A Wedding At The Italian's Demand. Kim Lawrence

was the excuse of a weak man, the man he had no intention of ever being.

      There was always a choice.

      Suddenly the mantra he lived his life by had less conviction.

      ‘I have spoken to the lawyers but there is no way to break the will.’

      ‘So there’s a will—what does it say?’ Ivo struggled to express interest he did not feel. All he could think about was Bruno and the fact that he had not betrayed him out of choice. Bruno had fought for him, admittedly against stacked odds, but he had fought nonetheless.

      ‘Not relevant.’

      It struck Ivo as very relevant but he said nothing. He was thinking about the son that Bruno had left behind; the child he could not desert. He had turned his back on his brother but he wouldn’t turn his back on his nephew!

      ‘They were young, the young never expect to die, and this Henderson woman...the sister...’

      Ivo hadn’t known there was a sister, but then why should he? ‘Does she have a name?’

      ‘Something Scottish... Fiona or, no, Flora, I think.’

      ‘And she is the child’s legal guardian?’ Ivo found himself clinging to the knowledge that Bruno had a son; that a part of him lived on. Perhaps one day it would be a comfort, one day when the pain of loss was not so raw and his sense of guilt not so corrosive. What he needed to focus on now was not the guilt, but the fatherless child. It’s not about you, Ivo, he reminded himself with a humourless half-smile.

      His grandfather brought his fist down onto the desk top with a force that made the wood vibrate and drew a wince from his lips. ‘It’s ludicrous. She has...is...nothing!’ he spat out contemptuously.

      ‘You want to be a part of this child’s life, maybe you should learn to say her name,’ Ivo suggested mildly.

      ‘I do not want her to be a part of this child’s life. That family is responsible for me losing my grandson.’

      That was certainly one way of looking at it and it was the one way Ivo had been encouraged to look at it. A way he still found he was reluctant to relinquish.

      ‘Well, how is no compromise working for you so far, Grandfather? Maybe you should be realistic and settle for what you can get.’

      Salvatore’s eyes narrowed. ‘Is that the lesson in life you have learnt? Settling?’ he snarled with withering contempt. ‘I made her a perfectly reasonable offer—generous! She refused.’

      ‘You offered to buy the child?’ Dio, this got worse. His grandfather seemed to have lost the subtlety and cunning he was famed for. ‘And you are surprised she refused?’

      ‘Oh, I know what this is about. She’s barren, can’t have a baby of her own, so she’s going to cling onto this one for dear life,’ Salvatore brooded darkly. ‘The letter she sent said it all...sentimental twaddle, inviting me to visit him there. I do not want that family in the child’s life. They took him from...’

      The old man’s voice quivered; his eyes grew glassy and blank. The result of anger, or grief?

      Or just the simple fact someone had thwarted him?

      Whatever had put the quiver in his voice, it made the old man swallow and turn away. This rare visual evidence of vulnerability, the sudden appearance of frailty, struck deep, bringing the memory to the surface of the day when Salvatore had been strong. When he had rescued him from that room and the lifeless father Ivo had tried to awaken, even in his childish ignorance trying to push some of the pills that had spilled from one of the empty bottles past his father’s cold lips, believing that the medicine would make him better. Not understanding until much later that the pills had been his father’s weapon of choice.

      Salvatore wanted to rescue this baby just as he had rescued Ivo. For Salvatore it was all about bloodlines!

      Are you in any position to sneer? demanded the voice in Ivo’s head. For you, it’s all about assuaging your guilt.

      His broad shoulders lifted in a shrug of acknowledgement; granted, neither motivation was particularly noble, but then the Grecos were not renowned for their nobility. His jaw stiffened—they were known for getting what they wanted, though.

      Ivo stilled as the belated shocked recognition slid through him: he wanted to bring up this child, this part of Bruno who remained.

      He gave them both a moment to recover before responding.

      ‘Should I ask if this information is out in the public domain, or have you accessed this woman’s private medical records?’

      The older man responded to the dry question with a shrug and a sour look.

      Ivo did not pursue it. He wasn’t that bothered about the red lines Salvatore had gleefully crossed. The fact was that, guilt aside, and with a determination to make up for rejecting his brother, there was a part of him that could identify with his motivation.

      It was not something he felt the need to apologise for. Ivo possessed an Italian’s pride in his culture and language, a pride he knew his brother had shared, and thinking of Bruno’s son missing out on this part of his heritage drew a dizzying number of intersecting red lines in his head. Ivo’s loyalty to his name was unquestioning, it went cell deep, which was why his brother’s defection had hurt so much. Bruno had rejected everything they had been brought up to respect.

      But he had not rejected him; Bruno had come back for him.

      The regret and guilt that he would never now have a chance to thank his brother were so powerful he could taste the metallic tang like blood on his tongue. He focused instead on the wrongness that the child that shared his DNA was out there somewhere, knowing nothing of his history.

      He had a debt to repay to his brother, and he would. Giving his nephew the sort of upbringing he and Bruno had not had would be his atonement.

      His grandfather seemed fully recovered, delivering an irritated scowl. ‘We need leverage, but she’s done nothing.’

      ‘By that I presume you mean she has no skeletons?’

      ‘There is the suggestion of an affair with some footballer, but he wasn’t married at the time.’

      ‘So what do you expect me to do, kidnap the child?’

      ‘Yes,’ would have been less shocking than the reply he received.

      ‘I expect you to marry the woman, and bring the child home here. The lawyers say that will give you legal rights. It should make it simple to gain custody after the divorce.’

      Ivo’s moment of gobsmacked incredulity found release in laughter. When was the last time he’d laughed in his grandfather’s presence? he wondered as he listened to the sound...rusty, as though he was out of practice. For some reason he could hear the sound of his brother’s laughter in his head, too. When Bruno had left he had taken the laughter with him.

      ‘Have you finished?’ Salvatore asked, when the room fell silent.

      There had been a time when the icy disdain had tied his stomach in knots of tension but that time was long gone. ‘You appear to have given this some thought.’

      ‘You trying to tell me you couldn’t make her fall in love if you wanted to?’

      ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence,’ Ivo said drily as he got to his feet to place both hands on the desk before leaning forward and saying slowly, ‘I don’t want to.’

      He had reached the door when his grandfather’s words reached him.

      ‘I’m dying and I want you to bring my great-grandson here. Do you really want your brother’s son to be brought up by a stranger, never hearing his own language? Never having the advantages that being a Greco brings? Are you that selfish?’

      Ivo turned slowly, his dark eyes sweeping