Page 53 of The Billionaire's Seduction Revenge

So badly he almost crumbled and called her. Suggested another night. Just one more, to finish things properly.

Only, Vasilios had been too thorough for that.

Emma’s parting shot as she’d sat into the front seat of the taxi had made her feelings clear: “Don’t think about contacting me again—If I never see you again, it will be too soon.”

She’d been hurt. She hadn’t cried, but her face was pale and her lips strained, every line of her body had been taut from tension and even in that awful moment, when he’d been determined simply to see her leave, he’d hated himself for doing that to her. For knowing that he’d been responsible for hurting a person who was all goodness, kindness and considerate self-sacrifice.

Back in his penthouse, he stalked to the glass doors and threw them open, stepping out onto the terrace and taking in the view.

Rome was a long way from Costa’s house on the outskirts of Bari but his eyes naturally gravitated to the south. He wished, more than anything, that Emma had at least agreed to stay there. Then, he’d have some small consolation: the ability to imagine her where she was, to see her in his mind’s eyes, in the pool house, the pool, everything they’d shared wrapped around her, somehow making it more relevant and important.

But it wasn’t important, it wasn’t real, and Vasilios had to be true to his word and accept those facts.

14

VASILIOS ARRIVED FOR THE reading of Costa’s will, four weeks after the funeral, with a heavy sense of dread in his gut. This was the final step to go through, the last duty and obligation to the man who’d raised him.

Vasilios was later than the appointed time, but it didn’t matter. Nothing could start without him. As he strode into the large boardroom of the prestigious law firm, his eyes surveyed the assembled lawyers—two men and a woman—and it wasn’t until that moment, when disappointment punched him hard in the gut, that he realised how much he’d been secretly hoping Emma would be there.

He’d been so convinced her affection for Costa had been staged to earn her some financial gain or other, at least, he’d fervently believed that in the beginning. And even at the end, when he’d understood the goodness and purity of her intentions, he’d still thought Costa enthralled enough by Emma to leave hersomething.Ironically, it had become his greatest hope, because it would have meant she would be here today.

“I’m the sole beneficiary?”

“Not quite. Please, take a seat, Signore Valenti.” The woman spoke, gesturing to the chair at the head of the table.

He sat, not beating about the bush, desperation making his voice forceful. “Who else?”

The man, who Vasilios had met on a handful of occasions, regarded the papers in front of him. “A young woman is named, an Emma Jones. We’ve left messages, but she hasn’t returned them.”

Vasilios’s heart gave a strange throb. He leaned forward, eyes narrowed, expression grim. A man on the left started to say something but Vasilios cut over the top of him. “What did he leave her?”

“Let’s start at the top,” the woman suggested, bringing control of the meeting back to herself. But Vasilios was not a man to be dictated to.

“No, let’s start here.” He pressed his finger into the table top. “What did Costa leave her?”

It felt monumentally important, and he couldn’t say why. Rather than feeling resentful at the thought of Costa’s having left Emma something, Vasilios was gratified by it, by this proof of…love. Because Costa and Emma had loved each other. They’d been good friends, to the end.

Envy split Vasilios in two. Envy that Costa had been able to love freely, to have such uncomplicated feelings towards Emma, at the end of his life, had been able to bask in the reciprocity of her feelings for him. For Vasilios, nothing about it had been simple.

The woman’s lips compressed with disapproval but after a small internal struggle, she nodded once, turned many pages in the will, then navigated back a little way before reading aloud:

“To Emma, who has asked for nothing and will likely not want it either, I nonetheless leave the following—,”

Vasilios dipped his head, his gut churning at the deliberate wording. Costaknewwhat Vasilios had suspected, and wanted to avoid any contest to the will.

The lawyer read on, leaving some money to Emma—in lieu of the salary you refused to take.He had also specified some jewels that had belonged to Vasilios’s grandmother be left to Emma. Vasilios closed his eyes, something hard pounding through him. The lawyer, oblivious to Vasilios’s internal struggles, continued to read from the will:

“Finally, though I have told her many times, I wish her to know with almost my dying breath, how much her friendship meant to me. At the end of my life, when I might otherwise have been afraid and alone, she indulged me, sat with me, cared for me, and I am forever grateful to have met her. It is my greatest wish that she should understand the truth of this—and even more significantly, I hope the burden of caring for me was not too great, the grief of losing me not too awful. This, death, is but a small part of life—the very last step for all of us. Emma helped me find a good death, now I want her to live a good life: a long, happy, loving life, just as she deserves.”

Vasilios’s chest tightened. He could only stare at the table. Emma did deserve a good life, a loving, happy life. Just as Costa said. Vasilios had said that too, right before walking her out of the Villa and sending her away. Something clenched low in his gut.

The rest of the will was read, from the beginning, and it was far simpler and less emotionally confrontational.

Everything else went to Vasilios.

At the very end of the will, the lawyer read, “Vasilios, you have always made me proud. I have, for many years, envied you your goodness. Your morality and certainty, your determination to live life as you ought, not as you want, has meant you step with surety from one success to another. But do not be so focussed on success, my beloved grandson, that you forget to stop and enjoy it. You were my greatest gift; I love you.”

Vasilios sat as still as stone, staring at the wall opposite without really seeing.

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