often—in casinos, clubs, daredevil escapades, constantly pushing both his body and the hedge fund he had set up to the very brink.
How Giovanni wished he could take back the damaging words he had said and handled this complex man so much better. Yes, while there were many similarities between Matteo and his father, there were other traits too—there was an innate kindness to Matteo that had been absent in Benito, a rare kindness of which Giovanni was immensely proud. And though Matteo was eternally restless, in other ways he was the most patient man Giovanni had ever known. As his health had deteriorated, as his stamina had waned, it was Matteo who would come around and take him out, Matteo who fell easily into a slower step beside him and let Giovanni ramble as he had just done.
‘Matteo, I want you to do something for me. I have something that I need for you to do if I am going to go to my grave content.’
Matteo took a breath and braced himself for the inevitable. Here came the lecture! He was quite sure he was about to be told to settle down and tame his ways and so he frowned when the old man voiced his thoughts.
‘I want you to bring me one of my Lost Mistresses.’
Matteo turned and looked at his grandfather and wondered if he’d finally lost his mind. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’
‘My Lost Mistresses!’ Giovanni went into one of the drawers in his desk and Matteo saw a flare of excitement in the old man’s eyes as he took out a photo. Giovanni’s hand was shaking as he handed it to Matteo.
‘This necklace is one of my Lost Mistresses.’
Matteo looked at the photo. It was a lavish emerald necklace and it was, quite simply, beautiful. ‘White gold?’ he checked and Giovanni shook his head.
‘Platinum.’
The emeralds were amazing—the size of robins’ eggs, they sparkled and beguiled. They were so beautiful that even their image made Matteo reach out to run his finger over the stones. ‘We thought it was just a tale that you told, that they were some old coins or something.’
‘So you do remember!’
Matteo conceded that he did with a half smile. ‘Yes, I remember you telling us your tale.’ He let out a low whistle as he looked at the necklace again. ‘This would be worth...’ Usually he could pick this sort of thing but in this instance he really didn’t know. ‘Millions?’ he loosely gauged.
‘And some.’
‘Who’s the designer?’ he asked. ‘What jewellery house...?’
‘Unknown,’ Giovanni quickly said and Matteo frowned because surely a piece of jewellery as exquisite as this would have some considerable history attached.
‘Is this how you got your start?’ he asked. He could see it a little more clearly. Di Sione had started as a shipping empire but now the name was global. If Giovanni had sold pieces as exquisite as this one, then Matteo could see how it might have transpired. Yet, how could a young man from Sicily come to be in possession of this?
Giovanni was less than forthcoming, though, when Matteo pushed for answers.
‘I just want you to find it for me,’ Giovanni said. ‘I don’t know where to start. I sold it to a man named Roche some sixty years ago. Since then it’s been sold on.’ Matteo could see that his grandfather was getting distressed and knew that this necklace really meant something to him.
‘How did you come to own this?’ he asked again.
‘Don’t ask me how I came by them, for an old man must have his secrets...’ Giovanni said and Matteo gave another half smile.
Now the tale of old made a bit more sense.
‘Matteo, I want that necklace. Whatever it takes. Can you find it and bring it to me?’
He looked over to his grandfather.
How he wished he could open up and tell the old man that he meant something to him, that he understood how hard the years had been on him. But Matteo was incapable of giving anyone more than a loan of that smile or body. His mind was a closed door.
So instead he nodded.
This he could do.
‘You know that I shall.’
Giovanni got out of his chair and walked over to Matteo and wrapped his grandson in an embrace, something Giovanni wished he had done more of all those years ago.
Just for a moment, Matteo let himself be held, but then he pulled back.
‘Come on, then,’ he said, pocketing the picture in his jacket.
‘Where?’
‘Your club,’ Matteo said and rattled his keys but then he changed his mind.
His grandfather was dying.
There was no way that he’d be driving today.
Giovanni called for his driver.
MATTEO DIDN’T LIKE HIM.
Not that it showed in his expression.
He just sat in Ellison’s study and glanced up at the hunting trophies that lined the walls and then back to the man.
‘Do I look like I need the money?’ Ellison sneered.
Matteo shrugged, refusing to let the other man see that he was surprised by his response to a very generous offer.
He had been unable to find out the designer or jewellery house that the necklace had come from but had found out that Roche had sold it on to Hugo Ellison some twenty or so years ago.
Matteo vaguely knew Ellison from fundraising galas he had attended and he also knew that the man was money and power mad. He had been sure it would only take a generous donation to his political fund to secure the necklace and had set off for the meeting cocksure and confident that he would leave with what he wanted.
Now Matteo wasn’t so sure.
‘It was a gift to my late wife,’ Ellison said.
Matteo knew enough about that marriage to be sure that Ellison wasn’t crying himself to sleep at night over her death but he went along with the game. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said and then stood. ‘It was insensitive of me to ask.’ He held out his hand. ‘Thank you for seeing me though.’
Ellison didn’t offer his hand and when he didn’t conclude the meeting, Matteo knew, even before Ellison spoke, that he held the ace—it was just a matter of time before the necklace was his.
‘Actually,’ Ellison said, ‘it seems a shame to keep it locked up.’ He looked at Matteo. ‘Sit down, son.’
He loathed it when people said that.
It was just a power play, a chance to assert a stronger position,
