Page 3 of Giorgio

He exercised at the club where his family had been members for more than a century. His dark hair was still thick, the strands threaded through with gray, which only gave him a distinctive look.

He wasn’t as handsome as his son but was very attractive and had his share of female companions, none serious enough to make him want to give up his current status. No one couldreplace his beloved wife, and he had resigned himself to that fact.

But he wanted his son settled and giving him grandchildren, that much he was intent on achieving.

“It does not matter that I am not in the least bit interested in getting married. Or that I would prefer to choose my own bride?” The subject was a sore one to him and over the past few months, he had tried his best to forget it. Which was not easy, considering that the woman his father had chosen for him was the daughter of a very good friend.

They were often at the same functions. Sofia Columbo was a beautiful young woman, demure and agreeable, too agreeable for his taste and way too eager to please. Giorgio preferred his women with more than a little fire.

“You are thirty years old, and it is time you assumed your rightful place, here at the company. I have afforded you some leeway, more than enough and I am taking a stand now.”

He unfolded the newspaper that had been placed on his desk by his very efficient assistant and turned it around so that his son could see the photo and the caption. “This has to stop!”

Giorgio’s dark eyes landed on the glossy photo of him with his arm around a stunning blonde. The picture had been taken at a party on a friend’s yacht and both he and the blonde had been practically naked.

“We had no idea there were paparazzi’s present.” He had the grace to look chastened and apologetic.

“This woman was recently going through a bitter divorce. Were you the cause of it?”

He looked affronted. “You know me better than that papa. I do not mess around with married women. We are Catholics after all.”

Alfredo wanted to laugh at how ludicrous that sounded.

“When was the last time you stepped foot inside a chapel?”

Broad shoulders lifted in a negligent shrug. “The teachings of the Bible have been instilled in me since I was a child.” He glanced at the heavy gold watch on his left wrist. “Is that all?”

“Am I keeping you from something important? A business meeting perhaps?”

“More like a rousing game of football. I have seen to the insurance details of the car and was assured that the damage was minimal.” He rose gracefully, impatient to end the stifling and irritating conversation. He hated restrictions and as heir to the Russo fortune, he was constantly made aware of his status in life.

It had been that way since he was a child. His father insisted on having people follow him around and even when he was at home, he had numerous servants underfoot. Sometimes, he just simply wants to be an ordinary person, free to do whatever he pleases.

“I would like you home for supper.”

“If I can…”

“That was not a request. You have been absent from the dinner table for the past few days, and I would like to sit down and sup with my son.”

Twin dark eyes clashed and to his infuriating dismay, Giorgio was the first to look away.

“Is there anything else?” His deep voice was rife with sarcasm. “Would you like to pick out what I should wear to the dinner table?”

“You never had a problem with fashion,” his father said mildly, “we eat at ten sharp.”

Without a word, Giorgio turned and left.

Picking up the magazine, Alfedo studied the picture, his jaw tight. He was aware that through no fault of his own, Giorgio attracted attention, wherever he went. What he had a problem with was the fact that his son capitalized on the attention he received.

His face was plastered on billboards, because he was the face of their wildly successful and exclusive department stores. But he was also featured in magazines and on the internet because of his numerous affairs. The press loved him and delighted themselves by following him around everywhere he went.

Folding the magazine, he tossed it on the opposite side of the desk, a resigned frown on his brow. He could not wait for the young man to settle down and get married. Perhaps then, he would stop this nonsense and take his rightful place in a company that was going to be his one day.

*****

The apartment was nothing to write home about. The rent was reasonable and had suited her at the time. She had made it a home and had been content with calling it one. She did not crave luxury the way her brother did.

But he could afford it. He was a very successful lawyer, her job as editor at the publishing house had not yielded her a fortune, but the compensation package had been more than adequate.

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