by Wendy Tyson
“Why would your mother resent you, Alex? She tried for so long to have a child. Then she had two. Two sons in an Italian family. Surely that was cause for celebration.”
Alex picked at a piece of bread, but didn’t eat it. “Ever since I could remember, she was like that. Moody. Distant. She adored Dom. He was the golden child, could do no wrong. Me, on the other hand,” he gave Allison a bittersweet smile, “with me, she had a short fuse. Personally, I think she resented having a second baby. She never wanted me because it was another anchor, weighing her down and tying her to the Benini family.”
What a sad thing for a man to believe about his own birth, Allison thought. She considered the diary, Gina’s reaction to Francesca. “You were right. In your mother’s diary, it was almost as though she felt Francesca was competing for your father’s attention. Jealous of any time Paolo spent with his sister.”
Alex took a sip of wine, examining Allison over the rim of his glass. “Want the truth?”
Oh, if only, Allison thought. “Please.”
“I think Francesca had her own issues. One of which was an unhealthy infatuation with my father.”
“You think she had inappropriate feelings for her own brother?”
“I’m not saying they were sexual in nature. I’m simply saying they were unhealthy.” He put his glass down on the table between them and leaned forward. “Think about it. My aunt moved here when she was only a teenager. Paolo was older, a man. Suddenly she knows no one, has only my parents for company.”
“And Dom. And you.”
“Ah, but I wasn’t born yet. I arrived months after she did.”
“Didn’t your grandparents visit?”
“Not that I can recall.”
“How about your great-grandmother? Francesca told Vaughn that she was quite a...pip.”
“If by pip you mean bitch, I’ve heard the same stories. No one from my father’s family visited. It was just the triangle—my mother, my father, and Francesca. In Italy, Francesca had been the apple of my grandfather’s eye. She didn’t have that here. It was...disruptive.”
“So you’re saying she transferred those feelings to your father?”
“Dom has memories of a happy, loving mother. I have memories of a doting, if erratic aunt and a sullen, resentful mother. What else could have caused that change? I think Aunt Francesca and my father were inordinately close, causing a rift between my parents.”
Alex stood, walked to the banister and looked out at the pool and the setting sun. A cacophony of color—red and orange and violet—spread like lava across the horizon. When Alex turned, that same heat was reflected in his eyes.
He said, “Too bad you didn’t bring a suit. We could swim.”
His narrowed, laughing eyes said he had more than swimming on his mind. Allison held his gaze, her mind imagining, just for the briefest moment, what it would be like to kiss him in that beautiful pool, wait until dark, and make love by the water. Pushing the thought away, she said firmly, “You were telling me about your mother and your aunt. Were you and Francesca close?”
“You are an amazingly focused woman. I can understand why Francesca chose you.” He walked back to the sitting area and folded himself on the edge of a chair. After slicing a piece of cheddar, he said, “Francesca and I were quite close. The odd thing is, after my mother committed suicide, Aunt Francesca changed. She no longer doted. She’d never gone out much, but now she stayed in all of the time. She moved downstairs, physically separating herself from the rest of us. She seemed depressed. It was as though she’d swapped places with my mother.” He popped the cheese into his mouth, chewed and swallowed. “I was no longer the favored child.”
Maybe Francesca felt guilty, Allison thought. She pictured the “Gina” written in that bathroom in the hunting cabin. Thought of Maria’s accusations the night Allison had stayed for dinner. Had Francesca had more to do with Gina’s death than anyone suspected?
Allison said, “Maybe your aunt was simply mourning your mother.”
“But they despised one another!”
“But you said yourself, Paolo and Gina were all she had.”
“But then she had my father to herself.”
“That didn’t last long. He married Simone soon after, didn’t he?”
“Oddly enough, my father’s marriage to Simone seemed to bring my aunt some peace. Not that they got along. Frankly, Simone is not very bright, and Francesca treated her like the hustling money-grubber I suppose she is. But Francesca liked Maria. She’d spend hours watching my sister, playing with her, in a way she never seemed to do with Dom.”
“And still she never left the house?”
“Never.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“You must have some educated guesses about your aunt’s behavior?”
“Agoraphobic? That’s the easy answer, but it’s wrong. She never seemed particularly anxious. Never had panic attacks.”
“But if the source of her anxiety is open spaces, people, then she wouldn’t necessarily demonstrate anxiety in her own home.”
“She wasn’t agoraphobic, Allison. I know my aunt. She chose to stay there. Why, I don’t know. As a kid, it embarrassed me. Now, I feel sorry for her. What would keep a woman willingly locked in a virtual prison for forty years?”
Allison shook her head. She had no idea.
Thirty-Six
Dinner was delicious. The fish perfectly moist and flaky, the vegetables tender, and the second bottle of wine, a vintage from the Benini family’s Italian vineyard, superb. Alex refused her help with the clean-up and she sat again at the island, watching him put away the last of the dishes.
“Where did you learn to cook like that?”
“From watching Francesca in the kitchen.”
Surprised, Allison said, “Francesca cooks?”
“Really well. I think she was rather disappointed when my father hired Jackie. But they became fast friends, and Francesca’s cooking got even better.” He smiled. “What else would she do with all that time?”
“I figured she was busy getting her MBA on the sly.”
The smile faded. “Did she tell you that?”
“No, I was joking.”
He looked down at the glass in his hand, trying to recover. But it was too late. Allison had seen the chink in his armor. She decided to prod.
“She did say she’d read an MBA’s worth of books, though.”
“That doesn’t make her an expert.”
“And she used to counsel your father on business matters behind closed doors.”
“He humored her, I’m sure.”
“Why are you so against your aunt running Benini Enterprises?”
He put the glass in a cabinet, turned to face her, his handsome features twisted with indignation. “It’s not in her best interest.”
Allison thought of Francesca’s vultures. “That sounds bad, Alex. Especially considering what’s happened.”
“It wasn’t meant to. She’s old, eccentric. The shareholders would never accept her.”
“Maybe they would. She’s also bright and, from what I saw, very knowledgeable. And motivated. Don’t forget motivated.”
“It will never happen. If she decides to return, she will have changed her mind.”
“You sound awfully sure that she left of her own volition.”
Alex met her gaze. His look was penetrating. Allison felt her stomach tighten. She blamed the wine, the sunset, the glorious meal. She looked away.
“You read the same diary I did, Allison. My mother painted a picture of a woman with nothing to live for.”
“I’m not sure that’s true.”
Alex pulled up a chair and sat close to Allison.
Close enough that she could feel the warmth of his body, smell the scent of his sp
icy aftershave. “Why do you think Francesca came to the States, Allison?”
His voice was low, melodic. Allison played with her half-empty glass. “Adventure? To see a new country?”
He smiled, that look of perpetual amusement back in his eyes. “No. It was a marriage gone wrong. I’m surprised she didn’t tell you.”
Alex had her attention.
“She never mentioned being married.”
“I don’t even know his name. My great-grandmother traded Aunt Francesca the way you would a cow or goat. A local family with lots of land, rivals of the Benini family dating back to my great, great, great, great grandfather, the duke. She wanted to increase the Benini wealth and stature, thought her sixteen-year-old granddaughter could do that for her.”
Allison recalled the news article Francesca had given her—about an ongoing family feud. “An arranged marriage?”
He nodded. “The man was older. Controlling, mean. I don’t know what he did to her, exactly, but it was bad enough that she went running home to Daddy. For the first time in his life, my grandfather defied his mother.”
“He didn’t make her go back?”
“He shipped her to America. To my parents.”
Allison thought about this. Rather than answering questions, it raised even more. She remembered the diary. “Your mother mentioned an asylum in her diary.”
“I don’t know any details. I think they needed to do something with Francesca, and it was a convent, an asylum, or America.”
Interesting. “You’d think a woman who escaped a fate like that would embrace her new-found freedom in a new country.”
“You’d think,” Alex said.
“Unless...”
Alex leaned closer. He touched Allison’s chin, pulled it forward. Her head spun. She felt his breath on her cheek, his shoulder against her shoulder. Those blue eyes searched her own, held her. His mouth was inches away.
She wanted to give in. She knew he was a player, but somehow, that made him more attractive. No worry about relationships, commitment. Just a little fun. The stress, the alcohol, there were a hundred excuses for impulsive longing.
None of them forgivable.
Allison pushed back against the island, moving away from Alex. She saw a momentary flash of disappointment, then anger. He’s annoyed he can’t have me, Allison thought. He thinks I’ll eventually give in. And he’s probably very used to getting what he wants.
“Unless?”
Allison found her voice. “Unless she’d suffered something so terrible that she couldn’t recover.”
Alex stood, flicked on the living room lights, his attempt at seduction over. “My aunt is no more capable of running Benini Enterprises than Simone, though for different reasons. She ran away. I am quite sure of it. Let’s hope that when she returns, she’s come to her senses.”
Allison remained seated. She fingered the edge of the diary. “You promised me answers if I came here tonight.”
“Haven’t I delivered?”
“I’m curious about two things.”
He waited, arms crossed.
“One, I understand that Francesca gets control of the company upon your father’s death, but who gets the house and the rest of his assets?”
“I don’t know.”
“Bullshit.”
“Ms. Campbell, I wouldn’t expect that language from you.”
“You promised me the truth.”
“Very well.” With a weary glance in her direction, he said, “Simone gets a life estate in the house and a tidy sum of cash. Enough to see her through to the beyond. The rest of my father’s assets will be split between Francesca and his kids.”
“How about the company?”
“We haven’t seen the will yet.”
“I’m sure you knew his estate plan before he fell ill. With all that money and power at stake, you were sure to know.”
“Francesca gets the controlling half of the company. She also has a life estate in the house, and one-fourth of the remainder of his cash and stocks.” He looked down at his hands, examined his nails. “She’s a very rich woman, even in the company’s current state. And at the helm of Benini Enterprises? Very powerful, too. Powerful enough to ruin us.”
Allison paused, considering what he’d just said. “And you, Dom, and Maria?”
“We share equally in the remainder of his cash and stocks. And we each get an eleven percent ownership in the business.”
Allison arched an eyebrow. “Only eleven percent?”
“My father owned sixty-six percent of the business, outside shareholders the other thirty-four percent. Half of his portion went to Francesca, along with control. We share the rest.”
Allison thought about this, yet another piece making sense.
With thirty-four percent of the business in the hands of outsiders, and no one family member holding the rest, the family risked losing control.
The other shareholders could act in consort, taking over control of Benini Enterprises and ousting the Benini family—unless a majority of the Beninis acted together. No wonder Francesca had so desperately wanted help. She couldn’t risk that. And neither could the rest of the family.
Allison said, “Eleven percent. That must feel like a slap in the face.”
“Why? What did we do to deserve more?”
“Dom has been working for Benini Enterprises for years. Even you and Maria have a role.”
“It was my father’s company to do as he pleased.” Alex shrugged, then sat. “Besides, his hands were tied. He agreed to those terms for Francesca when he took over the company from my grandfather.”
“Despite your great-grandmother’s displeasure at the failed marriage?”
“By then, she was gone.”
“What about Maria’s portion? What happens now?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Simone.”
Allison believed him this time. “If something happens to Francesca, do you know who gets control of the company?”
“Dom and me.”
“What about Francesca’s other assets?”
“That I don’t know. I’m not privy to the terms of her will.”
She looked at him, skeptical. “Really? You have no idea?”
“Really, Allison. I have no idea.” He smiled. “Are you done?”
“My last set of questions.” Allison pushed back a stray tendril of blonde hair and tucked it behind her ear. Alex was watching her from his perch on the couch. She knew she was testing his patience. “Tell me about your uncles, John and Enzo.”
“That’s awfully open-ended. Can you narrow it down?”
“Why did they come to the States?”
“As I understand it, they were sent by Gina’s parents.”
“Your mother came from a wealthy family?”
“Quite the opposite. They were peasants with too many kids. Clearly they believed the Catholic Church’s edict against birth control.”
“Then how did they buy the bakery?” Allison finally gave voice to the question that had bothered her all along, but watching Alex now, she wasn’t sure he knew the real answer.
“Like any immigrants, I imagine. They scrimped and saved.”
“There was that horrible fire. Your poor uncle. Was its origin ever discovered?”
“If you mean was it arson, I don’t think so.”
Allison hesitated. “The brothers, did they get a large settlement?”
“I imagine. Enough to buy the farm, at least.” Alex looked genuinely perplexed by Allison’s questions. “Why do you want to know? What could this possibly have to do with my aunt’s disappearance?”
Allison shook her head. Her gut said it was connected, that someone was paying off the Pittaluga brothers, with both the bakery and the farm. She just wished she knew why.
Al
lison was back at the inn before ten o’clock. She peeled off her clothes, set the shower on its highest setting, and stood under the hot spray until her body felt clean and the evening had receded to its proper place in her mind. She felt confused, angry, but also, oddly energized. Whether Alex realized it or not, he had given her some important information.
She needed to digest it, figure out what was a red herring—and what could yield results.
After drying off, she traded the hotel towel for her Target pajamas. Hair still wet, she sat on the bed with her notebook in hand. She made notes, continuing the list she and Vaughn had started.
Something was niggling at her, tickling the edges of her consciousness.
Something about the family dynamic.
Francesca’s failed marriage, her relationship with Gina. Alex and those eyes, amused one moment, forlorn the next. So expressive. A boy rejected by his mother, growing up in a home so large and opulent, but ultimately claustrophobic. A brother and sister sharing a manor, one protecting the other. And a family cursed by suicide, fire, disfigurement.
And bubbling beneath was the family business. Once a true enterprise, now a failing company with thirty-four percent of the stock owned by non-family members. Demanding change. Valuing tradition. Rejecting a female leader.
Shareholders in a foreign land?
The phone rang. Mia. Allison picked up right away, thrilled to be talking to someone from home.
“You should come back,” Mia said. “I’m beginning to think it’s too dangerous for you to be up there alone.”
“Now you sound like your son.”
“Maybe my son has a point.”
Allison sighed. “I’ll be on my way tomorrow night. My flight’s at seven.”
There was a pause followed by the sound of a dog barking. Mia said, “There’s some information you should know.”
With Buddy still barking in the background, Mia recounted her discussion with Benjamin Gretchko, her encounter with Svengetti, the strange Michael Jiff, and the underground bunker. She spoke quickly, words spilling from her mouth as though she were in a race to get them out.
