathers, mothers, or kings.
And there were many who knew him, many who depended on him.
No child went hungry as long as Gio ruled the families.
No child was abused as long as Gio’s punishment awaited the abuser. But in the end he had destroyed them.
The world had changed since that fateful summer when Gio had betrayed them, though. Since the day Gio had followed his heart rather than the tradition of the families, and taught his son that the heart mattered more than the unwritten laws.
The sanctity of family was no longer adhered to as it had once been. The innocence of a child mattered to no one. Abuse was rearing its ugly head, hunger was striking families who once knew prosperity, and crime was becoming an act of greed rather than a business.
Because of Gio the Giant and the son who had followed his dreams rather than destiny.
Gio had betrayed the families, the children, the wives, the fathers and brothers, sisters and mothers who had trusted in him, who had relied upon him. He had betrayed them all for the love of the child who had meant more to him and to his son than the responsibilities he had accepted when he had taken the reins of the Fredrico family and their vast holdings.
But even with all his faults, the blame did not lie with Gio alone. He had only severed the final link in a chain that had been thoughtlessly weakened by another.
The blame did not even lie with the fragile, delicate child he had betrayed them all for. The one who had suffered with her blood and with her shame as she was so carelessly used against her father, who loved her more than he loved the people.
No, the blame lay with the son.
It was the son who had set this nightmare in motion.
It was the son, Beauregard Fredrico, named for the childhood friend Gio had so missed after his death and the brother of the woman he had given his heart to.
The friend who had betrayed his own family as well.
Had Gio cursed his son?
Perhaps he had, for Beauregard Fredrico had followed the example of his father and his father’s friend when he had turned his back on the people who had already begun to depend upon him. He had betrayed all their honor and walked away from Italy as though the land and its people had not been burned into his soul.
Eight years.
This search had gone on for eight long, horrendous years, and finally, the end was near.
Here, in this little town called Simsburg, Texas, the prey that had eluded fate for so long had finally been located.
The selection had been narrowed to four men.
There was no doubt, it had to be one of them.
Only these four, who were a part of Gio and Sarita Fredrico’s lives now, had no past to call their own.
They had not existed before that fateful summer eight years ago. Before that summer when Beauregard Fredrico had supposedly died.
Just as his sister, Sarita, and his father as well, were reported to have been killed by the remaining members of the families who eventually turned on them.
Four men.
Hardened, cold-eyed, so unlike the man Beauregard had been the last time he had been seen. Weak, uncertain of himself, angry with the world. That had been Beau as a young man.
It was not the mature male he had become.
He would be a challenge to identify and kill now, but vengeance was demanded.
So many generations of families had been destroyed because of his selfishness. So many lives lost and destroyed because of his traitorous actions.
So many lives had been wasted because of his choices.
Entire families had been lost.
And now, it was time to destroy Beauregard. No matter the new name he had taken, the man he had become, or the reasons for which he had made his choices. No matter the arguments those left behind had made for his life. None of it mattered any longer.
It was time to satisfy vengeance.
And vengeance demanded blood.
But blood demanded proof.
And there was only one way to prove Fredrico blood.
By threatening the one thing they held dearest.
The only true weakness a Fredrico was ever known to have.
The women they loved.
Beauregard, unlike Gio, had not fulfilled hi
s responsibilities first, though. Nor had he kept the woman he had loved as a mistress. No, Beau had left Italy. He had betrayed them all, and destroyed not just his own family, but those who followed the Fredrico family as well. And he had to pay.
chapter 1
sheila was stretched on a rack of such torturous pleasure she was certain she couldn’t survive it. There was no way she would come out on the other end intact.
She always thought that at some point during the hours she spent in Nick Casey’s bed, however, that something other than her orgasm would be found.
Each time, she swore she wouldn’t allow herself to be seduced, and each time he touched her, each time that sensual dominance swirled in his dark chocolate eyes, she found herself seduced. Seduced. Ready. Willing. He mesmerized her with his kiss and made her more than willing to beg for more. To plead.
Breathless. Devoured. Fucked until she was screaming mindlessly in a pleasure so intense she was certain she would die from it. That was how she felt. And the pleasure became the center of her universe.
“Oh God, Casey.” She arched to him, her tone so rough and hoarse she didn’t recognize it as her own.
But oh God, his touch was so good. Everything he did to her, every kiss, every stroke, every caress was ecstasy.
Sheila spread her thighs wider, her heels digging into the mattress as she lifted for him, feeling his tongue sink into the tender flesh between the folds of her pussy.
Broad, strong hands gripped her hips, holding her in place as he licked at the sensitive flesh, then pushed inside the saturated entrance with a slow, destructive thrust.
A long, low cry tore from her lips. Casey tasted her, his tongue moving inside her, possessing and enjoying her with exquisite pleasure. Rapture suffused her senses, washing over her and racing across her nerve endings with a wave of electric intensity.
There was nothing quite like Casey’s touch or the addictive sensations that tore through her.