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He’d utilised every resource within his power. Called in every favour owed him. Employed every conceivable tactic within the law—and beyond—to get Senator Jack Lewisham’s daughter back.
But it wasn’t enough. It all went belly up. And Nico committed one critical, unforgivable sin: he underestimated the men who had taken her.
He failed. Failed to bring the senator’s daughter home. Failed to save his wife’s life.
Her father, who’d only grudgingly accepted Nico as a son-in-law in the first place, was inconsolable—a man irreparably broken by the loss of his only daughter.
He had not spoken to Nico since.
Do whatever you have to.
He glanced over at Marietta, nursing her brandy in her hand, quietly studying them. She was pale, but beautiful, those dark, intelligent eyes sizing him up. No doubt she was a little annoyed that she was not privy to his and Leo’s conversation. She was a woman of undeniable strength, yet the pallor of her skin, the obvious tension around her eyes and mouth, belied her show of composure. He could see it in the rigid set of her shoulders, her too-tight grip on the glass, the unblinking wideness of her eyes.
Marietta wasn’t afraid.
She was petrified.
Nico turned back to Leo, an idea seeding, taking shape in his mind. An extreme idea, perhaps, for it would mean sacrificing the sanctity of his personal space for a time, but extreme circumstances called for extreme measures. He clamped a hand over his friend’s shoulder. ‘Do you trust me, mon ami?’
Leo looked him in the eye. ‘Of course,’ he said at once, his voice gruff. ‘You do not need to ask me that, Nicolas.’
Nico nodded. It was the answer he’d hoped for. ‘Très bien,’ he said. ‘I have a suggestion.’
CHAPTER THREE
‘ABSOLUTELY NOT!’
Marietta looked from her brother to Nico and back to Leo. They had to be joking. Yet neither man wore an expression she could describe as anything other than deadly serious. They both looked stern, formidable, standing side by side
with their feet planted apart, their arms folded over their broad chests. Looking at them was akin to seeing double, and she wanted to slap them both.
‘Pazzo!’ she cried, gesturing with one hand in the air to emphasise just how crazy she found their proposal.
They had the gall to stare at her then, as if she were crazy. As if the idea of disappearing to some island off the coast of France until her stalker had been caught was the perfect solution and they couldn’t understand why she didn’t agree.
And not just any island.
Oh, no.
Nico’s island.
Nico’s home.
With Nico.
Heat that had nothing to do with anger and everything to do with the idea of being holed up on a remote island with Nicolas César scalded her insides.
Torture. That was what it would be. Exquisite torture of a kind she didn’t dare contemplate.
She swigged down her brandy, set the glass on the sideboard and wheeled towards her kitchen. Enough alcohol. Coffee. That was what she needed. An injection of caffeine to hone her senses—and her tongue—for the showdown she was about to have with her brother.
He followed, his dark mood like a gathering thundercloud at her back.
‘Marietta, just stop for a minute and think about this.’
‘I don’t need to stop in order to think.’ She yanked the lid off a tin of coffee beans, unleashing a rich, nutty aroma that failed to please her the way it normally did. ‘I’m a woman, so I can multitask, and I am thinking about it. I’m thinking what a stupid, stupid idea it is.’
She ignored his heavy sigh.
