The Italian Inheritance Read Free Page A

he was a politician or someone of local importance. She’d certainly never heard the name before.
    “I’m afraid I can’t answer that,” he intoned. Anna wondered how many times in his life he’d said that sentence. He made a good lawyer, cold, emotionless.
    “Do you have a copy of your passport with you?”
    Anna sighed. “I do.” She reached into her handbag and put it down on the large mahogany desk. It was so wide he had to stretch to retrieve it. At this point it could have been a mountain between them and Anna suspected it was going to b e a long, hard climb before she got any thing out of him .
    But what choice did she have? Unfortunately , this man was her only lead. She had to go along with his stupid questions before he’d give her any information about Giovanni. That much was crystal clear. She glanced at his stony face. Nope. Nothing was getting past this guy.
    He opened the document and glanced at the photograph, then up at her face. She smiled sarcastically. Yes, it’s me.
    “I’ll be right back.” He strode to the door and pulled it open. He asked the receptionist something in Italian, probably to make a copy, and came back inside. This time instead of sitting in his swivel chair he leant casually against the front of the desk , studying her.
    Anna raised her eyebrows. “Anything else before we get down to business? A urine sample, perhaps? ”
    He had the grace to smile. A tiny smile that played at the corner of his lips. Anna noticed, rather irrationally, that they were full, sexy lips. Not hard and thin like his demeanour predicted.
    “My secretary will make a copy of your passport. Don’t worry. You’ll get it back shortly. Now, why don’t you tell me why you want to find Signore Albertosi?”
    “Well, it’s a personal mater . I’ve come all the way from London to see him. I’m sure if you just explain the situation to him, he’ll be happy to see me.”
    Anna really didn’t feel like telling this man about her mother’s affair twenty- six years ago , the subsequent letter that was never posted and her own hopes and dreams of finally meeting her father. He wouldn’t understand. Her gaze fell from his humourless face to his broad chest. He didn’t appear to have a compassionate bone in his hard, toned body.
    Rafael sighed. “I’m afraid that is not possible. Unless I know what business it is you have with him, I can’t let you see him. It’s for his own safety. ”
    The man was incorrigible. Anna stared at him in frustration. Why did he have to make everything so difficult? Then his words sunk in.
    “His own safety? Is he unwell?” The fact that he might be sick hadn’t even occurred to her.
    The attorney looked like he didn’t know how to answer. Anna gave him an odd look. “Is he sick?” she repeated, urgently.
    “No, he’s not sick , ” he said slowly , folding his arms across his chest and gazing at her through narrowed eyes.
    “Oh, thank God for that.” Why was the lawyer looking at her so suspiciously? Perhaps there was something else wrong with Giovanni. “Is he in trouble then?” She was grasping at straws, making wild guesses in the hope that Vialli would give something away.
    “No, what do you mean?” Vialli looked concerned.
    “I mean he’s not in jail or anything is he?” Maybe her father was a gan gster or even worse, Mafioso—a fter all this was Italy. Now that put a different spin on things. She gulped. Was it possible she could be related to a criminal?
    It struck her how little she actually knew about her father. If only her mother had opened up to her about Giovanni before she ’d died. Maybe then she’d have a bit more to go on than a faded address on a crumpled old envelope .
    “Definitely not, ” came the horrified reply.
    Relief flooded Anna’s body. Okay, so he wasn’t ill and he wasn’t in jail. Good start. At least she’d ruled out those two options. Suddenly Anna felt like she was playing a game of charades with a total