Baby By Accident: International Billionaires III: The Italians by Caro LaFever Page B

lose her home and Lise would lose her memories. Bittersweet though they may be, they were her memories and precious.
    “I hate you,” she whispered.
    “I don’t think I need to spell anything else out, do I?” Ignoring her words, he continued to methodically mow her down. “A DNA test, Princesse . I want the results on my desk by next Monday.”
    “Don’t call me that nickname.” Her objection to such a slight issue was laughable, but it was the only thing she could think to say. Her arguing was futile now and yet, she couldn’t stop trying. “No—”
    “ Si .” Prowling over to her, he gave her a grim smile.
    Her breath chopped in her throat. What could she say? What weapon could she use to stave off this attack? There was none. Her arsenal was empty. Once more, this man had won. Conquered and dominated her until she was forced to submit. The knowledge ate at her, spilled acid into her belly where her child, his child lay.
    The nausea flood through her body, washing away thought and will, swamping her.
    “One more thing,” he said, his voice low and blunt.
    She lifted her chin, met his gaze despite knowing she’d lost.
    “No abortion.” His gaze was savage. “Not until I know it’s not mine.”
    The last cut sliced through her like a cruel slash. He thought…he thought she would actually kill her baby? He thought so badly of her he would accuse her of this?
    Lise swayed, bile billowing in her throat. A dark haze blurred the edges of her sight and she heard his muffled voice as she fell into his arms and blacked out.
    Fainting once more into Vico Mattare’s grasp.

Chapter 8
    H e was going to be a father.
    Vico stared at the report. The one she’d forward by email earlier this morning.
    With no comment.
    How he hated her. The woman who lied to him once again. The woman who would have callously deprived him of his baby. His rightful place. Because she thought him unworthy.
    You are unworthy .
    The thought gutted him as always. However, there was no choice any longer. All choice had been taken away from him at the moment of conception. A conception he’d willingly, if stupidly, participated in. A pregnancy he was responsible for.
    The trick. The temptation.
    And now, the trap.
    One he’d sprung on himself when he’d succumbed to his worst nature and brought her home to his bed. He had no one else to blame other than himself.
    Except he did. He blamed her.
    He blamed her for the pearl sheen of her skin. He blamed her for the strands of gold and white in her hair that caught the light in every room she entered. And he blamed her for the way she moved, elegance mixed with sex.
    A lady masking a siren.
    Restless, he stood and paced to his office window. None of this blame or hate mattered. What mattered was the baby. The time for freedom and choice was over. He’d thought he’d have more time to figure things out, figure himself out. He’d thought he’d have more time to come to peace with his past. He’d hoped someday he’d forgive himself and move on.
    This will never happen.
    He’d known it, deep in what was left of his worthless soul. There was no way back to redemption. A million more euros or dollars or pounds could be spent on his charity for boys in trouble. A thousand more useless prayers could be spoken as he lay in the darkness of his bedroom. A hundred more times his family could forgive him, his friend’s family could tell him what happened was not his fault. But he’d known. There was nothing he could do to make it right.
    How could he reasonably expose a child to a man like himself? His recklessness, his carelessness, his sin. Vico strode back to his computer and stared at the report once more and laughed softly.
    Fate had other ideas.
    How ironic to the extreme that one more of his impetuous decisions would throw him back into a hell he’d tried to climb out of for fifteen years. He’d been so good for so long. Had curbed his impulses, made restitution, did everything right.