Chapter 1

The room was dark and reeked of disinfectant and Lysol. It took away the elegance and luxury, which appeared to his jaded eyes to be a little ragged around the edges. The thick ruby red drapes were drawn tight at the windows, not allowing any sliver of fading sunlight through the tiny space.

He approached the bed somewhat cautiously, as if afraid to disturb the still form propped up on the pillows.

“Are you afraid I am contagious?” The voice boomed out at him and made him jump reflexively. Grant Moretti might be ailing, but his voice was still strong.

“I thought you were sleeping.” Gary moved more leisurely towards the bed. Ignoring the plush chair conveniently placed at the side of it, he stood a few inches away, startled by the appearance of a man who had dominated his life as well as others for years.

His father had aged significantly since the last time he had seen him. Always a handsome man, his face was now lined, no doubt by the pain of his illness, and his incisive gray eyes had dulled.

“I am going to be sleeping for a very long time.” He tried to ease up on the pillows and fell back down, his breathing labored. “Water.”

Reaching for the carafe on the table, Gary poured some water in the glass and guided it to his lips. Taking the glass, his father took a few small sips and handed it back to him.

“Sit. I am not going to strain my damn neck, looking up at you.”

Dropping into the chair, Gary continued to stare at him.

“I bet you didn’t expect to be summoned back to my death bed.” A raspy laugh accompanied the words and ended up in a coughing fit. “Part of the damn illness. It’s been a long time.”

Gary wanted to say not long enough but refrained from speaking his mind. They had not parted in good terms, hell, their last words to each other had been damaging with him saying he would never be back.

“It has. How long do you have?”

“You mean that son of a bitch did not fill you in?” He coughed again and waited for his chest to settle before resuming. “I would have thought that my dear brother would have filled you in.”

“He did. But he wanted me to hear the rest from you.” Gary’s gray eyes, the same shade as the old man’s glinted. “And he is on your side.”

“Is he?” A grimace of pain crossed his face as he took a deep breath. “You always had more in common with him than with me. I could almost believe you are his son.” His smile was grim.

“At one point I thought you were. He was in love with your mother, you know. All three of us brothers were, but I was the one she chose. A decision she regretted right after.” He shrugged as if it was of no concern. “But that is beside the point. You are home.”

“Yeah.” For how long, he had not decided yet. He wanted nothing to do with the company and as his uncle had reminded him, he was the sole heir to a corrupt empire.

“You staying?” As if reading his mind, his father shot the question at him.

“I don’t know yet.”

Gray eyes glowered. “You have a role to play.”

“I already told you that I do not want to have anything to do with Moretti Enterprise. It’s a goddamned cesspool.”

Instead of being angry, the old man laughed harshly. “It appears that living in Italy has been instrumental in you growing a pair.”

“I had a pair before I left, I just wasn’t allowed to use them.”

Grant laughed again, amusement making his face appeared less haggard. “It’s good to see you. We have not been on the same page…”

“We have not been in the same library.”

“Be that as it may, you are the CEO of the entire company and it’s up to you to set things right.”

Gary stared at him in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“Water.”

Gary handed him the glass and waited until he had finished drinking before putting it down on the bedside table.

“We argued about the way the business was being run.”

“That’s a polite way of putting it.” The edge of sarcasm could not be helped, and Gary was done with being diplomatic.

Instead of taking umbrage, he was surprised to see the old man nodding soberly. “In the past, I was excited about all of the Going Ons – seeing the way my old man operated intrigued me, well me, and George.”

His lips twisted. “Not so much with Graham. He was always of the opinion that what we were doing was wrong.” He shrugged one thin shoulder.

“You have to understand that being a Moretti was a high honor, especially in New York and New Jersey. We were feared. People looked up to us, the name was power and might.”

“A name renowned for death and destruction and mayhem, not to mention murder,” Gary intercepted grimly. Using innocent people as collateral damage meant nothing.”

His father nodded again, a faraway look on his face. “Our daddy was king. We were wealthy as hell and people envied us.” His gaze swung to his son, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“You take after your mother.”

“I consider that as a compliment. She was wonderful.”

“Too good for me,” he acknowledged, “I knew it from the beginning and that’s why I…” His voice petered off as he stared across the bedroom towards the window. “Why…, you abused her every chance you got.” Gary’s voice was loaded with bitterness as the memories surged forward.

“I never laid a hand on her!”

“There are far more subtle ways to abuse a person, and you damn well know it. You put her down, her opinions weren’t worth squat. You cheated on her constantly and for as long as she was alive and stuck in this unhappy marriage with you, you made her life a living hell.”

Pushing out of the chair, he rose jerkily and walked over to the window. Yanking the cord, he opened the blinds to allow the fading sunlight in. Sickness be damned, he thought savagely. Grant Moretti did not deserve one bit of his consideration or sympathy.

So, if the old man thought he could sway him because of his condition, well, he was in for a rude awakening. He wanted nothing to do with him or this goddamned haunted house, with the horrible memories.

The silence lengthened inside the room ponderously. The air was thick with the scent of illness and the man propped up in bed breathing was labored.

“I regret the way I treated her.” His quiet voice sounded sincere, but Gary was not buying it. This was his way of trying to make amends, but it was too little, too late.

“Too bad, she is not here to benefit from your remorse. She died knowing that you had little or no regard for her feelings.”

He turned just in time to see the look of remorse on his father’s face but refused to allow it to sway him.

The man had been a manipulator his entire life and bad habits were hard to get rid of. Gary had spent five years in his mother’s village in Italy, with her sister and cousins and had learned to come to grips with his past and the years he spent in a toxic household.

He had also learned to handle guns at the age of six, his father and uncle’s way of initiating him in the family business.

He had been made to watch the way the two men along with his grandfather dealt with the enemies and if you were not bowing to the great Moretti’s, you were essentially an enemy. Retribution was brutal and swift, with no regards for the families left behind.

The excitement wore off when he turned twelve and witnessed his uncle George beating a man to within an inch of his life because he was late with his ‘protection money’.

When he had expressed his distress to his dad, the man had accused him of being a wuss.

“You are a goddamned Moretti and that’s what we do. We get people to fear us. It’s the family business and has been that way since before I was born. You need to man up and get with the program.”

His mother had stood up for him and for her defiance, he was sent away to boarding school in the UK. He had only been back for holidays, because of her and each time he was home, he was more convinced that he did not want to be like his family.

His uncle Graham had been the exception and being the youngest, he had been regarded as a non-Moretti, not fit to be part of the family.

“I am dying.” The sober voice jarred him from his unpleasant reverie. “And I know you probably will not believe me, but I have started making amends for the pain my family has wrought throughout the years.”

Gary’s thick dark brows lifted. “The Moretti family has been around for more than a hundred years and all that time, they have been renowned for one thing only – their mafia connection and everything that goes along with it.

Pray tell me, how do you possible expect all the wrongs to be righted? What do you expect? That you will wave a magic wand and everything you did to people over the period would just what? Disappear? Poof – into the atmosphere and it will have absolved you?” Gary shook his head in disbelief. “Your arrogance is incredible.”

He watched as his father struggled to keep the anger from showing.

“I know I don’t deserve any consideration…”

“You deserve nothing!” Taking a deep breath, Gary reined in his temper. When his uncle had picked him up from the private landing, he had promised to keep his calm and let things go.

“He is dying, Gary.” Graham had told him soberly, “he is a son of a bitch and doesn’t deserve anything from you, but he is still your father and my brother. The doctors and nurses warned us to keep his blood pressure from spiking. If you know you cannot go inside that room and talk in a reasonable tone of voice, stay away.”

“How can you be so forgiving after what they did to you?” Gary demanded.

“Your mother,” he smiled fleetingly, “I know you are probably aware of the relationship between us. We kept each other sane.”

“She should have divorced the bastard.”

He smiled sadly. “She was Catholic and would not have considered such a thing. Besides, my brother would not have let her go.”

“Even though he knew of the affair between you and mother.”

“It amused him to realize that she had turned to me. He taunted us with the knowledge that he held the upper hand. He knew she would never go against her religion, and he always threatened to take you away from her. You were her life, and she would have gone through all manner of evil or walk through flames to keep you with her.”

Now looking at the man who had made their lives so unbearable, he felt the anger rising and knew he had to leave the room before it spewed over.

“I have to go. The flight was long and turbulent, and I am tired,” he muttered, shoving his hands into the pockets of his tan dress pants. “I will come by and see you in the morning.”

“We need to talk.”

“Yeah.” He stopped by the bed. “I can see that you want to do what you think is best, but I am not into being that forgiving, just yet. Believe me, I am not quite there yet.”

“I am willing to wait.” His father’s smile was thin. “I have nothing better to do.”

With a curt nod, Gary walked swiftly from the room, closing the doors behind him. He stood there for a few seconds taking in the familiar hallway that led to the kitchen, formal dining room and large library leading off to the powder blue salon that had been his mother’s favorite place.

The nurse came hurrying forward with a smile on her plain face.

“It is time for his night medication. Will you be staying here?”

“No!” He shook his head. “I will be back in the morning.”

The woman pushed the door open as he went on his way. Passing the doors leading to the library, he stopped in front of them and felt his gut clenching sharply.

His mind spun back to the past where he saw Isabel Moretti sitting behind the desk, doing her daily household accounting. He would come barreling inside the room without knocking to tell her about his day.

“She loved that room.”

He jumped slightly at the sound of his uncle’s voice to his left.

“I thought you had left.”

“I knew you would want to get to the apartment to freshen up and I thought we would have dinner. There is this little Italian restaurant owned by a friend of mine and they serve the best pasta, I have ever tasted. How is he?”

“Unlike himself.” Gary’s voice had a twinge of cynicism. Pushing the doors open, he stepped into the past. The place looked the same. Rows of books lined the pastel walls.

The desk was a feminine looking cherry wood with a worn leather chair behind it. He could still smell her perfume, the subtle floral scent that he always associated with her. “He wants to make amends.”

“He started to just before his diagnosis.” Graham stepped past him to walk over to the sofa where his mother had spent time helping her son with his homework.

“It’s too damn late.”

Plumping up a cushion, Graham turned to face his nephew. Gary had been more like a son to him than a nephew. He loved the boy’s mother since the first time he saw her when she was introduced to them by her dad. And he loved her still.

“You should hear him out.”

“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 good thing.” 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 when he 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.”

Gary nodded. “I turned it on just before I left.”

“I know you wanted to be alone…”

“I do.”

“What I was thinking was that you could come and crash with me.”

Gary slid him an amused look. “Afraid I am going to run off?”

Graham shook his head. “There are some dangerous people who don’t want to accept the way things are turning.”

“I can take care of myself,” He assured his uncle.

Their meals arrived just then, and the familiar scent of pasta made his mouth water, and his problems temporarily shelved. He attacked the food immediately and declared that it was as good as what he was accustomed to in Italy.

“I told you!” Graham grinned at the sublime look on his nephew’s face. He was happy to see the look of hopeless defeat replaced by a light and happy expression.

“You did.” He settled back and prepared to enjoy the meal. They spoke about inconsequential matters while they ate. Gary felt the tension that had wound tight around his heart lessening as the evening progressed and was happy that he had not changed his mind about coming.

The muted conversations around them and the hustle and bustle of the patrons reminded him of Italy and the village where he had stayed. Accepting the glass of Cabernet, he listened to his uncle telling him snippets of what was going on with some acquaintances.