The second book in the Rinucci Brothers series, 2005

‘FEBRUARY!’ Carlo sighed. ‘Who needs it? Christmas is over and the best of the year hasn’t started.’

‘You mean there are no pretty tourists yet,’ Ruggiero ribbed him. ‘Don’t you ever think of anything else?’

‘No,’ Carlo said simply. ‘And you’re just as bad, so don’t deny it.’

‘I wasn’t going to.’

They were twins, not identical, but clearly brothers. Handsome, in the glory of their late twenties, they stood on the terrace of the Villa Rinucci, looking down at the Bay of Naples. It was late afternoon and darkness was falling fast. In the distance Mount Vesuvius loomed ominously, and below them the lights of the city winked.

Somewhere behind them their mother spoke.

‘You would like my country, my sons. Every February, in England we celebrate the Feast of St Valentine, the patron saint of love. Flowers, cards, kisses-you two would be in your element.’

‘Instead, it’s Primo going to England,’ Carlo observed gloomily. ‘It’ll be wasted on him. All he’ll think of is business.’

‘Your brother works hard,’ Hope Rinucci reproved them, trying to sound severe. ‘You should both try it.’

This was a slander, since these young men worked as hard as they played, which was very hard indeed. But they only grinned at their mother sheepishly.

‘Why does Primo have to keep taking over firms, anyway?’ Ruggiero asked. ‘When will he stop?’

‘Come inside and eat,’ Hope ordered them. ‘This is Primo’s farewell dinner.’

‘We give him a farewell dinner every time he goes away,’ Carlo objected.

‘And why not? It’s a good chance to get the family together,’ Hope said.