‘Try some wine,’ he commanded.
‘Do I sniff it first?’
‘If you want.’ He smothered a laugh when she practically dunked her nose into the glass.
She took the tiniest of sips. ‘Oh, wow. That’s really nice.’
‘Have you really never drunk wine before?’
‘I really haven’t.’ She popped a plump green olive into her mouth.
‘Why not?’
Her nose scrunched. ‘My parents aren’t drinkers so we never had alcohol in the house. By the time I was old enough to get into experimenting I was focused on my studies. I wasn’t prepared to let anything derail my dream of being a doctor. It was easier to just say no.’
‘How old were you when you decided to be a doctor?’
‘Twelve.’
‘That’s a young age to make a life-defining choice.’
‘Most twelve-year-olds have dreams of what they want to do when they grow up.’
‘Agreed, but most change their mind.’
‘What did you want to be when you were twelve?’
‘A racing bike rider.’
‘I can see you doing that,’ she admitted. ‘So what stopped you? Or did you just change your mind?’
‘It was only ever a pipe dream,’ he said with a dismissive shrug. ‘I was Salvatore Calvetti’s only child. I was groomed from birth to take over his empire.’
‘And how’s that going?’
Francesco fixed hard eyes on her. ‘I always knew I would build my own empire. I am interested to know, though, what drew you to medicine in the first place—was it the death of your sister?’
A brief hesitation. ‘Yes.’
‘She was called Beth?’
Another hesitation followed by a nod. When Hannah reached for her glass of water he saw a slight tremor in her hand. She took a long drink before meeting his eyes.
‘Beth contracted meningitis when we were twelve. They said it was flu. They didn’t get the diagnosis right until it was too late. She was dead within a day.’
She laid the bare facts out to him in a matter-of-fact manner, but there was something in the way she held her poise that sent a pang straight into his heart.
‘So you decided to be a doctor so you could save children like Beth?’
‘That’s a rather simplistic way of looking at it, but yes. I remember walking through the main ward and going past cubicles and private rooms full of ill children and their terrified families, and I was just full of so much... Oh, I was full up of every emotion you could imagine. Why her? Why not me too? Meningitis is so contagious....’ She took a deep breath. ‘I know you must think it stupid and weak, but when Beth died the only thing that kept me going was the knowledge that one day I would be in a position to heal as many of those children as I could.’
Francesco expelled a breath, the pang in his heart tightening. ‘I don’t think it’s weak or stupid.’
Hannah took another sip of her water. The tremor in her hand had worsened and he suddenly experienced the strangest compulsion to reach over and squeeze it.
‘My mother was hospitalised a number of times—drug overdoses,’ he surprised himself by saying. ‘It was only the dedication of the doctors and nurses that saved her. When she died it was because she overdosed on a weekend when she was alone.’
He still lived with the guilt. On an intellectual level he knew it was misplaced. He’d been fifteen years old, not yet a man. But he’d known how vulnerable his mother was and yet still he and his father had left her alone for the weekend, taking a visit to the Mastrangelo estate without her.
It had ostensibly been for business, his father and Pietro Mastrangelo close friends as well as associates. At least, they had been close friends then, before the friendship between the Calvettis and Mastrangelos had twisted into antipathy. Back then, though, Francesco had been incredibly proud that his father had wanted him to accompany him, had left with barely a second thought for his mother.
While Francesco and Salvatore had spent the Saturday evening eating good food, drinking good wine and playing cards with Pietro and his eldest son, Luca, Elisabetta Calvetti had overdosed in her bed.
To think of his mother dying while he, her son, had been basking in pride because the monster who fed her the drugs had been treating him like a man.... To think that bastard’s approval ever meant anything to him made his stomach roil violently and his nails dig deep into his palms.
His mother had been the kindest, most gentle soul he had ever known. Her death had ripped his own soul in half. His vengeance might be two decades too late, but he would have it. Whatever it took, he would avenge her death and throw the carcass of his father’s reputation into the ashes.