Chapter 6
‘ Buongiorno, principessa .’ Marco smiled as Daniela entered the room. She sat down at the kitchen table, stealing a pastry from the plate on the table, the rich, warm smell of freshly made cappuccino drifting in the air. ‘How was the party?’
‘I had so much fun. Sofia’s mamma and pap à dressed up too, and they played music and we all danced, and I ate so many sweets!’
‘It sounds wonderful,’ Marco smiled.
‘It was. And how was yours?’
‘It was … as expected. Dull. I left early.’
‘No, I don’t believe you!’ Daniela exclaimed. ‘You weren’t here when I went to bed, and that was almost ten o’clock.’
‘Well, I didn’t come straight home,’ Marco confessed. ‘I walked around the city a little to soak up the atmosphere.’
‘Did you see the flotilla, and the fireworks?’
‘I might have done,’ Marco teased, the memories of the previous evening flitting through his mind.
‘Can I come with you next year?’ Daniela begged. ‘Or maybe we can go on Sunday to see the Flight of the Colombina,’ she continued, naming the famous spectacle where a mechanical dove ‘flew’ from St Mark’s Campanile.
‘I have to work this Sunday,’ Marco said apologetically, as Daniela’s face fell. ‘Perhaps Rosina can take you? We’ll go next year, I promise.’
‘Next year is ages away,’ Daniela shrugged, pouting, pouring herself a glass of milk.
Marco grinned at his daughter as he sipped his coffee. ‘Don’t sulk, principessa. Your face may get stuck that way.’
Daniela pulled an even sulkier face before they both burst out laughing. ‘You seem very happy this morning, Papà.’
Daniela was watching him as she took a bite of cornetto.
‘Do I?’ Marco asked.
‘Yes, you keep smiling but I don’t think you realize it. Oh!’ Something across the table caught Daniela’s attention and she stood up to reach for it. ‘What’s this?’ she asked, holding it up to the light where it sparkled. It was a beaded bracelet, in shimmering blue and silver.
‘It’s … something I found last night.’
‘Can I have it? It’s beautiful,’ Daniela said, slipping it onto her wrist and stretching out her arm to admire it.
‘You can look after it,’ Marco corrected her. ‘But we must try to give it back to the person who lost it.’
Daniela frowned, looking up at him. ‘Like Cinderella and her slipper?’
‘Yes,’ Marco laughed, thinking of the woman last night, and how she had seemed to melt into the crowd at midnight. ‘Just like that. Right, come along, my princess. Take it off now and leave it somewhere safe. Rosina will be here shortly, and I have to go to a boring meeting.’
Half an hour later, Marco strode into the offices of Elicotteri Conti. The company was based in the San Polo district of the city, the smallest and, in Marco’s opinion, most beautiful of all the sestieri. It was only a few minutes’ stroll from his apartment to the office, but during Carnevale Marco had to dodge the crowds of tourists, out and about in their costumes even first thing in the morning. Today, it was grey and misty, but that somehow added to the city’s magic.
‘ Buongiorno ,’ he called out to Francesca, the office manager. Marco was an amiable guy, well-liked by the team. The fact that he was good-looking and charismatic didn’t hurt either.
‘ Ciao, Marco. Nicol ò ’s just arrived,’ Francesca told him. ‘He’s waiting for you in the boardroom. Would you like a coffee?’
‘Thank you.’
‘Double espresso? I’ll bring it in.’
Marco walked into the boardroom, a glass-fronted office with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the Grand Canal. They were near the Rialto Bridge, and the ancient stone structure looked atmospheric as it emerged through the morning fog, a lone vaparetto chugging underneath. On the walls of the boardroom were pictures of helicopters with the distinctive Conti logo on the side, above shelves which held the plethora of industry awards they’d won.
Seated at the head of the polished walnut table was Nicol ò Conti, the head of the company. He was in his mid-sixties, with a full head of white hair, and a tanned face indicating he spent a lot of time outdoors. He was also Marco’s father-in-law, and Daniela’s grandfather – Marco had been married to Nicolò’s daughter, Stephana, until the terrible accident that had claimed her life three years ago.
On Nicolò’s right-hand side was his son, Edoardo – Marco’s brother-in-law. He had jet-black hair, like his sister and niece, and he wore it long, tied back in a ponytail, along with a neatly trimmed goatee beard and moustache. His eyes were dark brown, but whereas Stephana’s had been full of light and mischief, Edoardo’s were narrowed and suspicious.
Marco had already been a trained stuntman when he’d met Stephana on the set of an Italian TV crime drama. Originally from Rome, he followed Stephana to Venice, and work and love blended into one, as he gained his pilot’s licence and joined the family company once they were married – two years to the day since their first date. Marco swiftly made an impact on Elicotteri Conti, playing a crucial part in transforming it from a small, local business to a global firm that was the go-to choice for film companies around the world. Stunt work had always been his favourite part of the job: nothing could beat the adrenaline rush of leaping from a burning building, or piloting a speeding chopper through a dramatic explosion.
Marco had an excellent relationship with his father-in-law; he knew Nicolò respected his ability and his work ethic. Even after Stephana’s death, Nicolò and his wife Grazia had continued to make Marco feel he was still part of the family, and they adored Daniela, their only grandchild.
‘Marco, my boy,’ Nicolò beamed, as Marco strode into the room and took the seat on his father-in-law’s left-hand side. ‘How’s my favourite granddaughter this morning?’
‘She’s good. High as a kite after a Carnival party at her friend’s house last night.’
‘Carnival party? She’s growing up so fast.’
‘She certainly is.’
‘She looks more like Stephana every day.’
‘I know,’ Marco sighed, and a sombre mood fell over the room as they remembered what Stephana had been to them: wife, daughter, sister.
‘How was your Carnival party?’ Edoardo asked, breaking the silence. ‘Any useful contacts?’
‘A few … I spoke to Paola Favaro, the head of the tourist board; the Ca’Sagredo Hotel are eager to retain us as their preferred partner. But I didn’t stay too late in the end.’
‘I could have gone instead of you, if you couldn’t be bothered to stick it out,’ Edoardo snapped.
‘You’d have been welcome to. But I don’t think I missed any big opportunities. Do you remember Romano Rinaldi? He’s setting up a concierge service for the city, for high-net-worth individuals, CEOs, VIPs. We’ve arranged drinks next week – he’s keen to have us on board.’
‘Good job,’ Nicolò beamed. ‘You see, Edoardo, this is why Marco attends. Everyone must make the most of their skills, and Marco is a people person.’
Edoardo glowered beneath his dark brows, simmering at what his father was implying; that he should stay in the background, dealing with the mechanics, while Marco got to drink champagne and swan around the city.
‘So, what’s the point of this meeting?’ he snapped. ‘Why have you called us both here this morning, Papà? Half the fleet are due for servicing, and we’ve got back-to-back bookings during Carnevale .’
‘Don’t harass me, Edoardo. I might be an old man, but you can take the time to listen for once …’
Nicolò trailed off as Francesca entered, bringing coffee and biscotti for all of them.
‘Thank you, Francesca.’ Nicolò took a sip of his coffee and sat back in his chair, looking from side to side at both men. ‘I’ve been thinking about my retirement.’
Edoardo gasped. Marco didn’t react, but his eyes never left Nicolò’s face.
‘I’m not getting any younger,’ Nicolò shrugged, ‘And life is short. I’m getting to the stage where I don’t want to spend every day in the office. I want to be able to take my granddaughter to school in the mornings, to drop everything and take my wife on holiday—’
‘But …’ Edoardo began, but Nicolò held up a finger and Edoardo fell quiet.
‘I know that I have an exceptional team in the two of you. Marco, it’s no exaggeration to say that you’ve revitalized this company, taking us from strength to strength. Your piloting ability and stunt skills are, quite simply, some of the best in the entire world.’
‘Thank you, Nicolò. That means a lot,’ Marco said quietly.
‘And Edoardo, I know your passion for helicopters is second to none. You’ve been playing with the toy ones in your room since you were a child, taking them apart and rebuilding them, understanding everything about them. You’re the technical wizard who keeps everything up in the air.’
Edoardo couldn’t help but look smug, revelling in the rare praise from his father.
‘But I can’t deny that life has lost its sweetness since Stephana was taken from us.’ His head drooped and for a second he looked ten years older than he was. ‘I don’t know how long I have left on this earth, and God willing one day I will see Stephana in heaven but, until then, I want to make the most of the family I have left.’
He paused and eyed them both. ‘So, I’ve made my decision. I’m stepping down from the day-to-day running of Elicotteri Conti, effective as of today. I’ll still retain a controlling share of the company, but will act as a silent partner. Marco, you will become interim head of the company, the acting CEO.’
‘What?’ Edoardo burst out, jumping to his feet. ‘But that’s not fair.’
Nicolò looked furious at the interruption, once again holding up a finger to silence his son. ‘For now, Marco is best placed to take over. He has the experience and the ambition required. He is the one that has grown this business, and what’s fair ,’ he continued, quoting Edoardo, ‘is that his work is recognized and rewarded.’ Nicolò turned to Marco. ‘I haven’t asked you – are you willing to take on the responsibility?’
Marco blew out the air in his cheeks, looking from Nicolò’s questioning expression to Edoardo’s furious one. ‘It’s a surprise, Nicolò. I thought you’d continue for another decade at least,’ he smiled wryly. ‘But I’m honoured by your trust in me. You know I’m committed to this family and this company. I’ll do everything I can to take it to even greater success.’
‘Thank you, Marco. I knew I could rely on you. You’re like a son to me.’
Edoardo slammed his fist on the table, his face turning puce with rage. ‘But he’s not your son!’ he burst out. ‘ I am. I’m your own flesh and blood. And we all know that if it wasn’t for him then Stephana wouldn’t be d—’
‘That’s enough!’ Nicolò roared, cutting him off. ‘Say one more word and I’ll throw you out of this room and out of the company.’
Father and son stared at one another, both breathing hard, lips clenched tightly and foreheads furrowed in anger.
‘My decision is final,’ Nicolò continued. ‘If you can’t work under Marco, then you’re welcome to resign.’
Edoardo didn’t say a word, but his fists were clenched, his knuckles white, as he fought to bring his temper under control.
‘Fine,’ he spat, through clenched teeth. ‘Whatever you say, Father .’
‘Good,’ Nicolò retorted, getting to his feet. ‘Now, I’m taking my wife to Palermo for a few days. I’ll check in with you both next week.’
He walked out, leaving the two men alone in the room, the tension thicker than the Venetian fog.