Rebecca Winters: The Italians: Alessandro, Luca & Dizo

The dark night sky was heavy with the threat of rain, and he turned up the collar of his coat as he crossed towards the impressive well-lit front entrance with its double ornately carved wooden doors.

Doors that swung open within seconds of ringing the bell to reveal Carlo, Sophia’s factotum, whose features held genuine pleasure.

‘Alessandro. It is good to see you.’

‘Grazie, Carlo.’

Both tall men in their late thirties, they went back a long way—years in fact—and shared a common history, to a degree. Sufficient enough to warrant a brief, but genuine male hand-clasp.

‘Sophia?’

‘Happy to have her god-daughter here.’

Words that conveyed much. For both men shared a silent bond to protect the one woman who had stood up to the plate for each of them. In their book, nothing, no one, could harm so much as a hair on her head without consequence.

Giuseppe had been a very successful businessman, whose villa bore discreet witness of his wealth. Beautifully patterned marble floors hosted an expansive foyer with exquisite furniture, a crystal chandelier whose prisms of sparkling light provided a spectacular setting for the double staircase curving to the upper floor.

A place Alessandro had been privileged to call home for the few years it had taken to conclude his schooling and later, during his university breaks. The sanctuary that, thanks to Giuseppe and Sophia, had offered him the opportunity to make something of his life.

‘Alessandro.’

He turned at the sound of Sophia’s voice, and he moved to greet her, settling his hands on her shoulders as he brushed his lips lightly to first one cheek, then the other before releasing her.

‘You are well?’ he queried gently, and received her smile in response.

‘Of course, caro. It is good of you to join us.’

He lifted an eyebrow in musing query. ‘You imagine I would refuse?’

Her answering smile brought one of his own. ‘No.’ She tucked an arm through his own. ‘Come and meet the guests.’

Familiar faces of a select few, six in all, Alessandro perceived, as he acknowledged each and every one as Sophia drew him toward a slender petite young woman with sable hair styled in a classic knot, deep brown eyes and honey-gold skin.

Attractive, rather than classically beautiful, and possessed of a quality that set her apart. For there was a quiet strength apparent, a sense of self-preservation he recognized and admired.

‘Lily.’ Alessandro regarded her thoughtfully for a few seconds as he took her hand in his, glimpsed the unbidden flair of awareness evident as he leant forward to brush his lips to one cheek, then the other, and he caught the momentary tension before she swiftly recovered.

‘Alessandro.’ Her acknowledgment was accompanied by a polite smile as he released her hand.

In control, he perceived … and wondered idly what it would take to break it. Only to immediately dismiss the thought. Lily was Sophia’s niece … god-daughter, and family.

Yet something about her resonated with him, and he was inclined to discover why. The stirring of sensual chemistry together with the temptation to taste her generous mouth intrigued him.

‘You are enjoying your stay with Sophia?’ More than polite conversation, he mused, surprised to discover he was genuinely interested in her response.

A subtle perfume teased his senses … light, with a faint hint of warmth, woodsy, slightly floral with a tinge of musk, and something else he failed to define. Different from the more exotic fragrances favoured by many of his feminine companions. He wondered if she was aware it invited a closer examination, followed by the unbidden inclination to discover if the perfume was merely spritzed to various pulsepoints, or applied as a lotion smoothed over her body.

‘My aunt is very kind.’

‘Sophia’s generosity is well known.’ Hence the instinctive protectiveness of those who had Sophia’s interests at heart. ‘Your visit will give her much pleasure.’

Her mouth curved into a faint smile, and he found himself being fascinated by the slight dimple at the edge of her cheek.

‘Please don’t feel obligated to engage me in polite conversation,’ she offered quietly.

His eyes sharpened a little. ‘Is that what you think I’m doing?’

Her chin lifted fractionally. ‘Isn’t it?’

‘No.’

‘I wonder why I find it difficult to believe you.’

One eyebrow slanted as he regarded her thoughtfully. ‘A lack of confidence in your personal charm?’

Oh, yes, that would do it. Except Lily refused to allow herself the indulgence.

Three days ago she’d arrived in Milan. A city where her late parents had been raised, educated, and had married before emigrating to Australia with their six-month-old daughter, Liliana—or Lily, as she was affectionately known—to begin a new life in Sydney.

An idyllic childhood, a good education—Lily had excelled in every area of her life, qualifying as a chef and becoming a partner in her parents’ restaurant. But then her parents’ death three years ago in a car accident had left her suddenly in charge of the restaurant, an enviable inheritance, and one she had lived up to with the support of a few long-term friends.

A year ago she’d fallen in love, accepted James’s ring, and had begun planning the big day. Only to return home early two weeks before their wedding to discover James in bed with a blonde, with whom, when pressed, he admitted he’d been conducting an affair for some months.

Lily had immediately thrown him out, despatched his clothes after him, returned his ring by courier, and promptly telephoned Sophia, her late mother’s sister, to relay the wedding was cancelled. An invitation to visit had followed, and it had taken Lily only a few weeks to appoint a valued staff member to manage the restaurant, lease out the family home, store her car, and board a flight to Milan where she was duly met and driven to Sophia’s beautiful Lake Como villa.

A delightful sanctuary, which offered tranquillity and the loving attention of a deeply caring aunt.

Three days in, Sophia had arranged a dinner for a few valued friends … a few of whom Lily remembered from a previous visit with her parents.

Including Alessandro del Marco.

It had been ten years since she’d last seen him in person … years that had shaped them both. For she was no longer a vulnerable young girl in her mid-teens, dazzled by the tall dark-haired young man whose almost black eyes held a dramatic mesh of blatant sensuality and elemental ruthlessness born from surviving on the streets for much of his youth.

There was a hardness apparent that reminded her of tempered steel, an edgy quality successfully masked beneath the cloak of sophistication—unyielding, almost primitive, and apparent to those who were sufficiently discerning to detect it.

As a young man in his mid-twenties, he’d fascinated her, stirring her imagination as she’d fantasized what it would feel like to have his mouth tutor her own. And more.

Had he known?Hopefully not.

A lot of water had passed beneath the bridge since then.

‘Do you have any immediate plans?’

Lily rapidly collected her thoughts as she met Alessandro’s dark gaze.

‘Other than enjoying Sophia’s hospitality?’

His faint smile held a glimmer of humour. ‘Yes.’

She ruminated a little. ‘I’d like to rent or lease a small apartment, and stay a while. Perhaps consider restaurant work.’

He studied her thoughtfully. ‘You’re serious about this?’

‘Yes.’ She had included her portfolio with just that thought in mind. A few months, more, even a year would provide a new perspective.