Resisting the Sicilian Playboy

Leo averted his gaze, feeling like an unruly child being scolded for disobeying the rules. Gianni Marcello was the only man he had ever respected enough not to make jokes in a serious conversation.

‘You should have come to the funeral.’

The accusation was quiet, and yet it hit Leo like a knife to the gut. He had known the words were coming, and yet he suddenly felt betrayed.

‘I thought you above all people would understand.’

‘I understand that you acted out of anger. And I taught you better than that.’ Gianni sat forward across the table, dark eyes shrewd with accusation.

Leo felt his body tense until he was sure he would smash the glass in his hand. Willing himself to calm down, he took a deep breath and met the familiar eyes of the man he trusted with his deepest secrets. ‘I assure you, Gianni, anger was the furthest thing from my mind. I made a decision not to pay empty respects to a man I hadn’t seen or spoken to in years. I stopped losing my temper over my father a long time ago.’

‘Is that why you sold off every share he left you?’ Gianni spoke with deadly calm. ‘Don’t lie to me, boy. It was an act of cold-blooded revenge and we both know it.’

‘He left me those shares hoping I’d be tempted to take my place as his rightful heir. He knew I’d never accept it.’

Gianni knew nothing of what his father was truly capable of. No one knew.

Gianni shook his head. ‘I’m not telling you that you made the wrong decision. I’m saying that your motivation was out of character.’

Leo waited a moment before speaking. ‘Did it disappoint you to find I am exactly like him after all?’

‘If you were like him you wouldn’t have walked away from an inheritance worth billions twelve years ago and then have the nerve to do it all again the first chance you got. Vittorio Valente would turn in his grave, knowing his entire corporation is in pieces.’

‘My father made his choices and died with the consequences.’

Beautiful warm brown eyes flashed into Leo’s mind, along with a face filled with youth and vitality—his mother’s face...a face he hadn’t thought of in twelve years. He brushed it away, refusing to let the memory surface.

Gianni frowned. ‘Don’t let the memory of a ghost haunt you for ever. You are a good man, Leo, but you’re heading down a lonely path.’

‘Have you been reading those gossip magazines?’ He chuckled. ‘I’m perfectly content to work hard and play harder for the time being.’ He leaned back in his seat, stretching his neck muscles in an effort to relieve the painful ache in his temples.

‘I was married for thirty-five years. And look at me now. A lonely widower, living in my own hotel suites like a damned salesman.’ Gianni took another slug of grappa, his eyes twinkling suspiciously. ‘But my wife gave me three sons. A man should always have his own sons to carry on his legacy.’

‘Some day, maybe.’ Leo shrugged.

The thought of settling down wasn’t unappealing. He just wasn’t cut out for that kind of lifestyle. He could be needed anywhere around the world from one day to the next. He never stayed in one place long enough to set down roots. And besides, roots held you down, trapped you in one place. If there was one thing he couldn’t stand it was feeling trapped.

He shook off the unwelcome thought, watching as Gianni visibly ogled a passing brunette.

‘Maybe I should follow your lead and find myself some of those supermodels.’ Gianni chuckled under his breath.

‘Ah, they don’t eat enough,’ Leo jibed, and the sudden memory of Dara and her delicious lips as she ate stormed his thoughts.

‘You never drank like a true Sicilian. Whisky is for Westerners.’

‘You’re still as politically incorrect as I remember.’ Leo smiled.

The old man looked away for a moment. His expression was filled with sadness. ‘You should have come to me, Leonardo. You always came to me.’

He looked confused, making him look every inch his seventy years. For the very first time Leo realised that the great dragon wasn’t going to live for ever. The thought left an uncomfortable knot in his stomach.

He glanced across the lounge, wanting to end this conversation. Raking up the past did nothing for his temper.

A flurry of movement drew his eyes towards the edge of the lounge just as the loudest politician stopped speaking mid-sentence and pointed towards the tall blonde gracefully ascending the stairs.

She wasn’t wearing the red dress. He almost wished she was. The dress he had chosen for her was deliberately risqué and playful—an attempt to take her out of her comfort zone. What she wore in its place was temptation personified.