Bellissima by Anya Richards Read Free Book Online Page B

and to the business.
    He had broken with tradition when he got his own rooms, began spending less time in the workshop of the jewelry store his father owned. While they specialized in cameos, intaglios and other fine pieces imported from Italy, Ennio had discovered early that Sergio had an eye for design. While Sergio’s older brother, Marco, helped with customers and kept the books, and the youngest, Nico, travelled with his father, learning about gems and the acquisition of the jewelry they sold, Sergio was supposed to remain trapped in the workshop.
    That had not suited him at all, on many levels.
    “I take care of myself, Papa.” He said it calmly, looking his father in the eye, hoping to put an end to the discussion before the quiet Friday-night family dinner turned into one of his father’s tirades. Poor Sophia, Marco’s young wife, already looked terrified, and Papa hadn’t even raised his voice—much.
    “But you do nothing for the family.” Ennio glared back at him, black eyes flashing. “You think only of yourself.”
    “Papa—” Marco tried to interject, but Sergio sent him a swift, quelling glance. There was no need for his older brother to try to protect him and perhaps draw some of their father’s ire. When the older man lost his temper, there was no telling what he might say. Marco and Sophia had only been married half a year, and already Ennio was wondering aloud why he had no grandchildren on the way.
    “Family is everything.” Ennio ignored his eldest son, his focus fixed unwaveringly on Sergio. “Yet you treat us with no consideration. No respect. You move away as though we are not to your liking. Refuse to contribute to our well-being. Sometimes I think you would be rid of us completely if you could.”
    Too far. That was too far by half. Sergio felt his temper rising but tamped it down, unwilling to give his father the satisfaction of making him lose control.
    “I’m sorry you feel that way, Papa.” Sergio glanced down the table at his mother, caught her glaring at his father. It was impossible not to feel a little flare of amusement, knowing Grazia Fontini would give her husband what-for some time in the very near future. He turned back to meet Ennio’s furious gaze again. “I hope you know that is not true.”
    “Sorry?” His father punctuated the shouted word by slamming his fist on the table, making everything rattle and poor Sophia jump and squeak. “You are not sorry. If you were truly sorry, you would make amends.”
    Now they were getting to the crux of the matter. Didn’t his father know he could see through his tricks? Ennio shouted, waved his hands, insulted and denigrated until the person he was berating would do almost anything he asked to make it stop. What would his father demand of him now? More designs for the shop? More of his time? That he return to the stuffy workroom full-time, break his back and lose his eyesight in the creation of some expensive bauble that would, more likely than not, live in some ungrateful society matron’s jewelry box?
    He had no illusions that the skills he imparted as a dance master were important to anyone other than the social-climbing mamas who dreamed of their daughters rising above their stations. It was, in a very real sense, fools’ work. But it was his, built on his ability and drive to succeed, owing nothing to anyone else’s influence or skill. He was proud of what he had achieved, even if no one else was.
    Sergio took a breath, tightening his grip on the rage boiling in his stomach. Get it over with. Let his father say what it was he wanted so Sergio could have the pleasure of denying it to him. “Amends?”
    “Yes,” his father roared. “Amends.”
    “What kind of amends, Papa? Tell me what it is you think I should do to make up for my egregious sins.”
    The words were soft, low, yet so laden with sarcasm Ennio’s face went red, his eyes widening until it was a miracle his eyeballs didn’t fall out of their