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If only his father had told him the truth about Buscetta he would have been able to help. It could have been his chance to make amends. It wasn’t as if he was still a child. He didn’t need protecting from the truth.
And then, just like that, he felt his anger drain away swiftly, like water spiralling down a plughole.
To his father he had still needed protecting.
That was why Alessandro had kept both his financial and his health worries to himself. Vicenzu glanced over at his brother. And that was why Ciro was so insistent that they seek revenge on Buscetta.
Unlike him, his brother had always been independently successful on a scale that far surpassed their father, and the idea that Alessandro hadn’t thought Ciro man enough to take on his father’s problems had incensed his younger brother.
The truth was actually the opposite, he thought numbly. His father had known that he’d be able to rely on Ciro, but he hadn’t wanted to confide in one son and not the other, so he’d sacrificed himself so that he, Vicenzu, wouldn’t feel inadequate.
It was yet another reason for him to feel guilty.
‘How’s it going?’
Glancing up at his brother, he shrugged. ‘It’s going fine, I think.’ He leaned forward and picked up a confetti from a nearby table. It was a traditional gift for the wedding guests. His mother still had hers from her own wedding. Five pastel-coloured sugared almonds—a reminder that married life was both sweet and bitter—and five wishes for the new husband and wife.
Health, wealth, happiness, children and a long life.
His shoulders tensed. Now, thanks to Buscetta, his parents’ wishes had withered like olives exposed to a hard frost.
He sensed Ciro’s impatience even before he heard it in his voice. ‘You think? What does that mean?’
He felt a flicker of irritation—and envy. Ever since he could remember people had wanted to make his life easy. Not just his parents, but his friends and pretty much every woman he met. Ciro too. Until now. Now his brother was so on edge, so picky and demanding all the time.
But Claudia had always been the easier sister to seduce. She was younger, naive in the extreme, and had clearly been groomed for marriage. All Ciro had had to do was get past her monstrous father. Okay, that had sounded tough on paper, but in reality Cesare had laid out the red carpet for him.
Obviously.
His brother ticked all the boxes, whereas Vicenzu just owned a hotel. It might be the most celebrated hotel in the Western hemisphere—part sanctuary, part crash pad for its hard-partying, glamorous A-list clientele—but still...
And, of course, there was his reputation—
‘Vicè!’ His brother’s voice tugged him back into the present. ‘I thought seduction was supposed to be your area of expertise?’
‘It is.’ He turned towards his brother, his hands itching to both hit him and hug him. As usual, he went down the path of least resistance. ‘Scialla—just chill, Ciro, okay?’ Grabbing his brother by the shoulders, he pulled him into an embrace. ‘Festina lente, bro.’
‘There’s no time for chilling, bro,’ his brother said irritably. ‘And quoting Latin at me doesn’t change the facts. We agreed—you agreed—’
‘Yeah, and I’m doing it.’
‘Do it faster.’ They were facing each other and their eyes met. ‘I don’t want to be stuck in this marriage for any longer than I have to be.’
‘I know.’
Ciro held his gaze. ‘Look, ever since I was a teenager I’ve watched women climb over each other to get to you. Immacolata Buscetta will be exactly the same. So just do this for Mamma, and for Papà, and then everything will go back to how it was before.’
Except it wouldn’t.
They would have avenged their father, but nothing could bring him back to life. They would have the business and their home, but their mother still wouldn’t have her husband.
He glanced over to where Audenzia was sitting, sipping coffee. His parents had been so devoted to each other they had never spent a night apart during their forty years of marriage. He’d always feared falling short of their ideal, and now he was having to seduce a woman he hated into marrying him.
‘I can’t help feeling that Papà wouldn’t like this,’ he said quietly.
Ciro stared at him. ‘Maybe not—but he’s not here to ask, is he? And if you’re having second thoughts, maybe you should ask yourself why that’s the case.’
The pain was sharp and humbling. And just what Vicenzu needed to clear the confusion from his mind.
