“I understand this is difficult,” Winola said kindly. “Perhaps I could assist you? I’m sure there are people who will need to be informed. Once you’re here, I can make some calls for you, if you like.”
As the other woman’s generosity penetrated, Mira knew she couldn’t leave poor Winola to handle this. What a horrible thing for her to confront when she had only thought she was coming to dust and wash up the dishes.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Mira said.
For the first time since her return to Berlin, her brain began to sluggishly function. She thought to call Axel. He was equally shocked, but he promised to inform Otto’s lawyer, Umberto.
Mira moved into her bedroom to shower and dress, pity party over.
Rocco was at work when he got the news.
He was always at work these days. He hated going home. The penthouse was too quiet. Too clean. Mira’s books and hair clips were no longer littered around the living room. The blanket she used on the terrace in the evenings hadn’t moved from the arm of the chair. Her toothbrush was no longer next to his in the holder.
He had thought about sending her belongings to her, but the way she had left told him she would hate him even more if he did. Instead, Florenza had moved everything into the guest room. The box of trinkets from the villa was also there and he was as aware of them as he would be if she slept there. He felt her absence like a presence. Like a phantom limb.
“She left me because I kept your secret,” he had told Silvio after she drove away from the villa. “She is hurt beyond measure. You made me an accomplice to that and I’ll never forgive you for it.” He had ended the call before Silvio could even try to defend himself.
They’d never had such a lengthy or impassable disagreement between them. It bothered Rocco, feeling very final, but whatever animosity Silvio might feel over all of this, Rocco felt more.
He would forever blame Silvio for costing him Mira.
And yet, she wouldn’t exist if not for Silvio and his one-time affair. It was a paradox.
So he came to work to distract himself, but lacked the compulsive drive he used to possess. He didn’t see any point. When he had first begged for a job, he’d been trying to get back to his aunt. After she passed, he’d been trying to survive, then Silvio had lifted him up. Rocco had wanted to do well for his friend, out of appreciation for his belief in him.
Now, work was simply the thing he did to fill his day. Even his desire to get back at Otto by poaching all his clients had lost its appeal. He wanted to protect Mira from the man, so he continued his assaults, but there was no satisfaction in it.
Short of supervising the work at Mira’s villa, he had little interest in even reading a text. Mira had stopped answering Patrizia’s calls and texts so he’d taken over with that project, deluding himself into believing Mira would be happy with the result, when, far more likely, she would sell the villa to a stranger purely to spite him.
How could he win her back? Two weeks without her had him feeling like a castaway, hungry and thirsty, drowning in waves of self-recrimination. His problem-solving brain had arrived at a mountain of granite that couldn’t be removed or tunneled through or blasted out of his way. He was suffocating. Aching with loss.
This was worse than when he’d been taken from his aunt. At least his aunt had wanted to see him. Mira had cut him out of her life with deliberation and finality.
When his phone began blowing up with messages telling him that Otto Braun was dead, it was the strangest punch. His thoughts leaped to Mira, of course, not that they ever left her. He had promised to protect her from Otto and now she would never again need him to do that.
What did this mean for his attacks on Vorstoben, though? After Axel had married Otto’s biological daughter, he had begun pulling his own supports. Vorstoben was at a delicate stage. This was the best time for Rocco to press his advantage, but he had to wonder what would be the point? Who would take over now that Otto was gone?
Did he even care? His only concern was how all of this affected Mira. Would the weight of making arrangements for Otto’s service land on her? Was she supposed to celebrate the life of a man who wasn’t her father and pretend he hadn’t treated her abominably?
He wanted to reach out, but knew she had blocked him. He was the last person she wanted to see, but he decided to attend the service. He needed to see her. To tell her…
He wanted to tell her he loved her. Because he did. He loved her in ways he hadn’t known it was possible to love someone. The emotion was an arrow lodged in his chest, throbbing and seeping with agony.
After what he’d done, however, he didn’t expect her to believe him.
Chapter Twelve
TOMIRA’S SHOCK—and Axel’s—they discovered they were Otto’s beneficiaries.
Before Otto had learned of Joy’s existence, all the properties and assets that he had held jointly with Mira’s mother were designated to go to Mira. He had earmarked Vorstoben for Axel. That was the real reason he had been so affronted when Axel talked of leaving a few years ago. Otto had planned to leave the company to him, anyway. Otto had felt that if his life’s work was going to someone who was not his blood, he ought to be able to choose who that recipient was. He had chosen Axel.
Otto had not been a man who simply gave things away, however. He had had to extract acts of loyalty first.
And, once he learned there was a child with his DNA, he had seen a chance to leave something to her while still allowing Axel to assume control.
Processing all of these minute details was emotionally taxing. So was the very fact of his death. Mira didn’t imagine she would have reconciled with Otto in any way. She had never wanted to see him again, but she still mourned what might have been.
And she was curious about Otto’s daughter, Joy, whom she finally met at his service. Joy was genuinely beautiful, very fit yet curvy and quick to smile. She and Axel made a stunning couple.
