I had managed to avoid entering hospitals ever since my father passed away, but even years couldn’t wipe away the memories of powerless dread, of endless prayers that would go unheard.
“This is it.” Clarkson pointed at a closed door. I took a deep breath to calm my racing heart and wiped my hands on the soft material of my knee-length skirt. What would I say to this stranger who had never met me and yet had decided to leave his estate to me? Saying ‘thank you’ felt wrong because, even though I was thankful, I didn’t want him to think that inheriting what belonged to him was all that mattered to me.
“Mr. Lucazzone wishes to speak with Brooke alone,” Clarkson said to Sylvie.
“You still have time to run,” she whispered to me, ignoring the lawyer. I smiled at her weak attempt at infusing some humor to ease my nerves.
“Ready?” Clarkson nodded encouragingly and knocked twice, then opened the door, stepping aside. Moistening my parched lips, I walked into the room, leaving Sylvie outside.
Chapter 6
The old man was sitting in a wheelchair near the high bay window overlooking the gardens, his head resting on a pillow, his veined hands, the color of parchment, were sitting atop a blanket. In the bright afternoon sun, the whiteness of his bones shimmered beneath the thin skin, building a strong contrast to the purplish hue of his lips. To his right stood a middle-aged woman in a pale green uniform, her black hair with silver-gray streaks was tied at the nape of her neck. A nurse, I thought, and yet her glance seemed far too protective—hostile, even. I knew instantly we wouldn’t be friends.
As the door clicked shut behind us, the old man moved his head, his light blue eyes as sharp as ice. I inched closer on shaky feet, stopping a few inches away from him, unsure whether to speak or let Clarkson take the lead. My tongue flicked nervously over my parched lips, and it wasn’t just because of my paranoia of hospitals. It was Alessandro Lucazzone who decided to address me.
“Seniorina Stewart. Brooke.” Despite his high age, his voice was still clear and strong—like that of a man half his age—and out of sorts with his aged body. He eyed me carefully and a genuine smile lit up his face, erasing my unease at meeting him.
“How are you, sir?” Bending down to him, I grabbed his outstretched fingers and let him kiss my hand. His grip felt cold and dry, but not unpleasant.
“My niece—so beautiful. Already I feel better,” he said in heavily accented English, releasing my hand. I smiled shyly. Even though his words were sparse, his tone was warm and welcoming. Not strange—just friendly, making me feel as though I was family. A feeling I hadn’t felt since Jenna and my father died. The sparkle of pride in his eyes conveyed just how much he meant his words. Alessandro had been gay, marrying my ancestor for money. Or maybe he had loved her, in his own way. I didn’t know and even if I did, it wasn’t my place to judge. All that mattered was that my presence made him feel better, because no one deserved to suffer.
“Thank you for inviting me.” I glanced from the nurse to Clarkson in the hope someone would translate. In the end, Alessandro made it clear he understood me perfectly.
“Alessia, bring us tea.” He waved decisively at the nurse and watched her usher out the door, then motioned Clarkson to step closer. The lawyer pressed his ear to the old man’s mouth but in the silence of the room I could hear his whisper. “Give me a few minutes with her.”
Clarkson nodded and peeked over his shoulder at me. I looked away hastily, even though I knew he had caught me listening.
“I’ll wait outside,” the lawyer said, before shutting the door behind him, leaving Alessandro and me alone.
“Please.” The old man’s accent was heavy as he patted the chair next to him, offering me a seat. “We don’t have much time. Alessia will return shortly and she won’t leave us alone again.”
I walked around him and sat down, unsure what to say.
“You remind me of my dear wife, Maria,” Alessandro began. “You look just like her. I wish you had met her. She would have adored you because she always wanted a daughter.” His eyes misted over, reminiscing as he traveled back in time. “She was so strong and kind. So beautiful on the inside and out.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I whispered past the sudden lump in my throat, but Alessandro didn’t seem to hear me. His eyes filled with moisture.
“She died ten years ago, but I remember her like it was yesterday. She loved this estate. Sometimes that’s the only thing I remember, yet I don’t tell anyone because if I do, all will be lost.” His gaze focused on me and for a moment his eyes sharpened. “You’re my only heir, Brooke. You mustn’t sell this estate and never to the wrong people.”
This was the time to assure him that I never would. The estate certainly didn’t hold the same emotional value for me that it did him, but I had enough respect to grant a dying man’s wishes as long as I lived. And yet, as much as my heart wanted to speak out to him, to ensure him of my good intentions, my mouth remained shut, unable to utter a word in the face of so much passion emanating from him.
Alessandro gripped my hand softly, holding it as his eyes locked with mine. “I promised my wife to keep the property within the family. My health is deteriorating by the day and I know one day, very soon, I won’t wake up again. It’s my greatest wish to see to my wife’s happiness even beyond the grave and respect her wish. Please promise me that you’ll take care of this property when I am gone and it will be yours.”
I stared at him, not seeing him but the fact that he was dying and he knew it. It pained me because I didn’t want it to happen. I wished for him to live for many more years to come, to enjoy the estate and everything he ever missed out on. The face I saw in front of me would someday cease to exist, belonging to a past that would be forgotten. While it wasn’t in my power to change time or fate, I could at least carry on his legacy.
“Family blood is the strongest of all,” Alessandro whispered, sensing my thoughts. “We don’t have much time to get to know each other, but you’re part of this family and you’ll always be—” his fingers gently touched my chest where my heart was located “—in here.”
“I promise,” I whispered, meaning every word and more. “I won’t let you down.”
He smiled and leaned back in his wheelchair. A few moments later Alessia returned with our tea and sat down near the window, not leaving us out of her sight, just like Alessandro predicted.
Alessandro and I talked for about an hour, during which he wanted to hear everything about my life. I told him how I grew up, leaving out the part with my sister and my father, because I didn’t think it mattered. Besides, I didn’t want to depress him. I tried to ask questions, but I could sense his reluctance at talking about more than his upbringing. He mentioned his son who died at birth and Maria’s miscarriage a few years later. He told me of his wife’s battle with cancer and how she lost it ten years ago, making me aware how lonely he must have been in the years after her passing. At some point, Alessia refilled our teacups, like a shadow slipping into my view and out of it, but never leaving the old man out of her sight. Alessandro and I talked some more until another nurse entered to remind him that it was time for his medication and therapy. Before he left, his shaky fingers pointed at an envelope on the table, bearing the conditions of his final will and photos he wanted to share with me.
“Thank you, Alessandro,” I said.
He smiled and his shaky fingers touched my cheek gently. “Thank you, Brooke. Now that you’re here I can finally rest.”
His words hung heavy in the air as Alessia wheeled him out of the room. With a heavy heart and moisture in my eyes I watched him leave, vowing to keep my word to him no matter what. We had barely skimmed the surface of our lives, and yet I felt as though we were interconnected, our paths intertwined by fate, even if for a brief time. I felt as though I knew him on a deeper level, and that knowledge made it even harder to accept just how little time we had.
Call me naïve because I liked to believe in the good in people, but I knew that Jett’s claims about Alessandro Lucazzone couldn’t be true. I could feel it. I could see it in the old man’s eyes. He wasn’t flawless; like everyone else, he had made mistakes. He married my ancestor for money rather than live the life he was born to live—with a man. Or maybe he had loved her, in his own way. I didn’t know and even if I did, it wasn’t my place to judge. But he was no murderer. Whatever Jett’s private detective thought Maria Lucazzone had written in her diary, I knew it couldn’t be true and I would prove it.
Opening the window, I stared out onto the beautifully landscaped park-like garden as I took a long, deep breath to regain my composure, and then returned to Clarkson and Sylvie.
***
I found Sylvie on a bench on the veranda, sitting near the rosebushes and sipping lemonade. The sun was hiding behind light gray clouds, and a soft breeze coming from the lake ruffled the leaves and green grass, promising a light rain shower. The fragrant air was still warm though, as if not even the lack of sunrays could cool down the earth beneath our feet.
She frowned when I arrived, but if she caught my shaky emotional state she didn’t dwell on it. “You’ve been in there forever. How was the meeting?”
“Great.” I managed a half-hearted smile that wouldn’t have fooled anyone. “It went really well.” I sat down next to her and she pushed her lemonade glass toward me, silently welcoming me to take a sip. My fingers tightened around the glass but I couldn’t bring myself to lift it to my lips. I didn’t want to risk shattering it.
“Brooke,” Sylvie said slowly. Sensing something in her tone, I looked up to meet her stare. A shadow clouded her blue eyes and a soft line formed between her delicate brows.
“What?” I said warily.
She took a deep breath before replying and let it out slowly. I could tell she was preparing her words carefully, or maybe she was hesitant to share with me whatever was bothering her. “I’m sure I’m just blowing it out of proportions and it’s probably nothing.”
“What?” I repeated. “Just spit it out.”
“Okay. While you were in there, the old man asked to speak with Clarkson. Alone.” She raised her brows meaningfully. “I found it a little strange and followed them to a room down the hall.” Nothing strange about a client wanting to talk with his lawyer in private, but I didn’t argue with Sylvie. She wasn’t usually one to notice any sort of activity that didn’t concern her so, naturally, my suspicion was roused.
“What did they talk about?” I asked.
Sylvie inched closer and peered over her shoulder as though to make sure no one was listening. “The old man asked Clarkson to make sure no one knows you’re here. He also said he wanted to spend as much time as possible with you before—and I quote—the vultures descend upon their prey. I don’t even know what that means. At least he didn’t speak in Italian.”
