FIVE
FRIDAY AFTERNOON. BEST TIME in the world. Working week wrapped up and the party just about to start. And, with the news he’d just heard, Matteo Rossini knew it was going to be some party.
He stepped out of the car, loosened his tie and took the steps into his jet for the last task of the day—the short flight from Rome to London and a call to the Executive Director, Signora Rossini herself. Mamma to him.
He walked through the cabin and sat at his desk, ready to sink his Friday beer. It wasn’t there.
He slung his bag on the empty chair and looked around. Neither was his assistant David. Strange. They had this routine down—the beer, the call, some water, some press-ups, shower and change, the car ready in London, sometimes a woman, sometimes not. Tonight was definitely a ‘sometimes not’ night. Tonight was boxing, a little gambling and all-male bonding—as soon as he delivered the news.
He sat down and keyed in the number. Drummed his fingers. Looked around again for David. Where was he?
At the sound of a beer being opened he turned, just as the call connected. He noticed the legs first, then the red dress. Definitely not David. He frowned and swivelled away from the sight as the bottle was placed beside him. Someone had some explaining to do.
‘Hey, it’s me.’
‘Matteo! Good. I was just going to call you.’
‘Well, here I am. With some news.’
‘OK? You first, then.’
His heart raced. This was it.
‘Arturo is finally selling. And we’ve got first refusal.’ He touched the beer bottle, waited to hear his mother’s response.
‘Seriously? After all this time? That’s incredible news.’
Matteo allowed his fingers to close round the neck of the bottle. Indeed it was.
‘How did you find out?’
‘It wasn’t hard. I heard a rumour and did a little digging. Word is he’s had enough. He wants out and we’re the only ones in the running...’
He let the sentence dangle in the air. Even over the thousand miles that separated them he could imagine the mixture of heartache and hunger on his mother’s face.
‘You’re absolutely sure about that?’
He paused. There was no point in pretending.
‘We’re the only ones properly in the running. I heard Claudio’s going to throw his hat in the ring. But he’s poison. His reputation has travelled to Switzerland, I guarantee it. He hasn’t got a chance.’
‘Matty, I don’t want you to get involved.’
Her tone sank further than the ground beneath the plane.
‘Mamma. You know this is the one that matters. Claudio walked away with half our clients and now I’m going to get them back. If we merge with Arturo we’ll be unstoppable. I can do this. I promise you.’
‘I don’t want you to promise anything, Matty. I don’t want you losing your mind the way your father did. It’s not worth it. Nothing’s worth it.’
He sighed and released his hand from the bottle. He had known she’d feel like this and he couldn’t blame her, but they’d never get another chance.
‘I can’t let it pass—you know that,’ he said quietly. ‘Come on, Mamma. For Dad. We can’t let Claudio get one over on us again.’
He waited for her to speak, but the plane climbed through silence. He could imagine the worry knitting her fine brows, twin tracks of loss and anguish. The look that had haunted her for years.
But she was Coral Rossini. And he was her son...
‘You’re right. We can’t let that happen,’ she said finally. ‘We can’t sit back and let him walk all over us again.’
‘Exactly,’ he said, letting out a breath.
‘But you have to promise me that if he tries to do anything you’ll walk away. Matteo. Promise me. I can’t lose a husband and a son.’
The image of his father lying across the dashboard of his car flashed through his mind and he clenched his jaw so hard he could almost taste metal. Metal that he would use to grind Claudio’s bones to dust. One day.
‘You have nothing to fear, Mamma.’
‘I have everything to fear. I couldn’t bear anything to happen to you.’
The break in her voice killed him. She had more strength and resilience than anyone else alive. The fact that they could even say the name ‘Claudio’ in a conversation now was testament
