Inherited by Ferranti

‘I don’t care about my father’s will.’

‘You should. You had a birthright, Sierra.’

‘Even though I walked away from my family? In di Santis’s office you seemed to think I was getting exactly what I deserved. Almost nothing.’ She hadn’t cared about her father’s inheritance, but Marco’s smug triumph had rankled. More than rankled, if she was honest. It had hurt.

‘I was angry,’ Marco admitted quietly. ‘I’m sorry.’

So many apologies. She didn’t know what to do with them. She didn’t entirely trust them—or him. And her own feelings were cartwheeling all over the place, which made sounding and feeling logical pretty difficult. ‘It’s all in the past, Marco. Let’s leave it there.’

‘I think you should have a part in Rocci Enterprises.’

She drew back, truly startled. If anything, she’d been expecting him to offer her the villa again, or perhaps some family heirlooms she had no need for. Not her father’s business. ‘I’ve never had a part in Rocci Enterprises.’ Her father had been very much of the persuasion that women didn’t need to be involved in business. She’d left school at sixteen at her father’s behest.

‘A new hotel is opening in New York City,’ Marco continued as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘It will be the most luxurious Rocci hotel yet, and I think you should be there. You deserve to be there.’

‘In New York?’ She stared at him in disbelief.

‘You opened four hotels before you were nineteen,’ Marco reminded her. ‘People are used to seeing a Rocci cut the ribbon. You should be the one to do it.’

‘I had nothing to do with that hotel, or any of them.’ She was filled with sudden and utter revulsion at the thought of opening one of her father’s hotels. Playing happy families, and this time from the grave. How many times had she smiled and curtsied for the crowds, how many times had her mother waved, wearing a long-sleeved dress to hide the bruises? She had no desire whatsoever to revisit those memories or play that part again. ‘I appreciate your consideration,’ she said stiffly, ‘but I don’t need to open the hotel. I have no wish to.’ Some of her distaste must have shown on her face because Marco frowned.

‘Why not?’

Sierra hesitated, stalling for time by taking a sip of wine. She was still hesitant to tell Marco the truth of her father, her family, because she didn’t think he’d believe her and even if he did she didn’t want his pity. It was shaming to admit she’d allow herself to be abused and used for so long, even if she’d only been a child. And if he didn’t believe her? If he accused her of lying or exaggerating to sully her father’s name? Or maybe he would believe her, and think her father had been justified. Maybe he countenanced a little rough handling. The truth was, she had no idea what his response would be and she had no intention of finding out.

‘Sierra?’ He leaned forward, covering her hand with his own. She realised she was trembling and she strove for control.

‘Like I said, the past is in the past, Marco. I don’t need to be part of Rocci Enterprises. I left it behind when I left Sicily.’ She forced a smile, small and polite, definitely strained. ‘But, as I said, thank you for thinking of me.’

His hand still rested on hers; it felt warm and strong. Comforting, even if it shouldn’t be. Even if she still didn’t understand or trust this man. She didn’t pull away.

* * *

Confused frustration surged through him as Marco gazed at Sierra, tried to figure out what she was thinking. His magnanimous approach had clearly failed. He’d hoped that Sierra would embrace his suggestion, that she’d be glad to have a chance to mend a few bridges, be a Rocci again. More fool him.

He sat back, letting go of her hand, noticing the loss even as his mind raced for another way forward. ‘You don’t seem to bear much good will for Rocci Enterprises,’ he remarked, ‘even though you were obviously close to your family at one time.’

Her mouth twisted. ‘I don’t feel anything for Rocci Enterprises,’ she said flatly. ‘I was never part of it.’

‘You were at every hotel opening—’

‘For show.’ She turned away, her expression closing, her gaze downcast so he could see her blond lashes fanning her cheeks.

‘For show?’ He disliked the thought instinctively. ‘It looked real to me.’

‘It was meant to.’

‘What are you saying? I know your parents loved you very much, Sierra. I saw how they reacted when you left. They were devastated, both of them. Your father couldn’t speak of you without tears coming into his eyes. And you never even wrote them a letter to say you were safe.’ His voice throbbed with intensity, with accusation, and Sierra noticed. Her gaze narrowed and her lips pursed.