‘Madre di Dio—’
The likeness was that obvious? Fia scooped her son into her arms protectively but he gazed curiously at the big man in the suit. He hadn’t learned fear, she thought numbly. He’d been brought up here, by the beach, surrounded by people who loved him and guests who thought he was a charming addition to this hidden Sicilian gem. But once people knew he was Santo Ferrara’s son, there would always be a risk. Even she could see that.
‘This is Luigi,’ she said huskily, ‘and he is going to be eating in our restaurant today. Aren’t we lucky?’ She looked at the reassuring power house that was Santo’s head of security and gave a slight smile. ‘Thank you.’
‘Figurati. You’re welcome.’ He winked at the boy and went to rearrange tables while Fia returned to her job.
A busy lunchtime merged into a crazy evening where she hardly emerged from the kitchen. She had time to check on her grandfather briefly, but no time to embark on a difficult conversation. It hung over her as she tossed gamberi into fresh pasta, and served her speciality dessert, Zuccotto al cioccolato. And all the time she was aware that time was running out.
By the time Gina and Ben had left for the night and everywhere was quiet, she was a nervous wreck.
All day she’d been rehearsing the best way to tell her grandfather, trying to work out which combination of words would cause the least shock.
I need to talk to you about Luca.
You’ve often asked me about Luca’s father …
Bracing herself for major conflict, she walked into the kitchen to finish her preparations for the next day and saw the frail figure of her grandfather crumpled on the floor.
‘Nonno! Cristo, please, no!’ She was across the floor and down on her knees in seconds, hands shaking as she gave his shoulder a gentle shake and then grabbed his thin wrist and tried to find a pulse. ‘Speak to me—Oh, God, don’t do this—’ She scrabbled in her pocket for her phone and then realised she’d left it in the house.
‘Is he breathing?’ Santo’s voice came from behind her, calm and strong as he strode across the room. His phone was already in his hand and he was talking into it, issuing a string of instructions in rapid Italian.
It was a measure of her stress that she was relieved to see him. She didn’t even question what he was doing here. ‘Did you call the emergency services? How long?’
‘They’re sending a helicopter.’ With no hesitation, he moved her grandfather and pressed his fingers to the old man’s neck. ‘No pulse.’
Why had she felt his wrist and not his neck? She knew she was supposed to feel his neck but all her basic first aid knowledge had apparently been driven from her brain by panic. Unable to think properly, Fia took her grandfather’s hand and rubbed it. ‘Nonno—’
‘He can’t hear you.’ Santo’s voice was firm and steady. ‘You need to move to one side so I can start CPR.’
‘I’m not going anywhere!’
She heard someone running and then Luigi appeared in the kitchen holding a small box. ‘Here, Boss—’ He handed it to Santo, who moved with swift purpose and lightning speed.
‘Undo his shirt, Fia.’
‘But—’
‘Just do it!’ He yanked open the box and hit a switch.
‘What are you doing?’ Her fingers fumbled on buttons that didn’t want to undo and she heard Santo mutter something in Italian and then strong hands were pushing hers aside and he tore the fabric and exposed her grandfather’s chest in a single movement.
‘Move away from him. Get back.’ He ripped off the protective backing from two sticky pads and pressed them onto her grandfather’s chest.
He just took control, she thought numbly, the way the Ferraras always took control. Not once did he hesitate or fumble.
‘Do you even know how to use that thing?’
‘It’s an AED. And yes, I know how to use it.’ He didn’t spare her a glance. All his attention was focused on her grandfather as a disembodied voice delivered instructions from the machine.
Anxiety flared. ‘You’re going to give him a shock? But what if that’s not the right thing to do? You might kill him!’ And for a moment her own heart almost stopped because she realised that her grandfather’s life was in the hands of a man who had no love for him.
His exasperated glance told her that he’d read her mind. ‘This device contains a sophisticated computer chip. As far as I know, they’re not programmed to bear grudges. Now let go of his hand.’
Reluctantly she moved back.
The voice instructed them to stand clear of the patient and press the button and after that the emergency services arrived and everything blurred. There was a flurry of activity while they stabilised her grandfather and then they transferred him swiftly into the air ambulance. And through it all she was aware of Santo, cool and in control. Santo, calling a top cardiologist and ordering him to meet them at the hospital. Santo arranging to drive her there. And when she pointed out that she had to take Luca and his Lamborghini wouldn’t accommodate a child’s car seat, he helped himself to Luigi’s sturdy four-by-four instead. And Luca didn’t even stir as she transferred him from bed to car seat, completely oblivious to the drama being played out around him.
‘Does he have a favourite toy or something?’ Santo secured the belt. ‘Something he can’t be without?’
She looked at him blankly and he gave an impatient sigh. ‘My niece can’t sleep without her favourite blanket. Does he have something like that?’
She swallowed. ‘He sleeps with a stuffed giraffe.’
‘Fetch it. It will help when he wakes up in a strange place.’
Wondering why he had been the one to think of that and not her, she sprinted to fetch Luca’s giraffe and quickly stuffed a change of clothes for him into a bag.
Santo drove her himself and for once she was grateful for the tendency of Sicilians to drive too fast. They made the journey in silence and when he pulled up outside the Emergency Department he sat for a moment, his hands gripping the wheel as he stared at the double doors that led inside.
Fia undid her seat belt.
‘They won’t let you near him at the moment so there’s no point in rushing. You might as well sit here for a while.’ Santo switched off the engine. His expression was grim and there were lines of fatigue around his eyes. ‘The waiting is the worst part.’
She was about to ask how he knew that when she remembered that his father had died suddenly of a heart attack. Had he been brought to this hospital? Staring at Santo’s white knuckles, she assumed the answer to that was positive.
‘Are you all right?’ Her voice faltered because even to her it sounded like a ridiculous question. Her grandfather was lying in the hospital and she was asking him if he was all right. And why would
