closed the office door firmly behind him and scanned the room. Everything was still in its place, from the large antique desk to the rows of books lining the walls. The faint aroma of expensive cigars and brandy still lingered on the air. He almost expected Gino to be sitting behind that desk, puffing quietly away. Instead, the empty chair matched the hole in his heart.
Quickly, he shoved the key in the desk drawer and unlocked it. The white envelope was addressed to him and the contents yielded a DVD.
A frown furrowing his brow, Luke slowly closed the drawer, went over to the DVD player that sat in the bookcase, shoved in the disc then picked up the remote and clicked on the TV.
He took a seat behind the imposing desk, his finger hovering over the play button.
A clean blotter sat square in the middle, a fountain pen perfectly one inch from the top. Luke picked up the pen and twirled it idly in his hand, a small smile hovering on his lips. Gino was old school, preferring fountain pen and ink for all his correspondence.
Luke replaced the pen, screwed up his eyes and pinched his nose high on the bridge.
Gino’s desk at Aphrodite’s was identical—same layout, same pens. Same scent of leather, polished wood and cigar smoke.
Every little thing was determined to remind him of that night, even while he’d been trying to forget it. Like a convicted man accepting his fate, he let the memories flood in.
The board had expressed their displeasure earlier that day and Luke had been in a white-hot fury. Regardless of the warnings issued to keep his distance from Gino, he’d stormed into the casino spoiling for a fight. Security had wisely kept out of his way, and frustrated as all hell, he’d slammed into Gino’s office.
Luke grunted, remembrance flooding in like waters over a burst dam, too late to stop it.
Those sharp accusations he’d flung at Gino had been like a red rag to a bull, and his uncle had never been one to turn down a fight.
“Dammit all to hell, Gino! Are you using the casino as a money-laundering front?”
Gino shot to his feet, his face flushed. “No! You of all people should know that!”
“Should I?” Luke’s eyes narrowed. “I heard the evidence is before the Director of Public Prosecutions. And if he thinks that’s enough for a trial then there’s probably enough to convict.”
“I know the law, Lucio.”
“Apparently not enough!”
Gino matched Luke’s dark look with one of his own, his breath coming in heavy puffs. “I will not have you stand there and accuse me of breaking the law! I will not!”
“Well, that’s too bad.” Luke shoved his face in Gino’s. “Because right now, I don’t give a damn if you’re fiddling with the tables, cooking the books or ripping off the bloody queen of England. All I care about is that stink rubbing off on me.” He slammed his palms down on the desk, his voice deadly calm. “And no one messes with my job.”
Every time he relived those few moments, it never got any better. Luke recalled every heated word, every frustrated gesture.
And the outcome was exactly the same every time. Midargument, Gino went bright red, clutched his chest and collapsed.
With a vicious curse, Luke shot to his feet.
The doctors said nothing could have saved him, even if he’d had a heart attack right in the middle of the emergency ward. Still, the guilt had eaten at him until Luke could hardly think straight. CPR was futile; the medics had had to pull him off Gino when he’d refused to believe his uncle had been dead for ten minutes.
Guilt had kept him from seeing Rosa before the funeral. Even then he’d defied a direct order and attended the service, for all the good it did everyone. It had been pure torture. A couple of reporters had been thrown out, Marco had erupted in a rage and all the while Rosa’s red-rimmed eyes drilled into his very soul. Still, she’d said nothing, accepted his lame condolences with good grace and said not one word about the argument or Luke’s lengthy absence. Which made him feel doubly worse.
Marco had remained uncharacteristically silent throughout the service, but every time his eyes settled on Luke, they’d been bright and angry. Afterward, he’d let it all come spilling out and Luke had deserved it, had welcomed it, even. It was his cross to bear.
Now he focused on the television screen and the remote control he gripped.
He pressed Play and began to watch.
“You and Lucio—you are friends?” Rosa began after she sent Marco off to get drinks then took a seat on the couch beside Beth.
Beth choked down a laugh. “Hardly. I made an offer on the house, but he refused it then moved in. No.” Her gaze drifted to the archway where he’d disappeared. “Definitely not friends.”
“I see.” She clasped her hands in her lap. “But he told you about Melina and Salvatore. His parents,” she clarified.
“Yes.”
Rosa was shaking her head, the pain of remembrance etched in the lines around her eyes. “My brother and his wife were very proud, very strict and devoutly religious. When Lucio found out about us, he blamed Gino for not making an effort, for not coming to their aid when they’d been struggling for so long in near poverty. Stubborn, just like Marco.” She smiled, but it quickly disappeared. “Lucio lived with us for nearly three years, holding on tight to that grudge every day. He was such an angry, scared boy, trying so very hard to be a man, and anything we did just pushed him further away. But he was a gifted child and he threw himself into his studies, then his job. It gave him strength, gave him the control and security he needed. And I’ve seen him barely a dozen times since then.”
Rosa’s voice broke, but she valiantly held on to her composure. “And now he’s living with you.”
“Not living with me. He’s in the spare room.”
“So he trusts you.” When Beth shook her head, Rosa said, “He does, bella. If he didn’t, you’d have been out within a day.”
“It’s not trust that’s keeping him there, Rosa. It’s suspicion. He thought I was Gino’s mistress.”
Rosa choked back a laugh. “Really?”
“Yes.” Beth bit her lip to stop a smile from escaping. “We both agreed to work this out together and not get the police involved.”
“Ah.” She tapped a finger on her chin in thoughtful silence.
“Look, there’s nothing—”
Marco returned then with a bottle of wine and four glasses, cutting off Beth’s protest.
She took the proffered glass, determinedly avoiding Rosa’s scrutiny.
“So you’re living with Luke, huh?” Marco began, grinning over the rim of his glass as he perched on the couch arm.
Beth swallowed a sigh. “Not that way we’re not.”
His
