Modern Romance March 2019 5-8. Dani Collins
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conversation, she decided, was getting a bit Twilight Zone. Was she meant to recognise him? Did he have some sort of celebrity status, a Hollywood A-lister she was meant to know? He certainly looked the part.
‘You mean you signed an alias—you’re not Mr Rocco?’
‘My name is Ivo Rocco Greco.’
There was a twenty-second time delay before she sat down with a bump, her eyes not leaving his face as she gripped the edge of the table, not even noticing when the tablecloth slipped and sent a jug of milk onto the stone floor.
‘Bruno’s little brother?’ she whispered hoarsely.
He blinked—no one had called him that in a long time—before tipping his dark head in a slow acknowledgement.
Denial lingered; it still wasn’t sinking in. ‘You...?’ she gasped, her voice breathy and faint as her eyes flickered over his lean muscle-toned six-foot-five frame.
He tipped his dark head for a second time in confirmation.
‘This is...why on earth didn’t you say so earlier?’ she exploded, then a moment later, struggling to channel calm, admitted, ‘This is just so weird. You’re not...’
She was looking embarrassed and anywhere but at him. ‘So, Bruno mentioned me?’ He felt another stab of fresh guilt. From the day he had decided his brother had deserted him Ivo had never spoken his brother’s name again.
She nodded, remembering the underlying protectiveness tinged by guilt in her brother-in-law’s face on the occasions he had mentioned his little brother, who it turned out was not at all little. She sighed and said a silent regretful goodbye to the Ivo who had lived in her imagination—a slender, sensitive geek who was the target of bullies.
‘I’m not what?’
The soft question brought her eyes up from the menu she was shredding; she dropped the pieces. ‘You’re...not much like Bruno.’
A good recovery that had the plus of being true.
Her sister’s husband had not been above average height, his build slim and wiry, good-looking but not in a jaw-dropping sort of way. Sami said she had fallen in love the moment Bruno smiled... Flora’s own smile was sad. Bruno had had a really great smile...and laugh... She fought her way through a wave of sadness.
‘You’re much...darker.’ She shook her head, a furrow appearing across the bridge of her nose. ‘I just don’t understand why all the secrecy.’ Wary suspicion interwoven with the first threads of anger began to emerge from the initial numbing shock that had pushed her brain into basic standby mode. ‘And why now?’
It wasn’t just that there hadn’t been a single member of Bruno’s family at the funeral, it was the fact that this brother that Bruno had spoken of with such fondness had never made any attempt to contact him over the years. Now he was here, and the question had to be, why?
Oh, hell, Flora, you’re being so slow...he’s here for Jamie!
IGNORING THE COLD clutch of fear in her stomach, she dealt him a cool, ‘over my dead body’ glare.
‘I thought I made it quite clear to your grandfather’s lawyer that I am not about to hand over Jamie. Or,’ she challenged, injecting her words with withering scorn, ‘are you going to tell me you being here has nothing to do with that at all?’
‘I am here on my own behalf.’
Not an exactly comforting statement when made by a man who looked a lot more ruthless than any legal letter—a man who seemed to have inherited the same lack of moral scruples that had been noticeable from her communications with his grandfather.
Her lips twisted into a bitter, contemptuous smile. ‘Oh, well, I suppose you could say better late than never. Still, Bruno had plenty of people who did care for him and love him to say goodbye—just no one called Greco.’
He responded with a shrug. His expression gave nothing away, certainly not guilt.
‘Why didn’t you just tell me who you were last night?’ she challenged in an accent thickened by the antagonism that shone in her sea-blue eyes. ‘You lied. And save me the semantics—lying by omission is still a lie!’ Arms folded across her chest, she lifted her chin and dared him with angry eyes to deny this.
He didn’t try, neither did he make any attempt to defend himself, which was a shame because she’d have loved to tell him what she thought about him. She might anyway, she brooded, glaring with dislike at the too-good-looking imposter.
Actually, he seemed content to let her talk, just as he had last night. And that turned out so well, Flora, she reminded herself. She had told him things because he was a stranger with no connection to her; she’d revealed weakness, her fears and guilty secrets—she was a bad mother.
Would those words cost her—cost Jamie? she wondered. By the time the feelings of vulnerability in her mind translated into words they were angry and directed at the person responsible for her feeling this way.
Flora had never been of the ‘don’t get mad, get even’ school of thought, she just got mad, though she liked to think it wasn’t any stereotypical red-headed short fuse. She reserved her ire for people who really deserved it.
And Ivo Greco did!
This brother was as bad as his grandfather who had sent her the vile letter via his lawyer. The cold, subtly threatening wording had stayed with her, as had the thoughts of the blood money he had wanted to throw her way.
Hands planted on the table, ignoring the pool of milk and shattered crockery around her feet, fingers clenched into white-knuckled fists, she glared at him, hating the fact that her body hummed with awareness when she looked at him.
‘Forget the bill, you’re family,’ she drawled. Turning away, she tossed her last words over her shoulder. ‘But we just closed for the season.’
‘I’d say you have another, what, two months before you close permanently.’
Shock froze her to the spot for a moment before, eyes flashing, she spun back, stamped up to the table and glared down at him.
‘It may not seem much to you!’ she charged, trying hard not to think of the Greco billions and the mountains that that much money could move. The wills it could find loopholes in. ‘This place is Jamie’s inheritance. I won’t let that happen.’
He nodded. ‘Good to know. Look, you’re annoyed—I get that!’
Her eyes flew wide; this man was unbelievable. Annoyed! ‘How incredibly reasonable of you,’ she gritted with teeth-clenching insincerity. ‘I’m not annoyed. I’m absolutely furious!’
And it suited her, he decided, allowing his eyes to linger a moment too long on her slightly parted pink lips.
‘And don’t tell me I’ve no right to be... Now,’ she added with an addition of dark understanding, ‘your prowling the house last night makes sense. Were you looking for ammunition to use against me in court? You may have money—’ she choked ‘—but I have right...’
His dark brows lifted, forging a dark bar above his nose as he cut across her in an amused scornful drawl. ‘You must be more naive than I thought if you think right always wins.’
She felt a chill run down her spine. ‘Is that a threat?’
He didn’t say a word, just held her eyes, the dark implacability in those still obsidian depths more threat than any words. Flora felt a shudder of visceral fear trace a cold path up her spine and fought against the panic she could feel building. She needed to stay calm and show him she wasn’t intimidated...even if she was!