Ten shortminutes later they arrived at his Pacific Heights Georgian residence. “This is your home?” Francesca asked, clearly stunned.
He could tell the size and grandeur unnerved her. Hell, as a child it had unnerved him, as well. Built in the 1920s, his grandparents purchased it during Dantes’ heyday, when Primo controlled the reins of the company.
Sev had recently updated the house from top to bottom, taking a diamond in the rough and giving it the glitter and polish it deserved. While still on the formal side, he’d made a point to add a more welcoming feel to the place. From the two-story entry foyer, acurving staircase, complete with wrought-iron railing, swept toward the second story and an endless array of rooms perfect for entertaining.
“When I’m hosting guests, Istay here. More often I use my Nob Hill apartment. It’s more compact. More to my taste.” Unable to resist touching her, he slid his hand down her spine tothe small hollow just above her buttocks and guided her toward the private den he kept exclusively for his own use. “This is my favorite room in the house.”
Francesca visibly relaxed as she looked around. Light filtered in from a bank of windows that provided an unfettered view of the bay and Alcatraz Island. Two of the other walls bulged with books that overran the floor-to-ceiling mahogany cases. The final wall, at right angles to the windows, offered a cozy fireplace fronted by the most comfortable couch Sev had ever owned. He used the electronic controls to light the fire and gestured for her to have aseat.
It amused him that she took the precaution to sit as far from him as the couch cushions allowed. Understandable, but still humorous. “Okay, let me give it to you straight,” he began.
She listened intently while he ran through Primo’s explanation of The Inferno, refraining from asking any questions until he finished speaking. “You said that, in the past, your family experienced this Inferno,” she said after a moment. “What about your brothers? Have they felt anything similar?”
“I’m the first,” Sev replied.
Wariness crept into her gaze. “That suggests you buy in to all this.”
“No, not really.” And he didn’t, despite Primo’s insistence that legend matched reality. “I think it makes for a charming story, but a story, nonetheless.”
“Then how would you explain what’s happened to us?”
He’d given that a lot of thought and decided to believe the simplest explanation. “It’s nothing more than lust. Given time, it’ll fade.”
Though she took his comment with apparent equanimity, apulse kicked to life at the base of her throat, betraying her agitation. “But what if it’s more than that? Has it ever infected the women in your family?”
“I don’t understand. Which women?”
She made an impatient motion with her hands. “Haven’t any of the Dante men had daughters? Have any of the Dante women experienced this Inferno?”
Sev shook his head. “There’s only been one daughter in more generations than I can recall. My cousin, Gianna. Here, let me show you.”
He circled the couch to a cluster of photos on a console table and picked up a panoramic photograph in a plain silver frame that showed a group shot of all the Dantes. Seated in the middle were Nonna and Primo. Sev, his parents, and brothers stood to Primo’s right, while his Aunt Elia, and Uncle Alessandro, with theirbrood of four, stood beside Nonna. He handed the picture to Francesca when she joined him, tapping the image of the only female of his generation, astriking young woman with Sev’s coloring.
“If Gia’s been cursed by The Inferno, she’s never mentioned it.”
A hint of laughter lightened Francesca’s expression. “Cursed? Ithought you said Primo called it a blessing.”
He couldn’t help himself. He leaned toward her, cupping her cheek. “Does it feel like a blessing to you?”
She shut him out by closing her eyes, concealing her inner thoughts. “No, this isn’t a blessing. It’s a complication I could live without.” She eased back from his touch and opened her eyes again, at the same time slamming impenetrable barriers into place. “And what about the other women? The women who are the object of the Dante men’s... blessing?”
“Like you and Nonna and Aunt Elia?”
“Yes. What choice do we have? How do we escape this Inferno?”
He gestured toward the image of his parents. “My father escaped by marrying someone else.”
Francesca blinked in surprise. “Your mother wasn’t an Inferno bride?”
Sev shook his head. “Shortly after they died, Idiscovered letters that indicated he’d been in love with one of his designers, but married my mother, instead.”
“Why didn’t he marry the woman he really loved?” she asked hesitantly. “Do you know?”
Sev shrugged. “When I confronted Primo about it, he admitted that my mother had invaluable contacts in the industry. It was more of a business arrangement than a true marriage. Not that it did either of them any good.”
“What went wrong?”
Maybe it was the hint of compassion he heard in her voice, but he found himself opening up in way he never had with any other woman. “All of my mother’s contacts couldn’t make up for my father’s lack of business savvy.” He studied the photograph. God, they looked so youthful. Just six or seven years older than his own thirty-four, he suddenly realized. They also looked remote and unhappy, though how much of that related to their marriage and how much to business difficulties, he couldn’t determine. “They were on the verge of a divorce when they died in a sailing accident.”
