Michael's Father. Melinda Curtis

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      Blake stared down at the book filled with parental advice on his lap, unable to concentrate on the words. His own teenage years had been relatively happy ones. Blake was sure he hadn’t given Kevin Austin, his adopted father, as many headaches or near-ulcer episodes as Jennifer was giving him. What was he doing wrong?

      The music started again. The haunting melody tugged at Blake’s floundering spirits and jolted him out of his seat.

      SALVATORE STARED BLINDLY at the figures in front of him, while he tried to gather the strength to go upstairs. The trip was a double agony at the end of the day now. His hips ached all the time. It hurt to walk, much less climb, the tall, sweeping staircase he’d been so proud of when he’d approved the architectural plans years ago. Once on the second floor, Salvatore could barely bring himself to look at the wan face of his dying daughter. How could God be so cruel as to take his two most precious gems early—his beloved Anna and now their precious Sophia? Both victims of breast cancer.

      With hands on each chair arm, Salvatore pushed himself painfully to his feet. It was becoming harder to keep his torment hidden. Yet, how could he complain when his daughter suffered with such grace? If only the doctors had been able to save her. Salvatore’s own doctor wanted him to undergo double hip replacement surgery. Salvatore couldn’t afford the two-month recovery period. He was risking quite a bit on the international introduction of his wines and needed to stay sharply focused.

      He moved with deliberate steps toward the office door and the dreaded staircase, toward the light of his life, Sophia. And his pills. He’d spend fifteen minutes with Sophia. Then, he’d swallow one of those chalky pills and fifteen minutes later he’d feel relief. He told himself he only needed to endure the pain for another half hour. He could take it. He was a Messina.

      It had cost him all his energy to hold things together when Anna died nearly twenty years ago. Salvatore would have lost his sanity and his business many times over if not for Sophia. With her brilliant smile, endless energy and quiet dignity, Sophia stepped into the social role created by her mother. A man couldn’t ask for a better daughter. What was he to do now? Lucas held other priorities and Corinne was not an option. It was unfortunate that she’d been unable to break the chain of illegitimacy that seemed to plague the Messinas. At least she was making a name for herself in the public relations world. Salvatore tried to discreetly keep track of her career, in case she needed his help.

      He reached the staircase and had started grimly up when he recalled Corinne’s lack of respect at dinner last night. Clearly, she was raising that boy all wrong. Salvatore should have stepped in before this and provided the firm guidance the child so obviously needed. Refusing to eat dinner and asking, right there in the dining room, for fast food! It was inconceivable that the boy shared the same blood as Salvatore.

      Halfway to the top. Sixteen more steps to go. The pain in his hips radiated up his backbone. Salvatore clenched his teeth and concentrated on his frustrating thoughts.

      It wasn’t like the old days when children didn’t dare talk back to their elders. No. The old days were different. Children and grandchildren obeyed their patriarch, were silent when receiving their comeuppance and then did what the patriarch thought was best for the family. And heaven help the person that wronged the family.

      The caustic words of Francesca Camilletti, his wife’s sister, echoed as sharply as if she were beside him today rather than fifty-some-odd years ago. “The Messinas are cursed with wine-making talent in America, a land that doesn’t appreciate wine. They’ll work their fingers to the bone and still be poor and unhappy. Don’t go, Anna. He’s a failure. He’ll ruin your life.” She’d spit out those words of bitter advice to Anna on the New Jersey train platform, as she, Salvatore and Sophia, just a baby with wisps of silky black hair and sparkling brown eyes, were about to board the train to California. Francesca already believed Salvatore Messina had ruined her sister’s life by getting her pregnant before they were married. Taking her away from the family was almost a worse sin.

      Salvatore had known that if he and Anna stayed in New Jersey, Francesca would have made Salvatore’s life a living hell. As luck would have it, Anna wanted to break free of her family’s influence and her sister’s suffocating love.

      Anna had kissed her sister’s cheek, told her she’d write, and then slipped her delicate hand into Salvatore’s, her dark eyes radiating trust and love. Salvatore knew then that he’d have to make something of himself to validate the love Anna blessed him with. Come hell or high water, Messina Vineyards would grow and succeed, outliving them all and proving Francesca Camilletti wrong.

      He paused to catch his breath, wondering for the first time if his desire to punish the man responsible for Cori’s pregnancy was in any way similar to Francesca’s irrational vendetta against him, which had lasted until the day she died. He frowned, unhappy with the notion, and shoved the thought aside. More pressing matters required his attention.

      Salvatore stepped heavily onto the second-floor landing. Thankfully, Sophia’s room was just at the top of the stairs. After a few shuffling steps, he swung Sophia’s door open, leaning some of his weight on the door handle.

      “Do you need anything, Mama?” Cori asked.

      “No, thank you.”

      Corinne. Salvatore wanted to spin around and come back later. But any quick move would send him tumbling to the floor.

      Sophia’s gaze settled upon him. Even in the dim light, he could tell Sophia wasn’t comfortable. He moved resolutely forward, intent on easing things for his daughter in any way possible.

      From her perch on the bed, Corinne turned and stiffened when she saw him. She wore faded jeans and a sweatshirt. Without makeup, she looked barely seventeen. To her credit, Corinne didn’t shrink away when her eyes met his, but there was no mistaking the unwelcoming expression on her face. A part of Salvatore preened with pride at her strength. Simultaneously, the voices of his Italian ancestors railed against her open disrespect. Not that any of that mattered at the moment. Sophia needed him.

      Salvatore made every effort to move his legs smoothly under two pairs of dark, watchful eyes. With luck, Sophia’s pain medication and Corinne’s contempt would cloud their perceptive powers.

      “It’s time you retired, Corinne.” He stopped in front of the two women. This close, he could see Sophia’s pinched features. Yes, something was definitely wrong.

      Eyes flashing, Corinne straightened her spine and opened her mouth, only to be cut off by her mother.

      “Yes, dear. It’s getting late. Why don’t you go to bed? I’m sure my grandson is an early riser.”

      Corinne wasn’t quick enough to hide the hurt in her eyes at her dismissal, but she didn’t fight. She gave Sophia a small smile and a quick kiss on the cheek, then bid her mother good-night.

      Salvatore didn’t receive as much as a glance from his granddaughter.

      When he heard the door close behind him, Salvatore reached for his daughter’s delicate hand. He longed to sit next to her on the bed, but doubted he could stand back up without giving away his weakness.

      “Tell me what you need, cara.”

      IT WASN’T UNTIL BLAKE stood outside the kitchen door of the main house that he realized where he’d been heading. A soft glow through the kitchen windows lit the night. A shadow too large to be Cori moved past one window toward the refrigerator.

      Suppressing his disappointment, Blake climbed the two СКАЧАТЬ