Rebecca Winters: Falling For The Venetian Billionaire

Ginger read the text three times. How absolutely amazing and wonderful for their friend. Zoe would have received a text, too. But Ginger was worried for Abby. Wasn’t she nervous about getting married so fast when her engagement to Nigel had ended so painfully?

Abby hadn’t even known that Nigel was married and had children back in England. Now she was going to marry a Frenchman after such a short period of knowing him? It sounded very scary to Ginger. But at the same time she had to admire their friend who’d decided to take the plunge anyway and not let fear prevent her from following her heart.

Ginger got up from the side of the bed, realizing that’s what she was doing, following her heart by wanting to return to the monastery. Of course, she desired to talk with Father Giovanni, but she now knew he was friends with Signor Della Scalla. The monk was her link to the dark-haired stranger who’d mesmerized her.

She could still hear what he’d whispered. “ Alla prossima , signora.” Did he really hope to see her again? After asking her to spend another day with him, Ginger had to believe it.

Her heart pounded painfully to imagine seeing him again. The possibility gave Ginger the impetus to follow through with her plan. Abby’s decision had given her a little more daring.

By the next morning Ginger was up early to drink coffee and eat a roll, unable to sleep any longer. She checked her hair and makeup in the mirror.

Today she teamed a short-sleeved pink-and-white-striped blouse with a summery white skirt. After putting a small notebook in her purse, she left the hotel at nine thirty and took a water taxi to the island.

A semicloudy sky covered the lagoon with its boats and ferries. The temperature would be a little warmer today.

Father Giovanni ought to be on the island. He just had to be.

* * *

For the last seven days Vittorio had spent all of his time with family while they dealt with the funeral and interment. Now he had to attend to business. But with his father gone, Vittorio wasn’t prepared for the pang of loss he felt as he arrived at the Della Scalla Shipping and Passenger Line Company.

As Vittorio’s uncle Bertoldo was the general manager, he’d asked the executive secretary to call a June meeting of the fifteen-member board set for 9:00 a.m. His father’s successor would have to be voted in as chairman. Everyone needed to be here, no exceptions.

Vittorio was the financial director for the company. He would prefer to stay in that position. But with the funeral over, it was necessary to restructure the business. Now there would have to be changes. One by one the board members arrived and took their place around the conference table.

Vittorio was the youngest board member and was probably resented by some of the older men. Maybe a few of them, like his uncle, had a hard time realizing he was the new Count Della Scalla. He despised the whole title business. Bertoldo, two years older than Vittorio’s father, never had children.

There were other problems. Bertoldo had his own ideas on how the company should be run. The two brothers had argued over the company’s direction for a decade, but it had never been full-out war.

Long ago Vittorio’s grandfather, the former Count Nunzio, had secretly influenced the board to vote in his son Mario instead of Bertoldo when he’d stepped down because of ill health. Of course, it didn’t stay a secret, and Bertoldo had always carried a grudge.

As Vittorio grew older, he recognized the wisdom of putting Mario in charge. His father had vision and knew when to take the necessary risks. Which is why he’d kept the business in the black at a time when Italy was going through economic crisis.

But now the situation had changed. Vittorio knew Bertoldo hoped to be made chairman. Both Vittorio and Gaspare liked their uncle well enough despite his view of limiting company expansion beyond Italy’s borders. His ideas would have held them back. In that regard, Vittorio had his own ideas about venturing further afield and knew his father had been in agreement, as well as Renaldo Coronna, his father’s friend and Paola’s father.

With Mario gone and their grandfather no longer alive to influence the vote, it was possible Bertoldo would finally achieve his dream. Vittorio could live with that if he had to. But there were other men on the board perfectly qualified to run the company.

In a few minutes the executive secretary called the meeting to order. Everyone in the room took a turn to express their sympathy over Mario’s passing. They’d all been to the funeral and had talked to Vittorio and his family, but he was touched by the outpouring of praise for his father.

Finally, the secretary called for the vote to elect the new chairman. Vittorio knew whom he wanted and wrote down the name Salvatore Riva, one of the directors. Within ten minutes the ballots were collected and tallied.

Their secretary cleared his throat and stood up. “Without question, the will of the group has prevailed. Congratulations, Vittorio. Please stand and say a few words.”

The possibility that he could be voted in had come to pass. Vittorio’s only consolation at the moment was that his father would have been happy about it.

Vittorio looked around. Nobody had jumped up and run out of the room, but he knew there were several people there, including his uncle, who couldn’t wait to leave and vent in private.

“Signori,” Vittorio began. “This is a great honor, but overwhelming since I’m still grieving over the loss of my father. No one could ever take his place. Please be patient and give me time to take on a mantle that could fit the shoulders of anyone in this room more qualified than I am. We’ll meet in a week or so when I’ll have had an opportunity to take a good look at everything. Mille grazie. ”

Now it was Vittorio who left the room in a hurry. His brother, Gaspare, had known this meeting was going to happen and was waiting for him. With business concluded, he headed for the speedboat. His brother sat on a banquette reading. When he saw Vittorio, he stood up. The two men eyed each other before he gave him the news.

“I knew you would be chosen.”

“Then you knew something I didn’t. I’m aware you don’t want to hear me say it, Gaspare, but you should have been the one voted in to head the company.”

“It would never have been me. There’s greatness in you. Don’t forget you have your calling. I have mine.”

Yes, he did. Gaspare had known by his early teens he’d wanted the religious life. To show his approval, their father had established a perpetual fund to help support the monastery.

Still it didn’t help the wrench of separation from the family, Vittorio reflected, as he started the engine and they left for the monastery. Once they reached the jetty, he tied up the boat and they headed for the building.

Because Gaspare had taken family bereavement leave, his presence had helped all of them to begin the healing process. But Vittorio needed his ideas and counsel more than ever about the direction of the company. “How soon can I visit you, Gaspare?”

“Any time.”

“Then I’ll come soon and plan to stay overnight so we can really talk about more foreign investments.”

Vittorio also had a personal matter to discuss to do with the situation with Paola, which had grown serious. Meeting Signora Lawrence had increased his guilt and anguish because he knew he couldn’t marry Paola even if it was expected. He needed some objective advice on that subject. No one had a more level head than Gaspare.

The abbot had granted Vittorio special privileges to stay inside the clausura , the heart of the cloistered monastery where the public wasn’t allowed to enter. He followed his brother to his room.