Vito had learned that lesson young when his mother walked out on her husband and son for a much richer man. Guilt clouded his happier memories of the boy, ten years his junior, whom he had loved above all else.īut then love always hurt. His little brother, so bright and full of promise, had died because a drunk got behind a car wheel after a party, Vito’s party, where he and his brother had argued minutes before that fatal car journey. Although three years had passed the tragedy of Olly’s horribly wasted life was still etched on his mind. Nor was he ever likely to forget the Christmas when he had lost his kid brother, Olly. January was never a good month for the profit margins. He had no time for it-the silliness of the festive season, the drunken antics and the extravagance, not to mention the lack of concentration, increased absenteeism and reduced productivity from his thousands of staff. Not in a jolly mood, Vito Barbieri grimaced, his darkly handsome features hard with impatience.
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