Page 1 of Pregnant in the Italian's Palazzo

PROLOGUE

NYSIOBACCHETTIWASrarely surprised.

He was the sole heir to an Italian dynasty that dated back to the Renaissance, and the majority of the milestones in his privileged life had been mapped out from the moment he was born. From his elite boarding-school tuition to the prestigious business degrees that hung upon the walls of his office where he ran their family’s sizeable estate and holdings, his life always tended to follow a neatly predictable path.

Until today.

Nysio forced himself to breathe, his eyes blurring as he reread the first page of the last will and testament of a man he’d never met. A man who was apparently his biological father, according to accompanying DNA test results dating back twenty years. The neat black envelope had been hand-delivered at noon by a representative of Mytikas Holdings. The sensitive details within had been briefly explained, along with an invitation to come to New York to discuss matters further with Zeus Mytikas’s oldest son, the new CEO.

His brother. He had a brother.

He hadtwobrothers, he’d discovered upon voraciously reading through the remainder of the shocking documents and turning to the Internet for more information. There was the stern-faced business mogul Xander Mytikas, the oldest son, and the one whom Zeus had apparently chosen as his protégé. Then there was Eros Theodorou, a laid-back blond playboy with a scandalous reputation. Both of them had the same blue eyes and sharp cheekbones as his own. Features apparently given to them by the biological father they shared.

All three of their names had been listed in Zeus’s last will and testament. Not an offering, but a competition. The first of them to marry and remain married for one year...would inherit the entirety of Zeus’s estate. It appeared that iron-clad legal bindings had forbidden Zeus from revealing the Bacchetti secret—that Nysio was apparently not a Bacchetti by blood—or using it against them. Until now. It seemed the old tyrant had decided to throw up one last middle finger from beyond the grave.

He found himself pacing the length of his office, throwing open the nearest doors and stepping out onto the terrace like a drowning man. The lights of the city spread out below Palazzo Bacchetti like a glittering blanket, taunting him.

The people of Florence lauded the Bacchetti family as their own unofficial royalty, and Nysio had grown up as their raven-haired prince, trained to perform his part to perfection, no matter what was happening behind the closed doors of their mountaintoppalazzo. They were more than just a wealthy family, his elderly father often reminded him whenever Nysio dared to complain. They were an institution. And institutions needed to maintain their image to project stability to the people who relied upon them.

But now he knew better than anyone that the people who seemed most perfect were simply the ones who possessed the most secrets.

He had no need of any paltry inheritance. He had amassed more wealth at his computer trading stocks than the Bacchetti name alone could have ever given him. It was public knowledge that he was a recluse who rarely left his palatial compound in the Florentine hills. But unlike some of his ancestors, he had never needed public adoration or intimidation to keep his business in perfect working order, not when his patience and instincts as a financial trader were world renowned. Even on the most tumultuous days in the global stock markets, he had remained calm and in control.

But as he stared down at the documents he still gripped in his hands, he felt the edges of his hard-won control begin to fray with every breath he forced into his lungs.

Arturo Bacchetti was a good man and the only father Nysio had ever known. He had been trained with the sole purpose of taking his father’s place as a public figure, despite the social anxiety that made many of his duties almost unbearable. He had dropped all of his own plans and stepped into that duty much earlier than planned, when his father had become ill and his parents had retired to Sardinia.

He had given his whole life to this city, safe in the knowledge that it was his birthright. That it was his duty. But all along his parents had been hiding this from him. The temptation to lash out was strong, but he had never been one for outward displays of emotion. He preferred to wait, to analyse, to plan his actions. And that was exactly what he would do, he decided as he strode back into his office and grabbed the phone from his desk.

Gianluca, their family’s most trusted employee answered promptly, used to playing the part of Nysio’s assistant on occasion among countless other jobs he took charge of. The older man was stunned to hear him request a jet to be readied for immediate travel but he gave no details other than to say it was a business trip. There was no need to disclose any more than that. No need to alert his parents, or speak of any of this at all. Zeus Mytikas had broken a legal promise to keep this secret under wraps, dead or not, and Nysio intended to ensure that the current CEO of Mytikas Holdings knew exactly where the Bacchetti family stood on the matter. He would regain control of the situation, have his name struck from that damned will and walk away. One quick trip across the Atlantic and things would go back to the way they were.

He would make sure of it.

CHAPTER ONE

WHATANUTTERLYdismal location for a wedding. Nysio scowled as his car came to a stop amongst the growing crowd that had gathered outside the grey brick Manhattan courthouse. The groom stood in their midst, stony-faced and proud even as he watched his bride-to-be turn tail and run, disappearing into the busy city streets.

Cameras flashed immediately upon the scene, and Nysio felt his body tighten in sympathy at the familiar invasion of privacy, even though he was tucked safely behind tinted glass. He studied Xander Mytikas from afar, curiosity making him analyse the strong nose and harsh brow that were so eerily similar to his own. For much of his flight across the Atlantic he had wondered how it might feel to meet one of his two half-brothers in person. Wondered if he might feel a sense of kinship or connection.

The fact that he felt nothing should be a small relief.

So far, his team of private investigators had already uncovered no effort on either of his brothers’ parts to sabotage his privacy. In fact, they had both seemed far too involved in their own private dispute to even consider that their surprise Italian counterpart might make an appearance. They both knew of his existence, they had all received the exact same document...and yet, other than having that copy of the will sent, they had not tried to contact him or acknowledge his existence at all.

Before he could think of his next step, Nysio could do nothing but watch as his brother cut through the crowd and disappeared into a limo down the street. Clearly, Xander Mytikas was not planning to sit around waiting to see if his runaway bride returned. The acting CEO needed to marry fast in order to keep control of his shares in Mytikas Holdings and, according to Nysio’s investigators, he had no plans to reveal the previous terms of the NDA that protected the secrecy of Nysio’s birth.

A flash of pink caught his attention, jolting his attention back to the street. A woman emerged out onto the courthouse steps, a shaft of sunlight illuminating her red hair into an amber glow against the dull grey stone of the building behind her. The chilly autumnal breeze blew her pink gown tighter against her, seemingly outlining her shape for his further perusal. She had flowers in her hands and shock on her beautiful face and Nysio was stunned to silence for a moment, thankful for the privacy windows so that he could look his fill.

From a distance, she reminded him of one of the ancient goddesses in the paintings in the gallery of his Florentinepalazzo, as if she should have been in repose with cherubs feeding her grapes. And herbreasts... He bit his lower lip, forcing down the jolt of arousal that shot through his solar plexus.

Stunned at the reaction her presence had evoked in him, he tracked her progress as she moved down the street, calling out for the runaway bride. She turned back, the expression on her face one of absolute confusion as the rain poured down and splashed up against her bare legs and the pale pink material of her dress.

Most of the press in the street had dispersed now, but the woman in pink lingered. Such fierce emotion emanated from her, he found himself powerless to look away.

She approached the remaining security guards, her hands gesturing wildly as she spoke. The vague sound of a lyrical British accent reached his ears as he strained to make out the conversation. Her expression changed from pleading to furious as the men got into their car and drove away too, leaving her alone on the concrete steps in the rain.

Nysio watched as she dug around in a tiny purse hooked onto her wrist and heard the distinct sound of her guttural curse as she came up empty. Then, for the first time since she’d emerged onto the street, she went completely still. If he’d been struck speechless by the strength of emotion passing through her when she realised the bride was gone, this sudden deflation was even more provoking. She looked around the street for a moment, then ducked back under the portico for shelter from the rain.

Maybe it had been her clear distress moments before or maybe it was the delicate shiver that passed through her voluptuous frame as she tried to hug herself against the chill but, before he could rethink it, he stepped out from his car, opening his own umbrella against the downpour.

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