Page 4 of Gary

“I am not staying. As soon as he kicks the bucket, I am out of here. I hate this goddamned place.”

“I don’t need to remind you that you are his only heir. George died violently, because that’s the way he lived.

My shares in the company are only a mere five percent. Grant has been trying to get from beneath the heavy arm of the mafia, but it’s dangerous business. You are the best shot.” He held up a hand when the younger man opened his mouth to speak.

“I know how you feel,” he added quietly, “but you have employees depending on you. Grant’s illness has the company on edge and the press is salivating. You have been shielded from the public, because your mother demanded it and that’s a goodthing.” He folded his arms over his chest. “But you are going to need to take your place.”

“I cannot think about that now.” He turned away abruptly and walked over to the window. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he noticed how shriveled and neglected the rose garden was. It was the middle of fall, but that had never stopped his mother from carefully tending to the plants.

“What happened to the staff?”

“Grant fired most of them a year ago. He kept Higgins the butler and Mrs. Lander, the housekeeper.”

Gary turned to stare at his uncle in surprise. “Two people to keep up maintenance for this heap of junk?”

His uncle smiled. “My brother has been behaving irrationally even before the diagnosis. I think he suspected that something was happening. George’s death threw him for a curve and whenhe tried to get in touch with you, he couldn’t find you. That drove him further into depression.”

“He lived a life of debauchery and expects a peaceful death.” Gary shook his head. Suddenly, he felt the weariness invading his very bones. “We should get out of here. I am starting to get agitated. I am about to blow.”

*****

Alone in the apartment that had been prepared for him, he sat on the edge of the bed, his hands resting on his thighs. He regretted agreeing to have dinner with his uncle. But he suspected the man needed to talk and Graham Moretti has been his ally from day one.

Rubbing his hands together, he stared into the empty and cold fireplace, his expression reflective. Being back was bringing back so many memories he had managed to keep at bay over the years. He was thirty-two and had never been in a meaningful relationship because of his hang-ups where his name is concerned.

He had been introduced to women, prostitutes, high class ones at the age of twelve where he had shared the woman with his father and uncle George. He had been sick to his stomach but had been afraid to protest.

His father cheated on his mother for years and made no secret about it. He had turned sixteen when he stood up to the old man and had gotten a whipping that he had never forgotten. But he had stood his ground, and his mother and uncle Graham had stood with him.

Now the man was reaching out as if he could just wipe the slate clean. It didn’t work that way. He had dreaded coming home, had not wanted to stay, but his aunt had encouraged him to go home and see his father.

“It might be a chance to make amends. Don’t make the mistake of staying away and regretting it.”

He had little doubt that he would be sorry. His first sight of his father had thrown him for a loop.

He had not expected to see him looking so thin and helpless. He looked older than his sixty-two years, but he guessed that’s what living and raising hell, plus a diagnosis of prostate cancer does to a body. Shoving himself off the bed, he went to get ready.

*****

They were personally escorted to a table at the back of the room that would ensure privacy.

Mario Russini was a gregarious American Italian with a gusty laugh and a mane of long dark hair worn in a ponytail halfway down his back. He greeted Graham with a kiss on both cheeks and promised to send over some garlic bread and soup du jour to start the meal.

“I have heard about this handsome nephew of yours, it’s like I already know you.” He shook hands with Gary enthusiastically before leaving them.

“What do you think?”

“Nice.” Sliding into the chair, Gary reached for the glass of water. “And cozy. You were not recognized.”

“The clientele here is not really our crowd. That is the reason why it’s my favorite place.” Graham glanced at his nephew and found himself nostalgic as he studied the young man. His blue- black hair and gray eyes were the Moretti’s trademark. But there the resemblance ends.

Gary had inherited his mother’s fine boned beauty, the face saved from being feminine by the determined chin with the slight indentation and the slight break at the bridge of his nose where he had broken it in a brawl when he was eighteen.

He had also inherited the lofty six-foot three height from the Moretti men as well as the excellent physique of broad shoulders and athletic frame. “How is the apartment?”

“Cold. I thought the fireplace would be working.”

His uncle frowned. “It should be. I will send someone to check on it. The central heating should be up and ready though.”