Chapter Thirteen

Drago paced his office. “What do you mean we don’t have extradition?”

“Sir, your grandmother’s accountant, though not brilliant, isn’t completely stupid, either. We have no means to bring him back to Italy at this point or to retrieve the funds.”

Drago scrubbed his hand back and forth over the top of his head. Minchia. They needed that money. “Fine. Then we’ll get him another way. I sent you a document outlining my plan. I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this. I have enough going on over here, but it is what it is. I need an investment front set up.”

“Yes, sir. I have a contact running in his circles. My source can be trusted.”

Drago pressed his lips together. “Good, because if we lose Diego I guarantee he won’t make the same mistake a second time. Set up the front then, and start the rumor mill going. If he’s looking for a place to hide his money, he’ll bite.”

They had one chance to tempt the asshole out of hiding. One chance to get the majority of his grandmother’s money back. He shook his head. It should have never come to this.

“Let me know when he makes contact, who he calls, any move he makes. Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir,” the detective confirmed.

Closing his eyes, Drago pulled in a breath. “Thank you. And when this is done, if Diego so much as sets a toe on Italian soil, I want him brought in. His ass can rot in jail. And if he’s smarter than he looks and stays away, at least I’ll have gotten Nonna’s money back.”

Disconnecting the call, he walked to the office bar. He poured a finger of Balvenie scotch into a tumbler, then threw it back. The burn hit, and he breathed against it. The pain felt good, a hell of a lot better than waiting on Diego to take the bait, the stress of losing the inn, or the hell he’d pay if Chase ever found out he’d been working against her. There was no way of ever telling her at this point. It was a good thing all the way around she was returning to America.

He glanced at his phone. Five p.m. He was having drinks with the linen vendor Chase had thought represented Frette, then with the tile man at six. The meetings would go his way if they knew what was good for them.

He sighed. His plan had been sound in the beginning. A few obstacles that would make Chase postpone the opening until after the inn had brought in business. No harm, no foul, until Nonna got involved anyway.

And even if Nonna hadn’t demanded he leave the opening alone, Chase’s appreciation for his “help” had made his stomach sour. A new sensation for him, to be sure. He’d never batted an eye when grown men sat across the negotiation table from him crying, but a little misplaced appreciation from Chase, and he felt guilty?

Business was business. He still believed it, but he also respected Nonna—and Chase, too. So he’d leave the grand opening alone. Well, after he fixed the damn mess and found a way to make it up to Chase.

He pushed back from the desk and made his way through the kitchen, yelling, “Nonna, I’m heading out.”

“In here.”

He stuck his head in the front sitting room to find her reading on the chaise lounge.

She glanced up. “Really, caro. Yelling?”

“Scusa. I’ll be back a bit later.” He threw her a crooked grin, the one she hadn’t been able to resist ever since he was a boy.

Blowing him a kiss, she dropped her eyes back to her book. “Ciao.”

He hesitated. He didn’t know how she could be so calm, so unaffected by the state of things. It was a skill he needed to adopt. “Nonna, aren’t you scared?”

Pausing, she put her book aside, then met his gaze. “Would it help you to see me stressed? No. I need to be strong so you may be strong. I believe you will find a way. I’m heartbroken, but showing my heart split in two does no one any good. As long as you are in Ferrara, I have comfort.”

Her words only resulted in an ache between his eyes. She found comfort in his being home, but staying home was the one thing he couldn’t do. And where would she go when the inn was lost? The ache turned to pounding.

He stepped out onto the sidewalk busy with people going for drinks and riding bicycles home from work, and families heading out for dinner. One of his favorite things about the city center was that there were no automobiles, save for the few owned by those who were lucky enough to live right at the heart of it all. But since cars weren’t allowed in most of the city, it left the space open for the people.

It was foggy, allowing him to see but a few meters. Fog in Ferrara had a way of setting a romantic stage. The buildings lost in time, the soft glow of the lampposts—history. He imagined that Chase loved it.

Chase. Ever since the night at her hotel he couldn’t quit thinking about having her under him again, around him. Not just her body but her sweet spirit. The way she looked at the world. She’d made him feel, and that was something. Now it was his turn. A special gesture to make up for what an ass he’d been. He should have found a different way to get what he wanted—one that didn’t harm her in the process.

Maybe he’d sweep her off to Rome. A short flight in his private jet followed by dinner and a little shopping. A bit of wining and dining would help make up for his deceit, even if she never knew about it.

He always would.

So if he could put a smile on her face, relieve the tension pulling around her eyes, it would go a long way in easing some of the guilt constantly riding on his shoulders. Now he just had to get her to say yes, when her schedule would demand she say no.

Pleased with his new plan, he pushed through the doors of the restaurant and made his way to the bar. “Signor Santini.”

“De Luca.” The man was short with a round head and a rounder belly. Drago shook his meaty hand in a firm shake meant to remind the man who he was dealing with. Santini narrowed his eyes a bit but simply slid his large frame onto the barstool.

Drago ordered another scotch, then turned to his companion. “There’s been a change of plans. Signora Huntington will be calling about the linens as expected. But when she does, I need you to refund Huntington House and let them out of the contract.”

Santini’s eyes widened. “You want me to what? No way in hell, De Luca. Landing that deal is huge. I need it.”

Drago sipped from his glass. “You need it because your product is shit. One contract is not going to fix that. The only thing you’re going to accomplish is making me mad.”

Santini’s eyes hardened. “Well, maybe I’m not too worried about making you mad. What do you think? You can just drop back into town and everyone will jump to your bidding like they used to? The only thing that makes you one of us now is your grandmother. I’m not dissolving the contract.”

Drago forced his fingers to unclench on the bar and made himself relax. Or at least look relaxed. “Santini, I don’t want to have to work against you, but if you don’t cancel, you won’t work in this town again. Or Lucca, or Rome, or…”

Santini blanched as Drago listed off a half dozen more cities. But instead of caving as Drago expected, he pushed off the stool and downed his drink. “You don’t get it. My business is already failing. No deal.” His words were strong, his tone determined, but Drago had been studying his opponents for years. The glassy look in Santini’s eyes and the perspiration on his bald head told Drago the man was scared.

Drago might not be as tight with the town as he once had been, but the man still feared him. That was somewhat of a consolation.

Santini shoved his way through the growing crowd, cursing along the way. Drago hadn’t won, but neither had Santini.

Turning back to the bar, he raised his hand for another glass.

The next meeting would go better. There was no other choice. Throwing back half his drink, he braced against the burn in his chest and blew out a breath.

Santini wouldn’t keep working in Ferrara. His business would continue to fade into nothing. And if that didn’t happen, Drago would simply buy the company himself.

He was beginning to see there was a difference between a business failing because people needed a little help, and a business that failed because the owner used it for his own ends.

He checked the time, then glanced around the restaurant bar. His meeting was ten minutes late.

With a focused eye, he took in the people around him. There’d been a time when he couldn’t sit here without having his name called every other second. Now the patrons moved around him as if they didn’t know who he was. The reality of the matter sliced deep. While he was away, making his millions and avoiding his own feelings, Nonna had been fleeced and the town that once hailed him as part of a family had forgotten him.

His first instinct was to strategize a way to reverse the damage, but who was he kidding? He wasn’t staying. Living in one place and putting down roots was about as appealing to him as sleeping on Santini’s sheets.

But this time when he left, he’d make sure Nonna was in good hands. Which was what he should have done from the beginning.

Then he’d take off for his beach and babe tour. Best way to forget everything about this place. He tipped his glass back, draining it, but this time the burn didn’t warm him at all.