Echoes of the Past: Heirs (Book 1)
CHAPTER 1
The girl placed her hand on her heart and began to run. “Gioachino, amore mio!” she gasped, collapsing into the young man’s chest as he stood in the middle of the dirt road, arms wide open. “I thought your father had found out and locked you in the basement. I thought I’d never see you again.”
“Mia cara Giulia,” Gioachino tucked a strand of long, coal-black hair behind the girl’s ear.
“I told you when we first made love, and I’ll tell you again and again: nothing and no one will ever separate us.
Not even my father.” His voice carried a mix of determination and resentment as he spoke the last few words.
“I… you’ll hate me and…” Giulia stopped, her dark-brown eyes brimming with tears. “I haven’t been feeling well lately, and I suspected why.” She inhaled sharply. “I went to see the midwife; she told me I’m with child. It’s too late to try anything now.” Her voice broke.
Gioachino’s eyes darkened. “Who said anything about the child being harmed? He is a Sforza, my son, my flesh and blood. No laws can change that, not even my heartless father’s will.
” The young man shook his head and sighed in defeat.
“Speaking of which, I was late because he told me we’ll have guests over the weekend—the Di Bianchi family.
He chose their daughter as my future wife. ”
For a few seconds, Giulia just stared at the man, unable to react, then protectively placed both hands on her belly.
“You’ll say yes, and you have every right to do so; your father is a powerful man, and you can’t stand against him.
I…I’ll leave the village as soon as I can and go to the mainland, where no one knows me.
I could find a job in one of the factories there, and… ”
“No, amore mio.” Gioachino cut his girlfriend short.
“I’ll marry whoever that cold-hearted man wants me to, and I’ll perform my marital duties because he threatened to disown me if the union doesn’t produce at least one child, but I’ll take good care of you and my son here.
” He caressed the barely visible baby bump. “I promise.”
Giulia smiled through tears. “You seem very sure we’ll have a son.
” The smile quickly faded, replaced by a gloomy look.
“Even if you’re right, your father and The Council won’t let you acknowledge him.
They can’t stop you from putting your name on the birth certificate, but they’ll shun you as if you had leprosy. ”
“My father won’t live forever, and neither will the members of The Council,” Gioachino replied, his voice harsher than he’d intended.
“Sooner rather than later, I hope, the soulless man whose commands I obey now, because I have no choice, will die, and I’ll follow him as the head of the Sforza family.
From that position, I’ll find a way to appoint our son as my successor, and until then, I’ll take good care of you and him. I promise.”
Like the uomo di onore he was, Gioachino, the only son and heir of Lorenzo, 13th Principe Sforza, kept his word.
He chose one of his most trusted and loyal men, Antonio Rocca, to marry his beloved Giulia, sealing the deal in secret with real estate and a large sum of money.
On the wedding day, the happy bride was also given the deeds to a house, a women’s clothing shop, and a small dressmaking factory.
The man knew better than to disrespect his wife or mistreat the son she had given birth to just six months after the wedding.
On the contrary, whenever the young boss visited, Antonio discreetly left so Signor Gioachino could spend a few hours with Giulia and the little boy, whose name, Umberto, was chosen by the heir of the Sforza house himself.
Many found it strange that the next in line to lead a powerful Old-World Mafia family showed affection for his lieutenant's son. This was mainly because the young man had a son of his own, born just months before little Umberto. The baby, named Giovanni after Don Lorenzo’s father, was his grandfather’s pride and joy and the bright spot in his mother’s otherwise bleak life.
Unfortunately for him, the head of the Sforza family didn’t live long enough to see his grandson grow up and become the leader his grandfather had envisioned.
A few days after Giovanni’s sixth birthday, Don Lorenzo’s car was ambushed by five vehicles on the old dirt road to the family’s countryside residence.
None of the four occupants—the boss, the chauffeur, and two guards—survived.
The identity of those behind the attack remained a mystery because the new, young Don was too grief-stricken and preoccupied to comfort the families of those who perished in the incident or to think about revenge.
He began investigating the events a few months later, at the urging of The Council of the Ten, but by then, whoever was responsible for his father’s death had covered their tracks and vanished into thin air.
Antonio Rocca was one of the guards who lost his life in the attack.
In a desperate attempt to save his boss’s life, he shielded him with his own body, but his heroic sacrifice was in vain.
His wife, Giulia, chose to live as a widow and devoted herself completely to raising her only son, Umberto, earning the respect of the small community she was part of.
No one was surprised or revolted that Gioachino, the new boss, kept visiting the woman, who lived an isolated, almost monastic life.
On the contrary, everyone praised him because only a few Mafia leaders had ever shown this level of gratitude to the families of those who had sacrificed their lives for them.
Years passed, and little Umberto, six when Antonio Rocca died, grew into a handsome, respectful, polite, intelligent, and very ambitious young man.
His mother’s heart swelled with affection every time she looked at him, and Don Gioachino was proud of his achievements.
The head of the Sforza family kept the first part of the promise he had made his lover all those years earlier, and he hoped to live long enough to keep the second half, too: finding a way to appoint Umberto as his successor.
*************
From the window of his office on the top floor of his media company's headquarters, Umberto Ronson admired the view.
Not the landscape itself, since the tycoon didn't waste his valuable time staring at the sky, trees, or flowers.
In his opinion, these pastimes were for losers, and he was not one of them.
What made Umberto Ronson gasp in awe each time he stood before the large window was how tiny and insignificant everything looked from up there.
He felt like a kind of god, overseeing the chaotic, ant-sized people on the street from above.
The thrill he felt every time he looked down was unmatched; no drugs he had tried could give him the same feeling, not even close.
Not that he couldn't conquer the world in his own way.
With an entire army of journalists at his beck and call, ready to dig up dirt, Ronson had compromising information on many famous people, from politicians and billionaires to religious leaders.
When he wanted something, it was enough to blackmail the right person, and the response was almost always cooperation.
When blackmail didn't work, Ronson turned to bribery to get what he needed.
He spent large sums of money catering to the pleasures and needs of those who could be useful to his plans at some point.
Lavish parties, trips to exotic, secluded islands where his guests could indulge in the most depraved pleasures of the flesh, and beautiful jewels—nothing was too much.
A satisfied smile on his face, the media tycoon relaxed into the chair, grabbed a folder from the neat pile on his desk, and opened it.
As he studied the columns of numbers, he shook his head and let out a huff, admitting to himself that Allegra, his eldest child and only daughter, was right: the small company they planned to buy, which included a TV station, a few local magazines, a newspaper, and a radio station, was a black hole.
Umberto sighed, a long, heavy sound, and ran a hand over his face.
Hiding his true origins from his children, especially from someone as intelligent, quick-thinking, fierce, witty, and strong-willed as Allegra, was a huge mistake—one of the few he made.
Postponing the moment of truth for so long didn’t help anyone; instead, all of them would now have to operate under pressure and make decisions as they went, at least to a certain extent.
“Sir, Missus Kendrick is here to see you,” the secretary’s voice pulled the man back from his thoughts. “Are you all right? It’s the third time I’ve told you she’s waiting,” she added, her tone slightly worried.
“Yes, I’m fine, thanks for your concern,” Umberto answered after a brief silence. “I was just thinking about my family and childhood. Call it an old man’s moment of nostalgia,” he smiled.
“You, old? That’s the biggest exaggeration I’ve ever heard,” a woman exclaimed as she entered the office and headed straight to the man seated in the leather wingback chair behind the desk.
“Hello, Papa,” she said, kissing him on the cheek, then turned to the secretary.
“Thank you, Kristen. You may leave unless, of course, Papa has other instructions for you.”
“No, that’s all for now,” Umberto nodded to the secretary. “However, please don’t go too far; I might need your help getting ready for that meeting in about an hour.”
“I don’t like this woman,” Allegra said, glancing toward the door and pressing her lips together. “She’s trying too hard to get under your skin by playing the card of the employee concerned about her employer’s well-being."
“Do you think so?” Umberto shrugged. “She’s very efficient, extremely discreet, and, above all, loyal, an essential quality in her line of work.”
“Whatever you say, Papa,” Allegra tried to hide the irritation her father's praise of his secretary stirred in her. “Why?” she asked, leaning forward.
“Well, I suppose you want to know why I stubbornly insist on buying that small venture I told you about,” Umberto said, relaxing into the chair and waiting for his daughter to continue.
“Let’s see: the TV station’s audience is mainly middle-aged people and seniors with Italian roots.
The magazines and newspapers’ content is boring and irrelevant.
Their online presence is almost nonexistent, and they’ve accumulated a mountain of debt over the years…
A financial disaster.” Allegra let out a long, almost dramatic sigh.
“Now, please, tell me a single reason why you want it part of Ronson Media Corp.”
“You answered that question yourself, right at the very beginning, when you tried to talk me out of it.” Umberto was amused by the puzzled look on his daughter’s face.
“It was when you described the TV and radio station audience,” he smiled mysteriously, then groaned.
“And just so you know, I hate this name.”
“What name? Ronson Media Corp?” Allegra frowned. “Do you want to change it? If so, how are you going to name the company?”
“Not the company’s name,” Umberto let out a long, heavy sigh. “Just... Ronson. I detested him from day one, but I had no choice. I always obeyed my father because it was my duty, and that time was no exception.”
“Papa, what are you talking about?” Allegra almost shouted. “Are you suggesting that the grandfather I never knew told you, or rather commanded you, to change your last name?”
“Yes.”