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When he’d told her what the doctors had said, he’d watched the expression on her face change slowly from confusion, through disbelief and finally to pure joy. It was clear from her reaction that she really had believed her father to be terminally ill.
It was inconceivable that she had been so wrong about something so important. The possibility that Francesca Hazelton had deliberately misled Claudia flashed through his mind. It would be an appalling thing to do—but then Francesca and Vasile had done far worse things over the years.
‘Will you take me out to my father’s home in the countryside?’ Claudia asked suddenly. ‘He asked me to fetch him some of his things and I said I’d bring them to him.’
Marco stared at her, a sudden jolt of shock running through him.
Was she insane?
Had the joy of discovering her father wasn’t terminally ill made her lose her mind? She must have momentarily forgotten who she was talking to—why else would she have asked him to take her out to the family estate?
The very same estate that had belonged to Marco’s family before Claudia’s family had taken it away from them.
‘I’m sorry,’ Claudia said, looking intently at his face. ‘I didn’t mean to impose—you’ve done enough already.’
Marco looked at her, deliberately eliminating all signs of emotion from his face. He had obviously been too quick to think that someone else was manipulating her. He would take her out to the estate that should rightfully belong to him—that would soon belong to him again.
Twelve years ago he had vowed that he would never set foot there again—not until his revenge was complete. But that glorious day was as good as here.
‘I apologise,’ Marco said. ‘I was distracted for a minute. Of course I’ll take you. If we leave now, we can be back in the city this evening.’
‘There’s no need—not if you’re too busy with that important business you mentioned at the café,’ Claudia said. ‘I can find my own way there.’
‘I said I’ll take you there.’ The decision had been made.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THEY left the city in the middle of the afternoon to drive out to Hector Hazelton’s home in the Piedmont countryside. Marco’s face was set in a grim expression.
He didn’t know how he felt about returning to the estate where he’d grown up. He’d been working towards reclaiming the property for twelve years, but this visit was unexpected. It was not how he’d imagined his return would take place.
A lot had happened during the intervening time. When he was eighteen years old he had already been making a start in the world of business—wanting to break away from the father he didn’t get along with and prove himself to his beloved grandfather. Now he was a billionaire—a significant player on a global scale that even his grandfather and father wouldn’t recognise.
As he drove Claudia along the Piedmont roads that he remembered so well, he felt strangely detached. The roads looked familiar, but it was as if he didn’t really know them. He couldn’t recall what it was like—how he’d felt—driving along those roads during his youth, before Vasile had destroyed his family.
All he could remember was how he’d felt the terrible day he’d driven home—except it was no longer home—to take responsibility for his eleven-year-old sister. The gut-wrenching anger that had consumed him that day had never gone.
Now, years later, Marco had everything he needed to bring down Primo Vasile and Francesca Hazelton, and to reclaim the property where he’d grown up. Francesca was the legal owner of the estate, although it was her husband, Hector, who had made his home there.
Marco had never found anything he could use against Hector. As far as he could tell, Claudia’s father was an honest businessman and, although he had moved his own family on to the estate after the De Lucas were gone, he had not been directly involved in the ruin of Marco’s family.
He’d taken over the management of the vineyard and Marco knew that Hector had been a good employer—the loyal staff who’d worked for the De Luca family had not suffered unnecessarily. Marco frowned, thinking that, like his own father, Hector Hazelton would have been better off without his wife. Francesca was a lying, deceiving witch, just like Marco’s mother. Just like Claudia.
Marco wished Hector no harm, but he had no qualms about taking back his home. Hector had his own assets in England and would still be a wealthy man. It was too bad he hadn’t chosen a better second wife. Then perhaps his daughter wouldn’t have turned out to be a corrupt schemer like her stepmother.
‘It’s just round the next bend, on the right,’ Claudia said, as if she was unaware that Marco did
not need directions.
He swung his sports car into the tree-lined avenue that led to the house and his heart started to thump heavily, like the slow, steady beat of a military drum within his cold chest. His grandfather had planted those trees as a wedding gift for his wife. Marco could barely remember his grandmother; she had died when he was a young boy. But he remembered his grandfather very well. The old man would probably still be alive if it hadn’t been for Vasile.
‘We’ve made good time,’ Claudia added, looking at her watch. ‘We should be halfway back to the city before it gets dark.’
Marco barely registered her words. He was thinking about his beloved grandfather—another innocent victim of Vasile’s corruption. He had died the night Marco’s father, drunk on a lethal combination of shame and alcohol, had driven his car off the road.
Marco had not been there to stop it.
That was his biggest regret.
