Abby Green
Driven and Determined: To Forgive a Corretti
Valentina Ferranti has always blamed Gio Corretti and his reckless behavior for her brother’s death. The last time she saw Gio she slammed the door on him and her youthful infatuation.
Now, broke and with her name slandered by the infamous Carmela Corretti, Val needs help. There’s only one person she can turn to…the cold, inscrutable man from her past whose green eyes flash with guilt, regret and a passion that calls to her.
Valentina may have had the strength to ask for help, but does she have the willpower to resist all that entails?
This is for my fellow Corretti Continuity Comrades. Thanks for the cyber help and support, It was lovely exploring and inhabiting the Corretti world with you all x
HE SHOULD BE in that coffin, and not his irrepressible best friend.
Giacomo Corretti stood in the shadow of the tall pine tree and watched as the coffin was lowered into the ground just a few feet away from where he was effectively hidden. The tight ball of ice firmly lodged in his gut was slowly spreading out to every extremity. He welcomed this even as he castigated himself for being a coward.
The small group of people around the coffin started to move, the priest’s final words of blessing lingering on the warm spring air along with the pungent scent of incense. It shouldn’t be warm, Gio suddenly realised, it shouldn’t be spring. The sea shouldn’t be twinkling benignly under a cerulean sky. He desperately wanted apocalyptic clouds to roll in off stormy waters, for everything to darken and for thunder and lightning to lash this place. To lash him to pieces.
He could hear the heartbreaking sound of Mario’s mother sobbing as she leant on her aged husband. The sound cut him in two. Gio would never have merited this outpouring of grief. The realisation was stark but brought with it no sense of self-pity.
In contrast, beside them with a stoically straight back stood their tall and narrow-shouldered daughter, Valentina. Her long chestnut hair was tied back in a plait and on her head was a black scarf. The ill-fitting black jacket and skirt she wore hinted at the coltish seventeen-year-old body underneath.
She didn’t have to look around for Gio to know every line on her face with instant recall. Pale olive skin as soft as a rose petal. The lush curve of her mouth and lips which more than hinted at a burgeoning womanly sensuality. She had the most extraordinarily coloured eyes, golden