Sarah & Vittorio (Royals of Valleria #9)

by Marianne Knightly

  “Nothing, bella. Just time to share.”

  He stared at her, thinking over the words she’d said and the vows she’d made to him. He thought over the vows he’d made to her. Then he thought about the things he was about to share.

  Sarah was tough. She could handle it. She wouldn’t leave him for his past.

  “Come, bella. Let me introduce you to the only mother I’ve known.”

  They left the shade and shadow of the weeping willow and made their way through the meandering garden. He paused at one of the long, ivy-covered walls. Pressing one hand to the wall, he skimmed over it, looking, seeking that magical spot.

  He found it.

  He gave a look around, just in case; he hadn’t sensed his family while he and Sarah had shared with each other, but that didn’t mean they weren’t about. Her agents were nearby, but them he expected. He patted the jammer in his pocket, thankful that everything they’d shared under the willow tree was just for him and Sarah.

  He pushed the ivy aside, found the hidden lever, and a stone slab door popped open.

  “Wow.” Sarah walked in and eyed the dilapidated garden, which seemed just like one from a children’s book.

  He took her hand and led her along the path, which was barely visible under dead and dying leaves, fallen branches, and other detritus. “Doesn’t your family home have secrets?”

  “Oh, yes. The palace is full of them. My siblings and I loved to explore them growing up. Not the gardens, though. We open them up to the public—encouraging donations, of course, to help with their upkeep—so we can’t really hide anything there. There are some portions that are always closed off, which are just for the family’s use. We do tours of the palace as well, again only for the public sections and only for a couple months each year.”

  They wound around a stone fountain that had no water, but it did contain everything they were stepping over on the ground. “I’ve managed to keep the public away from here. The gardener knows about it; I’m not sure if any of my family do. Despite generations of our family living in this house, my parents and brother never cared for the outdoors except for appearances’ sake. That why I doubt they’re aware of it. If they were, they’d likely repair it, then open it up during our summer public hours and charge extra for it.” He paused, taking a long breath. “My nanny would bring me here.”

  “Oh?”

  He looked up, squinting against the sun. He took in the tall walls and lifeless trees. The place had been derelict for so long. When he’d left, there had been no one to take care of it. Even when he’d lived in the house, he’d cared for it under stealth, sometimes even in the dark of night with a small lantern to keep him company. The gardener, who was older and needed more time for his regular duties, didn’t have the energy to keep it up. Not to mention, he also had to stay away so as not to arouse suspicion it existed at all.

  “What would you and your nanny do here?”

  “Hide.”

  Her hand tightened in his.

  “My parents were worse before. I know it’s hard to imagine, but they were. Ruthless, vindictive. They abused to show their power over little boys. Physical, mental, emotional…any abuse was fair game and all of them were used. My brothers became them at just a few years old, despite my efforts to protect them.”

  The memories filtered through, making his chest tight. “As I was the oldest son, I was granted my own nanny. Luca and Carlo had to share one, but I got my own because of some government stipulations related to the funds we received for our titles. Nanny took her own share of abuse from the rest, but she’d protect me, console me, help me.”

  “Like your mother should have, right?”

  He nodded, their joined hands now swinging lightly between them as they walked ever-so-slowly along the path. “I think of Nanny as my mother. Just there.”

  He pointed then led them around a small bend. He let go of her hand and moved towards the far wall. He’d honored Nanny as far from the house as he could.

  He knelt down and began to push some leaves aside. The dry leaves on top gave way to wet leaves underneath, then long, damp grass at the bottom. Not caring that his suit would get dirty, he sat down and leaned forward to clear away the engraved plaque. He’d had it attached on the wall, close to the ground, in the farthest corner of the garden.

  It was small and flat—easier to hide if anyone did find the garden—and the smooth gray that once was had weathered over time. “Sorry, Nanny. I should’ve taken better care of you.”

  He felt a hand on his shoulder, a light squeeze that jolted him. He’d forgotten for a moment that Sarah was there. Slightly ashamed, but still glad for her company, he brushed off the dirt from his hand, and squeezed hers on his shoulder.

  “Nanny Angela, I’d like to introduce you to Sarah Santoro.”

  If Sarah thought the introduction was odd, she didn’t show it. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Angela.”

  His fingers followed the curves of each letter, of each number in the years listed on her headstone. He hadn’t known if Nanny would prefer burial over cremation. There had been no will decreeing her wishes, nothing to know when all was said and done. Considering everything her body had gone through in the end, he’d decided on cremation. He’d scattered her ashes here in the garden, feeding the earth where they’d both escaped to on a regular basis. Later, he’d had this plaque mounted, almost like a headstone.

  Sarah began to sit but he stopped her. “Your clothes will get dirty.”

  She gave him a small smile and sat right down. She tucked her legs under her and leaned on one arm towards him. “I don’t mind getting dirty.”

  “What a loaded phrase coming from you.”

  She let out a surprised chuckle. “Well. I should tell you that I adore my sisters—well, most of them…maybe most of the time—anyway, as much fun as we had doing girly things growing up, I had just as much fun running around outside with my brothers. I loved it.”

  He jerked, again envisioning a little girl, blonde hair streaming behind her as she ran over green grass with a smile on her face, calling for her ‘papa’…which was him.

  Shit.

  He took a breath to clear the image, not wanting anything so pure and beautiful in his head when he told Sarah what had happened to Nanny. He ran a hand through his hair, fisted it at the back of his head, then let go.

  “It was my fault Nanny died.”

  No gasp of surprise, no shock. Just a simple, quiet-spoken question. “How?”

  He couldn’t look at her while he recounted. “I was a teenager, barely sixteen. Technically, I suppose, they didn’t need Nanny anymore, but she was contracted to stay until I left for university and her funds came from the government, as part of our salaries and the salaries of the household staff. In those days, she received a check, all the staff did. It allowed Franco a chance to get to the checks first, deposit them, and take some money off the top before paying everyone. I think many people, though not the government, knew about it. The local bank certainly did, but the bank manager was a friend of Franco’s. If Franco had fired Nanny early, that would have been less money coming to him. Since the government stopped by the house from time-to-time, he needed to prove she was still employed here.”

  Sarah didn’t speak beside him, just offered quiet comfort and no pressure to hurry the story along.

  “Anyway, Franco had become increasingly physical with all of us. Even his golden boys, Luca and Carlo, were subjected to his fists. With me, especially. He would beat me on my own, of course. However, when I would find Franco with a fist raised over the staff or even Giulia—I hate her, yet I still couldn’t bear to see her hurt—Franco would offer me a trade: he’d spare whoever was at risk and beat me instead.”

  She reached over and took his hand, the warmth of it racing up his arm. “You’d take him up on his offer, wouldn’t you?”

  “Every time. He’d beaten me particularly badly one morning and I was sleeping it off in my room. I knew, I knew, he alw
ays went after Nanny when she was most vulnerable, which was when I couldn’t defend her. I’d told her that I’d be fine, I’d told her not to worry about ice or medication for the pain. I’d get through, I always did.”

  The memories threatened to choke him. “She didn’t listen.”

  “Oh, Rio.”

  He took a deep breath. “From what I heard afterward, she was coming back from the kitchen when he found her and beat her to within an inch of her life. Someone called for help that time—they never did, as my father’s influence kept helpful heads turned the other way—and when I heard the sirens I woke up. And I knew.”

  He couldn’t hide the despair, the hopelessness in his voice. “I stayed with her in the hospital for days, weeks. She had no family, so there was only me.”

  He closed his eyes tight against the memories, against the smells and sounds of the hospital room, the broken body in the bed. “She never woke up. I think that was a blessing for her.”

  Her voice was tender, God, so tender and soft. “Was there an inquiry?”

  He slowly opened his eyes. “Yes, but nothing came of it. She ‘fell down the stairs’ was the final word. My father’s temper was—is—well known, and some feared his influence.”

  Now the anger came, the raw, rushing surge of it. His face got hard. “Not anymore. I’ve spent years, years, speaking to people and neighboring communities while his back was turned, while Luca and Carlo’s backs are turned, to ensure that everyone knows I am not my father. In that hospital, that’s when I started on this path.”

  His lips twisted into a vengeful grin. “Franco tried to place the blame of her injuries—and later, her eventual death—on me. When the police came to the hospital room to question me, I gave them a show of my own temper. I vowed, before them, before Nanny, before any God in heaven, that I would never hurt the woman who’d truly been my mother.”

  Her fingers brushed over the plaque. “They must have seen your devotion to her.”

  He nodded. “They saw my own injuries as well that hadn’t healed yet, and my complete hatred for him. They were the first to believe it, but not the last. That’s why I’ve made connections with government officials, proven to them, to anyone, that I only want the good for the region, for Italy.”

  He finally turned his face to hers, caught the sheen of moisture in her eyes, and almost professed his feelings for her right there. Only Nanny had ever cried for him. Only he had ever cried for her. Now Sarah was crying for them both.

  He cleared his throat. “You must have realized by now that I named my foundation after her. We provide services—food, health, legal, whatever they need—to people who need it, whether that’s the servant class or the upper class or in-between. No one should have to face fists every day because they’re too afraid to get help. No one should face constant abuse, at home or work or anywhere, because they’re too afraid to get help.”

  She rubbed his back, her long, slim hands making smooth, gentle strokes. “You do amazing work. I may not remember much about the charity ball, but I do remember several people talking favorably about the foundation.”

  “The foundation means so much to me. Not everyone will ask for help, but we can provide help to those who might. A lot of our donors are upper class—including friends of my parents—which is another way my family’s threatening me. They can pull those donors with one phone call, if they choose.”

  “Are your parents stealing from the foundation? You mentioned something about the funds they’re using on the house renovations.”

  He gave her a wry grin. “Oh, they’ve tried, but I’m smarter than them. They’re not on the foundation’s board, they’re not even allowed near my offices. My staff and accountants have strict instructions never to give them anything, including money or privileged information. No, they likely got those funds from either stealing staff wages or, more likely, embezzling from one of my brothers’ companies. I caught them once soliciting donations for the foundation, then keeping the cash. I nearly had them arrested for that, but Franco managed to get them all around that. I believe he still has a friend or two in the government willing to help them, though I don’t know who.”

  “If you lose the donors, will the foundation go under?”

  “No. I host several of these balls, including the one tonight, for just that purpose. It’s never smart to count on a small set of donors for any foundation. They give millions so, if we lost that funding, it would be tough but not impossible to do our work.”

  “And your parents don’t go to the balls, even to just fuck with you?”

  He nearly chuckled at that. “Franco prefers the society in the surrounding regions; he rarely goes to Rome where he’s basically a small fish in a large pond. He prefers to be a large fish belittling and trouncing the smaller ones.”

  “How is he still in power? Surely, by now you have enough support to remove him.”

  He sighed and brushed his fingers over Nanny’s plaque again. “Unfortunately, it’s not that simple. Under current legalities—which only the government can change and they’re not likely to at this time—the title cannot be removed, only passed down from one generation to the next. It will only pass on if he steps back from his title and passes it on willingly, or if I get him declared mentally unfit. Before you ask, I’ve already pursued that avenue discreetly and it’s a no go. He’s still competent. He’s also a major fucking asshole, but that’s not enough to get him removed.”

  “I’m sorry. So sorry for everything you’ve been through.” Her hand came up and rubbed gently down his spine, a soft brush of comfort. “Why didn’t you just walk away from them when you left? Leave them behind?”

  Years of struggling, of fighting his family, and he was so tired of it all. “Every time I tried to cut ties, they blackmailed me into coming back. Franco would threaten to tell people I’d been disowned and removed from the succession line. The foundation depended upon my reputation; if people believed I was a disowned prince, no amount of money could help. I started the foundation when I was twenty-five, once the final piece of my grandfather’s inheritance came through. Before then, I couldn’t cut ties because it would risk the terms of the inheritance. After that, I couldn’t cut ties because of the foundation.”

  He brushed the plaque again. “I miss her.”

  “I still don’t understand how Angela’s death is your fault. It seems to be very clearly Franco’s.”

  Memories of that night raced through him, and his heart beat faster. “If I’d been there, I’d have taken that beating.”

  “And you’d have died.”

  He shook his head. “I could have made it through. I would have made it through.”

  “You know that’s ridiculous.”

  Irritation scratched at his skin. She should believe him. About this, he clearly knew best. “It is not.”

  She gave a tiny, disbelieving huff. “Of course it is! I have a mind to go right to your father and—”

  He was on her like a flash, his body twisting towards her, his hands banding around her upper arms, and he pulled them both up to standing. His expression was fierce, but his hold was gentle. “You go nowhere near him. Do you hear me?”

  Her eyes were wide. “Rio.”

  “Nowhere near him. Why do you think I didn’t want you here? Why do you think I wanted you to stay away? I’m trying to protect you, damn it! Do you want to end up battered on the floor by that asshole?”

  He was breathing heavily, the words pouring from his lips. He couldn’t stop them. “I care about you too damn much to let that happen. You deserve better than this, better than what I can offer you. You deserve beauty and light. You are beauty and light.”

  She gasped.

  “Stay away from him, do you understand me? You go nowhere near him without me.”

  Her voice was slightly dazed. “Okay, Vittorio.”

  He blinked, registering her use of his full name. “What?”

  She licked her lips, her eyes now twinkling. “I
won’t go near him. I could probably kick his ass, don’t you doubt it, but I won’t go near him if you don’t want me to.”

  He suddenly realized where his hands were and let go abruptly. She staggered a little but didn’t fall back. He rolled his shoulders back and turned away. “Right. Good. That’s good.”

  She touched his shoulder. “Rio.”

  He had to get his emotions under control. He couldn’t face her, not yet. “Yes?”

  When he didn’t turn, she walked around to face him. “Are you okay?”

  He glanced at her arms, where he’d grabbed her, and back to her eyes. “Are you okay?”

  Her forehead wrinkled in confusion. “Of course. But are you okay? You shared a lot with me. I feel…honored that you did. I know it couldn’t have been easy.”

  “You’re not hurt?”

  “By what?”

  He looked down at his hands, which were palm up, as if in prayer. He fisted them, then dropped them loose at his side. “I grabbed you. Did I hurt you?”

  Her response was immediate. “Of course you didn’t. Your hold was gentle. I’m not hurt.”

  She pressed a hand to his cheek. “You would never hurt me like that. You’re not your father, Vittorio.”

  That had been a fear of his, hadn’t it? That despite his best intentions, he’d somehow turn out exactly like his father, his brothers? That blood was stronger than intention?

  She cupped his face, held it firm. “You’re not your family, Vittorio. You. Are. Not. Your. Family.”

  His light. His breath. She was becoming his everything. “Bella.”

  The beauty of the moment was marred by a ringing cell phone.

  “Do you understand me? Believe me?”

  The phone stopped ringing, then started again.

  “Answer me, Vittorio.”

  He nearly smiled at her forceful tone. “I believe you. Or, perhaps I’m starting to.”

  She gave him a fierce, hard kiss. “I’ll make you believe it. Completely. Now answer the damn phone.”

  Then he did smile, though it faded once he pulled out his phone and saw the screen. “We’re being summoned back to the house by my family.”