Page 141 of Modern Romance January 2025 5-8
His grandfather, Gio Casadio, was the only warm place left in Dante’s heart—even if he didn’t see him that often. He was the only reason he kept a property in Lucca, and his sole reason for returning home.
Even if it killed him to do so.
Dante hated going back...
Their parents had assumed that both the Casadio sons would want to continue on with the lucrative family business in Lucca—a vast winery in the Tuscan hillsides. Yet no one had glimpsed what lay ahead.
At eighteen, when he’d first moved to Milan to study law, Dante’s intention had been to focus on corporate law. Sev, the older of the two, had focussed on the hotel industry. Their parents—their father especially—had assumed that their combined skills would progress the business.
Their father had been good at assuming.
No one could have predicted that the once close brothers would fall out on the eve of Sev’s wedding.
That Dante, the best man, would be wearing a row of stitches and a black eye almost as dark as his bespoke suit.
Or that the groom’s fingers would be too swollen from throwing punches to get his wedding band on.
Not even the sudden and tragic death of their parents and Sev’s wife Rosa in a helicopter crash had reunited them.
If anything, the tragedy had driven the brothers further apart.
Oh, they communicated—generally through their personal assistants—on matters such as the winery, or their grandfather’s vast property in Lucca, or his well-being.
The brothers themselves spoke rarely and on a needed basis only.
What did Sev want?
It was then that his client spoke. ‘I miss her.’
Dante said nothing, but felt a rare surge of sympathy for his client.
‘How we were...’
For a brief second Dante closed his eyes and saw himself and Sev, two little boys running through the vines at home, or playing on the gorgeous walls of Lucca that surrounded the medieval town. They had been so close and, yes, he silently acknowledged, he missed being a brother...
‘Listen...’ His voice was husky, and he cleared his throat as he snapped his sharp mind back to work. ‘Listen to me,’ he said in more measured tones as he turned from the window and retook his seat. ‘Time is not on your side. Unless you can reach agreement, six weeks from now we go to court and the judge decides. Now.’ He put up a hand to stop his client from speaking. ‘I don’t need to hear about regrets and mistakes or that you miss her. Not in this office. I sort out the finances, the divisions of property, the legalities. I have worked extensively with your wife’s attorneys, and this is more than a fair deal. If it goes to litigation, while I shall of course do my best to represent your interests, I don’t believe the judge will award you anything close to this.’ He gestured to the folder. ‘Combine that with my fees and you’ll be looking at losing a lot more than a chalet in Switzerland.’
‘I’ve already lost.’ His client buried his face in his hands. ‘What do I do if I still love her?’
Dante was the last person to offer relationship advice.
‘Wrong office,’ he said, albeit kindly. He would not kick a man when down.
‘Please...’ His client looked up. ‘Tell me...’
‘I’ve never had a successful relationship nor do I want one.’
‘Dante...?’
While he would never offer relationship advice, on occasions such as this, when he was invited to...
‘Some mistakes you cannot come back from.’
‘It was just once...’
Dante was about to conclude the conversation, but his client was being honest now.
‘It was more than once. And I regret my indiscretions more than you could know.’