CHAPTER ONE
THE freezing air was thick with softly falling snowflakes and the darkened streets of the East End of London were totally deserted. With less than a week to go until Christmas, most people were at home, decorating trees and wrapping presents.
Carlo Santini was barely aware of the inhospitable nature of his surroundings. He was restless and on edge, frustrated beyond belief by recent developments in his life. A frown on his handsome face, he paced rhythmically along the icy pavement, his footsteps muffled by the thick covering of snow, the collar of his black coat turned up against the cold.
He’d been warned to keep to his apartment and the hospital but he was totally fed up with the warnings.
In fact, he was so disillusioned with his life that when things had finally come to a head and he’d been ordered to leave Italy for a short time, he’d been only too happy to comply.
His old life was starting to feel like a prison.
Having enormous wealth was a fantasy for most people but for Carlo the reality had become an increasing burden over the years and he embraced the chance to pretend that it didn’t exist, even for a few precious weeks. Being forced to come to London and work under an assumed name was a gift that he was determined to grab with both hands.
For the first time in his whole life, no one would know who he was.
People would respond to his medical and personal skills rather than his reputation as a billionaire playboy or his impressive connections.
Suddenly aware of just how quiet the streets were, Carlo narrowed his eyes and took a brief look around. He’d always refused to have a personal bodyguard and the recent threats to his life hadn’t changed that. He preferred to look out for himself.
He gave a slight smile. Matteo Parini, his father’s chief of security, was probably in their London apartment biting his nails at this very moment, wondering where he was.
And Carlo was under no illusions about his safety. Even hidden in the East End of London under an assumed name, he wasn’t safe. Not until they caught the men who were threatening his life. But at least for a few hours he could pretend that nothing was wrong.
Suddenly aware that two men had appeared in the street ahead of him, he tensed his broad shoulders slightly. They were walking slowly and Carlo’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as he watched them.
Why would they be dawdling when it was below freezing? It was hardly the night for a winter stroll.
Then he saw one of them glance across the street and for the first time noticed a young boy, slight in build, hurrying along the pavement, clutching a stuffed bin bag, his eyes down as he struggled against the snow.
Guessing their intention before they’d even acted, Carlo removed his hands from his pockets, his lean features suddenly showing a strength of purpose. Without drawing attention to himself, he increased his pace, every sense on alert as he closed the distance between them.
With no warning they suddenly turned and sprinted across the snowy street, attacking the young boy viciously, grabbing the bin bag that he was carrying and pushing him roughly to the ground.
Carlo’s eyes gleamed and adrenaline rushed through his veins, but before he could reach them the young boy was back on his feet, lithe and agile. He grabbed one of the men in a classic judo hold and threw him heavily onto the pavement.
Carlo winced at the sickening thud and gave a surprised smile.
Maybe the lad didn’t need his help after all. He seemed to be doing pretty well by himself.
Or maybe not…
As the man lay groaning on the ground, his accomplice grabbed the boy round the throat and Carlo saw a flash of steel.
His blood heating, he moved swiftly, using the element of surprise to his advantage, attacking the man from behind and enclosing his wrist in a deadly grip until the knife fell to the ground.
‘Let him go…’ He couldn’t think of a suitable word in English so he switched to Italian, twisting the man’s arm behind his back in a ruthless hold that forced him to release the boy.
The other attacker scrambled to his feet, winded by the fall, bracing himself for a fight.
Breathing heavily, he caught the cold, dangerous look in Carlo’s eyes and backed away, his change of heart evident.
‘Hey, it wasn’t my idea…’
He glared at his friend, still held captive by Carlo’s deadly hold, and then turned and ran for it, sprinting away as fast as he could, slipping and sliding on the snowy street in his haste to put distance between them.
Swearing fluently, the other man whimpered with the pain in his arm and Carlo reluctantly let him go, kicking the knife out of reach, cold fury erupting inside him. Why were they attacking a kid?
Rubbing his arm, the man gave an angry snarl, landed a final vicious kick in the boy’s stomach and then turned and ran after his friend.
Carlo was itching to chase them but he was aware that the young boy was doubled up in pain from the kick. He reached out a hand to offer support and found himself flat on his back on the pavement, staring up at the stars.