Sweet Revenge: The Martinez Marriage Revenge / The Italian Billionaire's Ruthless Revenge / The Kouros Marriage Revenge. JACQUELINE BAIRD
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What were the chances, when they resided on opposite sides of the world?
And why here, at a carnival camped on council park grounds in suburban Perth?
Did a heart stop beating? She was willing to swear hers did before it accelerated again into a maddened tattoo.
Recognition was clearly apparent, and with it the indisputable knowledge there could be no escape.
‘Shannay.’ There was an imperceptible pause as Sandro Martinez marshalled his expression into polite civility.
Her chin lifted as she held Marcello’s younger brother’s intently speculative gaze as it shifted to Nicki and lingered over-long, before returning to fix on her own.
‘Sandro.’ Cool, polite … she could do both. ‘Luisa,’ she acknowledged the young woman at his side.
She had to get away. Now.
‘Mummy?’
No. From the mouth of an innocent child came the one word which removed any element of doubt as to whom Nicki belonged.
Shannay saw Sandro’s mouth tighten into an uncompromising line. ‘Your daughter?’
Before she could offer a word, Nicki offered a solemnly voiced— ‘My name is Nicki, and I’m three.’
Oh, sweetheart, she almost groaned aloud. Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?
The silent accusation in Sandro’s dark eyes alarmed her, and she had no doubt had she been alone he’d have delivered a blistering no-holds-barred denunciation.
The Martinez familial ties were so strong Shannay knew there wasn’t a snowflake’s chance in hell that Sandro would remain silent.
She barely resisted the urge to gather Nicki into her arms and run, test the speed limit to the place she called home … and pack. Take a flight to the east coast and lose herself in another city.
‘If you’ll excuse me?’ she managed coolly. ‘We’re already late.’
Shannay tightened her hold on Nicki’s hand, then she turned away and forced herself to walk with controlled ease toward the exit, her back straight and her head held high.
Pride. She had it in spades. And she refused to take a backward glance as they were swallowed up by the crowd.
Could a stomach twist into a painful ball? It felt as if hers did, and the blood in her veins turned to ice as she clipped Nicki into her booster seat in the rear of her compact sedan.
‘We forgot the candyfloss.’
Oh, hell. ‘We’ll get some on the way home.’ The supermarket sold it in packets. She fired the engine and put the car in drive.
‘It won’t be the same,’ Nicki offered without rancour.
No, it wouldn’t. Oh, damn. Dammit, she cursed beneath her breath. If they hadn’t taken another turn on the merry-go-round …
But they had done. And it was too late for recriminations now.
Shannay headed towards her suburban apartment and went into automatic pilot as she bathed and changed Nicki, readied herself for work, then she handed her daughter into Anna’s care and drove to the pharmacy.
Somehow she managed to get through the evening, dispensing medications and offering advice to customers who sought it.
Concern, fear, dread … the palpable mix heightened her tension to almost breaking point, and by closing time she’d developed a doozy of a headache.
It was a relief to reach the sanctuary of her apartment, thank Anna, check on Nicki, then undress and slip into bed.
But not to sleep.
Estimating her estranged husband’s reaction on discovering she had a child … his child, didn’t bear thinking about.
Could she insist he wasn’t Nicki’s father?
A hollow laugh rose and died in her throat.
All Marcello had to do was insist on a DNA paternity test to shoot that one out of the water.
And afterwards?
A slight shiver shook her slender form.
Marcello was a ruthless strategist, possessed of sufficient power and wealth to dispense with anyone or anything that might stand in his path.
Shannay was the exception.
She’d make sure of it.
No one would be permitted to come between her and Nicki.
No one.
A resolve which remained uppermost when she woke next morning, and strengthened with each passing hour. Together with an increasing degree of nervous tension.
It wasn’t a matter of if, but when Marcello would make contact. Either in person, or via legal representation.
Marcello Martinez might not care about her. But a child, indisputably his child, would be another matter entirely.
Given Sandro could pinpoint her location, just how difficult would it be for someone of Marcello’s calibre to discover where she lived and worked?
A piece of cake, a silent voice assured in taunting response.
Knowledge which didn’t sit well. She barely ate and every waking hour was spent attempting to predict any possible scenario Marcello might choose to present.
The necessity to ensure Anna take every precaution while Nicki was in her care resulted in only one query.
‘Are you in trouble with the law?’
Oh, dear God. ‘No … no, of course not,’ Shannay reiterated.
‘That’s all I need to know.’
An apparently single mother and child … How difficult was it to do the maths and reach the conclusion of a looming custody battle?
‘Thanks,’ she expressed with genuine gratitude.
How long would it take Marcello to plan his strategy and put it into action?
A few days? A week?
Meantime, she needed to consult a lawyer to spell out her legal rights in fine detail. She was aware of the basics, and sufficiently astute to realise what appeared logical and rational didn’t always hold true.
She also intended to file for divorce.
Given she could prove a separation of more than the legal requirement, it should only be a matter of time before she gained a dissolution of the marriage.
Whereupon the only issue that could arise would be custody.
An icy chill invaded her body and settled in her bones.
Marcello couldn’t enforce custody of Nicki … surely?
What rights would he possibly have?
Shannay wrapped her arms tightly over her midriff, and barely prevented her body from shaking with very real fear.
Her soon-to-be ex-husband possessed the wealth and the power to surmount any objective he set out to achieve.
A silent scream echoed inside her brain.
If he decided he wanted Nicki, then he’d move heaven and earth to get her.
Over my dead body, Shannay resolved.
CHAPTER TWO
MARCELLO MARTINEZ moved through the international-terminal lounge with Carlo, his personal assistant and trusted bodyguard, at his side, seemingly unaware of the speculative interest in his tall, broad frame.
The Martinez legacy