he might have been found innocent of any fault as far as he was concerned Damien was as guilty as hell, and might as well have cut Antonio’s throat instead of the rope. Her brother, devastated by the loss of his friend, had felt badly enough as it was. Lorenzo Zanelli had made him feel a hundred times worse and he had never really recovered.
As far as Lucy was aware there had been no contact between the two families since, and it had come as a shock to her to discover after Damien’s death the Zanelli bank was a third silent partner in her family firm. Lorenzo Zanelli was the last man she wanted to ask for a favour but she had no choice. Trying to be positive, she’d told herself maybe she was wrong about Lorenzo—maybe it had been his grief at losing his brother that had made him say horrible things to Damien, and with the passage of time he would have a much more balanced view.
So Lucy had swallowed her pride and written to him, blatantly mentioning her family’s friendship with his brother Antonio. She had informed him she was visiting Verona for a day or two, and had almost begged for a few minutes of the man’s time before finally being granted an appointment today.
The continuation of Steadman Industrial Plastics as a family firm was dependent on Lucy persuading Zanelli to agree with her point of view. Not that she had any family left, but to the residents of the small town of Dessington in Norfolk, where she’d been born and had grown up, Steadman’s was the main employer, and even though she had not lived there since graduating from college she did still visit occasionally, and she did have a social conscience—which she knew Richard Johnson did not.
She was pinning her hopes on Signor Zanelli. But now, after what she had heard about him and being faced with the man in person, she was having serious doubts.
She had arrived in Verona at ten this morning—well, not exactly in Verona. The budget airline she had travelled with had landed at an a airport almost two hours away. She’d just had time to book into her hotel and get here on time, and her flight back was tomorrow evening at eight. On her arrival at his office the great man’s secretary had taken her name, made a phone call, and then told her in perfect English that Signor Zanelli was going to be delayed. She had asked her if she would like to reschedule the appointment and, flicking through a diary, had suggested three days’ time.
Lucy had countered with a request for the next morning, sacrificing her plan to explore the town and the famed arena. Her appointment with the Contessa was in the afternoon. The secretary had told her it was not possible, but she could wait if she liked. She had had no choice but to agree.
‘Miss Steadman?’
He repeated her name and, startled out of her wandering thoughts, she glanced up at him, green eyes clashing with brown. The arch look he gave her was all male arrogance.
‘You’re a determined little thing, I’ll give you that,’ he drawled and, turning to his secretary, said something in Italian that sounded like ‘ten minutes—then call’ before throwing over his shoulder, ‘Come, Miss Steadman. This will not take much time.’
Lucy bit back the response that sprang to mind. It had already taken a heck of a lot of her time. Pausing for a moment, she tried to smooth the creased black linen skirt she wore—a pointless exercise—and watched the broad back of the man as he disappeared into his inner sanctum, the door swinging closed behind him. He might be strikingly attractive, but he was certainly no gentleman, and her nerves tightened a notch.
‘You’d better go in now,’ the secretary said. ‘Signor Zanelli does not like to be kept waiting.’
Given how long she had been waiting—her appointment had been for two and it was now after three—Zanelli had some nerve, she thought, her temper rising. Dismissing the odd effect he had on her own nerve, she squared her shoulders and, taking a few deep breaths, walked across the room and into the man’s office.
He was standing behind a large antique desk, talking rapidly into a telephone which he put down when he saw her.
‘Take a seat.’ He indicated a chair in front of the desk as he sank into a big black leather one behind it. ‘Then say what you have to say, and make it quick—my time is valuable.’
He had not waited for her to sit down. In fact he was well on the way to being the rudest man she had ever met, and she had been right to dislike him sight unseen, Lucy decided, her green eyes sparking angrily.
She said without thinking, ‘I can’t believe you are Antonio’s brother.’
Antonio had been handsome and lovable, and her brother Damien’s best friend at university. Lucy had been fourteen when her brother had brought Antonio home the first time for the mid-term break, and she had developed a terrific crush on the young Italian—so besotted she had actually started taking Italian language lessons at school. Antonio, only four years older, but a decade older in experience, had not taken advantage—quite the opposite. He had treated her as a friend and had not made her feel foolish at all. Unlike this hard-faced man, looking at her across the wide expanse of the desk with cold eyes and without a tender bone in his body, she was sure.
‘You are nothing like him. You look nothing like him.’
Lorenzo was surprised. Lucy Steadman had spirit. Her face had flushed with colour, highlighting the delicate bone structure. She wasn’t plain as he had thought, but she was angry. His mouth tightened. He did not want to fight with her, he simply wanted her out of his sight as quickly as possible—before his anger got the better of him and he told her in return exactly what he thought of her brother …
‘You are right. My younger brother was the beautiful one, both inside and out, whereas I—so Antonio used to tell me—am a serious, hard-headed banker with ice in his veins who should lighten up and enjoy life. Not that it did Antonio much good,’ he said starkly.
For a moment Lucy thought she saw pain shadow his eyes as he spoke. She had been tactless, letting her dislike of the man show, and politely offered her sympathy. ‘I am sorry … so sorry,’ she murmured, as the memory of the tragic accident that had killed his brother and which she felt had been instrumental in the death of hers filled her mind. ‘I understand how you feel,’ she said, and began telling him about her brother.
‘Damien never really got over losing his best friend.’ She did not add thanks in part to you, but she thought it. ‘He was never well afterwards. I was finishing my second year at college and tried to help, but it was no good in the end,’ she admitted. ‘Though he did begin working with my father in the business his heart wasn’t in it. Then, when my father died the following year, it was another blow to him. With my father gone Damien could not manage everything, so he decided to hire a manager to oversee the running of the business and within a year everything seemed to be getting better. Then last year Damien went on holiday to Thailand and died there.’ He had recklessly stopped taking his medication, and it still hurt Lucy to think of him. ‘So I really do know how you feel.’
Lorenzo doubted that Lucy Steadman had an inkling of his real feelings, and he wasn’t about to tell her. ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ he said coolly. ‘But now can we get down to business—the proposed sale of Steadman’s, I believe?’
Lucy had almost forgotten the reason she was there as images of the past and this man filled her mind. Suddenly it hit her that she had not made a very good start, and the speech she had prepared had gone clean out of her head.
‘Yes—no. Not a sale—I mean, let me explain … ‘
One devilish brow arched sardonically in her direction. ‘I will give you five minutes,’ he said, and looked
