Somebody's Angel (#5 in a Military Romance / BDSM Romance series) (Rescue Me) (16 page)

M
arc held Angelina’s hand as the elevator ascended to Mama’s office the next morning. Papa had answered the door last night and said Mama had gone to bed early with a headache. Must be going around, because Marc’s head had been pounding ever since the slideshow yesterday. After taking hours to fall asleep last night, he’d overslept this morning and missed finding Mama or Papa at the breakfast table.

Angelina squeezed his hand, and he turned toward her. Her smile helped ease some of his anxiety. “No matter what you find out, Marc, I’m going to be here.”

He nodded, hating that his moody ass was giving her unnecessary anxiety this morning. The gods had smiled on him when they’d brought her back into his life—twice now. With Angelina, he felt as if he’d found a safe haven at long last. He just hoped he wouldn’t do anything to fuck it up with her—again.

Why did he keep sabotaging his relationship with her?
Merda
, having Angelina with him this morning was a double-edged sword. She gave him a sense of calm he wouldn’t otherwise feel, but he didn’t want her to witness the drama about to unfold. He had no control over what would be revealed.

Angelina hadn’t left him for good—yet. So far, she’d always come back. Sometimes he wondered if he was trying to get her to leave him.

The elevator doors opened into the reception area. Evelyn Begali smiled from the glass-topped desk outside the door to Mama’s inner sanctum. “Marco, good to see you again!” Marc introduced Angelina to his mother’s long-time executive assistant, and the three chatted about inane topics as long as he figured he could stall.

“Mrs. D’Alessio is just finishing up with someone.” Evelyn cast a worried glance at the door to Mama’s office and then at Angelina before turning back to Marc. “She asked to see you alone.”

Angelina started to pull her hand away from his, but Marc refused to release her.

“We’ll
both
be meeting with Mama this morning.”

Angelina looked up at him. “Are you sure that’s best, Marc? I don’t mind waiting out here. This is a family matter.”

Marc leaned down and whispered in her ear. “I want you with me,
cara
.” He kissed her lightly on the cheek and, when he stood upright again, was relieved to see the sparkle in her eyes and the smile on her lips that had been absent so much lately. He hadn’t asked her just to make her happy, though. In truth, having her there was something he
needed
. For whatever reason, though, she seemed as nervous as he. Whatever he learned today could affect them both, not that he wanted to let it have that much control over him. He was a grown man and had been on his own since he’d joined the Navy.

Why did he dread finding out if he was adopted?

He was an adult. He had his family, the mountains, his friends, the club, and—best of all—Angelina. They provided him with the emotional stability he’d sought all his life.

Until last night. He’d lost control of his life in an instant.

At least he didn’t have to face the truth alone.

“You’re a fool! You knew the consequences!”

Mama’s voice came through the door, startling Marc. He’d never heard her lose her cool before and wondered whom she was meeting with.

Evelyn pressed a button on the remote lying on her desk before she stood, and Pavarotti’s exquisite tenor filled the air, blotting out the heated discussion emanating from Mama’s office. “What can I get you two to drink while you wait?”

“Nothing for me, thanks.” Marc turned to Angelina, who declined as well.

The door to the inner sanctum opened, and he turned as Melissa stomped out on her stilettos. The venom in her expression as she caught sight of Marc and then Angelina was lethal. To Angelina, she said, “I hope you know what you’re getting into with this family.”

Angelina tried to pull away from him, but he held her hand tightly as they watched Melissa storm out the door. The portal still open, Marc motioned for Angelina to precede him into the office. Mama stood at the window, staring out as a new flurry of snowflakes swirled to the ground far below. Her shoulders rose and fell sharply as she breathed, obviously still upset by her encounter with Melissa. He didn’t think Mama was one to even notice the beauty of the snow. For her, snow was green—more snow equals more skiers equals more revenue.

“Good morning, Mama.”

She didn’t face them.

“I hope you don’t mind me joining you, Mrs. D’Alessio.”

At the sound of Angelina’s voice, Mama did turn around. She didn’t seem pleased. Then he noticed her eyes were red-rimmed. Mama had been crying? He’d only seen her cry once before, while he was recovering in the hospital in Germany after being injured at Fallujah. What had Melissa said?

Marc squeezed Angelina’s hand. “I asked her to join us, Mama. Whatever we discuss affects her, too. She’s a part of my life now.”

Dio
, he loved his girl. He placed more trust in Angelina than he had in any other woman—ever. So why did he fall short of committing to her completely?
Merda
, he’d been close to proposing to her several times but never could. What kept holding him back? She’d become a part of his life but would never be a permanent part if he didn’t overcome his irrational fears and ask her to marry him.

He hoped that finding out what secret Mama had kept from him all these years would be one of the keys to unlock his inability to commit.

Mama motioned them to the seating area. “Please, both of you sit down.” After offering them refreshments from the pots on the coffee table, she took her seat across from them. They could have been in a business meeting, rather than having a family discussion.

“Where’s Papa?”

Mama averted her gaze. “He…had some errands to run.”

Mama fiddled with the napkin in her lap but didn’t advance the conversation. No doubt Mama knew what they were here to discuss, but he’d better make sure.

“Over New Year’s weekend, Melissa said some things that I wanted to ask you about.”

“Yes, I can imagine she did, based on the visits she paid to me later that weekend—and this morning.”

Concerned the gold-digger might still be causing trouble for his family, he cautioned, “Mama, you need to cut her out of your life. She’s looking for trouble and money, nothing more.”

“Do not worry. She no longer has any hold over me.”

No longer? What hold could Melissa ever have had, other than being Gino’s fiancée at one time long ago? Marc’s chest constricted, and Angelina reached out to stroke his thigh, reminding him to breathe.

“So what she said is true?”

Mama met his gaze at last. “What exactly did she say?”

Why did he get the feeling Mama wasn’t going to divulge any more information than she had to?

“She said Gino and I were adopted.”

She sighed before taking a sip of her tea. “It’s complicated.”

“We’ve got all day, Mama.”

She sloshed some of the tea onto the napkin in her lap as her hand shook. He’d seldom seen his mother in any state other than total control, except for the time in Germany and again a few minutes ago after the confrontation with Melissa. Numbness enveloped him as he began shutting down his emotions, preparing himself for the worst. He looked out the window to the mountains, wishing he could be out there now. Angelina’s hand stroking his arm kept him in the moment when all he wanted to do was escape.

Get a grip, man. Stay focused.

Steeling himself for whatever his mother was going to reveal, he turned his gaze back to her. Were he and Gino even brothers? How much of his life had been a lie?

Mama seemed a million miles away—or perhaps only as far away as the Lombardy region. Then, in a low voice, she began to tell her story.

“My younger sister, Emiliana, was my mama’s favorite.”

Marc had no difficulty commiserating with his mother about not being the favorite. He’d felt that way about Gino most of his life. Still did, in fact. He didn’t know much about Aunt Emiliana, other than she’d died young and that she was Mama’s half-sister. Gramps had gotten Marc’s grandmother pregnant during the Second World War while she nursed him back to health in the winter of the Apennine-Po Valley campaign. His Mama had found Gramps when Marc was about ten, prompting the D’Alessios’ move to Colorado.

During her early childhood in Italy, though, Mama had been raised by her mother and her grandmother, without the presence of a father figure, until Emiliana’s father came along a few years later.

Shit, his family tree already was complicated enough, but Marc had a feeling the story was going to make it even more so before he sorted it all out.

“Emiliana married Paolo Solari when she was twenty-one.” She made a face when saying the man’s name as if she’d just eaten something distasteful. “He was thirty and from a wealthy
Lombardia
family.”

So his aunt married well. Good for her. “What does that have to do with Gino and me?”

Mama didn’t try to hide her annoyance, piercing him with a glare. “I’m telling this story, Marco. It will become clear soon. Just listen.”

“
Scusa
. Please, continue.”

Mama placed her cup and saucer on the coffee table and sat back, once again avoiding his gaze. “I worked as a domestic in one of the mountain lodges Paolo’s family ran. I dated him a couple times before he met my sister.” Resentment. Sounded as if there must have been some kind of rivalry between the sisters for this Solari guy, not unlike Marc and Gino both lusting after Melissa.

Marc decided to keep his mouth shut and let Mama tell her story the way she wanted.

“Emiliana married Paolo.” Mama cleared her throat. “Not too long after, they had a little boy.”

She had his full attention again.
Gino?
Sounded as though Aunt Emiliana had been pregnant already when she married. Must be something in the water in Lombardy.

“Being tied down with a baby didn’t fit their busy young lifestyle.” Censure crept into her voice again. “They hired my best friend to be a nanny to their son.”

If she wouldn’t say, he needed to ask, even though he wasn’t supposed to interrupt. “Gino?”

Mama nodded but didn’t look up from playing with the edge of her napkin. Angelina stroked his arm, but he didn’t need comforting or grounding. He needed answers. Truth. He hung onto Mama’s every word, definitely in the moment now.

She brushed a tear from the corner of her eye with the back of her hand and continued in a whisper, “You were born three years later.”

Well, there he had it. He and Gino were the sons of two people he knew nothing about—the Solaris. His Aunt Emiliana—no, his
mother
—was dead, but what about his father?

“Is Paolo still living?”

Mama’s fingers stilled. Her nostrils flared, but she continued to stare at the floor and nodded. “He retired and now lives in Siena.”

“You’ve kept in touch?”

Her eyes opened wide, and she met his gaze at last.
“Mio Dio,
no!” The vehemence in her words took him by surprise. The man was her brother-in-law, but apparently there wasn’t any love lost between Mama and this Paolo Solari man.

But he was also Marc’s father.

“What happened to Emiliana?”

“She died young. A fast-growing cancer.”

His mother rarely spoke of her sister. Papa, the man Marc had considered his birth father and papa all these years, had only told him his Aunt Emiliana—no, his
mother
—had died tragically at a young age. Cancer? Marc always assumed it had been an accident of some kind.

Dio,
his head hurt trying to process all this incoming intel. Marc had seen photos of her before, including the ones in the slideshow yesterday, but had been told very little about the woman who had given him life.

Did Papa know all this? Clearly, he had to know he wasn’t the father of Gino or Marc, yet he’d never treated them differently than Carmella and Sandro. Papa was solitary and non-demonstrative with all of them, but he loved his family. Marc assumed Papa was Carmella and Sandro’s biological father, at least. Mama’s slip yesterday that they were celebrating their thirtieth anniversary made it sound as though they married before Sandro came along.

If the photo he’d seen of Mama and Papa in front of the church with Marc and Gino had been their wedding day, then they must have married when Marc was about three and Gino six. Had Papa chosen not to be a part of this discussion today because he wasn’t Marc’s birth father or because Mama kept him away?

Marc was finding more questions than answers here.

“Does he know about me?”

Mama nodded and glanced at her lap again. “He let Papa and me adopt you and Gino after Emiliana’s death.”

A tear splashed onto her hand, and she surreptitiously tried to wipe it on the napkin. Marc was halfway across the room before realizing he needed to offer comfort to the only woman he’d ever consider his mother. He sat beside her on the settee and put his arms around her, stroking her back.

Losing a sibling, compounded with survivor’s guilt, was something Marc understood all too well. That the two sisters had grown estranged before Emiliana’s untimely death only made it worse. Marc missed Gino every day, even though he’d been gone ten years now. The pain and guilt never went away. He regretted the precious time he had lost before Gino deployed for the first and only time.

Realizing Mama wasn’t getting any younger, Marc didn’t want another falling out between himself and any other members of his family. She was the only mother he’d ever known. Mama wrapped her arms around his waist and held on tightly. She hadn’t hugged him like this since she and Papa had shown up in his hospital room at Ramstein back in 2004.

“I never meant to hurt you, Marco. I thought I did the right thing.”

“Shhh. You did a great job raising Gino and me, Mama.” He patted her back, hoping she would stop crying. His mother had always been stoic and aloof. He didn’t like seeing this side of her knowing—in part—his insensitivity and questions had caused it.

“You’re my child as much as Alessandro and Carmella are.”

If not for her, he might not have had any mother at all. “Mama, no one else could ever be a better mother than you have been.” He realized as soon as the words came out that he truly meant them and wasn’t merely saying what she needed to hear. From what she’d said, Paolo wasn’t cut out to be a father. He and Gino had been lucky their then-aunt and uncle had taken them away from what their lives might have been like.