Di Marcello's Secret Son. Rachael Thomas

Title Page

       About the Author

       Dedication

       PROLOGUE

       CHAPTER ONE

       CHAPTER TWO

       CHAPTER THREE

       CHAPTER FOUR

       CHAPTER FIVE

       CHAPTER SIX

       CHAPTER SEVEN

       CHAPTER EIGHT

       CHAPTER NINE

       CHAPTER TEN

       CHAPTER ELEVEN

       CHAPTER TWELVE

       CHAPTER THIRTEEN

       EPILOGUE

       Extract

       Copyright

       PROLOGUE

      St Moritz—February 2017

      ANTONIO DI MARCELLO SAVOURED the Macallan 1946 as it blended perfectly with the adrenalin which still held power over him after the para-skiing challenge he, Sebastien Atkinson, Stavros Xenakis and Alejandro Salazar had completed. It had been the ultimate challenge, but now it seemed Sebastien, the founder of their elite global extreme sports club formed while he was at Oxford, had something even more testing in mind.

      Sebastien, older by several years, had taken on the role of mentor long ago, but a near tragedy had changed him, changed each of them. Digging a friend out of the depths of an avalanche on the Himalayas would do that to any man. It certainly had changed Sebastien—he’d done the unthinkable soon after and had married. Happily married.

      Antonio looked at the three men, the crackle of the fire suddenly deafening as the tension notched up. What the hell was happening? Normally, they’d be indulging in the company of women such as the trio of sexy platinum blondes who kept looking enticingly their way. But tonight was different and not just because Sebastien was living the life of a happily married man.

      ‘How’s your wife?’ Stavros asked Sebastien, inadvertently ratcheting up the tension even higher.

      ‘Better company than you. Why are you so surly tonight?’ Sebastien seemed to be goading the other man, as if he knew he was pressing buttons normally off limits.

      ‘I haven’t won yet. And my grandfather is threatening to disinherit me if I don’t marry soon. I’d tell him to go to hell, but...’ Stavros glowered and took a deep swig of whisky in an attempt to put his issues aside. Antonio knew just how much pressure his friend was under from his grandfather—and the underhand threats used to exert that pressure.

      He himself had succumbed to the same tactics and pressure from his family when he and Eloisa had married. A marriage to link two great families, it had been doomed from the outset and now he found himself the only divorced one among them. The whole experience left a bitter taste he hadn’t yet swallowed.

      ‘Your mother,’ Alejandro said, his hand tight on the whisky glass, his expression one of deep concentration. Like himself and Stavros, he had inherited his wealth and taken it to a higher level, but now he regarded Sebastien, a self-made billionaire who’d come from nothing, with caution. Did he too sense that something was far from right?

      ‘Exactly,’ Stavros said sharply.

      ‘Do you ever get the feeling we spend too much of our lives counting our money and chasing superficial thrills at the expense of something more meaningful?’ Sebastien looked from one to the other, the game of poker forgotten.

      ‘You called it,’ Antonio said to Alejandro, tossing over a handful of chips. ‘Four drinks and he’s philosophizing.’

      ‘I said three.’ Stavros shrugged without apology. ‘My losing streak continues.’

      ‘I’m serious,’ Sebastien injected. ‘At our level, it’s numbers on a page. Points on a scoreboard. What does it contribute to our lives? Money doesn’t buy happiness.’

      Sebastien’s chips jangled as he lifted them slightly before letting them drop back to the table, the sound overpowering in the sudden tense silence as his gaze held Antonio’s before moving his attention to Stavros and Alejandro. Whatever it was Sebastien had to say, Antonio knew it was big. He knew him well enough to say it would be far more than the apparent casual comment on money which stemmed from being the only self-made billionaire in the room.

      ‘It buys some nice substitutes.’ Antonio took another swig of whisky, allowing it to heat his throat, then sat back in his chair, the game the last thing on his mind now.

      Sebastien’s mouth twisted. ‘Like your cars? Your private island? You don’t even use that boat you’re so proud of, Stavros. We buy expensive toys and play dangerous games, but does it enrich our lives? Feed our souls?’

      ‘What are you suggesting?’ Alejandro drawled. ‘We go and live with the Buddhists in the mountains? Learn the meaning of life? Renounce our worldly possessions to find inner clarity?’

      ‘You three couldn’t go two weeks without your wealth and family names to support you.’ Sebastien’s voice hardened.

      ‘Could you?’ Stavros challenged. ‘Try telling us you would go back to when you were broke, before you made your fortune. Hungry isn’t happy. That’s why you are such a rich bastard now.’

      Sebastien looked from one to the other. ‘As it happens I’ve been thinking of donating half my fortune to charity, to start a global search and rescue fund. Not everyone has friends who will dig them out of an avalanche with their bare hands.’

      ‘Are you serious?’ Alejandro injected. Sebastien had their attention now. ‘That’s what? Five billion?’

      ‘You can’t take it with you,’ Sebastien philosophized. ‘Monika is on board with it, but I’m still debating. I’ll tell you what. You three go two weeks without your credit cards and I’ll do it.’

      Sebastien silenced the chink of the chips, the sternness of his expression a warning in itself.

      Although he’d directed the statement at all three of them, Antonio had the distinct impression it was aimed specifically at him.

      ‘Starting when? We all have responsibilities,’ Alejandro said as he looked at Stavros,