Patient. In control. Always, always achieving the goal.
Taking another sip, he grimaced at himself. He would not pretend this was like any other objective he needed to carry out. This goal. Oh, no. This objective, this goal meant everything.
Dio, the impact she had on him.
He'd forgotten. Purposefully.
With one glance, she'd brought it all back.
The need for her had drummed in him through tonight's long dinner. Desire had lashed him as he stood and watched her smile and laugh with his sisters. Craving had curled its way into his gut as he said goodbye to her father and noticed her ignoring him once more.
She was angry. At him. Even after all these years. Over a few blunt words.
True, he had not handled the night of her seventeenth birthday well. In his defense, she had caught him by surprise. Though surely as a grown woman she would have realized why he'd said and done what he had. He'd needed to draw a line neither of them could cross.
A piercing memory struck him. Her young face white in the night shadows. Her eyes staring at him as he talked. The way her pointed chin wobbled for a moment before she turned and walked away from him.
Exactly as she had tonight.
He pushed the thought back. He hadn't meant to hurt her that night; still it had been necessary. If he had to do it over again, he would. And his subsequent actions, actions she knew nothing of, had been necessary to separate them before the temptation became too great. He'd also thought it would help her to broaden her horizons and spread her wings. His actions had all been for Lara's benefit.
Not all your actions.
Ah, well. That was long ago, when he still allowed his emotions to ride him.
He swirled the liquor in the glass. None of it mattered anymore. Now was the time to move forward. Time to forget the past and embrace what had always been their destiny. This resentment she held towards him would be dealt with. A few words said years ago would not stand in the way of his determination. She would soon realize who she was meant to be with.
Lara Derrick was his. Had always been his.
Her first marriage was done. Finally. It had been an eternity of waiting.
He stared at the liquor for a moment longer, and then threw back his head and swallowed. The tang hit his tongue as the burn slid down his throat. The taste reminded him of the taste of her; hot spice laced with bite.
At long last, the kiss he'd dreamed of giving her for years.
"Dante."
He turned toward the library door. "Mamma."
Giana Casartelli bustled in, black dress wrapped tightly around generous hips and bosom. Easing into a leather chair, she sighed. "The last guests have left. I think it went well, no?"
"With you in charge, how could it not?"
She waved away his comment with a ring-encrusted hand. "It was nothing."
"A Casartelli wedding, and the parties leading up to it, cannot be a nothing."
She chuckled. "Well, of course. We are the Casartellis."
He rolled the glass in his hand and thought of a time when he would have given anything to not be a Casartelli, and certainly not The Casartelli. The mantle, the label, the duty had colored his entire existence, for as long as he could remember. Being the wild boy he'd been, he'd fought against it. For as long as he could.
Yet just as Lara was inevitable in his life, so too was his duty. The wild boy had, in the end, died inside him. In a strange way, it had been a relief. He'd eventually accepted, eventually even embraced the destiny laid out for him from the moment of his birth. A destiny that demanded he always step up to his duties. "Sandro is a good man. He will fit into the family smoothly."
"You picked well for Carlotta."
You've turned into an arrogant ass.
"She picked him herself." He realized with sardonic humor he was answering her as well as his mother.
His mamma clucked her tongue. "With your guidance and encouragement."
"I merely suggested."
"You have a way of suggesting, Dante..."
He lifted one eyebrow. "Si?"
"Never mind." Giana's hands clapped together. "Her babies will be so beautiful."
He hid his amusement behind another slight lift of his brow. For the last few years, his mamma had been all about marriages. This man and that man. Which daughter and what daughter. Lately, however, babies had taken over as the theme of her life. "Let us hope Carlotta's children take after Sandro and not me."
Her mouth pinched. "You were a beautiful baby."
"I was not-"
"And you will have beautiful children."
The words hit him in the chest with a punch. He'd thought, until this moment, he had one goal as far as his personal life was concerned. Now, suddenly, he knew quite clearly, he had another. He glanced over to see his mother's keen focus upon him. With long practice, he blanked his thoughts and gave her his usual bland look. "If you say so, Mamma."
"I say so." Her gaze continued to cling to his face.
"Carlotta appeared very happy tonight."
As he'd hoped, her eyes blurred with joyful tears and her attention slipped from him. "Si, si," she gushed. "My youngest is happy."
Happy.
Lara's face slid through his mind. She did not appear happy. She appeared tense, strained. Evidently, she was still suffering from the loss of her husband last year.
His hand tightened around the crystal glass.
"She is happy," his mother interrupted his thoughts. "Put your mind at ease, figlio. You have done well for her."
"I am not worried about Carlotta, Mamma." He would make Lara forget her damned dead husband. The compulsion rushed through him, fierce and overriding.
Patience, Dante.
His father's counsel whispered in his memory.
Si, patience.
Taking a deep breath, he purposefully closed his mind to the driving desires. A habit he'd learned and come to appreciate. With relief, he felt his passionate nature ease back, subside, disappear.
Giana brushed her hands down her dress. "And now, this part of your life is behind you."
He leaned on the antique mahogany desk his grandfather and father had once ruled behind. He knew what was coming; they'd had this conversation many times in the past few months. Like him, his mother had the talent of being relentless in the pursuit of a goal.
She eyed him. "The last of your five sisters, Dante. Successfully launched."
"They are not boats, Mamma."
"What I'm trying to say is you have finished the job your father gave you long ago."
"Not quite," he said. "There is Tomas."
"Tomas." She waved her hand in dismissal. "He is too busy sowing his wild oats. It will be years before I have to organize his wedding."
"True." He'd given his brother the freedom to play that he'd never had. He'd had no choice for himself. He'd given up his freedom because he had to. For his family. For the business.
For his honor.
That was what he'd done so long ago with Lara. The night he'd relived over and over in his memory. With no resolution, no way back. Because he'd done the right thing that night. The only thing he could have done. He hadn't had the freedom to take her, take her as she wanted and he wanted. Not then.
Little had he known how much he would pay for that decision. Pay for years and years.
He closed his eyes.
"Dante? Are you listening to me?"
"Si."
"That boy," his mother clucked her tongue. "He has more women than he knows what to do with."
"He is not stupid. Or foolish." Setting aside his regret, he eased himself off the desk and paced to the window. "He's still in his twenties. Let him have his fun."
"I suppose he has a right to enjoy his youth."
Right.
His own right to take what he wanted when he wanted had been eclipsed by his duty. During these years, he'd focused on what he needed to do, not on what he wanted to do. After he lost Lara, he'd had nothing to live for but his familial duty.
But now? Now, for once, he would take what he wanted. To hell with anything else.
"Now," his mother's voice strengthened. "We talk about you."
He allowed himself a wry smile since his back was to her. His mamma was the only one in all these years who had never lost sight of the boy he'd been. She clucked and worried and suggested until he nearly went mad and told her so. His objections made no difference, however. She was as stubborn as he was.
"Dante?" The one word was filled with irritation. "Pay attention to me, per favore."
If only she knew this conversation was not needed. He wondered for a moment what Giana Casartelli would say if he announced his aim. His aim to take. Take what he wanted. Of all his relatives, his employees, his business associates, she would undoubtedly be overjoyed he was doing something for himself for once.