One Way Out (Silhouette Intimate Moments No. 1211) (Silhouette Intimate Moments, 1211) Read online

  * * *

  Contents:

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

  Epilogue

  © 2003

  * * *

  * * *

  Chapter 1

  ^ »

  At midnight Grace Palazzo suffered her second stroke of the year. Her struggle had been traumatic, but not fatal. It had sent the household into a panic and Rhea, along with Grace’s daughter, into tears. But it wasn’t the most significant drama to unfold on that stormy night on the third of November.

  No, the real drama, at least for Rhea Williams, had come hours later when she had returned to her bedroom to find the silver cross glistening on her pillow.

  She had scarcely been able to breathe as she backed out the door, then raced down the hall to Nicci’s room. Only, she knew before she swung the door wide that her son was gone—that like a thief in the night, his father had breached the house and taken him.

  She had prayed she was wrong, had prayed for mercy—a shred of compassion. But there was no mercy, no compassion, only an open window and an empty bed where her son had slept for the past two years.

  A gust of wind lifted the curtain at her bedroom window, and in spite of the heat, Rhea shivered. Key West was warm, but after the sun went down, the wind could become as dangerous and unpredictable as a vengeful witch. Especially during hurricane season.

  The smell of rain was heavy in the air, the pounding surf a constant roaring in her ears. The tropical storm the islanders had been preparing for was less than ten hours away. Rhea hated storms, but she would rather meet a hurricane head-on than return to Chicago and face Nicci’s father.

  In the beginning, all she had wanted was to go back, and for Joey to know about his son. But then the days had turned into months, the months into years, and slowly Santa Palazzo had become her home.

  Oh God … he knew they had created a child—a beautiful black-haired, brown-eyed baby boy.

  “What will you do, Rhea?”

  The voice was soft behind her, as soft as the touch on her shoulder. Rhea turned from her bedroom window to face Grace’s twenty-four-year-old daughter. Elena stood hugging herself, her eyes red from crying. Tonight had been a nightmare for both of them.

  “Rhea, did you hear me? How will you get Nicci back?” When Rhea didn’t answer right away, Elena squeezed her shoulder. “You’re scaring me, Rhea. There’s a way to get him back, isn’t there? You’ll fight, right?”

  Fight Joey…

  Elena had no idea how ridiculous that statement was. She had no idea what lay hidden behind all the closed doors to the past. She had no idea the complexity of the situation, or the danger. But then, why would she? She’d been carefully sheltered from the secrets by layers of lies—twenty-four years of lies.

  “When I called to tell my father about Mom’s stroke, we had no idea that Nicci had been kidnapped. But he’s coming, Rhea. On his way right now. He’ll be here in a few hours. We’ll tell him what happened, and he’ll know what to do. He loves Nicci. You know that.”

  Yes, she knew that. Frank thought the world of Nicci. That wasn’t up for debate. What was, however, was how to defuse the time bomb that had started ticking the minute Joey had learned he had a son. And that’s what would be foremost on Frank’s mind when he learned Nicci had been taken by Joey.

  But how could she tell Elena any of that, without explaining the rest? Without telling her that her father, Frank Palazzo, resident of Key West, Florida, was also Frank Masado, a member of the famiglia in the Chicago-Italian mafia. And if she went that far to disclose his double identity, she would have to tell Elena all of it. She would have to confess that Frank was Nicci’s grandfather.

  Elena believed she was an only child. She had no idea that she was the half sister to Joey and Tomas Masado. She had no idea that her father had been previously married, or that he’d been juggling two separate lives with well-crafted scenarios and tightly woven lies to keep them all safe.

  When Frank had brought Rhea to Key West three years ago, he had told Elena that he’d hired a live-in nurse for Grace. And that’s how Rhea had been disguised—how the household at Santa Palazzo had come to accept her.

  Grace’s health over the years had gradually gotten worse, and she needed constant care. Rhea had been a nurse in Chicago for seven years. The situation had worked on all levels.

  “Talk to me, Rhea. What can I do to help?”

  “I don’t want your mother to know what’s happened. She’s too fragile. She needs bed rest and no excitement for at least forty-eight hours. And your father … when he learns what happened tonight he’ll know why I had to…”

  “Leave. You are, aren’t you.”

  “I can’t wait, Elena. I’ll go crazy waiting for your father to get here.”

  Elena reached out and tugged Rhea to the bed. Pulling her down to sit next to her, she said, “Mother would have died tonight if you hadn’t been here to help her. If you leave, she’ll have no one.”

  Rhea pushed her long blond bangs out of her eyes. “You’re wonderful with your mother, Elena. You are why your mother has survived all these years. You and your father. She’ll be fine until Frank comes. He’ll order a replacement nurse within twenty-four hours.”

  “Why can’t we just call the police and tell them that Nicci’s been kidnapped? Tell them that you know who did it, and—”

  “I can’t do that,” Rhea said quickly. “Nicci’s father is a powerful man in Chicago. When I left I didn’t tell him I was pregnant. I didn’t say where I was going, either. I just left. I had my reasons. Good reasons. But…”

  “I was always curious about Nicci’s father,” Elena admitted. “Is that where he gets his black hair and dark eyes? Does his father have black hair? You’re so fair, and Nicci’s so dark.”

  “Joey’s Sicilian. His family…” Rhea glanced at Elena’s dark hair, then her earthy brown eyes, “they all have black hair and dark eyes.”

  “Did you run away because he hurt you, Rhea? Was it Nicci’s father who gave you the scars?”

  Rhea saw Elena focus on the thin white line on her lower lip, then on the one that slipped into the corner of her left eye—the scar that had made her wear an eye patch for months. The scar that had nearly blinded her.

  “It wasn’t like that. Joey never hurt me.”

  Elena frowned. “Then, I don’t understand.”

  “I was in an accident.” Rhea shivered, remembering Stud’s angry eyes as he’d picked her up and hurled her through her bedroom window. Her ex-husband had claimed he hadn’t meant to hurt her, just to knock some sense into her. Elena didn’t need to know the sordid details of Rhea’s past, however, or the dangers that threatened her once she returned to Chicago. And likewise, Rhea didn’t want to dwell on her ex-husband … or Joey.

  Especially not Joey.

  There was no rational explanation for falling in love with him three years ago. It had been one of those crazy chance meetings at a time when she should have been too wary of any man to notice the black-haired Sicilian in the hospital corridor during one of her unscheduled late-night visits.

  At the time, she didn’t know what caught her attention first, the meticulous way he dressed or his shockingly deep voice. Later, she came to realize it was neither. What had drawn her to Joey Masado was the hidden tenderness in the depth of his dark eyes despite his poignant tough-guy image—a goodness and a fairness that defied reason, as well as rumor.

  “How soon are you leaving?”

  The thought of returning to Chi
cago scared Rhea. But she forced a weak smile. “As soon as I can book a flight. While I pack, will you call the airport? I need to get out of here before the storm hits and they start grounding planes.”

  And before Frank comes home and tries to stop me.

  “Will you come back?”

  “Yes. I’ll be back. With Nicci.” Rhea knew that it was the only way to defuse the time bomb—if she and Nicci returned to Santa Palazzo. How she was going to manage that wasn’t clear just yet, but she would focus on that once she had faced Joey and knew that Nicci was all right.

  Elena shoved her long black hair away from her face, and stood. “I’ll call the airport.” She headed for the door, then turned back. “I love you and Nicci. I know I’ve never told you that, Rhea. But it’s true. I can’t imagine either of you not in my life.”

  The uncertainty of the situation brought tears to Rhea’s eyes, and she came off the bed quickly. “I love you, too. I’ve always wanted a sister, and you’ve been that to me. Thank you for accepting me into your home, Elena.”

  “Oh, Rhea.” Suddenly Elena rushed back and threw herself into Rhea’s arms. “If you need me, I’m here. Don’t forget that. Don’t forget me.”

  * * *

  The drive to the airport was hampered by heavy rain. When Rhea boarded the plane it was in a downpour, the wind so savage that she was glad she had worn jeans and her brown suede jacket.

  When the plane was finally airborne, she pulled the silver cross from her pocket and stared down at it. Unbidden, the image of Joey, half naked, wearing the silver cross nestled against the black hair on his chest materialized, and with it a fierce longing that had her feeling anxious as well as frightened.

  Three years hadn’t dimmed his powerful image or the emotions that had kept the memories alive. If anything, the years had sharpened the picture in her mind’s eye, and strengthened her belief that for a brief moment in time she had experienced heaven on earth.

  It rained throughout the night. All the way through Florida and Georgia. Hours later, Rhea changed flights in Nashville, and as she watched the dawn of a new day from her seat among the clouds, a small private aircraft made its final descent onto a runway at Chicago‘s O’Hare International. And like the tough Sicilian heritage Niccolo Joseph Masado had been born into, the black-haired two-year-old boy asleep in his father’s arms never fussed or blinked an eye as his uncle Tomas landed the sleek white Cessna in a rush of speed, tires squealing on black tarmac.

  * * *

  As choices went, this one had been easy. There had been risks involved, but then, Joey Masado was used to taking risks. He was a suit-and-tie businessman, considered the best moneyman in Chicago. But tonight, unshaven, wearing jeans and a sweater, he’d been simply a father on a mission to claim what was rightfully his.

  Joey reached out and straightened the blanket that covered his sleeping son. He was smaller than he’d expected. He couldn’t help but worry about that. What if the boy was ill, or had been born sickly?

  When he’d learned he had a son—a son he hadn’t known existed until his brother had waltzed into his office three days ago and slapped the proof down on his desk—he hadn’t believed it was possible. But the proof was no longer just a glossy photo, a flat image of a black-haired little boy walking on the beach hand-in-hand with his mother. The boy was flesh and blood.

  His flesh and blood.

  If the boy’s mother had been anyone other than Rhea Williams, Joey would have refused to believe the child was his. He had always been careful when he’d climbed into a woman’s bed. He’d never lost his head or forgotten himself. That is, not until he’d laid eyes on the sexy blond with the sad blue eyes.

  No, Niccolo was definitely his son. He was as certain of that as he was of why Rhea had run away from Chicago three years ago. He had always thought she had vanished out of fear of her ex-husband. But now he knew that wasn’t the case. Pregnant with his child—a Masado child—she had run to escape him and what their son would surely become if she stayed.

  As hard as it was to accept, the proof was asleep in front of him—the proof of Rhea’s betrayal.

  “He looks just like the pictures of you hanging on the wall in the old house. I remember thinking that, the day I photographed him on the beach with Rhea.”

  “That’s what Jacky said, too. The picture, I mean.” Joey turned to his brother, who stood in the doorway leaning heavily into the jamb. “Jacky just left. But for the past hour, he’s been sitting here staring at Niccolo and shaking his head.”

  “The likeness is amazing,” Tomas agreed.

  Joey studied his brother. Tomas’s eyes were bloodshot, which meant his back pain was giving him hell again, which meant he’d been drinking to compensate. He hated to see his brother drinking so much. He’d survived a serious beating a few months earlier. Hospitalized, he’d lost a kidney in his fight to survive. He had been cheating death since he was fourteen, a streak that had earned Tomas the nickname Nine-Lives-Lucky. Eventually it had been shortened to just Lucky.

  Joey glanced back at Niccolo. “I never realized how small a two-year-old is. He looked bigger in the picture.”

  Lucky grinned. “He’s going to take some work. You up for that, or do you want to take him back, fratello? Have you changed your mind?”

  Joey admitted he didn’t know the first thing about raising his son, but the boy was his. That’s all he’d been thinking about for three days. And all he’d had on his mind when they had slipped into Santa Palazzo under the cover of darkness.

  His brother had told him in the plane that he would back him in whatever decision he made concerning Niccolo. He’d said, “I’ll be behind you or in front of you. Walking in the front door, or going in through a window. Two of the guards on the estate are mine. I put them in place before I flew back here. We should be able to enter the grounds without any trouble. Then again, if you want to make trouble, I brought along the lupara. Capiche?”

  They hadn’t used the sawed-off Italian shotgun. They’d gone in quietly through an open window off a balcony on the second floor. They were going in after his son, not to start a war. He hadn’t wanted to frighten Niccolo or endanger him by flying bullets.

  It had only taken a few minutes to locate his son’s bedroom. Rhea’s room, too, though he hadn’t found her inside. His window of opportunity had been tight. They had ten minutes max to get in and back out. That’s why he had left behind the cross on Rhea’s pillow. If she cared at all about their son, he knew the cross would bring her back to Chicago.

  “I need to hire a live-in nanny. Can you help me arrange some interviews tomorrow?”

  “I’ll get on it first thing. If we leave him alone, you think he’ll be all right? We need to talk.”

  Joey looked down at his son. “He’s finally sleeping, but he keeps asking for his bear.”

  “There’s a kids’ store in the lobby, I’ll see what I can find. Are you ready to listen to what I have to say?”

  “I was ready three days ago. You’re the one who wanted to wait until after Niccolo was here.”

  “I didn’t want what I had to tell you to interfere with what was most important.”

  “Meaning my decision to claim my son?”

  “He’s yours.” Lucky hung his scarred hand on his jeans-clad hip. “If I had a son, I would want him with me.”

  “I’m ready for whatever comes at me,” Joey told him. “I’ll fight the devil, or anyone else who tries to come between me and what is mine.”

  “He’s a good-looking boy, fratello. Worth fighting for. Come, let’s talk and make some plans.”

  Joey’s gaze went to his son. “I’ll leave the door open and the hall light on. If he wakes up in the dark and starts crying, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

  “Guess you’ll get your chance to play daddy. Rub his back and tell him a story.”

  Joey glanced at Lucky, then scowled when he saw his brother wearing an amused grin. “I don’t know any stories.”

  “Sur
e you do. Remember the one Vina used to tell us? The one about the purple badass dragon who turned out to be a nice guy?”

  Lavina Ward was their best friend’s mother. As young boys they’d spent countless hours with Jackson and Lavina Ward. They had adopted Vina as the mother they never had, and Jackson as the once-in-a-lifetime friend who hadn’t cared one bit what their name was, or what their father did for a living.

  Twenty-eight years later, nothing had changed. Lavina was still baking her boys apple pies and buying them birthday presents. And Jackson, recently promoted as head of the CPD Special Investigations Unit, was still their best friend.

  Joey tucked the blanket under his son’s chin, then followed his brother to the living room. When Lucky made a detour and slipped behind the bar, Joey said, “I thought you were going to give up the booze. Or, at least, back off a little.”

  “I’ve rethought that. The way I see it, what’s the difference if I get addicted to painkillers or scotch? You might need a stiff one yourself once you hear what I have to tell you.”

  Joey eased himself down on the red damask sofa that snaked around a massive Italian-marble coffee table.

  Forty-nine stories up, Joey’s penthouse covered the entire top floor of Masado Towers. The ceilings were eighteen-feet high, and the furniture was plush and oversize in shades of Italian bloodred and gold. The long bar was imported cherry wood. A collection of large mirrors surrounding it and throughout the apartment opened up the already extravagant space, as did the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked Grant Park and Lake Michigan.

  Like the living area, the kitchen was a sprawling wonder filled with the latest conveniences and a number of skylights. A breakfast nook to the left of the kitchen offered a view of the city at sunrise, and the elegant dining room that jutted outward like a glass egg to the right, allowed for a breathtaking sunset view and a spectacular skylight panorama after dark.

  When Lucky joined his brother, he brought Joey a glass of scotch and placed it on the coffee table. As he made himself comfortable on a gold tapestry chair, he said, “Trust me, you’re going to need that.”