Page 27 of Enduring Caine

His hands fell slowly to his sides, a vulnerability coming over him like I’d never seen my entire life. “I tried to speak with your father and uncle, my nieces and nephews and cousins in the family business, but they’ve all shut me out. You were always more open to change than the rest of them, so I knew your time in Napoli would be the key.”

“The key to what?”

He gripped my good arm. “To a reconciliation.”

That would take more than a miracle. More than intervention from Saint Peter himself.

“Like you, I was born into a certain wealth. I took that and built an empire out of it.” He shook his head slowly, raising a fist to the heavens. “But none of that wealth means anything in front of the gates to Heaven. After I’m gone, what does it even mean to my family? What consolation will they take from a bank account?”

“A comfortable life is some consolation.”

“Antonio, you’re part of the legacy my father built with his brother.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I want to be part of that, too.”

It was not so simple, though. Giovanni had spent decades destroying everything that legacy represented. How could he think buying a building would repair any of that?

“You should see Cesca’s artwork. She’s talented. Our family always excelled in two things: money and art. I thought for a time my branch of our tree was blessed only with the first. But she’s like you, like both of my brothers, and so many of their children.” He turned, bringing his hands together as if in prayer. “I want to build this for her. For you. For all of us. I know the company does well enough you have to turn away work. Why not expand? Why not here, where we can look out at the sea or up to the ruins?”

This was the same man who had me collecting money from those under his protection. Thought I would take a job after my graduation, authenticating works of art to help him achieve top dollar in his underworld transactions. He was a master liar, manipulator, and all he wanted in life was to collect power.

There was no way this was true. There was an angle. Perhaps he meant to have a place where he could deconstruct pieces for transport or repair them after being smuggled into the country.

But still, I wanted to believe him. He and Cristian had once been so important to me. He’d been my favorite uncle when I was small.

“I told you this was a waste of time,” muttered Leonardo.

Giovanni snapped his fingers—his true self shining through for a moment—and Leonardo clamped his jaw shut.

I turned slowly around, architectural sketches forming in my brain. He was right about the location of each part of the studio, so he must have spent a lot of time thinking it over. The rolling door, the windows that would open to allow the sun to shine through. No tall buildings on the point to block out the view. Anyone working here would have easy access to restaurants, the shore, transportation.

It could be a place of inspiration.

I took a slow breath, angling my shoulder forward to ease some of the ache in my arm. “It’s a lot to take in.”

Cristian joined Giovanni and me. “That’s what I said when he first told me last summer.”

I said, “This is why you’ve been asking me to visit? To see this?”

“Sì,” said Giovanni. “I was hoping you’d ask to see the plans.”

“You have plans drawn up already?”

Cristian said, “The blueprints are back at home. He wanted to bring them, but I’d prefer we do that at the villa.”

I dragged a hand through my hair. “You organized all of this—practically kidnapped my girlfriend and me at the airport—when you could have simply emailed me the plans? Told me all of this on the phone?” For once, I could have had a conversation with them across a distance that didn’t require a burner phone.

Leonardo scoffed, which was met by a silencing glare from Cristian.

Giovanni’s features clouded over. “Be honest, Antonio. If we’d done that, you would have hung up or deleted the emails. I have big plans and this was the only way.”

It was always about him. About whathewanted and whathisbusiness needed. Nothing with him was truly about the people around him or his family, save his wife and children.

But he’d had blueprints drawn up. What if that meant there was some shred of honesty behind all this?

I’d have to at least look at the designs. Perhaps there would be some clue there.

Chapter 13

Samantha