The Ultimate Playboy(2)

                Setting the list down, he fired up his computer. Entering the security codes, he pulled up the file he kept on his father.

                The report his private investigator updated on a regular basis showed that the old man had rallied a little from the blow Narciso had dealt him three months ago.

                Rallied but not fully recovered. Within minutes, Narciso was fully up to speed on his father’s latest business dealings.

                He didn’t fool himself into thinking it gave him any sort of upper hand. He knew his father kept a similar file on him. But the game wouldn’t have been this interesting if advantages had been one-sided. Nevertheless Narciso gained a lot of satisfaction from knowing he’d won three of their last four skirmishes.

                He was contemplating the latest approach to his annihilation campaign when his phone buzzed.

                Allowing the distraction, he thumbed the interactive surface and read the message from Nicandro Carvalho, the closest thing he had to a best friend.





                Still caught in premature midlife-crisis mode, or are you ready to shake off that clinging BOM image?





                Boring old man. A corner of his mouth lifted as his gaze slid to the list and his father’s name. Suddenly energised, he whipped back a response.





                BOM has left the building. Care to get your ass whopped at poker?





                Nicandro’s response—Dream on but bring it on—made him laugh for the first time in weeks.

                Powering down his laptop, he slammed it shut. His gaze once again fell on the mask. Picking it up, he stashed it in his safe and shrugged into his suit jacket.

                Zeus would receive his RSVP in the morning, once he’d devised exactly how he was going to take his father down once and for all.

                * * *

                The internet was a scary place. But it was an invaluable tool if you wanted to hunt down a slippery son of a bitch.

                Ruby Trevelli sat cross-legged on her sofa and stared at the blinking cursor awaiting her command. That she was reduced to online trawling for a solution to her problem spiked equal measures of irritation and frustration through her.

                She’d made it a point to avoid anything to do with social media. The one time she’d foolishly typed her name into a search engine, the sheer volume of false information she’d discovered had scared her into never trying again.

                Of course, she’d also found enough about her parents to have scarred her for life if she hadn’t already been scarred.

                Tonight, she had no choice. Because despite thousands of pages featuring Narciso Media Corporation, every effort to speak to someone who could help her had been met with a solid stone wall. She’d already wasted a solid hour discovering that a thirty-year-old billionaire named Narciso Valentino owned NMC.

                She snorted under her breath. Who on earth named their child Narciso anyway? That was like inviting bullies and snark-mongers to feast on the poor child. On the flip side, his unique name had eased her search.

                Sucking in a breath, she typed in her next request: Narciso’s New York hangouts. There were over two million entries. Awesome.

                Either there were millions of men out there named Narciso or the man she sought was indecently popular.

                Offering up a Hail Mary, she clicked the first link. And nearly gagged at the graphic burlesque images that popped up.