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‘It’s an undeniable fact that they would all benefit financially. Her great-uncle has made no secret that he wants control of Morante Group, but would he arrange to have Paloma kidnapped?’
‘Money and power are strong motivators. What about you, Daniele? What is the motivation for your involvement with Paloma?’
‘I promised her grandfather as he was dying that I would take care of her.’
Enrique chuckled. ‘Keep telling yourself that, my friend. I have seen the way you look at this woman.’
‘You are imagining things,’ Daniele drawled. ‘Marriage and babies have made you soft.’
‘I admit I’m crazy in love with my wife. You should try it.’
Daniele snorted. ‘I saw what being in love did to my father. He never got over my mother leaving.’
As Daniele walked back to the hotel, his mind was on his parents’ marriage, which had been doomed from the start, according to his grandmother. Nonna Elsa had described his mother as having had airs and graces, and she’d thought herself too good to live in the cramped apartment that had been all Daniele’s father could afford.
Claudia Farnesi’s brief infatuation with a handsome soldier had resulted in pregnancy and a marriage that had been against her aristocratic family’s wishes. She had abandoned her husband and young son and returned to a life of wealth and luxury. But Daniele knew his father had never stopped loving his mother, and he’d watched the once happy man become sad and bitter. Why would anyone risk their heart and happiness on such a fickle emotion as love? Daniele brooded. Love was a weakness and he had never understood its appeal.
They flew to Italy the next morning on a private jet that Daniele had chartered and landed at Pisa airport, where a chauffeured limousine was waiting to take them to Livorno. The seaport was one of the largest in the Mediterranean. Years ago, Marcello had bought a fleet of six cargo ships and established Morante Shipping as a subsidiary company of Morante Group. Livorno was also home to the barracks of the Italian special forces regiment that Daniele had once belonged to. Coming back to the town always evoked memories of his time as a soldier, and he still missed the army that had become his family and given him a sense of belonging.
The car headed towards the historic old town and drew up in front of a grand, neoclassical building that housed Morante Group’s headquarters. Paloma had barely said a word since they had left Tunisia, but now Daniele heard her catch her breath.
‘The press conference is arranged for midday,’ he told her. ‘Franco has offered to make the public announcement of Marcello’s death if you feel unable to.’
‘I’ll do it. I am my grandfather’s successor and I want to pay tribute to him. It feels strange coming here, knowing that Nonno is not in his office. I don’t think it has really sunk in yet that I will never see him again.’ Her voice was unsteady.
Daniele shifted closer to her, intending to place his hand over hers, but he thought better of it and leaned back in his seat. Comforting Paloma had not gone to plan when he had found her by the pool, he reminded himself derisively.
Last night she had looked young and impossibly innocent, with her wet hair hanging down her back and her face bare of make-up. Today she was the epitome of elegance, in a black sheath dress that emphasised her slim figure. Vertiginous stiletto heels drew attention to her long legs, and her handbag bore the distinctive MGL logo of the Morante Group leather accessories range. Her hair was swept up in a chignon and her face was discreetly made up. A pair of oversized sunglasses shielded her expression, but Daniele sensed that her grief for her grandfather was raw when they entered the office building from where Marcello had amassed his business empire.
They went straight to the hospitality suite where members of the press had gathered. Paloma was composed when she gave a statement announcing the sudden death of Marcello Morante, the founder of Morante Group and the Morante Foundation, a renowned philanthropist and her beloved grandfather.
‘Signorina Morante, can you confirm who is to replace Marcello?’ a journalist asked.
‘I will become the head of Morante Group when I am twenty-five. Until then, according to the terms of my grandfather’s will, all decisions pertaining to the company will be made jointly by myself and the board of trustees.’
‘Are you concerned about taking on the enormous responsibility of running the company when you are so young and inexperienced in business?’
‘I am my grandfather’s heir. It was his wish that I would succeed him, and I will do my best to honour his faith in me.’ Paloma stood up and cast her cool gaze over the group of journalists before she swept out of the room. Her regal bearing denoted her aristocratic heritage as the granddaughter of a marchese. But Daniele knew she would need more than her impressive family background to win the support of the board. He opened the door of the boardroom and stood aside to allow Paloma to precede him into the room.
The eight trustees sitting around the table were all male, and all were getting on in years, Daniele surmised. Marcello’s loyalty to his old friends, even though a few of them should have long since retired, had been his one weakness. Morante Group would benefit from the new ideas and fresh approach that Paloma might bring, but could she count on the support of the board? Raised voices had been audible from the corridor and it had sounded as though a fierce debate had been taking place. Paloma’s arrival prompted an awkward silence.
Franco Zambrotta stood up and crossed the room. ‘Paloma, my dear,’ he greeted her warmly, but Daniele was not taken in by the other man’s smile that did not reach his eyes. ‘It was good of you to leave your home in England...’ Franco’s hesitation was deliberate, to remind the other trustees that Paloma did not live in Italy ‘...and come here to give a charming public tribute to Marcello. I speak for all the trustees when I say that we understand how devastated you must be at his death. You are not in the right state of mind to make decisions about your future with the company.’
Paloma tensed, and Daniele wanted to tell Franco to give her a break. He hadn’t expected the other man would show his hand so early. ‘There is nothing wrong with my state of mind, Tio Franco,’ Paloma said crisply as she walked up to the chair at the head of the table where her grandfather had used to sit. ‘My future with Morante Group is not up for debate. Nonno’s will clearly states that he wanted me to succeed him.’
‘I am certain that Marcello expected to live for many more years, and he would have trained you to eventually take his place.’ Franco’s smile had disappeared when he returned to his seat. ‘The trustees have been discussing whether I, as the president of the board, should take charge of Morante Group.’
‘But that would be going against my grandfather’s wishes,’ Paloma argued.
One of the other trustees, Gianluca Orsi, spoke. ‘We had the greatest respect for Marcello. But his affection for you, his only grandchild, meant that he overlooked your lack of business experience and your impulsiveness. For instance, your decision to marry without ensuring that your assets were protected.’
Before Paloma could respond, Franco said gravely, ‘There is another, more serious matter. It has been brought to my attention that you have a personal involvement with the vice president of the board.’
Daniele glanced at Paloma’s puzzled expression. His eyes narrowed as he looked at the projector screen on the wall where an image had appeared. Now he had proof that there had been a person hiding in the bushes next to the hotel pool in Tunisia. His gut clenched at the thought that whoever had been there last night could have aimed a gun at Paloma instead of a camera lens. Had someone paid whoever had taken the damning photo of him and Paloma? And could that someone be Franco?
‘The photograph was sent to me by an anonymous source.’ Franco looked around the table at the other trustees. ‘You can imagine the damage that would be caused to the reputation of Morante Group if the press got hold of the picture and published it.’
CHAPTER FOUR
