Page 125 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 5-8

She stared, not understanding. ‘Get what? Buy what?’

Her father knocked back his prairie oyster, grimacing as he did so. He slammed the empty glass back on the table beside his chair.

‘What do you think, you imbecile? The Palazzo, of course!’

The colour drained from Eleanora’s face.

* * *

Sanzio’s expression darkened. ‘You will inform the Signorina da Verano that I am not available,’ he told Gina tautly.

‘She says she can be as time flexible as you wish,’ his secretary replied.

Sanzio’s dark eyebrows rose. ‘Really? How unlike her! She likes everyone to jump when she snaps her fingers!’

What the hell was Tonia after anyway, coming to see him? Fresh from celebrating her engagement to her French marquis… She was after something, that was obvious. Tonia was always after something. Until recently, it had been himself…

‘It is not Donna Antonia, Signor Bastoni—’ his secretary now was carefully enunciating ‘—who wishes to see you. It is Donna Eleanora.’

Sanzio’s face went blank. ‘Donna Eleanora? Who the hell is she?’

‘She is Donna Antonia’s sister,’ Gina explained.

He frowned. ‘Sister?’

Did he know Tonia had a sister? If he did, did he care? His frown deepened.

‘Why does she want to see me?’ If she was here as a messenger from Tonia she could take a hike—

‘She mentioned, Signor Bastoni—’ Gina was being very careful still ‘—the Palazzo Verano.’

The frown vanished from Sanzio’s face.

* * *

Eleanora sat on the train from Florence to Rome, heart heavy. Her father was clearly determined to sell his last remaining asset, the historic da Verano palazzo, in which, so he’d now informed her, indifferent to the fact that his despised younger daughter lived there, Sanzio Bastoni had expressed an interest when he was courting Tonia.

Was he still interested? Desperately, Eleanora hoped not. Why should he be, now that he wasn’t marrying Tonia? Besides, the Palazzo was in a dismal state of disrepair—she should know. Only one wing was still habitable, the old servants’ quarters, where Eleanora was based. The main section, with all the grand rooms, was semi-derelict and would take a fortune to restore. Sanzio Bastoni could afford to do so of course—his wealth had been what had attracted Tonia to him in the first place.

Though not just his wealth…

Eleanora could still hear her sister’s coarse laugh. ‘Rough trade, but one hell of a hunk! The earthy type! Totally hot for me of course,’ she’d preened. ‘I’m having a hard time holding him off—he’s not getting a thing until I’ve got his ring on my finger, but I can promise you our wedding night is going to be scorching!’

Her laugh had turned unkind. ‘Oh, poor little Ellie-Ellie—’ she’d used the scornful childhood nickname Eleanora had always hated ‘—no hunk like Sanzio Bastoni would have the hots for you! No man ever will! Skinny and scrawny and dull as ditchwater, and dressed like a frump!’ Then she’d reverted to her favourite subject—herself. ‘Yes,’ she’d mused in her self-satisfied way, ‘my wedding night with Sanzio will definitely be off-the-scale scorching.’

But now there wasn’t going to be a wedding night with Sanzio Bastoni. Tonia was going to be spending it as the Marquise de Rochevallet instead.

And Eleanora was being dispatched to the spurned Sanzio Bastoni to try and sell him the ancestral da Verano palazzo.

Except—and she took a breath of determination as the distance between Florence and Rome shortened inexorably—that was the very last thing she was going to try and do.

* * *

The handset on Sanzio’s desk buzzed, and he picked it up.

‘Signorina da Verano has arrived,’ Gina informed him.

Accidenti! He was in the middle of running the numbers on his latest prospective acquisition, yet another struggling, mid-sized business needing to be turned around then sold on at a healthy profit. It was the way he’d relentlessly clawed himself up from the poverty he’d been born into, discovering a talent in himself for spotting an undervalued asset which could, with determination and energy, yield a ripe harvest.