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And yet, once he got there, he couldn’t bring himself to seek out company for the night. He hadn’t for two months. Not since he had been with a tall, curly haired beauty. Just as he was about to call for Rachel, his PA—and a strong espresso—the door swung open and in she walked, holding a large manilla envelope.
‘Sorry to disturb, Emilio,’ she said. ‘A messenger dropped this off you.’
‘Did they say what it was?’
His PA shook her head. ‘No. Just that it was urgent.’
‘Thank you, Rachel.’
He watched her close the door before he opened it. When he pulled out the document, he stopped breathing.
The last will and testament of Valentina Adriana De Luca.
Just like that, the pressure in his chest that had slowly been easing over the past four weeks was back, like boulder making it hard to breathe. The will had been read months ago. Why was he receiving a copy now? He was already in the process of receiving everything that had belonged to his mother—everything apart from the vineyards, that was, because his father had ensured that even in death his mother obeyed him and leftthoseto Enzo. His heir, the favoured son. But Emilio didn’t want to think about his father. It would only leave him bitter and facing all that was wrong with him. All that wasn’t worthy.
He shook out the envelope in the hope there would be something to ease his confusion. A handwritten note fell out. He picked it up, a lump forming in his throat. He would recognise his mother’s handwriting anywhere. He read the note written in Italian and had to force himself to remain calm. To keep the grief that was back in full force from dragging him under.
‘I will always take care of you.’
Emilio remembered that last day when he’d sat by her bedside and tucked her in before she’d died. He would never forget it. He still had nightmares about it. The moment he’d lost the only person who had ever loved him. He remembered her saying those same words. She had wanted to say something else to him then, but he’d stopped her, and she’d never said another word again.
Was it about this? With a lump in his throat and his chest cracking open, Emilio turned the page and began reading the document. His eyes skimmed each line. So far, it was exactly the same…
Until it wasn’t. There was a difference—a monumental difference. All breath left Emilio and he slowly sank into his seat.
The vineyards had been left tohim. Not just the ones in Perlano that had been passed down for centuries, but also the ones in the other family estate in Piemonte: Vozzano. Vozzano had been started by his great grandfather at a time when Calabrians had been leaving the area in great numbers. It hadn’t mattered that the people of Perlano had ultimately been happy and had chosen to remain; the acquisition of Vozzano had been an opportunity to expand theconte’sportfolio to the north, ensuring the family wealth would increase in a time of uncertainty. And so another wine estate had been added, one which created some of the finest grappa in the world.
‘Mamma…’ he whispered in the dead quiet of his office.
He stared at the line, reading and re-reading it, as if by magic it would suddenly change. He wasn’t sure how long he had been looking at the will, but the faraway sound of a phone ringing made him realise that he was short on time. He had another meeting in minutes, but he would never be able to focus on it. Not after the bombshell that had been dropped into his hands.
He picked up his office phone. ‘Rachel, move my meeting.’ He hung up without waiting for her to confirm the instruction. He must have sounded robotic, but right now his body was on autopilot. His mind was stuck on what his mother had left him.
He picked the envelope back up, looking for the return address. He recognised the law firm. It wasn’t the one that handled all the business of the De Luca family but the firm that his mother had used for her own affairs. He had to call them. Two wills, two different sets of lawyers… Before he went any further, Emilio needed to know this wasn’t some sort of cruel joke.
It would be pretty late in the afternoon in Italy, but this was urgent, and he needed answers. Luckily for him, his mother’s lawyer had never turned away his call.
‘I wondered when I would hear from you, Emilio,’ he said by way of greeting.
‘Is this will real?’ Emilio asked, cutting to the chase.
‘Yes. Your mother instructed us to wait four months before sending it to you.’
‘Why?’ It surprised Emilio how steady he sounded when his throat had gone dry and his heart wouldn’t stop pounding in his chest. His mother was dead and buried but the arrival of this will made it feel as if, through some sort of miracle, his mother would appear. As if she was suddenly back in the room with him.
‘She said she had her reasons,’ the lawyer answered. ‘Listen, Emilio, we have a little bit of time but not much. Probate must happen within the year, so we need to move quickly.’
‘I hear you. I will be in touch.’ Emilio ended the call, tossed his phone onto a stack of papers and ran his fingers through his hair.
The vineyards.They had meant everything to his mother. As a young boy in Perlano, Emilio would beg his tutors for a break just so he could run down to the vineyards and help her tend to the grapes, despite the legions of workers they had. Emilio was certain he’d been more of a hindrance than a help, but his mother would smile down at him and praise his hard work.
An ache formed in his chest, so intense that it had him gasping for air. He missed her gentle yet fierce love for him, for the vineyards. Everyone knew just how much she had loved them. Just as everyone knew that their father’s condition in giving them to her was that upon her death they would go to Enzo, so theconte’s estate would be whole once more, as it was meant to have been through centuries of tradition. Legacy.
Those grapes were precious—not just to the family but to his mother. Of course Emilio wanted them. He wanted to hold onto any part of his mother he could. And the fact that his mother had chosen him over Enzo to trust with something so precious…
A smile formed on his face. It was a balm over the shattered, scarred parts of his soul from his father’s rejection and his brother’s indifference. His brother, who would be expecting to have the business with the vineyards settled soon. Emilio ought to call him, let him know of this development. But, even as his thumb hovered over his brother’s contact in his phone, he stopped himself.
He and Enzo did not call each other. They didn’t speak of anything private. They barely talked at all. Work was the only reason they kept in contact and even that was seldom. They avoided each other as much as they could help it. The only option he had was to go through the family lawyers.