The Monte Carlo Shark
An International Legacies Romance
Camilla Stevens
Copyright © 2020 by Camilla Stevens
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Also by Camilla Stevens
WRIGHT BROTHERS SERIES
Mr. Wright & Mr. Wrong
Mr. & Mrs. Wright
So Wrong
STAND ALONE
One Night
Sweet Seduction
EX-CLUB ROMANCE SERIES
Archer: Ex-Bachelor
TEXAS HEAT ROMANCE SERIES
Home Run
High Stakes
Hard Sell
INTERNATIONAL LEGACIES ROMANCE
The Italian Heir
The French Thief
The Nordic Lightning
Her Icelandic Protector
Her Russian Defender
The Luxembourg Betrayal
About the Author
Camilla Stevens is a New York resident. At night you can find her typing away, often with a glass of wine, getting all the steamy, suspenseful or humorous, Happily Ever After stories out of her head and down on the page.
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Contents
DESCRIPTION
Author’s Note
Prologue
Part I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Part II
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Epilogue
Afterword
The Spanish Pirate (EXERPT)
DESCRIPTION
I show no mercy.
She just became my prey.
MAGNUS REINHARDT
Powerful. Cunning. Ruthless.
Sinfully rich…and as predatory as a shark.
He holds the key to saving my brother’s life and mine.
And I have forty days to obtain it.
I’m in Monte Carlo to get as close to the man as I can.
But in this world, he’s the one holding all the cards, and now all forty days are his.
As a successful attorney, I thought my skills of negotiation would be all the ammunition I need.
I quickly learn that seduction is my greatest weapon.
But seduction is a dangerous game with a billionaire who has it all—including a lethal reputation.
I thought I could remain strong while playing this game of ours, but now I’m left wondering…
Who’s the predator and who’s the prey?
This is a BWWM Stand Alone Romance in the International Legacies Romance series.
WARNING: Due to adult and slightly dark themes, for 18+ only.
Other Titles in the International Legacies Romance Series:
The Italian Heir
The French Thief
The Nordic Lightning
Her Icelandic Protector
Her Russian Defender
The Luxembourg Betrayal
Author’s Note
This book, as with all of the International Legacies Romance books that will follow, is a romance, not just between the two characters but also between me and the places I’ve personally been and loved. An ode of sorts to countries/cities I’ve visited.
Thus, I’d just like to offer the following caveats and explanations:
Language and Writing Style
Since most of these books take place in countries around the world, in order to have some semblance of authenticity, I had to have some way to include the local language (in this case French) without a) writing it in French and translating for the reader (ugh!) or b) including “he/she/they said in French” after every bit of dialogue.
As such, I’ve distinguished anything that isn’t said in English by putting it in italics. I realize that some readers may find this annoying, and I apologize, but I’d rather have you annoyed than confused, or worse, assuming everyone speaks English with one another.
That said…welcome to Monte Carlo! I hope you enjoy it as much as I personally did and one day have the chance to visit yourself.
Monte Carlo
My descriptions of all locations are taken from personal experience and interviewing (or interrogating) others, as well as individual research. As with most of the International Legacies Romance, bits and pieces of this are biographical, which means there will be things in here that differ from your experiences in these locales. Trust me, it happened! That said, although I’ve done my best to obtain the most up-to-date information, do your research before deciding you’d like to visit. I don’t take artistic liberties with things that can easily be figured out via a simple Google search or asking others—only when it comes to romance. :)
Prologue
Luxembourg
TWENTY YEARS AGO
“I know for a fact that my husband was murdered!”
My mother’s words still echo in my brain. They were spoken three days before she, like my father months before her, was also murdered.
Both of them at the hands of people here in attendance at her funeral.
As the widow of a publicly disgraced husband, the crowd of mourners should be sparse.
As the daughter of one of Monte Carlo’s most notorious gamblers, who died a penniless criminal, the number of those wishing to pay their respects should be near nonexistent.
But even the loss of status and wealth has its draw. Especially when tied to such a sordid past as that of the Reinhardts.
Only a handful of attendees are here to mourn. At least half
the others have come out of morbid curiosity. The remainder have a score to settle—or at least a score they hope to see laid to rest with my mother.
I’m sitting in the front pew next to my younger sister, her tiny hand gripping mine for dear life. I make sure to keep my eyes firmly on my mother’s casket, which will soon be buried in a plot next to my father’s. I don’t allow my gaze to stray beyond the five-year-old girl sitting next to me.
Wandering eyes would imply curiosity.
Curiosity can be deadly. I don’t need some overused adage about a cat to remind me of that.
At thirteen, I’m old enough to know how dangerous information can be. Or rather, I know how dangerous it can be to let others think you seek it, or worse, already have it.
Just like grandpa taught me during the rounds of poker we played when I was younger, keep your cards well hidden. From there, it’s all a matter of bluffing and carefully watching your opponent.
A boy focused on his mother’s remains during her funeral gives away no tells.
There is no quirk indicating that he’s well aware his father was killed to cover up a ring of money laundering and embezzlement reaching even the most pristine banks of Luxembourg.
No twitch to signal that he knows his mother was killed because she got too close to the truth.
No tic to alert them that the only thing on his mind is pure vengeance.
My sister and I are going to live in Monaco with our aunt. We’ll no longer be wealthy, even in that playground of the rich and famous, but that’s fine. I’ve learned there are more important things than wealth.
Things like intelligence…cunning…ruthlessness.
Just like the sharks from the book my father gave me when I was younger, I’ll move with stealth and determination, progressing with a single-minded focus on my prey.
Then I’ll strike.
And just like the shark in his territory, when I’m done, I’ll be more formidable and merciless than anyone in this sea of ours.
Especially with those who dare to get in my way.
Part I
The Prey
Chapter One
Sloane
Forty days.
How very biblical.
But there’s nothing pious about what I’ve been hired to do.
Hired. There’s another misnomer. Coerced. Blackmailed. Threatened. Those would be more fitting labels.
I have forty days to save my brother’s life. And let’s face it, mine as well. The kind of man my brother Theo caught the attention of doesn’t take prisoners.
I put both of them firmly out of my mind as I stare out at the decadent vibrancy of the city spread out before me. Serpentine roads winding past gorgeous, brightly-hued stucco buildings, all leading down to where the real action happens near the marina.
I just arrived this morning, but I already think Monte Carlo is beautiful, a place I would have loved visiting under any other circumstances. I had to fly into Nice, France, then catch a train here, since, much to my surprise, there is no airport in Monaco.
The irony is, my life as a corporate attorney, especially one trying to make partner, would have never allowed me the time off to visit the city.
Now I have forty days.
Not that I plan on using them all.
Get what I need, then get out. That’s the plan. After all, that’s what I do for a living—finding that needle in a haystack to make the best possible deal for the financial clients of Douglas & Foster.
But Magnus Reinhardt is hardly Bennett Financial, Credit Suisse, Bank of America, or even the former Gaultier Financial.
He’s not nearly as big.
But as an entity, he is…big.
I’ve done my research, so I know enough about the man to make that claim. Not only is he a six-foot-five, pentathlon competitor (two-time world champion), he’s publicly worth over a billion dollars. Privately—secretly—worth much more than that.
I stare down at the marina. Even from up here, I can see his yacht, a sleek, dark gray, predatory-looking thing that stands out among the rest. It isn’t the biggest or most ostentatious—several visiting sheiks and oligarchs have already filled those slots—but it is the most formidable.
The Mako. Presumably named after the shark.
A fitting name for the property of a man many people call The Shark. Having learned everything I can about Magnus, I’m still not sure whether it’s with regard to his ruthless business dealings or his insatiable appetite for more of everything.
Monte Carlo is just one of his residences. He also owns homes in New York, London, Luxembourg, São Paulo, and Singapore. He habitually frequents many more cities beyond that. There isn’t a place on Earth he hasn’t made a business deal.
Considering how many pies the man has his fingers in, one would think he’d have had his fill by now. But he doesn’t stop. After one deal, he’s on to the next, constantly moving.
Like a shark.
Or at least he used to. Over the past year, he’s been quietly selling off his assets, filling the collective mind of the financial world with all sorts of speculation. Every dinner party he hosts, every trip he takes to a new locale, even the events he attends all create new buzz about what he’s planning on doing with the cash reserves he’s been piling.
And I need to be the woman to figure it out before all of them. This isn’t a needle in a haystack; it’s a needle locked in a vault that only Magnus has the code to.
I know he’s currently here in Monte Carlo.
The sixty-four thousand dollar question is, what is he up to while he’s here? Or perhaps I should call it the ten-million-dollar question, considering that’s the amount that got me into this mess in the first place.
More than likely, Magnus is in his massive home up in the hills, which is massively well-guarded. Or he could be staying in one of the luxury hotels for which this city is famous. Heaven knows a handful of them are probably at least partially owned by one of his shell corporations.
Then, of course, there’s his yacht, larger than most homes, and probably far more luxurious. I’ve seen some of the crew running around on board with the sort of efficient briskness that harkens an upcoming visit from the owner.
It’s just as good a place to start as any.
I quickly make my way down the sidewalk until I’ve reached an area near the marina. I stare out at the Mako as I slowly stroll past luxury shops. Access to the docks is guarded by a single policeman. Such security seems improbably minimal, considering the total value of what lies beyond it. For my purposes, it might as well be as well-guarded as Fort Knox. I’m certainly not going to create an international incident by trying to con my way past him.
I detour to the nearby line of outdoor seating areas outside of the row of bars that are probably party-central come nightfall. At just before eleven o’clock in the morning, the padded cushions are just beginning to appear on benches and chairs and lounge seats.
I casually stroll along the slightly raised platform until I catch a man putting the finishing touches on one area that seems like it’s already fully set up, complete with white cushions over black wicker ottomans and couches.
“Excusez-moi. Parlez-vous anglais?” That is about ninety percent of my French, and I mentally cross my fingers, hoping he answers yes.
His casual shrug and nod allow a small sigh of relief to escape my lips.
“Is it too early to order a drink?”
The way he assesses me indicates that officially the answer would be “no,” but he may make an exception.
I’m obviously American, which may or may not be a bonus.
Being black is a toss-up these days, usually not in my favor.
My beauty? Well, it lies in the eye of the beholder.
The only thing I can reasonably rely on is the Yves Saint Laurent handbag draped over my shoulder. Expensive accessories are my guilty splurge.
As someone specializing in the financial industry, I know better th
an anyone: money talks.
Seemingly finding me acceptable, he nonchalantly waves a hand toward the seating area. I flash a brief smile and wander in to settle down on one of the corner couches nearest the marina, which just happens to have a perfect view of the Mako.
The boats are arranged by size, from the small two-seater motorboats across the road right in front of me to the large cruise ship in the distance.
But I only have eyes for one of them. From my vantage point, I can see all the comings and goings of the activity onboard the Mako. If I’m lucky, I may even get a glimpse of the owner himself.