Ruthless Perfection (The Rosa Legacy #1)

by Susie Warren

  Her chin lifted slightly and she looked directly into his eyes. “My parents didn’t have many skills when they came to this country. They worked in the restaurant business until they could scrape together enough money to open their own deli.”

  His gaze settled on her. “So if something is difficult, it should be abandoned.”

  He was being unfair. She couldn’t possibly answer for her father, but she also wouldn’t be disloyal. “No. But I think it is acceptable to make a different choice.”

  “Alberto Neri was a major figure in the marble business. I grew up respecting his knowledge and work ethic. It’s surprising that his family spurned the trade. Maybe if his sons stayed involved, the outcome would have been different.”

  She watched him in silence as she wondered if he would turn her down. He judged her family for not continuing in her grandfather’s footsteps. But he didn’t understand how difficult the choice had been.

  Isabel straightened her spine fractionally. “Listen. I can’t answer for my father. But I’m immensely interested in the marble trade. I realize I didn’t grow up with it, but the connection is there through my grandfather.”

  Marc lifted his hand to stop her. “The quarry is a dangerous place for someone with no experience. Shearing off massive slabs of marble has inherent risks.”

  Isabel met his gaze. “I know that I would need to stay in the background and I can assure you I have a very quiet presence. I’m drawn to creating documentaries mostly through film but also using still photography.”

  Marc watched her beautiful, feminine body and thought if he allowed her to start asking questions then there was no telling what secrets would be revealed.

  “The marble business can be tough. The economic pressures from global over-production have forced many quarries to go out of business and changes in technology have changed the need for manual labor, leaving most of the next generation without work. You will find stories of personal hardship and difficult choices.”

  Wariness hardened Marc’s resolve, and he ran his hand through his hair. His gut told him Alberto wanted his granddaughter to be protected at all costs, yet he wouldn’t mind if she married into an Italian family with a connection to the marble trade. In their conversation last week, he had asked Marc when he was going to settle down and have a family. Marc had been very blunt and told the old man that he was only interested in seeking out wild affairs and when the passion burned out, he moved on. After that point, Alberto reminded him on several occasions that Isabel was off limits.

  Isabel nodded. “My grandfather told me that you have built a diversified empire. But what would your business empire be without the quarry and the connection to the past?”

  “More profitable.” Marc countered with ruthless bite, but a faint shadow of guilt stained his angular cheekbones as he stood up and turned away, trying yet failing to block out images of the quarry. He could easily recall images of his grandfather speaking with the foreman about how to safely extract the next slab of pure white marble as he waited in the background.

  He could tell she was trying to figure out his thinking when she said, “Yes, but profits are not the only reason for keeping a business. Don’t you think a connection to the past is of equal importance?”

  Marc turned back toward her. “It’s not responsible in the long run to keep a business that is failing. It would be better to make a quick, decisive move than to continue to put off the inevitable. That was the mistake Alberto made.” Marc kept the emotion out of his voice, as he didn’t want to acknowledge how painful this was for Alberto. For a man such as Alberto Neri to allow bankruptcy was to acknowledge his own failure.

  “I know I can create a compelling film.”

  His hard jawline tightened slightly. “You’re too young and inexperienced for this project.”

  Isabel stared at him. “You can’t be serious. I’m not inexperienced. I have overcome enormous obstacles to even be here.”

  “What type of obstacles?” Marc asked as he held her gaze.

  He had her. Why would she reveal such a personal part of herself to this stranger? But what did it matter? He clearly wasn’t going to allow her to film in his quarry or interview his employees.

  After a moment of hesitation, she met his gaze and told him, “I was in a serious accident. It was hard to survive physically when my family wanted to push me back into the neat little role they had devised for me. I did survive and I launched my own film company, documenting the choices people make and the reality of their lives.”

  “Surviving an accident isn’t enough to guarantee success with a film.”

  Cringing at his coldness, Isabel stood and raised her voice. “I don’t even know why I bothered to come here and see you. Alberto was wrong. You are clearly not interested in allowing a glimpse of the life of the men who have worked for your family for generations.”

  He remained completely still, his eyes were like cold steel and there was a hard, set look to his mouth, but he didn’t attempt to stop her. He merely watched her as she continued to lecture him, her anger refueled.

  “You have a reputation for being a recluse and not allowing anyone in. I’m not surprised that you wouldn’t allow filming at the Santoro Quarry.”

  The silence after she had finished seemed to fill the room as much as her voice had done. She fully expected him to escort her to the front door and wish her goodbye, but he stood motionless. Then he seemed to relax a little and surprised her by saying slowly, “You’re very passionate, Miss Neri.”

  Suddenly her anger was spent and weariness swept over her. “I should go.”

  “Please, sit down. There is still much to discuss.”

  “I think I have said too much already.” Isabel glared at him. The cold, harsh look had left his eyes; they were still intense, but they weren’t completely distant. She gave up trying to interpret his moods and looked away.

  Marc moved closer to her and took a seat at the end of the sofa and motioned with his hand for her to sit down again.

  The worry over the last few days had taken its toll on her. Without this project, she would have to start from scratch and it could take months if not longer to secure another grant. She would disappoint her grandfather and be stuck waiting tables at the deli. “I have put all of my resources into this project and if I can’t gain access to your quarry then I’ll lose the funding,” she said, and lifted a hand to her forehead that had begun to throb unmercifully.

  She sat down on the sofa.

  Marc leaned forward. “Why is it so important to you personally?”

  “Changing careers from nursing to filmmaking has been difficult. My family hasn’t supported the shift and they are waiting for me to change my mind. Having this solo project that ties into my heritage would give me the opportunity to show them that I’m serious.”

  His gaze flickered over her and she couldn’t tell what his reaction was going to be.

  “I’m not opposed to telling the story of the work that goes on in the quarry. But it would have to be done accurately and not disclose information that was private.” Marc paused for a moment, then said, “You brought your portfolio?”

  Isabel nodded and picked up her tablet. Switching it on, she started the presentation of video clips and still photography.

  She handed him the device and watched his intense scrutiny of each clip.

  “What motivates you to capture an image?” His voice was razor sharp and he didn’t look up from the image.

  “Emotion.” Isabel instinctively knew he wouldn’t want to hear her answer but couldn’t resist challenging him. She added, “Being able to capture raw emotion is why I’m captivated to shoot an image.”

  “What happens when your subject is not underprivileged children but a landscape?” he asked her drily.

  “You’re reaching out to the person viewing the image, so the possibilities are endless. It could be conveying longing or defeat or almost anything.”

  “I look for individuals who are
willing to take risks artistically,” Marc said. “I want to work with someone who wants to be challenged and is internally motivated to do well. In short, I’m not interested in commonplace.”

  Isabel took in his comments. It mirrored her approach to producing documentaries. She thought about losing the grant and felt apprehension skim over her body. She needed this project, for Alberto as well as herself.

  “I also expect a willingness to collaborate and take direction,” he added. “There may be some moments that I won’t want displayed, as this business is competitive.”

  “What type of moments?” Isabel held his gaze.

  “Giving feedback to employees comes to mind.” He was probably a horrible boss.

  “While I would welcome your input and knowledge, I need to have creative freedom over the content of the film,” Isabel said.

  She watched as his jaw tightened and he ran a hand through his short, black hair. “For me to allow this film to be made, I need to have control over the content. I’ll be allowing you into the inner workings of my business and I’m fully aware that you could decide to either showcase my company or find fault with it.”

  A brief silence passed between them. Isabel knew that this was a deciding moment and she would need to bend in order to secure his permission.

  “Mr. Santoro, I’ll work exceptionally hard to deliver an outstanding film. I know that I can get it right.”

  Marc glanced at the clock on his desk and said, “I’ve a conference call in a few minutes so I’ll have my housekeeper show you to the guest house.” He met her gaze and said casually, “The last ferry leaves at 11:30 p.m. Stay for dinner and we’ll discuss the project further.”

  Isabel hoped this meant that she had his agreement. Following his housekeeper outside through a Japanese- inspired garden, they went down several stone steps, passing a massive slate in-ground pool to a detached guesthouse.

  “Dinner will be served on the patio at eight o’clock. If you follow the path through the hedges it will lead to a private beach or you could use the pool. Do you need a swim suit?” the housekeeper asked politely as she waited for her answer.

  “No, thank you.” Isabel shook her head as she privately acknowledged putting on a swimsuit wasn’t an option for her.

  Once inside the spacious guesthouse, she felt on edge. She hadn’t let herself consider her next step, as getting Marc Santoro to agree to this project was challenging enough. She noticed the living room overlooked the ocean, as did the two adjoining bedrooms, each with a marble-tiled bathroom.

  At loose ends for a few hours, she changed into a simple white sundress she had placed in her bag that morning and ventured down to the ocean. Isabel easily followed the path through manicured bushes to a wooden staircase. The beach below was completely deserted with large rocks scattered along the coast with patches of clear, white sand.

  She left her sandals and colorful scarf on the bottom of the staircase so she could find her way back and began walking. The sun warmed her skin and she walked along the edge of the water to cool her body. She contemplated the dinner ahead. It felt like going into a second round of a fight after almost being knocked out. Marc seemed polite on the surface, but she knew that he wouldn’t be easily swayed. He seemed so remote.

  Thinking about his natural appeal, she guessed he must have a significant other. Alberto hadn’t mentioned anything about his personal life. She dismissed any speculation her brain wanted to come up with and reminded herself that she had no interest in Marc Santoro beyond the project. Even if she met him in different circumstances, she would never let a man dominated by perfection see her flaws. She knew in the industry he had a reputation for demanding the absolute best. He was never satisfied with a project; he always wanted more.

  His pursuit of perfection unnerved her. She trembled slightly as she allowed her mind to consider her own imperfections. The memory that popped into her mind was the last time she wore a revealing beach outfit. Her family had met at a park outside the city to celebrate Father’s Day. It was nearly ninety degrees, so she had worn a pink tank top and short floral skirt. She was the last to arrive and smiled when she noticed her two young nephews squirting each other with water toys. Her father and brothers were already fishing in the nearby stream while her mother organized the picnic table.

  The memory of her mother asking her to cover her scars washed over her, humiliating her.

  When she replied that it was too hot, her mother said “Please, Isabel, it will upset everyone to see you like that.” Her mother handed her a large beach towel and insisted that Isabel use it to cover up her scars. Since that time, Isabel hadn’t bothered to wear summer clothes, instead preferring to avoid summer outings altogether.

  As she continued to walk along the deserted beach, she pushed the unwelcome memory from her thoughts and instead focused on filming in Carrara. She needed to convince Marc Santoro that she could do the work.

  Marc ended his overseas conference call and his mind began to consider Isabel Neri. She had touched something deep within him when she spoke about gaining her family’s respect. He knew firsthand how difficult it was to prove to a parent that an opposing vision or idea was valid. But he also knew that opening his quarry up to a documentary was inviting disaster. There was no telling what an inquisitive filmmaker could uncover given a few weeks in Carrara.

  This was further complicated by her grandfather refusing to back down. Even though the man was bankrupt, he held on to the conviction that he had promised Isabel he would help her secure access to Carrara’s quarries. Somehow the project seemed to smooth over the failure of his quarry. Along with the business clients Santoro Designs had taken on, Alberto had insisted that the grant to document the life of the quarry worker had to be honored. Maybe this was the old man’s way of memorializing himself.

  Marc caught sight of Isabel coming up the steps to the veranda. She had placed her hair up and her skin shimmered with a light bronze sheen. He didn’t make a sound as he watched her approach, deep in thought.

  This project was the last thing he wanted right now. As it was, he had to push himself to return to the quarry twice a year. He would rather spend his time traveling the world and acquiring more assets than stepping back into the past. Unfortunately for him, he did owe Alberto this kindness.

  “Did you enjoy your solitude?” He held her gaze just long enough to feel the attraction building. He knew he shouldn’t encourage a flirtation but he felt inexplicably drawn to her. What was it about her that was so intriguing? He should be running the opposite way, not encouraging her.

  “I don’t often get the chance to be the only one on a secluded beach.”

  He pulled out a chair for her and, after she was seated, poured a crisp chardonnay into her glass.

  She carefully lifted the glass to her alluring lips and took a sip. “I hope your conference call went well.”

  “I own the majority shares of a mine in Indonesia, but I can’t say it is going particularly well at the moment.” After a brief silence, Marc added, “I hope the wine is to your liking?”

  “It’s delicious. Thank you for inviting me to stay.” She was guarded with him. Did she know he wanted to deny her request?

  The housekeeper arrived and placed a chilled salad plate in front of each of them.

  Marc knew she wanted an answer but decided to put off the inevitable a little longer. “What made you decide to create documentaries?” he asked as he watched her closely.

  Her body relaxed slightly as she took another sip of her wine. “I’ve always been good with my hands. Alberto had given me my first camera when I was seven. Even then I was driven to capture compelling images on film.”

  Isabel looked at him intently for a moment, seemed about to say something, then changed her mind. He made a mental note to keep her at a distance, as he had no intention of becoming one of her subjects.

  The conversation stayed agreeable as they discussed a variety of topics. He offered her more wine, but she decli
ned.

  The housekeeper placed a plate of seafood risotto in front of each of them.

  “I’m not inclined to make my quarry accessible to a filmmaker. It goes against every instinct I have, frankly. So if you have a convincing argument that you have held back until now, I think you should share it.”

  Isabel took a sip of her wine. “I understand your reluctance. Part of creating a documentary is getting a subject to trust you. I’m not an expose journalist out to create sensational bylines.” She let a moment pass before continuing. “A large part of creating a compelling documentary is to figure out how to encourage or allow the subject to tell their story. It’s about showcasing or revealing a way of life. If it’s done well, the subject is immensely proud of the final product or film. Ultimately, that is the goal.”

  He watched as she toyed with the stem of her wineglass. “The process must be complicated by having a variety of viewpoints.”

  She smiled at him and he could feel his blood pressure rise. “Having differing viewpoints adds interest and depth.”

  He reminded himself not to be drawn to her. “Why would I want to allow this film?”

  Isabel placed her fork down. “I think any time you cast a spotlight on an industry or way of life, you have the opportunity to increase understanding or support. I would think that would be good for business.”

  He was surprised by how easily the conversation flowed between them. “So you think the public relations aspects of this project are enough to convince me to override my natural sense of privacy?”

  “Not entirely. My relationship with my grandfather should convince you that I intend to portray the best the industry has to offer. He struggled his entire life to keep his quarry afloat. Finally in some small way I’ll be able to honor his contributions. And there must be countless others who have worked exceedingly hard without any recognition. By allowing me to create this film, you’ll be giving back to the men who have helped shape Carrara.”

  It was impossible to ignore her captivating smile and engaging demeanor. He knew that he could speak with her for hours without getting bored or restless. But he had to be careful not to be tempted by her. She had tradition written all over her and he knew Alberto was clamoring for her in the background. While she may be skilled at producing documentaries, he didn’t want to become her next subject. He much preferred to live his life in obscurity.