The Commanding Italian's Challenge

Day after day, she was discovering tiny new facets of her lover.

Maceo could be gentle when required, was extremely generous to his staff, and without fail, visited his family’s memorial every weekend.

On the third weekend after their return she asked to accompany him. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before holding out his hand.

An hour later she stood beside him, tears prickling in her eyes as she paid her respects to the only father she’d ever known, silently accepting that she would never truly know all the answers.

There was one

question she hadn’t yet asked, though.

She tried to ignore the lingering distance she felt from Maceo as they left the cemetery. But, just as when they’d been in St Lucia, she felt that small pebble of unease chafe, its presence looming larger with each day.

‘I’ve never asked about Pietro’s whereabouts... I’m assuming the two of you aren’t in touch?’

Maceo stiffened, and the hand gripping hers tightened. ‘No,’ he said tersely.

He said nothing more. Faye pulled at his hand till he stopped. Looking into his face, she glimpsed a caginess she’d never witnessed before.

‘Maceo, what is it?’

His lips thinned and his jaw clenched before he answered. ‘He died of a drug overdose in Malaysia, three years ago.’

She gasped, her gaze swinging back to the family mausoleum. Maceo shook his head. ‘He left instructions to be cremated wherever he died. I didn’t attend the funeral.’

He resumed walking and after a moment she joined him, aware that the distance between them was widening. But she was leaving in a few weeks. Reminded of how Luigi had left her with questions, Faye swore she wouldn’t let Maceo do the same.

* * *

They had no dinner plans the following Friday, and, as had become her habit, when she finished work she took the lift to Maceo’s floor.

Bruno was nowhere in sight. About to knock on his door, she hesitated when she heard voices.

With a grimace, she lowered her hand, recognising Stefano’s and Francesco’s cold tones. She’d stayed clear of them since the party at Villa Serenita, and wondered about why Maceo kept them around, considering the obvious friction between them.

She shrugged mentally. Luigi and Maceo’s parents had accommodated Pietro, despite his deplorable behaviour. It stood to reason Carlotta would do the same for her brothers.

About to retreat, and wait for Maceo in one of the conference rooms, Faye froze when she heard her name. She knew she shouldn’t eavesdrop, but a need to overcame her better judgement.

After several weeks in Italy she’d picked up enough Italian words to grasp the gist of a conversation, although she didn’t have to be fluent to recognise the brothers’ tone.

‘The little whore...’

‘Paparazzi sniffing around...’

‘Perhaps they need to be indulged...’

Maceo’s terse response produced a chilling silence she could feel even from behind the closed door. Both brothers snarled something right before she heard footsteps. She tried to retreat, but didn’t get far enough. The door flew open and twin pairs of beady eyes glared at her.

Behind them, Maceo stood tall and furious. His gaze gentled a touch when he saw her, but he turned away almost immediately, raking his fingers through his hair as he strode to the window.

She entered his office, shutting the door behind her. ‘Everything all right?’

‘No.’

‘May I ask what that was about?’

He tensed visibly, fingers massaging his nape. ‘Leave it.’