It was like exposing the faults and weaknesses of an old friend, but there was no helping it. The Romano del Mare had been a part of his family for long enough. It was time to let it go to someone who could bring a fresh start to the location.
“What are your plans with the place?” Adeline asked Thomas as Nicolo wiggled a wrought iron railing that had grown loose in its mooring. The plaster had given way and now the railing posed a risk of being toppled over if someone were to lean against it too heavily.
“Romano del Mare was a fine resort in its day,” Thomas said. “I’ve seen the pictures, but it’s not what today’s tourist is looking for. We would gut the interior first and salvage the materials we could. This iron railing is exquisite, for example. We might not use it at this facility, but it could be incorporated into another project.” He shrugged, did a head tilt to the side and pulled the ends of his mouth down as his gaze swept the space around them. “All of this—the building, everything—we would bulldoze it to the ground and start fresh.”
Adeline flinched at the description of what would happen to the Romano del Mare, but Thomas didn’t notice.
“In its place we would build a state of the art steel-and-glass resort.”
This time it was Nicolo’s turn to do his best to hold back his reaction. The material of the island was rock. It was in every piece of architecture on Sicily.
“We will ship in our own staff and chefs,” Thomas continued, oblivious. “It will be offered up as a home away from home for the European traveller.”
And will have nothing to do with Sicily. Nicolo had to bite his tongue. There weren’t that many builders who could afford their asking price of twenty million euros. If Thomas purchased the Romano del Mare for that price, it would be his to do with as he pleased—even if that meant destroying it and building a monstrosity in its place.
In many ways, seeing the Romano del Mare torn down rather than restored would be easier. To see it restored would be to see someone else succeed where his family had failed. Yet, hearing Thomas’s plans for the location left him feeling queasy.
“Those plans are amazing!” Adeline said with so much excitement that Nicolo focused the whole of his attention on her in an attempt to discover whether there was anything disingenuous about her response. To his surprise, she appeared thrilled, then concern etched her face as the line between her brows showed itself. “Of course,”—she hesitated, pursing her lips as if working through a difficult problem—“Sicily’s historic preservation societies could make getting approval for such a design very difficult.”
Ahhhh, there she is.
Nicolo had to hide his smile. He didn’t want Adeline to know that he was amused rather than upset by her attempt to undermine the sale. He liked seeing the fire in her, and it had saddened him to think, even for that split second, that her fight had gone.
“Sicily’s historic preservation society?” Thomas repeated. It was clear that this was the first he was hearing of its existence.
“Oh yes, yes,” Adeline said. “Sicily has a very rich history, and more than anywhere, that history can be seen in its architecture. So, the historic preservation society is very vocal when it comes to the kind of buildings that get built here on the island.”
Nicolo pursed his lips but didn’t respond, leading the three of them into a suite of rooms. The rooms had been used for all kinds of celebrations, everything from weddings and anniversaries to important “family” meetings when a neutral space was needed. In this case, family spelled another way was mafia. In Sicily, they were simply a part of life.
The windows in the suite, and throughout Romano del Mare, were very tall with a rounded top. They were shaped similar to and about the same size as a human body. Every window throughout the suite of rooms was cracked, yet regardless of their age and the beating that time had given them, the view they provided was spectacular. Nicolo wondered about what kind of view a wall of glass would provide. It would in
deed be spectacular, but something would be lost without the stable strength of the building to frame the sight of the rolling land and sea beyond.
This is better, he thought to himself, aware of a sadness that the view he knew so well would soon be lost to be replaced by another. While the history preservation society had a lot of pull, he also knew that Thomas’s company had enough money to grease the right palms in order to turn arguments toward their cause rather than against it.
“Look here,” Nicolo said, returning to the task at hand. He dragged a finger down a thin line in the plaster that looked as if it was nothing but a crack that a little paint could fix. “This crack extends all the way down this wall, all the way down the wall of the floor below us and into the foundation of the building. It doesn’t get much bigger than what you see here, but the foundation has been compromised.”
Thomas clapped his hands together. “You see, with issues like this, there can be no reasonable objection to this old place being torn down.”
Adeline traced her finger down the crack all the way to the floor. “I hadn’t noticed this before,” she said, then lifted her face to look at Nicolo. “Are you sure that it extends all the way down to the foundation?”
“I’m positive.”
“Hmph,” Adeline said, standing up and crossing her arms over her chest. She did not look impressed by the severity of the crack or by its inferred meaning.
“‘Hmph?’” Thomas prompted, his curiosity piqued.
“If buildings with issues like these were destroyed, I imagine that half of the buildings on the island would have been torn down by now. While you could use it to make an argument for the building’s destruction, Sicily’s legal system is very thorough. They would need to review the building’s longevity potential before making any final decisions.”
Thomas looked at Nicolo before turning his attention back to Adeline. “And how long do those reviews take?”
“Oh! Never more than eight years,” Adeline answered brightly for him.
Nicolo threw his arms down at his side in exasperation. “Only in the rarest of cases does it take eight years,” he quickly reassured Thomas.
“And in cases that are not rare,” asked Thomas, “how long do they take? A couple of months?” He leaned into the question a little and sounded hopeful.
“Oh no!” Adeline exclaimed, “a couple of months’ deliberation would be as rare as eight years. On average,”—she pursed her lips and bobbed her head from side to side as if calculating—“I’d say a two to three year review in cases such as this would be most common.”