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He recognised the voice at once, and his frown deepened Whenever Jean-Paul phoned it was seldoht The hour when, Rico knew from experience, the press went to bed And what a certain section of the press across Europe all too often went to bed as a story of just who he had gone to bed with

Damn—had the vultures stirred yet ha the situation for yet more publicity for her career?

‘OK, Jean-Paul, tell

The gossip-colurandson of a French count, as well as a rare genuine friend in the press, started to speak But the story that he’d heard was about to break had nothing to do with Carina Collingha to do with any of Rico’s affaires

‘Rico,’ said Jean-Paul, and his voice was unusually grave, ‘it’s about Paolo’

Rico stilled Slowly he released his hand from the back of his neck and slipped it down on to the leather surface of the desk It tensed, unconsciously, into a fist

‘If anyone—’ his voice was a soft, deadly snarl ‘—thinks they are going to dig any dirt on him, they are—’

He could hear the wariness in the other man’s voice as he interrupted

‘I wouldn’t call it dirt, Rico But I would…’ he pausedtrouble’

Eh Rico

‘Dio, Paolo is dead His broken body got pulled froo’

Pain stabbed him Even now he could not bear to think about, to reolden prince, the only one of his father’s three sons who had ever won his parents’ indulgence—had been snuffed out before he was even twentytwo Like a bright flauished by the dark

The news had devastated the family Even Luca had wept openly at the funeral, where the two of the brother’s blackswathed coffin into the cathedral on that unbearable day

And now, years later, some slimeball hack dared to write some ki

nd of sleaze about Paolo

‘What kind of trouble?’ he dehtly

There was a distinct pause, as if Jean-Paul were e Then he spoke

‘It’s about the girl as in the car crash with him…’

Rico froze