The Royal House of Niroli: Billion Dollar Bargains

And though he’d been born a prince, though technically the chance he might one day rule Niroli had been explained to him as he’d grown up, deep down it had never really seemed plausible. Two years ago he’d been way down in line to the throne—the king had had, as the saying went, an heir and a spare: his first-born son, Antonio, and then Luca’s father, Paulo, and any possibility of one day ruling Niroli had seemed far away in the distance.

Then the accident had happened.

Two years ago the royal house of Niroli had been thrown into turmoil when a boating accident had claimed the life of the immediate heirs. Antonio and his wife Francesca, along with Luca’s father, Paulo, had been tragically killed. While any family would have struggled to come to terms with such loss, for a royal family it threw up more issues, which, with each passing day, were becoming more pressing.

Since the accident, King Giorgio’s health had deteriorated rapidly—a proud man, he did not want to rule from his sickbed and was determined to provide his people with a fitting heir before his abdication. The people of Niroli had mourned along with the royal family, had suffered with them through the bad times, and now it was time to pave way for the new. Summoning the family members from around the globe, the king had informed them of his plans to find Niroli’s new ruler from amongst them—one in keeping with The Rules, a strict set of orders that the ruler must live by.

Raking his hands through his jet-black hair, Luca tried and failed to imagine himself as King.

He loved his country.

He’d die for his county—and that wasn’t an idle statement: the neighbouring island of Mont Avellana had once been under Niroli’s rule, but after a bitter battle, control had been lost and it had become a republic. Even today, there was still rivalry and resentment. Unlike the extinct volcanoes that existed on Niroli, there were grumblings of discord that could spill over at any given time—and Luca knew, without a flicker of doubt, he’d be in the front line if he was called.

Yes, Luca sighed, he’d die for his country, but could he live for it?

Live only for it?

‘No more scandal, Luca.’ The king had waved a thin, gnarled finger at him—that one gesture, that short sentence, summing up a colourful life. Luca’s teenage years had been mired in petty crime and scandal not befitting a royal prince; it was a life the tabloids had gleefully dissected over the years and like vultures still they wanted more scandal—scandal that somehow Luca had always provided. ‘Niroli has given you a good life—fast cars, beautiful women—and over and over our beloved people have forgiven your mistakes, always loved you, so now it is time for you to pay your debt, to put that life behind you once and for all. Now is the time for you to maybe become more than a man—you are in the running to be King. So, think of settling down, winding down your business interests and keeping more suitable company. You owe it not just to me, but to our people, to stay out of trouble, Luca, to give them something back, something they can enjoy—a wedding, perhaps!’

‘You’re telling me to marry?’ Luca couldn’t believe what he was hearing—couldn’t believe what was being asked of him—but the king had stood his ground.

‘I’m telling you that your reckless days are over—that a suitable bride might prove a better escort than some of the women you choose to date. The people of Niroli need to see that you have grown up and a good wife would be a fitting gesture.’ As Luca had opened his mouth to put his point the king overrode him, his frail voice gaining momentum, reminding Luca, even if he didn’t need it, that this wasn’t a grandfatherly chat—Giorgio was, for now, still King! ‘I am not asking you, Luca, I am ordering you. I do not want to open a newspaper again and see a slur with your name attached to it. Those days are gone—for ever!’

Staring blindly out at his luxurious office, the king’s words still buzzing in his ears, Luca felt the prison gates slowly closing behind him. He glimpsed afuture he couldn’t fathom: his business interests slowly wound down to accommodate a more royal schedule; performing his duties with a beautiful nameless face on his arm. A privileged lifestyle many would hanker for, but for Luca it felt as if he were about to be delivered a life sentence.

‘You were born for this,’ Luca said sharply to himself, heaving aside his doubts, forcing himself out of his introspection and facing facts. He couldn’t help Meg—even if he wanted to, his hands were tied. It wasn’t just the king who had spoken, but history itself! As if the first of The Rules of the Royal House of Niroli had been decreed with him in mind:

The ruler of Niroli must be a moral leader for the people and is bound to keep order in the Royal House. Any act that brings the monarchy into disrepute through immoral conduct or criminal activity will rule a contender out of the succession to the throne.

There were ten rules the leader of Niroli must abide by, but this was the first—and this was the one that Luca had failed on many occasions. His playboy reputation was legendary on the island, and back when he was a teenager he’d had a few run-ins with the police himself, arrested for petty theft and several other misdemeanours. And though charges had never been laid, and technically there was no criminal record—the people of Niroli’s memories were long. As the king had pointed out, Niroli had been more than good to him and now they needed a leader.

Now it was Luca’s time to abide by the rules.

Meg was on her own.

So why, instead of turning off his pager and getting back to work, did he jump when it bleeped? Why, when he was informed by Dario that Meg was approaching the casino, did he head down towards the entrance?

Why did this woman still move him so?

‘Signorina Donovan?’

So deep in her own thoughts was Meg as she wandered back from the beach that the police cars screeching alongside, lights and sirens blazing, at first jolted rather than alarmed her. She was sure there must have been an accident, an incident taking place perhaps, certainly something that didn’t concern her—until they said her name….

‘Alex?’ It was her first thought. The most reliable, trustworthy man she knew hadn’t turned up yesterday and now the police were calling her by name. Meg’s heart lurched with all the fear of the innocent—something terrible must have happened to Alex. ‘Is he okay?’

But her question was never answered, instead she was shoved against a wall, her head hitting the rough stone. Pain coursed through her. Merciless hands ruthlessly searched her, groping her, pressing against her shorts, shamelessly lingering a little too long over her flimsy top, and Meg felt her fear, her panic, subside into revulsion.into dread.

‘Get off!’ Pale lips attempted to get the words out, blood was trickling down from her head. ‘Get your hands off me.’ But it was like being trapped in a nightmare, her mouth forming the words, her brain screaming them, only no sound was coming out, like some horror movie on mute. She could feel inappropriate hands still groping her, still touching her, still violating her as people gathered and watched. She could smell the stale breath of the police officer as the crowd called out insults in Italian.

‘Don’t!’ It was all she could manage, the one word that did come out, her slender hand clasping the fat, podgy fingers as they slid up her thigh, her lips snarling in disgust, distaste as she saw his leer, the beads of sweat on his upper lip. Meg decided she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of her fear, wouldn’t give the gathering crowd the show they so clearly desired by fighting with this brute. Instead she stopped struggling, just leant against the wall with her eyes closed till it was over, till she felt the cool of the handcuffs as they were snapped on her wrists and she was unceremoniously spun around and marched towards one of the waiting police cars. The ideal world she had so briefly glimpsed just a few hours ago was suddenly frightening and confusing. First Luca’s brutal rejection, now flashing lights and sirens and jeers from the crowd, but she refused to cry, refused to let anyone see how much this was hurting her, refused to look at anyone—until her eyes caught sight of him….

Luca Fierezza standing there, despite the forty-degree heat, impassive and cool, watching the proceedings from a slight distance, his face unreadable as he registered her plight. Meg’s first instinct was to cry out to him, to ask him for assistance. She knew somehow that he was the one person who could help her, but even as she opened her mouth to call out to him she choked her plea back. The black eyes staring at her held none of the warmth she had briefly witnessed, the mouth that had kissed her was now pressed in the same firm, grim line it had been when she’d left him, and somewhere deep inside Meg knew, just knew this was his doing, knew in that instant that he wasn’t going to help her.

Well, she wouldn’t let him see her pain—wouldn’t let him know any of her agony. Whatever twisted game he was playing, she wasn’t going to partake in it! And though the fight in her might have appeared to have died—her body seemingly weak and pliable as the police officers roughly shepherded her into one of the cars—inside she was regrouping, stronger perhaps than she had ever been in her life. Pressed against the door, she pulled her thighs away so there was no contact with her captor, closed her mind to his angry words. Meg hunched herself forward, watched as blood dripped from her face to her legs, and ran a dry tongue over her bruised and swollen mouth. Taking slow, deep breaths as the car careered through Niroli at breakneck speed, she tried to somehow regain control when there appeared to be none.

She would call the embassy—whatever mess she was in it would soon be sorted. There were rules for this sort of thing, procedures in place for tourists in trouble abroad—she had nothing to fear.

Despite the direness of her predicament, Meg felt her fear abate a notch, the steely grit that had got her through her difficult, difficult life coming to the fore when she needed it most, but it wavered a touch as she recalled Luca’s hostile stare—the man she had almost trusted, nearly let into her life, causing her more pain than the injuries and indignity she had so recently suffered.

Well, she’d learnt her lesson.

For the first time she’d let down her guard, trusted that the world could be kind and gentle if only she let it, and look what had happened….

Never again.

Meg held her head high now, stared out of the window as they turned a corner and the Niroli palace came into view, its impressive walls burnt orange in the late afternoon sun, its beauty mocking her as the car halted and she was roughly pulled out, the sight of the palace her last image of the outside world as she was frogmarched into the police station and forced to endure another degrading search before she was bundled into a tiny, dimly lit cell.

No one would hurt her again.

CHAPTER SEVEN

SHE DESERVED IT.

Scribbling his signature on a thick pile of correspondence, Luca tried and failed to put the image of Meg from his mind. Since her arrest, Luca had made several impromptu checks on various areas of the casino, taken care of endless phone calls he’d long been putting off, and, for the first time since he’d taken the business over, cleared his overflowing correspondence tray, but nothing he did managed to fully erase the image of Meg’s stricken face as the police had led her to the car.

Where had he seen that expression before? His mind started to drift, to search the recesses of his mind in an attempt to match the image he was seeking, but Luca abruptly halted it there.

Forget about her, Luca demanded of himself. Forget about the wretched thief, the woman who could have brought him shame and scandal when he needed it the least. Glancing at his watch, Luca saw that it was nearly midnight. Glad that this vile day was nearly over and with a shake of his head, he stood up, deciding to head to his suite and shower and change, then head to the bar, end his wretchedness with a stiff drink and perhaps some company. Only despite his best efforts, still Luca’s thoughts reluctantly turned to her….

She hadn’t even put up a fight, Luca scorned—if she’d been innocent, surely she’d have been enraged, hissing and spitting like a kitten. No, it was almost as if she’d been expecting it, had known what the police were there for.

‘A call for you, sir.’ Despite the lateness of the hour, his secretary buzzed the intercom—her day not over until Luca discharged her.

‘No more calls,’ Luca snapped. ‘I’m finished for the day—you can go home now.’

‘It’s Her Royal Highness.’

And if it had been any other minute of any other day, Luca would have taken the call without hesitation, his mother, Laura, the one woman whose calls weren’t screened, who was usually put through without hesitation—just not this time.

‘I said no calls,’ Luca barked. But instead of marching out of the office, instead of heading to the bar where it would be so, so much safer to go, he sat back down in the darkness, black bile churning in his stomach as a piece of this reluctant puzzle slotted into place….

Unwelcome, seldom-visited memories pelted his mind like a sudden hailstorm—a storm so violent, so forceful, so rapid in its arrival that there was no time to seek cover, no time to shield himself from its onslaught, so that all he could do was wait, sit at his desk with his head in his hands and ride out the storm in the hope it would quickly pass.

It didn’t.

Each memory lashed him more fiercely.

Watching again his father’s fist slam into his mother’s face, her long black hair, taut in his fingers, as over and over she took the beating, never once crying out—just as Luca hadn’t. Peering into the room that hateful night he had stifled his screams by instinct, something telling him, even at this tender age, that what he was witnessing must never be acknowledged.

He’d tried, though. Ramming his knuckles into his fist, Luca felt the slap of his mother’s hand again on his cheek; felt the confusion, the bewilderment all over again as she’d later denied what he had seen take place, told him off for even thinking such filthy things.

But he had seen it, had seen his mother, despite the indignity, somehow still proud, somehow stronger in her passiveness than the brute that beat her.

He’d seen that expression once in his mother, her face etched with stricken dignity as that bastard had laid into her, and he’d seen it again today—with Meg.

It was a fifteen minute drive to the palace, but Luca did it in eight—his silver car rattling around the tight bends at breakneck speed. Instead of turning off into the guarded private road to the palace, he carried on to the prison, not even taking the keys out of the ignition before he strode in. ‘Where is she?’

The guard jumped to his feet, recognising Luca instantly and fumbling to cover his sordid trail—stubbing out a cigarette and ramming a bottle into a drawer.

‘In the cell.’ He gave a low laugh, which revealed black, rotting teeth. ‘She says she wants a lawyer. I told her all the lawyers in Niroli are retained by you!’

‘What else has she said?’

‘She’s crazy.’ He tapped the side of his head a couple of times. ‘She refuses her meals, refuses to sleep, or to put on the clothes we give her. She went crazy in there before—like an animal, pulling off the mattress, kicking at the walls, throwing her meal when we gave it to her. Now she says she is sister to Prince Alessandro….’

‘What?’ Luca barked. ‘What exactly did she say?’

‘That she came to the island to meet her brother—she gave his other name—the one he had before….’

‘Alex Hunter?’ Luca frowned, his mind racing. Was that what had happened—had the attraction that had flared the second he’d laid eyes on her actually been recognition?

Alessandro was his cousin—they shared the same grandfather, so if somehow he had a sister.?

‘I want to talk to her.’ It wasn’t a request, it was an order, Luca’s urgent words delivered almost in anger, and the guard knew better than to question it—just a slight raise of untidy eyebrows as he shrugged and led Luca to the cells.

She was adopted! As he followed the guard down the dank stairwell he replayed their earlier conversation over, recalling the details, and relief flooded him as he remembered what Meg had said. Even if she were somehow related to Alessandro, then it wasn’t by blood—but it was a royal prince’s sister who was locked up in a cell and about to be charged with theft—a scandal the family could do without just now.

For the old king’s sake—for the honour of the family—the fact Alessandro’s sister had been arrested for the attempted theft of the Niroli jewels, no less, was something that had to be kept quiet.

‘Aspetta—wait!’ Despite Luca’s haste to get to her, there was one unsavoury duty that needed to be performed first—one last court with disaster before the king made his decision. Pulling out his wallet, Luca delivered his orders to the guard, hoping to God as he did so that the half-drunk bottle of whisky he had seen him shove into the drawer would be empty by the morning—that this blurry exchange would be nothing but a distant memory by dawn.

The cells were mainly empty apart from a couple of drunks sleeping it off, but the pubs and clubs hadn’t closed yet. Luca knew that by morning the place would be rank with Niroli’s low life. As he entered the dreary area that housed Meg, Luca knew that it wasn’t duty that was driving him—as he made his way in, his eyes taking a moment to accustom to the dim lights, Luca knew it was her he was truly there for.

She was sitting on the simple metal bed, back rigid, staring fixedly ahead, not even turning as they approached, and Luca knew, quite simply, that she didn’t belong in such a rank place.

Whatever emotions he’d been feeling before were paltry compared to what he felt now. He’d thought her beautiful, but realised it was a shallow description. Here, with her hair dark from sweat, her face a mess of dried blood and grime, and her top torn, sitting on the bare metal frame of the bed with a rudimentary attempt of a meal upturned on the floor beside her, he witnessed something in Meg far deeper and longer lasting than beauty. Despite the chaos of the room there was an elegance to her that seemed to reach somewhere deep inside him and twist his stomach, something about her that tugged at him. He’d always liked women, always enjoyed their company, but this ran deeper. This feeling Meg stirred wasn’t about him, but instead about her and what he could do for her—only she mustn’t know.

This isn’t your doing!

There was an attempt at reason, to remind himself that it was her actions that had put her in this place—but it was futile. Whatever her reasons, whatever had driven her to steal last night, he wanted to know them—wanted so much more from Meg than he wanted from most women.

He wanted to get to know her….

Good or bad—he wanted all of her.

‘Alzarsi!’ Meg’s grasp of the Italian language might be less than basic, but as the guard entered her cell and pulled her to her feet there was little room for misunderstanding and Meg did as she was told: she stood up. But nothing more—refusing to turn her head, refusing to acknowledge Luca Fierezza as he stepped into the tiny cell.

She’d known he was here—had heard his deep, angry voice for the last few moments—but whatever his reason for coming, it was too little, too late. The last couples of hours had been a nightmare: no one spoke more than a few words of English and, combined with Meg’s few words of Italian, the police and guards had seemed to take pleasure in the chaos it had created. Taunting her when she’d asked for a lawyer or for them to contact the embassy, laughing in her face when Meg had written down Alex’s name for them and tried to explain that until recently her brother had worked at the hospital. Then, after a rough body search, she had been thrown in the tiny, damp cell—which for Meg was the worst part of all, the tiny cell, the isolation, so reminiscent of her younger years it was impossible not to compare, not to relive the virtual prison of her childhood, impossible for it not to provoke a reaction. The guard bringing her a meal, ordering her to eat, had, for Meg, been the final straw and now, exhausted from her outburst, amidst the chaos she’d created, she stood before Luca.

‘Meg, are you okay?’ It was such a relief to hear English, her determination not to look at him, not to talk to him, weakened a touch, but she held on—still, even at this eleventh hour, trusting that order would prevail, that a lawyer, an official, someone would come and sort out this chaos.

‘Meg, talk to me,’ Luca insisted. ‘I can help you.’

Her top lip sneered in disgust and somehow Luca knew she wasn’t going to accept his offer of help, that, even if she was the guilty one, somehow it was he, Luca, she mistrusted. ‘Aqua,’ Luca snapped to the guard, thinking on his feet, trying somehow to get her to realise that he was on her side. He barked orders in Italian to the guard, demanding he get food and something to clean up Meg’s face with. Only when they were alone did he approach Meg, but she recoiled as if he were poison and with supreme effort he halted, stifling the instinct to take her in his arms and soothe her. ‘Meg …’ He stared at the paltry room, took in the upturned meal on the floor and struggled to find what to say, how to reach her. ‘You should eat something….’

‘I’d rather starve than eat what they bring me.’ Even if it was laced with venom, at least she was talking, Luca conceded.

‘You could be here for some time—you should change out of these dirty clothes, get some sleep. You need to eat—’

‘Why?’ Angry, defensive eyes turned to him. ‘Why should I wear their clothes or sleep or eat at their command when I have done nothing wrong? Anyway, what is it to you? What exactly are you here for, Luca?’

‘As I said, I am here to help you.’

He thought she might spit at him—her face was so sour with contempt she was barely recognisable.

‘More likely, you’re here to make sure that your handiwork has been carried out properly. Well, as you can see, it has been. Is this what happens when you refuse to sleep with the prince of Niroli?’

‘It has nothing to do with that!’ The guard was back and, taking the bowl of water and cloths he’d brought with him, Luca dismissed him, leading her to the bed where she reluctantly sat, examining the small cut in her eyebrow. ‘I will clean your face. It is dirty in this cell—the wound will get infected.’

‘I’ll clean it,’ Meg snarled, but he didn’t listen, just calmly dipped the fabric into the water and bathed her wounds as the first sting of tears since her arrest reached her eyes. His hand was so supremely gentle, so tender, she couldn’t help but compare it to the treatment the guards had given earlier, and for a second it was just easier somehow to let him help, to close her eyes as gently he removed the dried blood and dirt before pulling out of his pocket a heavy silk handkerchief and telling her to press it to her face.

‘You will need a stitch or two. Do you know if the guard has arranged a doctor?’

‘I’m sure that he has it on his list of people to call for me.’

Her sarcasm wasn’t wasted on Luca, his eyes shuttering closed for a moment and she hoped it was in guilt, guilt for what he had done to her, but in that second he changed, his demeanour shifting from tender to practical.

‘You stole from me, Meg—I saw the evidence myself. I had no choice but to call the police. You are here because you are a thief. Now we have to work out what to do with you.’

‘Do with me?’ Meg gave an incredulous laugh. ‘And what the hell do you mean that I stole from you?’

‘I’ve seen the evidence, Meg.’