LITMIR.BIZ

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provided protection for Pieta on his philanthropic missions he’d got to know the man well. Throughout his career Felipe had dealt with death and loss many times; had almost become inured to it. The shock of Pieta’s death had hit him harder than he would have expected. He’d been an exceptional man, intelligent and for all his daring, naturally cautious. He’d known how to handle situations.

      Felipe had been propped at a hotel bar in the Middle East drinking the malt whiskey Pieta had liked in his memory when both Daniele and Matteo had called to say Pieta’s little sister was travelling to Caballeros, a country quickly descending into anarchy, first thing in the morning, and that nothing they said would deter or delay her. He’d known immediately that he owed it to the great man to protect his sister himself and had set into action. Within ten hours he was in Pisa, showered, changed and sat on Pieta’s jet. The only thing he hadn’t had time for was a shave.

      Francesca removed her shades and folded them into her handbag. When she looked at him, he experienced another, more powerful jolt.

      Her height was the only thing average about her. Everything else about her was extraordinary, from the sheet of glossy black hair that hung the length of her back to the wide, kissable lips and clear olive skin. The only flaw on her features were her eyes, which were so red raw and puffy it was hard to distinguish the light brown colour of her pupils.

      She’d buried her brother only the day before.

      He recalled Daniele’s warning about her state of mind. This was a woman on the edge.

      ‘I was very sorry to hear about Pieta’s death,’ he said quietly.

      ‘Not sorry enough to attend his funeral,’ she replied archly although there was the slightest tremor in her hoarse voice. Hoarse from crying, he suspected.

      ‘Work comes first. He would have understood.’ On his next visit to Europe he intended to visit Pieta’s grave and lay a wreath for him.

      ‘You were able to juggle your work commitments to be here now.’

      ‘I did,’ he agreed. He’d had to pull a senior member of his staff away from his holiday to take over the job he’d been overseeing to make it to Pisa on time for the flight. ‘Caballeros is a dangerous place.’

      ‘Just so we’re clear, you work for me,’ she said in the impeccable English all the Pellegrinis spoke. ‘My sister-in-law has given me written authority to represent her as Pieta’s next of kin on this project.’

      Felipe contemplated her through narrowed eyes. There had been a definite challenge in that husky tone.

      ‘How old are you?’ At thirty-six he was a year older than Pieta, the eldest of the three Pellegrini siblings. He recalled Francesca once being referred to as the ‘happy accident’.

      ‘I’m twenty-three.’ She raised her chin, daring him to make something of her youth.

      ‘Almost an old woman,’ he mocked. He hadn’t realised she was that young and now he did know he was doubly glad he’d disrupted his schedule to be there as her protection. He would have guessed at mid-twenties. Sure, only a few years older than her actual age but those years were often the most formative of an adult’s life. His had been. They’d been the best of his life, right until the hostage situation that had culminated in the loss of his best friend and a bullet in his leg that had seen him medically discharged from the job he loved at only twenty-six.

      She glared at him. ‘I might be young but I am not stupid. You don’t need to patronise me.’

      ‘Age isn’t linked to intelligence,’ he conceded. ‘What countries have you travelled to?’

      ‘I’ve been to many countries.’

      ‘With your family on holiday?’ Francesca’s father, Fabio Pellegrini, had been a descendant of the old Italian royal family. The Pellegrinis had long eschewed their royal titles but still owned a sprawling Tuscan estate near Pisa and had immense wealth. Vanessa Pellegrini, the matriarch, also came from old money. None of Vanessa or Fabio’s children had ever wanted for anything. When Felipe compared it to his own humble upbringing the contrast couldn’t be starker.

      ‘Yes,’ she said defiantly. ‘I’ve visited most of Europe, the Americas and Australia. I would consider myself well-travelled.’

      ‘And which of these many countries have been on a war footing?’

      ‘Caballeros isn’t on a war footing.’

      ‘Not yet. In which of those countries was sanitation a problem?’

      ‘I’ve got water-purifying tablets in my luggage.’

      He hid a smile. She thought she had all the answers but didn’t have a clue what she’d be walking into. ‘That would make all the difference but you won’t be needing them.’

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘Because you’re not staying in Caballeros. I’ve booked you into a hotel in Aguadilla.’ Aguadilla was a Spanish-Caribbean island relatively close to Caballeros but spared by the hurricane and as safe a country as there was in this dangerous world.

      ‘You did what?’

      ‘I cancelled the shack you’d been booked into in San Pedro,’ he continued as if she hadn’t spoken, referring to the Caballeron capital. ‘We’ve a Cessna in place to fly you between the islands for all your meetings.’

      Her cheeks flushed with angry colour. ‘You had no right to do that. That shack was where Pieta was going to stay.’

      ‘And he would have hired my firm for protection. He wasn’t a fool. You’re a vulnerable woman...’

      ‘I am not.’

      ‘Look at yourself through Caballeron eyes. You’re young, rich and beautiful and, like it or not, you’re a woman...’

      ‘I’m not rich!’

      ‘Your family is rich. Caballeros is the sixth most dangerous country in the world. Things were bad enough when the people had roofs over their heads. Now they have lost everything and they are angry. You will have a price on your head the second you set foot on their soil.’

      ‘But I’m going to build them a hospital.’

      ‘And many of them will be grateful. Like all the Caribbean islands it’s full of wonderful, hospitable people but Caballeros has always had a dangerous underbelly and more military coups than any other country since it gained its independence from Spain. Guns and drugs are rife, the police and politicians are corrupt, and that was before Hurricane Igor destroyed their infrastructure and killed thousands of their population.’

      It was a long time before Francesca spoke. In that time she stared at him with eyes that spat fire.

      ‘I was already aware of the risks,’ she said tremulously. ‘It’s why I agreed for your firm to be hired to protect me. Not babysit me. You had no right to change my arrangements. No right at all. I will pay you the full amount but I don’t want your services any more. Take your things and get off the plane. I’m terminating our contract.’

      He’d been told she would react like this. Both Daniele and Matteo had warned him of her fiery nature and fierce independent streak, which her grief for Pieta had compounded. That’s why Daniele had taken the steps he had, to protect Francesca from herself.

      ‘I’m sorry to tell you this but you’re not in a position to fire me.’ He gave a nonchalant shrug, followed by an even more nonchalant yawn. Dios, he was tired. He hadn’t slept in two days and could do without the explosion he was certain was about to occur. ‘Your sister-in-law has made an addendum to the authority she gave you. If at any time I report that you’re not following my advice with regard to your safety, her authority is revoked and the project disbanded.’

       CHAPTER TWO

      THE

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