The Forbidden Ferrara. Sarah Morgan

my duty to warn against—’

      ‘Don’t give me negatives—’ Santo lifted his hand to silence the man, his eyes still fixed on his brother. ‘So your objection isn’t the commercial development which you concede makes sound business sense, but the interaction with the Baracchi family. Do you think I’m a coward?’

      ‘No, and that is what troubles me. You use reason and courage but Baracchi has neither. You are my brother.’ Cristiano’s voice thickened. ‘Guiseppe Baracchi hates you. He’s always been an irascible old man. What makes you think he will listen to you before he loses that infamous temper of his?’

      ‘He may be an irascible old man but he’s also a frightened old man in financial trouble.’

      ‘I’m willing to bet he’s not in so much trouble he’ll take money from a Ferrara. And frightened old men can be dangerous. We’ve maintained the hotel there because it would hurt our mother to sell our father’s first hotel, but I’ve been talking to her recently and—’

      ‘We’re not going to sell. I’m going to turn it around but to do that I need the land. All of the land. The whole bay.’ Santo saw the lawyer’s agitation but he ignored him. ‘I don’t just want the land for watersports, I want the Beach Shack. That restaurant pulls in more custom than all our restaurants in the hotel. This is not about fuelling a feud, it’s about protecting our business. While guests walk away from us to eat at the Beach Shack and watch the sunset, we are losing revenue.’

      ‘Which brings us to the second problem in this ambitious scheme of yours. That restaurant is run by his granddaughter—a woman who very possibly hates you even more than her grandfather.’ Cristiano looked him straight in the eye. ‘How do you think Fia will greet the news that you intend to make an offer for the land?’

      He didn’t have to think. He knew.

      She would fight him with everything she had.

      They would clash. Tempers would burn hot.

      And woven through the tension of the present would be the past.

      Not just the long-standing feud over land, but their own personal history. Because he hadn’t been entirely honest with his brother, had he? In a family where no one had secrets, he had a secret. A secret he’d buried deep enough to ensure it would never see the light of day.

      The sudden rush of black emotion took him by surprise. With an impatient frown he glanced out of the window to the beach beyond but he didn’t see sand or sea. Instead he saw Fiammetta Baracchi with her long legs and temper hotter than a red chilli pepper.

      Cristiano was still watching him. ‘She hates you.’

      Was it hate?

      They hadn’t discussed feelings, he thought. They hadn’t discussed anything at all. Not even when they’d ripped each other’s clothes off, when his body had screamed for hers and hers for his, not once in the whole wild, erotic, out of control experience had they exchanged a single word.

      And instinct told him she’d buried her secret as deeply as he’d buried his.

      As far as he was concerned, that was the way it was staying.

      The past had no place in this negotiation.

      ‘Under her management the Shack has gone from a few rickety tables on the beach to the most talked about eatery in Sicily. Rumour has it that she’s a talented chef.’

      Cristiano shook his head slowly. ‘You’re walking into an explosive situation, Santo. At best it’s going to be messy.’

      Carlo, their lawyer, put his head in his hands.

      Santo ignored both of them just as he ignored the elemental rush of heat and the dark memories that, now woken, refused to return to sleep. ‘This feud has lasted too long. It’s time to move on.’

      ‘Not possible.’ Cristiano’s voice was harsh. ‘Guiseppe Baracchi’s grandson, his only male heir, died when he wrapped a car around a tree. Your car, Santo. And you expect him to shake your hand and sell you his land?’

      ‘Guiseppe Baracchi is a businessman and this deal makes perfect business sense.’

      ‘Are you going to tell him that before or after the old man shoots you?’

      ‘He won’t shoot me.’

      ‘He probably won’t need to.’ Cristiano gave a grim smile. ‘Knowing Fia, she’ll shoot you first.’

      And that, Santo thought without emotion, was entirely possible.

      ‘This is the last snapper.’ Fia lifted the fish from the grill and plated it up. The heat from the fire warmed her cheeks. ‘Gina?’

      ‘Gina is outside checking out the driver of a Lamborghini that just pulled into our car park. You know she has a taste for men who can keep her in the style of her dreams. I’ll take those.’ Ben scooped up the plates and balanced them. ‘How is your grandfather tonight?’

      ‘Tired. He’s not himself. He doesn’t even have the energy to snap at people.’ Fia felt a ripple of worry and made a mental note to check on him next time she had a lull. ‘Are you coping out there? Tell Gina to leave the customers alone and work.’

      ‘You tell her. I’m too chicken.’ Ben skilfully dodged the waitress, who came sprinting into the kitchen. ‘Hey, be careful or we’ll be sending you out on the boat for more snapper.’

      ‘You’ll never guess who just turned up—’

      Fia shot a glance at Ben as she started on the next order. ‘Serve the food or it will be cold and I don’t serve cold food.’ Aware that Gina was virtually trembling with excitement, Fia decided it would be quicker and more efficient just to let her gush. She added seasoning and olive oil to fresh scallops and dropped them onto the pan. They were so fresh they needed nothing but the best quality oil to bring out the flavour. ‘It must be someone exciting because I’ve never known you starstruck before and we’ve had plenty of celebrities in here.’ As far as she was concerned, a guest was a guest. They were here to eat and her job was to feed them. And she fed them well. Expertly she flipped the scallops and added fresh herbs and capers to the pan.

      Gina sneaked a look over her shoulder to the restaurant. ‘It’s the first time I’ve seen him in person. He’s stunning.’

      ‘Whoever he is, I hope he booked because otherwise you’re going to have to send him away.’ Fia shook the pan constantly. ‘It’s a full house tonight.’

      ‘You won’t be sending him away.’ Gina sounded awestruck. ‘It’s Santo Ferrara. In the flesh. Only sadly not showing anywhere near as much flesh as I’d like in an ideal world.’

      Fia stopped breathing.

      Weakness spread through her body and then she started to shake, as if she’d suddenly been injected with something deadly. The pan slid from her hand and crashed onto the flame, the precious scallops forgotten.

      ‘He wouldn’t come here.’ He wouldn’t dare. She was talking to herself. Reassuring herself. But there was no reassurance to be had.

      Since when did she know anything about what motivated Santo Ferrara?

      ‘Er—why wouldn’t he come?’ Gina looked intrigued. ‘Seems logical enough to me. His company owns the hotel next door and you serve great food.’

      Gina wasn’t local, otherwise she would have known the history between the two families. Everyone knew. And Fia also knew that the Ferrara Beach Club, the hotel that shared her perfect curve of beach, was the smallest and least significant of the Ferrara hotel group. There was no earthly reason why Santo himself would choose to give it his personal attention.

      Her concentration shot, Fia caught her elbow on the side of a hot pan. Pain seared through her and brought her back to the present. Furious with herself for forgetting the scallops, she plated them