For the past six months Gio had done his best to avoid Michael. He hadn’t wanted to meet this nephew of his, unable to tolerate more anger and more grief. And Gio was still angry, blisteringly angry that his brother decided not to try any of the experimental treatments that might have prolonged his life. He’d also been angry that Antonio spent so much of his last year alive in America instead of being home with his family, angry that his brother failed to take proper precautions and ended up conceiving a child with a shallow, self-serving woman who cared for no one and nothing but herself.
Antonio hadn’t just thrown the rest of his life away. He’d crushed it and smashed it into the trash bin. It baffled Gio. Antonio had been among the smartest and the brightest, and he’d been a light in the world. He’d lit up a room with his keen wit and quick mind. He had a razor-sharp intelligence that he never used against another, not because he couldn’t, but because he chose to build others up, to encourage them to be better.
Antonio had made Giovanni want to be better. Giovanni might have been the elder brother, but Antonio was his hero. Not because he was perfect, but because he genuinely tried to be good. To make a difference.
Gio’s chest ached with bottled air. His hands fisted. Giovanni had lost Antonio but as long as he had Michael under his roof, his nephew was safe.
The high tides had kept all but the most curious and determined tourists out of the flooded neighborhoods, and the streets were mostly empty. Normally Gio liked this Venice, when the streets were wet and he had entire blocks to himself, but today he could take little pleasure in anything until his personal life was settled. He wanted out of the press, out of the tabloid’s headlines. It was bad for his corporation to have his personal life become news, particularly when it was featured on the gossip page instead of the business section.
It didn’t take much to make investors jittery. It didn’t take much to shake the confidence of world markets. He needed to protect the company, and he needed to protect his nephew. That was his focus and his chief concern. Everything else was secondary.
The water grew deeper as he approached Piazza San Marco. His boots sloshed through ankle-deep water as he entered La Piazza, Venice’s most famous square, and the only one in Venice called piazza. He stepped onto the raised boards that skirted the square, elevating visitors and locals above the flooded area.
It struck him as he eased past a family grouped on the walkway that this was the first time he could remember chasing after anyone since he’d broken off his engagement. He hadn’t cared enough about any woman to chase her. It’s why he’d taken mistresses. It was a purely sexual relationship, a relationship he controlled, beginning and ending with gifts, leaving his emotions untouched.
He hadn’t thought he’d ever feel again but the arrival of Michael unsettled him, and Rachel was waking him up, making him feel. He wasn’t comfortable feeling anything. But he didn’t seem to have a choice at the moment.
Gio followed the route he was certain Rachel had taken, splashing through water and then following the elevated boards as he approached St. Mark’s Square.
Most of the shops and cafés surrounding the square were closed, but a few had remained open, with intrepid storekeepers placing wooden boards across the bottom of their open doors, keeping the water out while allowing customers in.
Gio checked in each open shop and café for Rachel. She wasn’t in any of the bigger ones on the piazza, and he exited the square and turned a corner, spotting the small narrow coffee shop preferred by locals who’d stand and drink their espresso, and then leave, not requiring one of the three small tables at the rear.
Opening the door of the café, he stepped inside. There were just a few people at the counter. Beyond the counter were the tables, and two were empty, but at a third sat Rachel. She had a small cup in front of her but she wasn’t drinking. Her hands were in her lap and her gaze was fixed on an unknown point in the distance.
She looked troubled. Lost. Gio’s chest tightened. He drew a quick breath, surprised by the pang.
He nodded to the staff as he passed and drew out one of the empty chairs at Rachel’s table. She looked up at him, the expression in her wide dark eyes a combination of sadness and despair, before her expression firmed, hiding her emotions. “What are you doing here?”
“Hunting you down.”
“Why? I don’t have a passport. I can’t go anywhere.”
“I was worried about you.”
She exhaled softly, and he could see the sadness again, fear and vulnerability shadowing her eyes.
It made him uncomfortable, seeing her so fragile. His mistresses were strong and confident and needed nothing from him but sex and gifts. They didn’t require excessive attention, never mind tenderness or protection.