Chapter One
Crown Prince Nico Cavelli, of the Kingdom of Montebianco, sat at a fourteenth century antique desk and reviewed a stack of paperwork his assistant had brought him an hour ago. A glance at his watch told him there were several hours yet before he had to dress and attend the State dinner given in honor of his engagement to a neighboring princess.
Nico had a sudden urge to loosen his collar—except it was already loose. Why did the thought of marriage to Princess Antonella make him feel as if a noose were tightening around his neck?
So much had changed in his life recently. A little over two months ago he’d been the younger son, the dissolute playboy prince with few responsibilities. The prince with a new mistress every few weeks, and with nothing more pressing to do than deciding which party to attend each night. It wasn’t the whole truth of his existence, though it was the one the media enjoyed writing stories about. He’d been content to let them, to feed their need for scandalous behavior. Anything to keep their attention away from his emotionally fragile brother.
Nico pinched the bridge of his nose as the fresh pain of loss sliced into him.
Gaetano had been the oldest. The delicate one. The legitimate one.
The brother that Nico had spent his childhood protecting when he hadn’t been fighting for his own honor as the product of a royal indiscretion. Ultimately, he couldn’t protect Gaetano from the ramifications of his choices, or from the fateful decision to aim his Ferarri at a cliff and jam the pedal to the floor.
Per Dio, he missed Gaetano so much. And he was angry with him. Angry that his brother had chosen such finality, that he hadn’t fought harder against his personal demons—and that he hadn’t trusted Nico with his secret years ago. Nico would have moved mountains for Gaetano if he’d known. It wasn’t shameful, no matter what his parents—or even the entire damned nation—would believe.
If Nico were truthful, he was also angry at himself for not admitting what he’d always known about his brother. He should have told Gaetano it was okay to prefer men, that it didn’t make him bad or evil or wrong. It just made him different, and different wasn’t bad. Even in Montebianco, where things were still very traditional and kings were supposed to marry queens and have babies.
“Basta!” Nico muttered, focusing again on the paperwork. Nothing would bring Gaetano back, and nothing would change Nico’s destiny now. He was the remaining prince, and though he was illegitimate, the Montebiancan constitution allowed him to inherit. In this day and age, with modern medicine being what it was, there was no doubt of his parentage—if, indeed, there could be any doubt in the first place. Cavelli men always looked as if they’d been cast from the same mold. Their bone structure, their eyes, even their height was remarkably similar from father to son. Nico was a carbon copy of the king and none could deny it.
Only Queen Tiziana disapproved of Nico’s new status, but then she’d disapproved of him his whole life. Nothing he’d ever done had been good enough for her. He’d tried to please her when he’d been a child, but he’d always been shut out. He understood now, as a grown man, why she’d disliked him. His presence reminded her that her husband had been unfaithful.
When Nico had moved into the palace after his mother’s death, the queen had seen him as a threat, especially because he was stronger and bigger than Gaetano, though he was the younger of the two. That he was now Crown Prince only drove the pain deeper. He was a constant reminder of what she’d lost. It didn’t matter that he’d also loved Gaetano, that he would give anything for his brother to still be alive.
Since he couldn’t bring Gaetano back, Nico would do his utmost to fulfill his duty as Crown Prince to the best of his ability. It was the only way to honor his brother’s memory.
A knock on the door brought his head up. “Enter.”
“The Prefect of Police has sent a messenger, Your Highness,” his assistant said.
“I will see him,” Nico replied.
A moment later, a uniformed man appeared and bowed deeply. “Your Serene Highness, the Prefect sends his greetings.”
Nico stamped down his impatience as the man recited the ritual greetings and wishes for his health and happiness. “What is the message?” he asked somewhat irritably once the formalities had been observed.
Though it was indeed the Crown Prince’s duty to oversee the police force, it was more a symbolic role than anything. That the Prefect was actually communicating with him about something filled Nico with an uncharacteristic sense of foreboding.
Ridiculous. It was merely the awareness of his loss of freedom that pinched at the back of his mind and made him feel uneasy.
The man reached into his inner pocket and pulled out an envelope. “The Prefect has tasked me with informing you that we have recovered some of the ancient statues taken from the museum. And to give you this, Your Highness.”
Nico held out his hand. The man stood at attention while Nico ripped into the envelope.
He expected the sheet of paper inside, but it was the photograph of a woman and child that caught Nico’s attention first. Their faces filled the frame as if someone had stood very close to snap the picture. He recognized the woman almost instantly—the wheat blonde hair, the green eyes, and the smattering of freckles across her nose—and felt a momentary pang of regret their liaison had not lasted longer. His gaze skimmed to the child.
The bottom dropped out of his stomach, followed by a flare of anger.
It was not possible. He had never been that careless. He would never do to a child what had been done to him.
He would never father a baby and walk away. It had to be a trick, a stunt to embarrass him on the eve of his engagement or a ploy to get money. There was no way this child was his.
His mind reeled. He’d spent only a short time with this woman. Wouldn’t he have remembered if something had gone wrong during the single night they’d spent tangled together?
Of course he would—but the child had the distinct look of a Cavelli. Nico couldn’t tear his gaze away from eyes that were a mirror to his own as he unfolded the paper that accompanied the photo. Finally, he succeeded in wrenching his attention to the Prefect’s scrawled words.
Nico dropped the message and shoved back from the desk. “You will take me to the prison. Now.”
Chapter Two
Lily Morgan was desperate. She was only supposed to be in Montebianco for two days. She’d been here for three. Her heart beat so loud and hard in her ears that she’d half expected to have a heart attack hours ago. She had to get home, had to get back to her baby. But the authorities showed no signs of letting her leave, and her pleas to speak with the American Consulate were ignored. She hadn’t seen a soul in over four hours now. She knew because she still had her watch, though they’d taken her cell phone and laptop away when they’d brought her down here.
“Hey!” she yelled. “Hey! Is anyone there?”
No one answered. There was nothing but the echo of her voice against the ancient stone interior of the old fortress.
Lily sank on the lumpy mattress in the dank cell and scraped her hand beneath her nose. She would not cry. Not again. She had to be strong for her boy. Would he miss her by now? She’d never left him before. She would not have done so now had her boss not given her little choice.