Taming the Royal Beast (Royal House of Leone Book 6)

by Jennifer Lewis

  “Nonsense. We’re watching a ceremony, not heading onto Noah’s ark.”

  “There’ll be dancing,” explained Serena. “Sandro’s friend Louis is coming from New Orleans to arrange the catering, and he’s bringing a small jazz band.”

  “I don’t dance.” He took a swig of red wine.

  “Everyone else will be paired off. Even Mama,” protested Beatriz. “We’ll find you a nice girl.”

  “What if I don’t want a nice girl?”

  “Then we’ll find you a sexy man,” said Sandro with a wink.

  Rigo sighed. “I came here to solve a problem that apparently no one else can solve. If you don’t like the way I’m doing it, I’ll head back to my busy office in New York. I’m certainly not going to waste my time dancing and making small talk with some empty-headed heiress hell-bent on marrying a prince. Will dinner be served before I grow old and die?”

  He glanced toward the kitchen hallway, where an alarmed-looking staffer hurried in with a big bowl of salad.

  “Great. Rabbit food.”

  “There’s potato and leek soup and a big poached bass,” said Beatriz. “Besides, if you want something specific all you have to do is ask. There’s no need to be so crabby.”

  Not Beatriz too? She was usually the most sensible of the bunch. Since she’d fallen head over heels for Lorenzo she was as bad as the rest of them. “I’m not crabby.”

  A snort of laughter from the left drew his attention, but since he wasn’t sure who it came from he decided to ignore it.

  “Come on, Rigo. You must have a girlfriend.” Darias had finally showed up and taken a seat on the far side of the table. “I lived in New York too, remember. The most beautiful women in the world live there.” He smiled at his wife, Emma, and Sandro’s fiancée, Serena, both of whom had been independent, freewheeling New Yorkers until they had the misfortune to be swept into the royal Borg.

  “My sex life is none of your concern.” He ate a bite of crispy hamster chow.

  “Who’s talking about sex?” said Sandro. “It’s your romantic life we’re interested in.”

  “Why?” He scowled at his brother.

  “Because you’re working too hard and you don’t come home enough. You need a sensible woman to get your life back in balance.”

  “This world isn’t run by people with balanced lives.” He put his fork down. “Can we focus on the issue at hand? The burning question of who murdered our father and grandmother?” Anything to get them out of his personal life. He stood and closed the two tall doors into the dining room, making sure the staffers were outside. “I need to interrogate the key players in the Cross of Blood society.”

  “Gibran has said we can’t get near them. They’re lawyered up and won’t talk.”

  “And I think I know why. This organization has existed for hundreds of years—why?”

  “It was formed to send troops to the Crusades. To defend Christendom from the infidel,” said Darias drily.

  “Do you really think the holy knights of Altaleone cared that much about what was going on in some distant so-called Holy Land a thousand miles away?”

  “People’s lives revolved around religion back then,” said Emma.

  “Or so they’d have you believe.” Rigo leaned back. “The medieval church was an effective mechanism for the control and centralization of money and power. The confessional wasn’t about expiating sin; it was about having the dirt on everyone in the parish. The Crusades weren’t about religion but about riches.”

  “That’s a very cynical view,” said Darias.

  “My time practicing law has given me a depressing amount of insight into human nature.” Rigo walked around the table. “And from where I’m standing the Cross of Blood was formed so the locals could rape and pillage in foreign lands, bring the wealth back here without paying taxes on it, then grow and augment it over the centuries without the scrutiny of anyone but themselves.”

  “They all own legitimate businesses.”

  Rigo snorted. “They all own businesses. Do you really think a mountaintop vineyard can sustain a lavish lifestyle for centuries? In my opinion most of their businesses are nothing more than a front so no one looks for the source of their ill-gotten wealth.”

  Darias frowned. “There is that Swiss account. After Emma was kidnapped for the access code, I did some digging to find out how much was in it and was unable to find an answer. The code I have identified an account but didn’t allow permission to view it or even see the balance. Since the account isn’t in Altaleone I can’t even go royal on them and demand access.”

  “Perhaps someone could hack into the computer,” said Sandro.

  “We don’t want to commit a crime to solve a crime,” muttered Rigo. “But I believe this account might be making distributions to the members.”

  “And who’s running it?”

  “That’s what we need to find out. That may be the person who decided that our family members were disposable. Maybe Dad was asking too many questions. I don’t see any record of taxes being paid on that money—ever.”

  “And in Altaleone there is an annual tax on investment gains,” said Beatriz. “Regardless of where the money is held.”

  “Exactly.” Darias frowned. “It’s at the core of our ability to redistribute wealth among our population so everyone has a high living standard.”

  “I suspect the Cross of Blood cronies see themselves as living above or outside the laws of Altaleone and carrying on in their own manner as they have for centuries, keeping the wealth in their own coffers.”

  “But why would they want to kill?”

  “Maybe Grandma or Papa threatened to expose them.” Beatriz looked intrigued. “The loss of their main source of wealth would be a huge blow. They’d actually have to survive on the measly few millions that their vineyards and diamond-trading endeavors bring in. That’s barely enough to redo the slate roof on a medieval castle.”

  “Beatriz would know. She just renovated her own place.” Lorenzo smiled at her.

  “You could be onto something.” Darias sipped his wine slowly.

  A knock on the door tightened Rigo’s muscles. While he half wanted word of his theory to get out—crooks had a way of covering their tracks that only made them more obvious—he preferred to get further in his paper investigation before his suspicions spread outside the palace. “One moment,” he called.

  “So how do you plan to expose this activity?” whispered Beatriz.

  “I’m starting with Maurice Beauvoir.” Rigo mouthed the words in near silence. “I’m setting his daughter up to leave a trail of bread crumbs right into his finances, and wherever things don’t add up, I’ll pounce.”

  “Oh.” Beatriz’s face fell. “She seems so sweet.”

  “Not as sweet as you think.” He was growing increasingly sure that her ditzy brunette facade was an act.

  “What if you’re wrong?” asked Darias.

  “I’m never wrong.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Bella loved her short walking commute to the palace, and even Squiggles barely complained. She sailed past security and was seated at the dining room table—it was a second dining room that no one used—and going through the tedious paperwork five minutes before she was even supposed to be here.

  Someone had moved her files around. Maybe the cleaning staff. She shrugged and pulled open a tax return from 1968. Mostly she was surprised by how little money the company made. Wasn’t the 1960s the era when everyone wanted a big rock on their finger? But of course money was worth more then. Inflation and all that jazz.

  She had just entered the taxes paid in her database when she realized that Rigo was leaning against the doorframe, watching her.

  Why does it feel like he can read my thoughts? He’s a lawyer, not a psychic. The way he looked at her made her feel like a criminal in the dock. Worse yet, it sent a totally inappropriate surge of heat to her core. What was that about? “Good morning.”

  “Is it?”

>   “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be insincere or flippant or…” Polite.

  “Do you feel there’s a conflict of interest in you looking through the files for Altacord Trading Group?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Because your father is a principal in it.”

  “Really? I haven’t seen his name on anything.

  “I believe he’s what’s known as a silent partner.”

  She frowned. “Someone who puts up money but doesn’t participate in the day-to-day activities?”

  “More or less.”

  “I had no idea.” Her father never talked business to her. “But why would it be a conflict of interest?”

  “If your father had…something to hide.”

  “Like what?” She didn’t follow his train of thought. She heard a muffled rustling sound, then suddenly Rigo doubled over and let out a blistering curse.

  Bella sprang to her feet. “Are you okay?” Was he having a heart attack?

  “Your—” He cursed again. “Your vermin bit me on the ankle.”

  “Squiggles!” She dived around the table, scooped Squiggles up in her arms, and stroked his head. “You were just trying to help, weren’t you?”

  “Help?” Rigo spluttered. “How?”

  “Perhaps he thought you were impugning my family honor.” You had to see the humor in the situation.

  Rigo’s mouth didn’t move a millimeter. He wasn’t one to waste smiles. “Does your father know you’re here?”

  “Of course. He’s very proud of me. Working in the palace is a dream job.” She managed a cheery smile. “It really is. I can walk to work in less than ten minutes.”

  “I bet Squiggles appreciates the short commute.” He spoke through gritted teeth.

  Her heart sank. “Did he really bite you hard? Let me see.”

  “It’s nothing.” He didn’t budge, so she retreated. “But I’d appreciate your making sure it doesn’t happen again.”

  She inhaled sharply. “I’ll leave him at home. He’ll be fine in a box with a blanket over it. Sure, maybe all his hair will fall out again due to stress, but we’ll—”

  His brows lowered. “Have you found anything of interest in the files?”

  “Only that the earnings for Altacord aren’t that high. But I suppose that’s business in a tiny country. And it’s not a big company.”

  “What do you mean, not high?”

  She propped Squiggles on one arm and reached for the 1968 file. “Profits in 1968 were only eight hundred and sixty seven thousand florins. It’s before we switched to euros, but I think that’s only about five hundred thousand euros in today’s currency. I suppose I thought it would be millions.”

  Rigo took the file from her and flipped through it. “The gross profit isn’t high either.” He flipped through to the end in silence. “It’s a small company. It will be interesting to see how profits grew over time.”

  “Yes.” Her dad spent five million last year on a yacht he kept in Montpelier, France, and used for a few weeks in the summer. “I suppose things were quieter back then.”

  Another tall, dark-haired man whom Bella recognized from the press as Rigo’s brother Sandro poked his head in. “Huge favor to ask, bro. Could we borrow your new lady-in-waiting to help go through the RSVPs for the wedding? It’s all hands on deck. We need to confirm the final numbers today so Louis knows how much fresh crawfish to bring from New Orleans.”

  Bella stifled a laugh. “I’d be happy to help.”

  “That’s great!” Sandro’s glamorous fiancée, Serena, stood behind him. Bella had watched her video on how to apply eyebrow pencil and decided she didn’t need great eyebrows that badly. Right now Serena wasn’t even wearing eyebrow pencil. Ha.

  “Bella is engaged in important and time-sensitive work,” said Rigo grimly. “Surely there are other palace staff who could—”

  “Believe me, we’ve got everyone on it already. We sent out over a thousand invitations, and we need to figure out exactly who’s coming and find somewhere for them to stay.”

  “Good lord. Isn’t the wedding next week?”

  “The week after.” Serena smiled. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.”

  “I wonder how they’ll feel about sleeping in a tent city in the palace courtyard?” Rigo lifted a brow.

  “Hey, that’s a great idea!” Sandro punched him in the shoulder. Could two brothers be any more different? “Can we borrow Bella to order the tents?”

  “If you must.” Rigo sighed. “But I want her back as soon as possible.”

  Bella was happy to get away from the tax returns, if only for an hour. She stuffed Squiggles back in the bag, buckled it shut, and put in on her shoulder.

  “Was that an ermine?” asked Serena.

  “He’s a ferret. With a Dalmatian coat,” she said proudly. Squiggles had unusual coloring and got attention wherever they went.

  “He’s adorable.”

  “Thanks.” And thank goodness the rest of the family wasn’t as miserable as Cruel Prince Rigo. “When’s your wedding?”

  “The fifteenth. It was pulled together very quickly because, as you can probably tell, I’m pregnant.”

  Bella glanced down at Serena’s belly, which was only just starting to show, at least in the floaty top she wore. “I hadn’t noticed until you mention it. When are you due?”

  “Nine months from last Christmas,” chimed in Sandro. He leaned in and kissed Serena softly on the cheek. It was true about pregnant women glowing. Either that or Serena’s highlighter application was really subtle and effective. She suspected the former.

  The gossip papers were full of articles about Serena’s whirlwind Cinderella-style romance with Prince Sandro, though it seemed she was something of a media celebrity in her own right. “Congratulations. Do you know if it’s a girl or a boy, or is it rude to ask that?”

  Serena smiled. “I don’t think it’s rude. It’s a boy.” She rested a hand on the waistband of her black pants. “We only just found out. I wanted to know so we could give him a name.”

  A pretty blonde woman waved as they headed into a much grander dining room where papers were spread all over the surface of a vast table. “Hi, Bella, I’m Emma.” Bella knew Emma was Darias’s wife who married him right before he became king. She’d read a salacious story on one website that she’d married him for money to pay for her drug-addicted brother’s rehab, but you couldn’t believe what you read on the Internet.

  “Nice to meet you.” She took a seat in front of a pile of unopened envelopes. Her dad would love her sitting around a table with all these nice royals. Emma introduced her to the other people sitting at the table, all palace staff she hadn’t met yet, opening the big envelopes and organizing them into yes and no piles.

  An older woman named Effi, who managed palace events, was checking off the names in a database and handing them to Katerin, a brunette with a pixie cut who was stacking them in “bride’s guest” and “groom’s guest” piles, then Sandro and Serena took them and tried to fit each of them into a huge paper chart with table placements for the dinner after the ceremony. Beatriz, Rigo’s sister, was trying to figure out where each of the guests would sleep.

  “For some reason we didn’t realize what a huge job this would be,” said Serena. “We should have hired more people to help Effi organize everything, but we were traveling abroad. So it’s all a bit last minute. We really don’t have any idea where we’re going to put all these people. We were expecting at least thirty percent to say no, but so far almost all of them are coming.”

  “Who’d want to miss it?” said Bella. “It sounds like a fabulous party.” As she spoke the last part she wondered if she was talking out of turn and should just open envelopes and keep her mouth shut.

  “We’re certainly hoping it will be,” said Sandro. “Even if we have to stack people like sardines somewhere.”

  “We booked all the hotels in town, and with those, the palace, the castle, my house, and the orangerie we should
be able to sleep about three hundred,” said Beatriz.

  “Which is about how many were in town for my wedding to Darias.”

  “What about the hunting lodge on the far side of town?”

  Beatriz grimaced. “No one’s stepped in there since Dad died. It probably hasn’t been slept in for years. He mostly used the grounds for the hunt to meet. I suppose we could check. It’s officially Rigo’s now. Dad left it to him in his will.”

  “Doesn’t it have upwards of thirty bedrooms?”

  “Maybe more. They used to invite people from all over Europe for hunting parties in the old days.”

  “Worth a look then,” said Sandro. “Perhaps you should drive out there and eyeball it.”

  “Then how can I find rooms for all these guests? None of you know the rooms as well as I do. Maybe Bella could go take some photos of the lodge to give us an idea of whether we could whip it into shape in less than two weeks.”

  She sat up in her chair. “I’d be happy to.” An old hunting lodge sounded fabulous.

  “Perfect. Ask Rigo for the keys.”

  Her chest tightened. Asking Rigo for anything would probably get her scowled at. “Okay.”

  “And you have a phone that can take decent pictures?”

  “Sure.” She whipped it out to show them, without disturbing Squiggles since her phone was in the front pocket of her bag.

  “Send them to me as you take them.” She and Beatriz exchanged texts to save each others’ numbers, and she hoisted her bag gently on her shoulder and headed back to Rigo’s office.

  She knocked, heart already thumping.

  “What?” His gruff retort was anything but welcoming.

  “Uh.” She opened the door a crack. Rigo’s piercing brown eyes seared a hole right through her. “Your family would like me to go to your hunting lodge to take pictures.”

  He looked at her with noncomprehension.

  “The house left to you by your father.” Must be nice to have an estate you’d forgotten about. “Beatriz thinks it might be a good place to put up wedding guests.”

  “And I care because…?”

  “She says you have the key.”