Luca to keep his nose clean—to stand up and face the fact that he was a potential heir to the Niroli throne.
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
