At first, he’d tried not to change his habits, calling in to see Durante and Lucia for an after-work drink, only to find that within minutes of his arrival Zia generally seemed to remember something she meant to do in her own rooms. And she’d hosted a meal and ignored the obvious opportunity to return the hospitality he’d shown her … even without the sex.

Sex. Sweat prickled his brow whenever he thought of sex with Zia. Her long naked limbs, her flowing hair and flushed skin, the way they’d fitted together. Sex that was in the past, she’d told him, in the tone of one who wished it had never happened.

He wasn’t happy with his own behaviour, from failing to prevent Nicoletta from dispatching Zia in a flurry of insults, to letting Zia leave alone, to freezing when Zia explained she’d be in Italy for several more weeks. No wonder she’d closed herself off.

He found himself calling at Bella Vista less often.

At least Lucia and Durante seemed to be off the hook with the Binotto Group for the time being.

He wished he was.

Every day at Tenuta Domenicali tension pinched his neck and stamped frowns into the brows of Emiliano and Salvatore as the family remained in deadlock.

Emiliano hadn’t pinned down solemn, slick Alberto Gubbiotti on the matter of his contract but it hadn’t altered his willingness to sell. Graziella was in the office less and never at Salvatore’s computer alone but apart from that, not much seemed to have changed. She continued to share Salvatore’s house and Piero couldn’t discount her influence on his father.

Salvatore was subdued, which Piero wasn’t sure how to interpret. Salvatore was never subdued! He might be quiet sometimes, but then he was always observing and enjoying. Now he just seemed dull and jaded. Was he exhausted by the strain and turmoil and by Graziella’s grumbles that Piero was dragging his feet? If Piero agreed to Binotto’s buying Il Rifugio would Salvatore spring back to his normal self when that pressure had been released?

On this scorching Thursday morning in mid-July when the sun burned from a sky of cloudless blue, a family meeting was scheduled for ten o’clock. Salvatore had called it. Piero arrived a few minutes early to check the espresso machine was on. He filled his coffee cup and took a seat, popping his laptop on the closest corner of the desk. A moment later, Emiliano arrived. He clapped Piero on the shoulder as he sat down. ‘What’s this about? Do you know?’

Piero shrugged. ‘Whatever it is, I feel antsy.’