The Last Di Sione Claims His Prize

“I want that painting. It is my last Lost Mistress. My Lost Love.”

Alessandro Di Sione is renowned for being cold and unsentimental, but even he can’t deny his grandfather’s dream of retrieving a painting steeped in royal scandal. Yet the key to its return is the outspoken Princess Gabriella.

While traveling together to Isola D’Oro to locate the mysterious painting, Gabby is drawn to the man tortured by guilt from his past. Her innocence makes her untouchable, as Alex is convinced his Di Sione blood is tainted. But could their passion be his salvation?

“Who said I was a maiden?” Gabby closed her eyes for a second, allowing the sun to wash over her face, the corners of her lips curving up slightly into a smile.

“You didn’t have to say it,” Alessandro said. “I could feel it in your kiss.” Or rather the lack of it.

Her stomach sank down to her toes and she opened her eyes again, the corners of her lips falling. “Was it so terrible?”

Of course it hadn’t been.

“Not terrible. Inexperienced. I could taste it on your skin.”

“That’s ridiculous. Inexperience doesn’t have a flavor.”

He grabbed hold of her arm again, turned her to face him, drawing her closely toward him. Rather than speeding up, this time her heart stopped beating altogether.

He lowered his head slightly, then reached up, sliding his thumb along the edge of her lip. “Yes, Gabriella, inexperience absolutely has a flavour. And on your lips there was also innocence and wildflowers. I did not mistake the taste of any of that.”

The Billionaire’s Legacy

A search for truth and the promise of passion!

For nearly sixty years Italian billionaire Giovanni Di Sione has kept a shocking secret. Now, nearing the end of his days, he wants his grandchildren to know their true heritage.

He sends them each on a journey to find his ‘Lost Mistresses,’—a collection of love tokens and the only remaining evidence of his lost identity, his lost history...his lost love.

With each item collected the Di Sione siblings take one step closer to the truth...and embark on a passionate journey that none could have expected!

Find out what happens in

The Billionaire’s Legacy

Di Sione’s Innocent Conquest by Carol Marinelli

The Di Sione Secret Baby by Maya Blake

To Blackmail a Di Sione by Rachael Thomas

The Return of the Di Sione Wife by Caitlin Crews

Di Sione’s Virgin Mistress by Sharon Kendrick

A Di Sione for the Greek’s Pleasure by Kate Hewitt

A Deal for the Di Sione Ring by Jennifer Hayward

The Last Di Sione Claims His Prize by Maisey Yates

Collect all 8 volumes!

The Last Di Sione Claims His Prize

Maisey Yates

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MAISEY YATES is a New York Times bestselling author of more than thirty romance novels. She has a coffee habit she has no interest in kicking, and a slight Pinterest addiction. She lives with her husband and children in the Pacific Northwest. When Maisey isn’t writing she can be found singing in the grocery store, shopping for shoes online and probably not doing dishes. Check out her website: maiseyyates.com.

Books by Maisey Yates

Mills & Boon Modern Romance

Carides’s Forgotten Wife

Bound to the Warrior King

His Diamond of Convenience

To Defy a Sheikh

One Night to Risk it All

Heirs Before Vows

The Spaniard’s Pregnant Bride

The Prince’s Pregnant Mistress

The Italian’s Pregnant Virgin

The Chatsfield

Sheikh’s Desert Duty

One Night With Consequences

The Greek’s Nine-Month Redemption

Married for Amari’s Heir

Princes of Petras

A Christmas Vow of Seduction

The Queen’s New Year Secret

Secret Heirs of Powerful Men

Heir to a Desert Legacy

Heir to a Dark Inheritance

Visit the Author Profile page at millsandboon.co.uk for more titles.

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

The Billionaire’s Legacy

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

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

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS RUMORED that Alessandro Di Sione had once fired an employee for bringing his coffee back two minutes later than commanded and five degrees cooler than ordered. It was rumored that he had once released a long-term mistress with a wave of his hand and an order to collect a parting gift from his assistant in the following weeks.

There were also rumors that he breathed fire, slept in a dungeon and derived sustenance from the souls of the damned.

So, when his shiny new temporary assistant scurried into the room, with red cheeks and an apologetic expression, on the heels of his grandfather—who appeared neither red-cheeked nor sorry for anything—it was no surprise that she looked as though she was headed for the gallows.

Of course, no one denied Giovanni Di Sione entry to any place he wished to inhabit. No personal assistant, no matter how formidable, would have been able to keep his grandfather out. Age and severely reduced health notwithstanding.

But as his typical assistant was on maternity leave and her replacement had only been here for a couple of weeks, she didn’t know that. She was, of course, afraid that Giovanni was an intruder and that she would be punished for the breach of security.

He saw no point in disabusing her of that notion. It was entirely possible she would spend the rest of the day deconstructing the meaning to his every glance in her direction. Likely, in the retelling, she would talk about the blackness of his eyes being a reflection of his soul, or some other such nonsense. And so, his reputation would darken even more, without him lifting a finger.

“I’m very sorry, Mr. Di Sione,” she said, clearly out of breath, one palm pressed tightly over her rather unimpressive breasts.

He made a low, disapproving sound and raised one dark brow.

She was trembling now. Like a very small dog. “Should I go back to work, sir?” she asked, nervous eyes darting toward the door.

He waved his hand and she scurried back out much the same as she had scurried in.

“I see you’re up and moving around,” Alex said, not descending into sentimentality because his relationship with Giovanni didn’t allow for that. With each returned Lost Mistress, Giovanni’s health had recovered bit by bit.

“It’s been a while since my last treatment, so I’m feeling better.”

“Good to hear it.”

“The way you acted toward your assistant was not overly kind, Alessandro,” his grandfather said, taking the seat in front of Alex’s desk somewhat shakily.

“You say that as though you believe I have a concern about being perceived as kind. We both know I do not.”

“Yes, but I also know you’re not as terrible as you pretend to be.” Giovanni leaned back in his chair, both hands planted on his knees. He was getting on in years and, after seventeen years in remission, his leukemia had returned. At ninety-eight, Giovanni likely didn’t have many years left on the earth regardless of his health, but it had certainly added a bit of urgency to the timeline.

The goal being to recover each and every one of Giovanni’s Lost Mistresses. Stories of these treasures were woven into Alex’s consciousness. His grandfather had been spinning tales about them from the time Alessandro was a boy. And now, he had tasked each of his grandchildren with finding one of those lost treasures.

Except for Alex.

He had been expecting this. Waiting for quite some time to hear about what part he might play in this quest.

“Maybe not,” Alex said, leaning back in his chair, unconsciously mimicking his grandfather’s position.

“At least you do not dare to behave terribly in my presence.”

“What can I say, Nonno? You are perhaps the only man on earth more formidable than I.”

Giovanni waved his hand as if dismissing Alex’s words. “Flattery is not the way with me, Alessandro, as you well know.”

He did know. His grandfather was a man of business. A man who had built a life out of nothing upon his arrival to America, a man who understood commerce. He had instilled that in Alex. It was how they connected. Where their minds met.

“Don’t tell me you’re feeling bored and you wanted to get your hands back into the shipping business?”

“Not at all. But I do have a job for you.”

Alex nodded slowly. “Is it my time to take a mistress?”

“I have saved the last one for you, Alessandro. The painting.”

“Painting?” Alex lifted a paperweight from his desk and moved it, tapping the glass with his index finger. “Don’t tell me you were a great collector of clowns on velvet or some such.”

Giovanni chuckled. “No. Nothing of the kind. I’m looking for The Lost Love.”

Alex frowned. “My art history is a little bit faint at my advanced age, but the name does sound familiar.”

“It should. What do you know about the disgraced royal family of Isolo D’Oro?”

“Had I known there would be a test, I would have studied before your arrival.”

“You were given a very expensive education at a very high-end boarding school. I would hate to think my money was wasted.”

Alex shifted, his hands still curled around the paperweight. “A school filled with teenage boys halfway across the world from their parents and very near a school filled entirely with teenage girls in the same situation. What is it you think we were studying?”

“This subject would have been related to your particular field of study. The Lost Love is a very scandalous piece of royal history. Though it was only a rumor. No one has ever seen it.”

“Except for you, I take it.”

“I am one of the few who can confirm its existence.”

“You are ever a man of unfathomable depths.”

Giovanni chuckled, inclining his head. “I am, it’s true. But then, that should be a perk of living a life as long as mine. You ought to have depths and secret scandalous paintings in your past, don’t you think?”

“I wouldn’t know. My life primarily consists of long hours in the office.”

“A waste of youth and virility in my opinion.”

It was Alex’s turn to laugh. “Right. Because you did not spend your thirties deeply entrenched in building your fortune.”

“It is a privilege of the elderly to see things in hindsight no one can see in the present, and attempt to educate the young with that hindsight.”

“I imagine it’s the privilege of the young to ignore that advice?”

“Perhaps. But in this, you will listen to me. I want that painting. It is my last Lost Mistress. My lost love.”

Alex looked at the old man, the only father figure he’d ever truly possessed. Giovanni had been the one to instill in Alex a true sense of work ethic. Of pride. Giovanni had raised him and his siblings differently than their parents had. After their deaths he had taken them in, had given them so much more than a life of instability and neglect. He had taught them to take pride in their family name, to take nothing for granted.

His son might have been a useless, debauched partyer, but Giovanni had more than made up for mistakes he made with him when he had assumed the job of raising his grandchildren.

“And you intend to send me after it?”

“Yes. I do. You spend too much time at work. Think of it as a boy’s adventure. A quest to retrieve a lost treasure.”

Alex picked up the paperweight again. It hovered an inch or so off the desk before he set it back down with an indelicate click. “I should think of it as what it is. A business transaction. You have been very good to me. Without your influence in my life I would likely be completely derelict. Or worse, some sort of social climber working his way through champagne and sunless tanner in South Beach.”

“Dear God, what a nightmarish prospect.”

“Especially as, by extension, I would be doing it with your money.”

“Your point is made. I am a steadying and magnificent influence.” The ghost of a smile that played across his grandfather’s ancient features pleased him. “I need you to retrieve the painting for me. It took all of my strength to put my socks on and come down here today. I can hardly track across the Mediterranean to Aceena to retrieve the painting myself.”

“Aceena?” Alex asked, thinking of what little he knew about the small island. With its white sand beaches and jewel-bright water, it was famous the world over.

“Yes, boy. Honestly, now I want a refund from that boarding school.”

“I know where and what Aceena is, Nonno. But as far as I’m aware their primary attraction is alcohol and their chief import is university students on spring break.”

“Yes. A hazardous side effect of beachfront property, I suppose. But also, it is where the D’Oro family has spent their banishment.”

“On spring break?”

“In an estate, I’m told. Though I fear Queen Lucia’s children have been on perpetual spring break ever since carving a swath of scandal through Europe. The queen lives there with her granddaughter. She was the rumored subject of the painting—” his grandfather paused “—and the last person to have it. So I’ve heard.”

Alex wasn’t a fool, and he didn’t appreciate that the old man was playing him for one. Giovanni wouldn’t send him off to Aceena because of half-heard rumors. And he would know full well who the subject of that painting was, had it been in his possession.

Leave it to Giovanni to have a portrait of a disgraced queen in his collection of lost treasures.

“You seem to know a great deal about the royal family,” Alex said.

“I have some ties to Isolo D’Oro. I...visited for a time. There are...fond memories for me there and I carry the history with me.”

“Fascinating.”

“You don’t have to be fascinated, Alessandro, you have to do my bidding.”

Of course, if Giovanni asked, Alex had to comply. He owed him. Giovanni had raised Alex after the death of his parents. Had given him a job, instilled in him the work ethic that had made him so successful.

Without Giovanni, Alex was nothing.

And if his grandfather’s dream was to see his Lost Mistresses reunited, then Alex would be damned if he was the weak link in the chain.

Enough suffering in his family was tied to his pigheadedness. He would not add this to the list.

“As you wish,” Alex said.

“You’re turning this into a clichéd movie, Alessandro.”

“A quest for a hidden painting secreted away on an island by disgraced royals? I think we were already there.”

CHAPTER TWO

“THERE IS A man at the door, here to see Queen Lucia.”

Princess Gabriella looked up from the book she was reading and frowned. She was in the library, perched on a velvet chair that she privately thought of as a tuffet, because it was overstuffed, with little buttons spaced evenly over the cushion, and it just looked like the word sounded.

She hadn’t expected an interruption. Most of the household staff knew to leave her be when she was in the library.

She pulled her glasses off and rubbed her eyes, untucking her legs out from underneath her bottom and stretching them out in front of her. “I see. And why exactly does this man think he can show up unannounced and gain an audience with the queen?”

She slipped her glasses back onto her face and planted her feet firmly on the ground, her hands resting on her knees as she waited for a response.

“He is Alessandro Di Sione. An American businessman. And he says he is here to see about...to see about The Lost Love.”

Gabriella shot to her feet, all of the blood rushing to her head. She pitched sideways, then steadied herself, waiting for the room to stop spinning.

“Are you all right, ma’am?” asked the servant, Lani.

“Fine,” Gabriella said, waving her hand. “The Lost Love? He’s looking for the painting?”

“I don’t know anything about a painting, Princess.”

“I do,” Gabriella said, wishing she had her journal on hand so she could leaf through it. “I know plenty about it. Except for whether or not it actually exists.”

She had never outright asked her grandmother about it. The older woman was loving, but reserved, and the rumors about the painting were anything but. She could hardly imagine her grandmother engaging in the scandalous behavior required for The Lost Love to exist...and yet. And yet she had always wondered.

“Forgive me, but it seems as though knowing whether or not something exists would be the most essential piece of information to have on it.”

“Not in my world.”

When it came to researching genealogical mysteries, Gabriella knew that the possibility of something was extremely important. It was the starting point. Sometimes, collecting information through legend was the key to discovering whether or not something was real. And often times, confirming the existence of something was the final step in the process, not the first.

When it came to establishing the facts of her family’s banishment from Isolo D’Oro, legend, folktales and rumor were usually the beginning of every major breakthrough. In fact, her experience with such things was leading her to odd conclusions regarding yetis and the Loch Ness monster. After all, if multiple cultures had rumors about similar beasts, it was logical to conclude that such a thing must have a grain of truth.

But until she was able to sift through the facts and fictions of her familial heritage, she would leave cryptozoology for other people.

“What should I do with our visitor, ma’am?”

Gabriella tapped her chin. She was inclined to have their visitor told that she and her grandmother were Not at Home, in the Regency England sense of the phrase. But he knew about The Lost Love. She was curious what exactly he knew about it. Though she didn’t want to confirm the existence of it to a total stranger. Particularly when she hadn’t established the existence of it in all certainty to herself.

She had to figure out what his game was. If this was just a scammer of some sort determined to make a profit off an elderly woman—and that was likely the case—then Gabriella would have to make sure he was never given entry.

“I will speak to him. There is no sense in bothering the queen. She is taking tea in the morning room and I don’t wish to disturb her.”

Gabriella brushed past the servant, and headed out of the library, down the richly carpeted hall, her feet sinking into the lush, burgundy pile. She realized then that going to greet a total stranger with bare feet was not the most princess-like act. She did quite well playing her part in public. A lifetime of training made a few hours of serene smiling and waving second nature. But when she was home, here in the wonderful, isolated estate in Aceena, she shut her manners, along with her designer gowns, away. Then unwound her hair from the tight coil she wore it in when she was allowing herself to be trotted out in front of the public, and truly let herself simply be Gabriella.

She touched her face, her glasses. She also didn’t go out in public in those.

Oh, well. She didn’t want to impress this stranger; she wanted to interrogate him, and then send him on his way.

She padded through the grand entryway, not bothering with straightening her hair or preening in any way at all.

He had already been admitted entry, of course. It wouldn’t do to have a man like him standing outside on the step. And she could see what kind of man he was immediately as he came into her view.

He was...striking. It reminded her of an experience she’d once had in a museum. Moving through wall after wall of spectacular art before entering a small room off to the side. In it, one painting, with all of the light focused on it. It was the centerpiece. The only piece that mattered. Everything that had come before it paled in comparison.

The journey had been lovely, but this man was the destination.

He was like a van Gogh. His face a study in slashing lines and sharp angles. Sharp cheekbones, an angular jaw roughened with dark stubble. There was a soft curve to his lips that spoke of an artist with a deft hand. Who knew that after so much hardened and fearful symmetry there needed to be something different to draw the eye. There was a slight imperfection in his features, as well, one peak of his top lip not quite rising as high as the other. It gave a human quality to Alessandro that was missing from the rest of him. Those broad shoulders, muscular chest and slim waist covered by his severely tailored suit. Long, strong legs, feet covered by handmade shoes.

Yes, everything about him was formidable perfection.

Except for that mouth. The mouth that promised potential softening. That hinted at the fact that he was a man, rather than simply a work of art.

She blinked, shaking her head. That was a lengthy flight of romantic fantasy. Even for her.

“Hello?” She took a step deeper into the entry. “Can I help you?”

His dark eyes flickered over her, his expression one of disinterest. “I wish to speak to Queen Lucia about The Lost Love.”

“Yes. So I was told. However, I’m afraid the queen is unavailable to visitors at the moment.” She resisted the urge to push her glasses up her nose, and instead crossed her arms, trying to look slightly regal, though she was wearing black leggings and an oversize sweatshirt.

“So she sent... I give up. What are you exactly? The resident disaffected teenager? Ready to head out to a mall or some such?”

Gabriella sniffed. “Actually, I am Princess Gabriella D’Oro. So when I say that my grandmother is not available to see you, I speak from a place of authority. This is my home, and I regret to inform you that we have no space for you in it.”

“Strange. It seems quite spacious to me.”

“Well, things are organized just so. Quite a few too many American businessmen have been by of late. We would have to store you in the attic, and you would just collect dust up there.”

“Is that so?”

“I fear you would atrophy completely.”

“Well, we can’t have that. This is a new suit, and I don’t particularly want to atrophy in it.”

“Then perhaps you should be on your way.”

“I came a great distance to speak to your grandmother. This may surprise you, but I did not come to Aceena to engage in frivolity. But rather to speak to her about a painting.”

“Yes, so you said. I regret to inform you there is no such painting. I’m not entirely certain what you heard about it...”

“My grandfather. He is...the collector. I came to see about purchasing the painting on his behalf. I’m willing to offer a generous sum. I imagine disgraced royals might not be in a position to turn such an offer down.”

“Oh, we do just fine, thank you for your concern. Should you like to make a donation to someone in actual need of your charity, I would be happy to provide you with a list.”

“No, thank you. The charity was only a side effect. I want that painting. I’m willing to pay whatever the cost might be.”

Her mouth was dry. It made it difficult to speak, and yet she found she also couldn’t stop the flow of words. “Well, I’m afraid to disappoint you. While we do have paintings, we do not have that painting. That painting, if you weren’t aware, might not even exist.”

“Oh, I’m well aware that it’s what your family would like the public to think. However, I think you know more than you’re letting on.”

“No,” she said, and this time she did push her glasses up her nose. “I’m just a teenager headed out to the mall. What could I possibly know that you,” she said, sweeping her hand up and down, “in all your infinite and aged wisdom, do not?”

“The appeal of Justin Bieber?”

“I’m not entirely certain who that is.”

“I’m surprised by that. Girls your age love him.”

“In that case, can I offer you a hard candy? I hear men your age love those.”

She was not sure how this had happened. How she had wound up standing in the hallowed entry of her family estate trading insults with a stranger.

“I’ll accept the hard candy if it means you intend to give me a tour while I finish it.”

“No. Sorry. You would be finishing it on the lawn.”

He rubbed his hand over his chin and she shivered, an involuntary response to the soft noise made by the scrape of his hand over his whiskers. She was a sensualist. It was one of her weaknesses. She enjoyed art, and soft cushions, desserts and lush fabrics. The smell of old books and the feel of textured pages beneath her fingertips.

And she noticed fine details. Like the sound skin made when scraping over stubble.

“I’m not entirely certain this is the tactic you want to use. Because if you send me away, then I will only circumvent you. Either by contacting your grandmother directly, or by figuring out who manages the affairs of the royal family. I am certain that I can find someone who might be tempted by what I offer.”

He probably wasn’t wrong. If he managed to find her parents, and offer them a bit of money—or better yet, an illegal substance—for some information on an old painting, they would be more than happy to help him. Fortunately, they probably had no idea what the painting was, much less knew any more about its existence than she did.

But they were wretched. And they were greedy. So there was very little that she would put past them.

Still, she was not going to allow him to harass her grandmother. Tempting as it was to keep him here, to question him. She’d been studying her family history for as long as she’d known how to read. Rumors about this painting had played a large part in it.

Part of her desperately wanted him to stay. Another part needed him gone as quickly as possible. Because of her grandmother. And partly because of the dry mouth and sweaty palms and strange, off-kilter feeling that had arrived along with him.

Those things defeated curiosity. He had to go.

“I’ll chance it. Do feel free to meander about the grounds before you go. The gardens are beautiful. Please consider limitless viewing time on the topiaries a conciliatory gesture on my end.”

The corner of his mouth worked upward. “I assure you, I have no interest in your...topiaries.”

Something about the way he said it made her scalp prickle, made her skin feel hot. She didn’t like it.

“Well, my topiaries are all you’re going to get. Good day to you, sir.”

“And good day to you,” he said, inclining his head.

He sounded perfectly calm, but a dark note wound its way around his words, through his voice, and she had a feeling that somewhere within it was also woven a threat.

However, she didn’t allow him to see that she had picked up on it. Instead, she turned on her heel—ignoring the slight squeak her bare skin made on the marble tile—and walked out of the entry without a backward glance, leaving him there. She fully expected a servant would show him out. Either that or she would have to have him installed in the attic. The idea of collecting a man like him and putting him in the attic like one might do to an old, rusted suit of armor amused her.

She let that little smile linger on her lips as she made her way down the hall, toward the morning room where her grandmother was having her breakfast.

“There was a man here, Gabriella. Who was he?” The queen’s voice, wispy, as thin as a cobweb, greeted Gabriella as soon as she walked into the ornate room.

There was no sense asking how her grandmother knew about the visitor. She was never ignorant about the goings-on in her own household.

“An American businessman,” Gabriella said, walking deeper into the room, feeling somewhat sheepish, yet again, about her bare feet.

Her grandmother was, as ever, impeccably dressed. The older woman made no distinction between her public and private persona. As always, her crystal white hair was pulled back into a neat bun, her makeup expertly done. Her fingernails were painted the same pale coral as the skirt she was wearing, her low, sensible heels the same cream as her blouse.

“I see,” the queen said, setting her teacup down on the table in front of her. “And what did he want?”

“This is not something we’ve ever discussed before, I know, but he was...he was inquiring about a painting. The Lost Love.”

Her grandmother continued to sit there, poised, her hands folded in her lap. Were it not for the subtle paling of her complexion, Gabriella would have thought she had merely been commenting on the weather. There was no mistaking her grandmother’s response to what she had just said.

“But of course,” Gabriella continued, “I told him that it has never been confirmed that there is any such painting. I told him it was nothing more than salacious rumor. And I sent him on his way. Though he may be meandering around the gardens.”