out for his heir. It would be a profitable union, as the woman was the only child and heir of a man almost as wealthy as the Grecos and with an equally proud lineage, which for his grandfather was almost as important. He was fond of speaking of bloodlines and pointing out the proof that the Grecos, who could trace their bloodlines back centuries, were among the elite of Europe.
Ivo had been fifteen when his brother had walked away to be with the woman he loved. He’d finally realised when the brother he idolised had not returned for him that the whispers had been wrong all along. Ivo hadn’t been the one who had inherited their father’s weakness; Bruno was the one that couldn’t live without the woman he loved.
But Bruno could live without honour, and his little brother.
His older brother had betrayed him but, even so, Bruno had been living out there somewhere, some place cold and bleak, a Scottish island, but now he wasn’t.
It didn’t seem possible.
‘Nobody informed you?’ He pressed a finger to the groove between his dark brows, struggling to make sense of what he was hearing.
His grandfather’s bushy brows lifted. ‘Obviously I was informed, by your brother’s solicitor. Oh, and the woman’s sister sent a letter, handwritten,’ he added with a contemptuous snort. ‘Barely legible.’
Ivo shook his head and felt anger separate itself out from the multi-layered raw emotions churning in his belly. Tangled as they were with the irrational guilt he refused to acknowledge, the physical effort of keeping the toxic mixture in check sent fine tremors through his lean body.
‘You knew?’ A muscle along his jaw clenched and quivered as the old man simply shrugged in confirmation, feeding the flame of fury inside him. He could feel it building. None of his feelings showed on his face but there was ice in his voice when he pressed his point. ‘And you did not see fit to share that information with me, until now?’
There was the slightest edge of defiance in Salvatore’s voice as he met his grandson’s eyes and bit out, ‘What would have been the point, Bruno?’
The muscles along Ivo’s jawline quivered. His grandfather seemed unaware of what he had called him, his heavy eyelids lowered over dark flame-lit eyes.
‘It did not occur to you that I might want to go to the funeral?’ Would he have...? Well, he’d never know now, he concluded with bitter irony.
‘No, it didn’t. You had your closure all those years ago when he stopped being your brother, and...’ Eyes that held no expression flickered as he scanned his grandson’s face. ‘You’re not a hypocrite.’ He arched a brow, his lip curling in mild mocking contempt as he threw out the challenge. ‘Are you?’
Ivo’s head came up slowly, his almond-shaped dark eyes resting without expression on his grandfather’s face. The surge of colour that had highlighted the slashing curves of his razor-edged cheekbones had receded. The normal vibrant olive glow had been overwhelmed by a waxy pallor that gave his features the sepia cast of an old photo; his features were utterly still. Only the nerve spasmodically clenching to the right of his clamped bloodless lips a sign of life.
He shook his head in an attitude of someone expecting to wake up. ‘Bruno contacted me eighteen months ago. He wanted to meet up.’ Ivo, staring blankly into middle distance, did not see the look of anger that crossed his grandfather’s face. He was too consumed with the guilt clawing low in his belly.
‘You met up with him?’
Ivo turned his head, the bleakness in his eyes profound. If the love he’d felt for his brother really had died when he hadn’t come back, should he be feeling this sort of pain now?
Pushing the question away, he took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. A man took responsibility for his actions. ‘No, I didn’t.’
A decision that he might never forgive himself for now. His brother had reached out and he had rejected him, and why? Because he had carried the anger and resentment of a youth into adulthood, because he wanted to punish Bruno?
Self-contempt quivered queasily in his belly, guilt and regret adding to the toxic sensation. The fact was he could have forgiven the desertion but he could never have forgiven the lie that had kept hope alive.
‘I thought he’d given up on that,’ the old man mused, dragging a hand over the grey stubble on his chin.
‘Given up?’
‘Bruno kept away after I took out the injunction, but the letters carried on for... Well, they stopped too...’ Salvatore frowned. ‘When was that...? No matter, they stopped after the lawyers made it clear that if he contacted you again I’d disinherit the pair of you and it would be his responsibility.’
A hand pressed against the dull throb in his head as Ivo struggled to make sense of what he was hearing. ‘He came back for me?’
Salvatore snorted. ‘Wanted guardianship, would you believe it?’
His expression invited Ivo to share his contempt at the idea, but Ivo was in no condition to share anything. Bruno hadn’t lied, he hadn’t deserted him.
‘He came back.’
Salvatore gave an impatient click of his fingers. ‘As if any court would have granted him access with his conviction.’
‘Conviction?’
‘I don’t suppose you would know but your brother dabbled a bit. He fell in with a bad crowd at school and was caught with a small amount...easy enough to brush under the carpet but the record remained.’
‘Drugs? Bruno?’ No inkling of this youthful scandal had ever reached Ivo’s ears; how much else had he been protected from?
He had given up on his brother but his brother had never given up on him! The discovery left a bitter-sweet taste in his mouth.
Salvatore’s comments suggested that Bruno had not just come back, he had fought, reaching out again, but this time Ivo was the one who had walked away! Ivo sat there as the guilt closed in on him, wrapping its wire tendrils around him like a cage.
He had barely begun to process this reversal of everything he had believed when his grandfather landed another shock.
‘The child—’
Ivo’s head whipped around. ‘What child?’
‘Your brother had a son, a baby, he’s...’ He stabbed the air in an impatient gesture. ‘It doesn’t matter what they’ve called him... This is why I need you to go to Scotland, to the Isle of Skye—presumably you know that’s where your brother has been living in some shack...probably no electricity and running water. I want you to fetch back the child. He belongs here with us—the father may have been a fool and his mother...’ With a curl of his lip he dismissed Samantha. ‘But the child is a Greco—he has a heritage.’
‘How...?’ Ivo’s heavy lids half lowered as he swallowed to alleviate the emotional constriction in his throat. ‘How did they die?’ he finally managed to push out harshly.
‘A climbing accident, they were roped together apparently. A witness at the inquest said they heard him begging her to cut the line, but she didn’t—’ For the first time Ivo imagined he heard emotion in his grandfather’s voice as he added harshly, ‘Ivo always had a reckless streak.’ His grandfather’s eyes drifted closed.
‘Bruno always loved the mountains,’ Ivo said softly. The gentle emphasis he placed on his brother’s name seemed to pass over his grandfather’s head.
He opened his eyes. ‘That’s what I just said! And look where it led...’ he intoned bitterly. ‘If he hadn’t climbed he’d never have met that girl... A potter, living in a hovel.’
A slight exaggeration but Samantha had seemed a million miles from the perfectly groomed models and society women his brother had previously dated.
Love