PROLOGUE
PROLOGUE
A NEW YEAR .
Professionally, Dante Casadio had no resolutions.
He was at the top of his game.
And while the skies might be raining sleet, in the boardroom of a top Milan legal firm people were loosening ties and sipping water as things heated up.
Dante’s silk tie remained beautifully knotted, his glass untouched.
It was the end of the second week after the Christmas break—and apart from a brief trip to Lucca he had been in his office most days.
The New Year had started as the last had ended—with his exceptionally famous client insisting, ‘She can’t do this!’
‘Nobody is doing anything,’ Dante responded in rich Italian. ‘It’s an extremely reasonable offer.’
‘We’ll let the judge decide.’
Vincenzo, his senior paralegal, cast Dante a worried glance.
‘I mean it,’ the client insisted. ‘I’ll see her in court!’ he continued angrily, but Dante said nothing.
Emotional outbursts didn’t faze him.
In any capacity.
Be it at work with an overwrought client, or at decadent play with a beautiful lover, his impenetrable barrier was maintained.
Always.
If anything, he found such displays mildly interesting. Possibly because he allowed for so few emotions of his own.
Certainly he never shared how he was feeling with another.
The client, though, was more than ready to share his!
And, rather loudly, he did.
Dante’s haughty face remained impassive throughout the rant, and finally he was winding up.
‘No, absolutely not!’ the client concluded. ‘She’s not getting her hands on the chalet in Switzerland. Hell, she doesn’t even ski.’
Still Dante said nothing.
‘I can’t believe you’re charging me for this so-called advice...’ He sneered and tossed the file towards Dante. ‘I thought I was hiring the best in Italy.’
There were many people sitting in the boardroom.
The best of the best.
Attorneys, paralegals, a psychologist, his client’s PR, as well as his assistant... This eleventh-hour meeting was well attended, by the best of the best, and yet a year on they were getting precisely nowhere.
Dante was rarely wrong—but his client was not concluding his rant. He was escalating.
‘I made one mistake!’ he shouted. ‘One!’
As a colleague tried to defuse the situation with calming words, Dante resisted rolling his eyes.
One mistake?
Please...
As a very sought-after and rather infamous family law attorney, Dante was cynical to the extreme—and he didn’t believe a word anyone said. Whether directly, or by omission, Dante knew full well that everyone lied.
Himself included.
But more to the point...
‘It’s irrelevant,’ he said.
His measured, sparse words only further incensed the client, and a vein bulged on his forehead as he refused to accept the fact Dante had calmly delivered—even if his client had strayed, in Italy it was no-fault divorce.
‘Legally, your extramarital affair is irrelevant.’
In the heightened emotional world of family law Dante’s stony logic was invaluable, and that was why, despite his enormous fees, he was incredibly sought after.
He was not, though, famed for hand-holding.
Dante left that to others.
‘You’ve hired me to deal with financial, property and succession matters. That I can do. However, if you feel you need more time with the practice psychologist...’
‘I don’t need to see a damn psychologist. I need to speak with my wife.’
‘That’s the last thing you should do,’ Dante warned him sharply. ‘The very last thing. Do not contact your soon-to-be ex -wife.’
His client sucked in his breath at this reminder of the status of his marriage. ‘You’re a cold bastard, Casadio.’
Indeed, he was.
As his client thumped the gleaming table Dante Casadio did not flinch.
Vincenzo, his paralegal, was startled, though, and a couple of the other attorneys sat up straighter, perhaps wondering how they would deal with things if this exceptionally high-profile client completely lost his temper.
Rather than clearing the office of staff, or warning the client to calm down, Dante stood up to his well over six-foot height.
There were no signs of confrontation in his stance.
He didn’t so much as look at his client.
Nor did he stalk out.
Instead, he picked up the paperwork that was so angrily being discussed and took a moment to ensure it was in the correct order.
Dante liked order.
His suits were handmade here in Milan. His shoes also. His shirts and ties were from a little further afield—Paris. He liked the cut of a Charvet shirt and remained loyal to them. His thick black hair was trimmed weekly, he shaved daily—even at weekends—and if he was attending a function, as he often did, he shaved twice.
After tapping the paperwork several times on the desk, to ensure it was neatly aligned, he placed it in the rich navy folder.
A tense silence filled the boardroom. All awaited his response, perhaps wondering if he was going to excuse himself from the case...
Of course not.
Dante was more than used to this.
‘We shall speak in my office,’ he said, and with the file in hand walked to the exit. As he reached the door, he added, ‘Immediately.’
He was over the drama—and, as well as that, he had an unexpected phone call to make.
Prior to this meeting Antonia, his PA, had informed him that Sev, his older brother, had called and asked that Dante call him as soon as was convenient.
He and his brother weren’t speaking, and the fact that it wasn’t Helene, Sev’s own PA, who had called had been of instant concern.
‘An emergency?’ Dante had checked, concerned that something had happened to Gio, their grandfather.
‘No.’ Antonia had shaken her head. ‘But he asked that you call him back today, if possible...’
And he would—just as soon as he had a moment.
Walking into his office, Dante truly wondered how people could be so attached to things that would surely cause nothing but pain.
Aside from a small envelope in his office safe there was nothing he would miss.
Actually, it would be a relief if even that was taken.
Dante had no photos on his desk or shelves, no mementoes. It was the same at his luxurious Milan penthouse, and at his stunning property in Lucca.
Once he had considered the gorgeous Tuscan town home. Now it was a place he avoided until it became...
Unavoidable.
Like at Christmas, or anniversaries.
Why would anyone want constant reminders of anything? Dante thought.
He certainly didn’t.
Although he hadn’t always been this dispassionate—quite the contrary... As a child he’d been the wild, cheeky one, his charm undeniable, his smile melting hearts...
More so as a teenager and young man.
That smile had won him better favours by then. He’d adored sex and had been passionate lover. A faithful one too—at least for the brief time any tryst had lasted. For he adored women and made it very clear it was just sex...
Good sex.
And lots of it.
With a side serving of charm.
But those days were long gone.
His parents were dead, and he and his brother’s once close relationship was severed.
He didn’t want to think about happier times, let alone feel.
And so he didn’t.
His relationships were now deliberately remote and brief. He trusted no one and his career was his sole focus.
Dante, despite his client’s current anger, knew that come next Christmas there would be champagne delivered from him and he’d be recommending Dante to colleagues and friends.
Not now, though.
His client stormed in through the door and slammed it closed.
Dante remained seated.
Somehow, despite the status of his client, Dante remained the absolute authority.
Ice versus fire.
And when it came to Dante Casadio ice always won.
Nothing could melt him; his angry client was like a blow torch against a vast glacier...
His client attempted to start where he’d left off, perhaps not understanding that he was in Dante’s office now. ‘I mean it. She’s not getting—’
‘Enough!’
Dante called for him to be silent and as the incensed client—angry, offended—met Dante’s gaze, no doubt about to remind his attorney of just who he was talking to, the tirade was abruptly halted. There was something in Dante’s brown eyes that could, when they so chose, halt an army.
‘Take a seat.’ Dante gestured to the chair in front of his desk and waited until he had done so. ‘If you thump my desk, I shall ask you to leave. If you thump me, I shall see you in criminal court.’
‘I just—’
‘I’ve heard enough,’ Dante interrupted. He pushed the neat file towards him and stood. ‘We can speak again once you have read the proposed settlement in its entirety.’
He walked to the window, staring at the impressive structure of Milan’s cathedral.
The documents would take some time to go through, but Dante was used to that.
His intention had never been to specialise in family law, but then, Dante had never lived his life as others intended.
Sev had.
Or rather, he had tried to for a while.
What did his brother want?
God, he hoped Gio was okay.
His grandfather, Gio Casadio, was the only warm place left in Dante’s heart—even if he didn’t see him that often. He was the only reason he kept a property in Lucca, and his sole reason for returning home.
Even if it killed him to do so.
Dante hated going back...
Their parents had assumed that both the Casadio sons would want to continue on with the lucrative family business in Lucca—a vast winery in the Tuscan hillsides. Yet no one had glimpsed what lay ahead.
At eighteen, when he’d first moved to Milan to study law, Dante’s intention had been to focus on corporate law. Sev, the older of the two, had focussed on the hotel industry. Their parents—their father especially—had assumed that their combined skills would progress the business.
Their father had been good at assuming.
No one could have predicted that the once close brothers would fall out on the eve of Sev’s wedding.
That Dante, the best man, would be wearing a row of stitches and a black eye almost as dark as his bespoke suit.
Or that the groom’s fingers would be too swollen from throwing punches to get his wedding band on.
Not even the sudden and tragic death of their parents and Sev’s wife Rosa in a helicopter crash had reunited them.
If anything, the tragedy had driven the brothers further apart.
Oh, they communicated—generally through their personal assistants—on matters such as the winery, or their grandfather’s vast property in Lucca, or his well-being.
The brothers themselves spoke rarely and on a needed basis only.
What did Sev want?
It was then that his client spoke. ‘I miss her.’
Dante said nothing, but felt a rare surge of sympathy for his client.
‘How we were...’
For a brief second Dante closed his eyes and saw himself and Sev, two little boys running through the vines at home, or playing on the gorgeous walls of Lucca that surrounded the medieval town. They had been so close and, yes, he silently acknowledged, he missed being a brother...
‘Listen...’ His voice was husky, and he cleared his throat as he snapped his sharp mind back to work. ‘Listen to me,’ he said in more measured tones as he turned from the window and retook his seat. ‘Time is not on your side. Unless you can reach agreement, six weeks from now we go to court and the judge decides. Now.’ He put up a hand to stop his client from speaking. ‘I don’t need to hear about regrets and mistakes or that you miss her. Not in this office. I sort out the finances, the divisions of property, the legalities. I have worked extensively with your wife’s attorneys, and this is more than a fair deal. If it goes to litigation, while I shall of course do my best to represent your interests, I don’t believe the judge will award you anything close to this.’ He gestured to the folder. ‘Combine that with my fees and you’ll be looking at losing a lot more than a chalet in Switzerland.’
‘I’ve already lost.’ His client buried his face in his hands. ‘What do I do if I still love her?’
Dante was the last person to offer relationship advice.
‘Wrong office,’ he said, albeit kindly. He would not kick a man when down.
‘Please...’ His client looked up. ‘Tell me...’
‘I’ve never had a successful relationship nor do I want one.’
‘Dante...?’
While he would never offer relationship advice, on occasions such as this, when he was invited to...
‘Some mistakes you cannot come back from.’
‘It was just once...’
Dante was about to conclude the conversation, but his client was being honest now.
‘It was more than once. And I regret my indiscretions more than you could know.’
‘Believe me,’ Dante corrected with a grim smile. ‘I do know.’
‘What can I do? Please, just...’
‘Okay,’ Dante said, and then sat for a moment in silence, considering not an ex-lover, but the loss of his brother. ‘Even if hurts, you have to try to let the other go with dignity and grace.’
‘What if I can’t?’
‘Then it ends in court.’
Before his client left his office, Dante offered his hand, as well as one last word of advice. ‘Do not contact your wife.’
Alone, Dante made his call.
‘Hello?’ Sev said.
‘You asked me to call?’
‘Yes, hold on.’
Sev got rid of whoever was with him and switched to video call. Dante stared, unsmiling, into his phone at a slightly older version of himself.
There were differences. Sev’s eyes were grey, whereas Dante’s were a deep brown, and Dante had a scar through his left eyebrow. And, though their hair was the same thick glossy black, Sev wore his a little longer. Both were tall and broad, and had similar features—strong jaws and straight roman noses. They were clearly cut from the same cloth.
Once Sev had been the more solemn of the two, although now they almost shared that podium...
‘How’s Dubai?’ Dante asked, hating the polite small talk, but attempting to take the dignified route he had suggested to his client.
‘Hot,’ Sev said, perhaps hating the forced conversation too. ‘How are things in Milan?’
‘Cold.’
‘Just a couple of things to discuss,’ Sev said. ‘Helene mentioned that you haven’t RSVP’d regarding the ball. I can’t attend this year.’
‘Well, I shan’t be going,’ Dante responded.
He attended many events representing their grandfather’s winery, but the spring ball in Lucca was one he avoided.
‘It’s important to Gio. We’re the main sponsors.’
‘We?’ Dante provoked. ‘I’m not an owner, and neither are you.’
‘Dante...’ Sev said, in a wry use of his name. Technically their grandfather was the owner, but the brothers dealt with the management of it, and both knew it would eventually pass to them. Hopefully not too soon. ‘Have you been able to visit the winery lately?’
Dante stared back at his brother. He loathed going back to Lucca—especially to the winery. He could still see the wreckage in the hills every time he visited.
‘No,’ he said finally, and, even though they were not talking, he knew it was in moments like this that he wanted conversation. To ask his brother if he shared the same visions, if the nightmare of that day was all he could see whenever he returned home. ‘I find it—’
‘Inconvenient?’ Sev snapped. ‘We all know you’re busy, Dante. So, when will you be back?’
‘I don’t know,’ Dante said, knowing that Sev was now getting to the real reason for this rare call. ‘In a couple of weeks, maybe. Why?’
‘I called Gio yesterday...unexpectedly.’
Neither brother called him Nonno—and not just because it didn’t work well in business matters. Dante, back when he’d had a heart, had been the cheekier of the two and had started to call him by his name. He had been unable to understand why he got told off when he did.
‘But he is Gio...’ he’d said, and hugged his nonno so fiercely and called him by his name with such love that it had stuck.
‘He seemed a bit vague,’ said Sev.
‘As do you,’ Dante pointed out, for usually their conversations were more specific. ‘He struggles with his new phone; though I tried to show him how it worked at Christmas.’
‘How was he then?’
‘Just Gio being Gio,’ Dante said. ‘A bit...’ He turned his mind back a couple of weeks. ‘A bit morose, maybe? He was talking about...’ He hesitated, loath to mention the date the brothers hated most. The one time in the year when they were forced together. ‘He wanted to start making plans for the ten-year memorial. I told him it was months away. He certainly wasn’t vague then.’
Dante’s frown deepened as his brother spoke again. ‘He was alone. Apparently the domestic staff are off for a couple of extra weeks.’
‘Mimi’s there, though?’ Dante checked, because even if most of the household staff were on leave Mimi, his grandfather’s housekeeper, would be there.
‘I’m not so sure,’ Sev said. ‘Dante, he was in his robe and still unshaven at midday.’
‘Gio?’ Dante shook his head. ‘Perhaps he was—’
‘I took a screenshot,’ Sev said.
‘Okay.’
Dante gave the one-word response as he looked at the photo. And Sev, even if they weren’t talking, knew his ways. He stayed silent and let Dante think...
His grandfather was a very formal man. Always up with the birds and immaculately dressed for his morning stroll along the walls. This shot of him unshaven and in a robe meant something was wrong.
Still silent, Dante glanced at Sev. For a brief second he felt his brother’s eyes on the scar that ran through his eyebrow. The scar Sev had put there. He watched as Sev hastily pulled his eyes back to meet his brother’s gaze.
They never discussed that time.
‘Delete that photo,’ Sev warned. ‘I’ll do the same.’
‘I’ll go and see him,’ Dante told his brother. ‘I’ll just arrive unannounced.’
‘When?’
He knew he had a packed schedule, and a date tonight, yet he had to think hard to remember her name and none of it really mattered, Dante realised.
‘Now.’
‘It’s just a hunch,’ said Sev. ‘I’m not asking you to drop everything.’
‘It’s Gio,’ Dante responded.
‘Yes...’
‘Hopefully it’s nothing,’ Dante said. ‘I’ll let you know when I’ve seen him.’
‘Thanks.’
There were no goodbyes.
From either of them.
Sev rang off and Dante sat in silence, staring at the image of his grandfather, who seemed to have aged a decade in the past couple of weeks.
He cancelled his date.
Actually, he ended his association with her there and then.
Nothing mattered other than Gio.
He buzzed his PA.
‘Change of schedule,’ he told Antonia. ‘I need to be in Lucca tonight.’