her with passionate satisfaction. They had waited to extend their family until their lives were more settled, but conception had taken several months longer than they had initially hoped. ‘That’s the best Christmas present yet!’ he swore.
‘No, that was our first Christmas when you brought me here to this house and told me it was ours,’ Ella contradicted.
‘And you were enraged that I’d picked a house and the furniture without getting you involved,’ Nikolai reminded her.
‘You did remarkably well on your own,’ Ella said as she freed him of his tie and began to push his jacket off his shoulders. ‘Take your clothes off, Mr Drakos.’
‘I love it when you get domineering,’ Nikolai teased, gazing down at his tiny wife with hotly appreciative dark eyes. ‘I love you, latria mou.’
‘I love you too...’
And they kissed, initially tenderly and then more passionately. The three elderly ladies downstairs were terrific hostesses and ensured that dinner was put back until the owners of the house had reappeared with a noticeable glow of happy contentment surrounding them.
* * * * *
Michelle Smart
This book is for Renata - thanks for feeding my coffee addiction! xxx
THE SCREAM PIERCED through the silence of the Nutmeg Island chapel.
Gabriele Mantegna, having just climbed up the stairs from the basement, came to an abrupt halt.
Where the hell had that come from?
He switched off his torch, plunging the chapel into complete darkness, and listened hard.
Had that been a woman’s scream? Surely not? Tonight, only the armed security crew inhabited the island.
Closing the basement door carefully, he walked to the one small window of the chapel not made of stained glass. It was too dark to see anything but after a moment a faint light appeared in the distance. It came from the Ricci house where at that moment an armed gang were helping themselves to all the priceless works of art and antiquities.
The island’s security crew were blind to the gang, their monitors remotely tampered with and feeding them falsehoods.
Gabriele checked his watch and grimaced. He’d been on the island ten minutes longer than planned. Every extra minute increased his chances of getting caught. To reach the beach on the south side of the island, from where he would swim to safety, was a further ten-minute walk.
But he hadn’t imagined the scream. He couldn’t in good conscience make his escape without checking it out.
Swearing under his breath, Gabriele pushed open the heavy chapel door and stepped out into the warm Caribbean air. The next time Ignazio Ricci decided on a spot of peace and contemplation, he would find the code for the chapel alarm scrambled.
For a building designed for peaceable contemplation and worship, the Ricci chapel had been desecrated by Ignazio’s real purpose.
It had all been there, directly beneath the chapel altar, in a basement stuffed with files dating back decades. A secret trail of blood money, the underbelly of the Ricci empire, hidden from the outside world. In the short time Gabriele had been in the basement he’d uncovered enough evidence of illegal dealings to have Ignazio spend the rest of his life in prison. He, Gabriele Mantegna, would personally hand the copied incriminating documents to the FBI. He would be there every day of the trial, seating himself so that Ignazio, the man who’d killed his father, would not be able to avoid seeing him.
When the judge’s sentence was pronounced Ignazio would know that it was he who had sent him down.
But everything wasn’t sunshine yet. The most important evidence for Gabriele, the documents that would have cleared his own name and exonerated his father once and for all, had not been found.
The evidence existed. He would find it if it took him the rest of his life.
Putting the missing evidence from his mind, Gabriele set out into the thick canopy of trees and, crouching low, made his way to the Ricci house, a huge villa set over three levels.
Lights shone from a downstairs window. Any subterfuge by the gang had been abandoned.
Something had gone wrong.
The men in the house were led by a criminal mastermind who went by the moniker of Carter. Carter’s specialisation was in purloining high-end goods for order. Ming vases. Picassos. Caravaggios. Blue Diamonds. There wasn’t a security system in the world, so the legend went, that Carter couldn’t crack. He also had a knack of knowing where the shadier elements of high society kept their even shadier valuables, the type of valuables the owner most certainly would not report to the authorities. Carter took those items for himself.
The front door had been left ajar.
As he approached it, voices could be heard, muffled but undeniably angry.
Knowing he was taking a huge risk but unable to rid himself of the sound of the scream ringing in his ears, Gabriele pressed himself against the outside wall of the window nearest the front door, took a breath, and turned to look inside.
The main reception room was empty.
He pushed the door open a few more inches.
The muffled argument continued.
He crossed the threshold. The instant his neoprene dive slipper trod onto the hard lacquered wood flooring, a squeak rang out.
Swearing under his breath, Gabriele tried another step, placing his whole foot down in one tread. This time there was no squeak.
He took stock of his surroundings. The reception room had three doors. Only one, directly opposite him, was open.
He crossed cautiously, wishing there were at least a life-size statue to hide behind if needed. Reaching the door, he peered through it, taking in the wide cantilevered stairs to his right and craning his ears to the left in an attempt to determine what the men were arguing about. If it was a simple heist-gone-wrong scenario he would return to his plan and get the hell off this island.
But that scream...
It had definitely sounded feminine.
The arguing voices were all male. He still couldn’t decipher what they were arguing about. He needed to get closer.
Before he could take another step, heavy footsteps treaded down the stairs. A huge figure dressed entirely in black strode past the door Gabriele was hiding behind and joined the others. He must have opened the door widely because now everything they said echoed off the great walls.
‘The little cow bit me,’ he said
