Royal Digs

(Cozy Cash Mystery #4)

By D. D. Scott

Bonus Material Included:

VESUVIUS

(A Prequel to THE ROYAL DIGS)

An Excerpt of

THE BILLIONAIRES’ CHRISTMAS CLUB

(Co-Authored with Theresa Ragan)

Copyright © 2012 by D. D. Scott. All rights
reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places and incidents are either products of the
author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can
be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means,
electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the
author or publisher.

First Electronic Edition: October 2012

Smashwords Edition

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VESUVIUS

THE ROYAL DIGS

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
|
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
|
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
|
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN

NOTE FROM D. D. SCOTT

WHAT’S COMING SOON FROM D. D.
SCOTT

THE BILLIONAIRES’ CHRISTMAS
CLUB

CHAPTER ONE

ABOUT D. D. SCOTT

BOOKS BY D. D. SCOTT

(Prequel to Cozy Cash Mystery #4 - The Royal
Digs)

(Quartermaster R’s story)

S
tanding in the Museo
di Capodimonte, Valerie Malloy studied the many interpretations of
Vesuvius’ eruption. It wasn’t just the volcanic activity that burst
from the canvases. It was the color play and emotion-filled lines
that captured the explosive vitality of Naples.

Just like the artists she admired, Valerie
understood the mysteries of the city and the beauty that the
violence of the eruptions had carved into its bay. And as if she
were in Homer’s Odyssey sailing home from the Trojan War, she
struggled to escape the deadly songs of the Sirens.

Like the young aristocrats of 18th century
England, she first came to Naples for The Grand Tour upon her
graduation from Harvard. Not only did she explore her classical
past, she also met the man who forever changed her future.

The devastation of Vesuvius was no match for
the pain she’d endured at the hands of Giotto Bernini.

As her mind bent towards his memories, cold
chills claimed not just her body but also her soul.

It was almost as if he were once more present
and watching her, a feat she reasoned impossible. But was it? With
his abilities and his family’s vast resources, she knew better than
to disregard his power.

In hopes that the warmth of the Italian
sunshine would calm her unsettled spirit, she rushed out of the
museum. But the air still held the same restless currents as
earlier in the day. And there was certainly nothing soothing about
the dark sky hinting at the approach of a fierce storm.

As the winds began to blow, she hurried
home.

Reaching the ancient stone walls that guarded
her villa just as the first rain drops splattered the dirt road,
she pushed hard against the rusted iron gate that lead to the
safety of her courtyard.

As she struggled to close it, the
bougainvillea blanketing the wall danced a wild jig. Her lemon
trees bent and twisted to their own wicked groove. And torrential
rains beat down on everything in their path.

When she was almost safe at her doorstep, a
small boy whizzed to a halt on his Vespa only inches from the gate.
The wild-eyed street urchin jumped from his bike, waved his arms,
and frantically called out to her.

“Bella! Bella!”

Not expecting any messages and leery of these
urchins, she was tempted to ignore the boy. ‘Course these days, she
ignored almost everyone. She simply couldn’t take those kinds of
risks.

Giotto had eliminated most of her family and
friends, and so as not to put anyone else in his family’s or
associates’ paths, she socialized with few.

But something in the boy’s urgency made her
acknowledge him.

“Scusilo?” He asked while hurrying through
the gate.

Taking a small piece of parchment out of his
pocket, he placed it in her hand, then high-tailed it back to his
bike and sped off through the storm.

She brushed her fingers across the back of
the way-too-familiar embossed seal and trembled.

This could not be true.

Five years had passed. And nothing. No
contact. No unfortunate accidents. Nothing but peace.

She closed the heavy wooden door to her villa
and carefully opened the note.

She gasped. Screamed towards the heavens,
then dropped the note and crumpled into a heap on the cold mosaic
tiles of her entryway.

She remembered a crack of lightning followed
by a horrific boom of thunder. And then her world went black.

• • •

Focusing on the candlelight and the crackling
fire that illuminated the otherwise dark room, Valerie struggled to
comprehend what was happening.

It had to be a bad dream. It simply had to
be, she thought. She refused to believe otherwise. But after
Giotto’s death at the hands of the Italian police, nightmares of
this magnitude had no longer plagued her sleep. So why now? Why had
they returned?

Five years ago, on a stormy night, not much
different than this one, while the police raided one of Giotto’s
illegitimate storefronts, Valerie walked away from her life as a
mob wife. She was pregnant and alone. But with the help of the
Italian and American governments, she was determined never to look
back.

The storm continued to cast its power over
the Italian countryside while she struggled to reconcile what was
happening now with what she thought she’d left behind. Ferocious
winds tore the curtains away from the open windows and fed a
chilling dampness in the air swirling around her. The rain added
its own steady cadence to the soft Neapolitan music that filled her
ears.

This couldn’t be happening. No, she thought,
twisting and turning till she’d escaped the confines of her sheets.
Even though she could feel the rain coming in through the window
and landing on her forehead, she was too afraid to face the
possibilities her mind presented.

That music
.
Please
.
Please,
make it stop
.

The same melody had filled the piazza the
night she first met him. She had been counting lira to purchase an
exquisite coral necklace. With a smooth exchange of few words but
no lira, a dark, devastatingly handsome stranger, introduced to her
as Giotto, secured the pendant around her neck.

That night, she thought he was a part of the
heroic charm of the city. But she soon learned that he was the
prince of its most sinister slums.

Giotto Bernini controlled everything and
everyone in Naples. Then, he’d taken his empire to a global scale.
By trading high-end derivatives for international banks and private
investors, he’d amassed an unparalleled fortune and the power that
came with that kind of unmatched wealth. People feared him, and
they had every reason to be afraid.

Letting go of her way too fresh memories, she
tried to right herself in her bed but was held back by strong,
masculine hands she remembered well.

Focusing on the dark shadow that hovered over
her, she began to trace the outline of the man who would never
vacate the darkest recesses of her mind.

“It can’t be. No. You’re gone,” she
whispered.

“Did you really think I’d die before seeing
to your demise?”

Giotto caressed her face then ran his fingers
along the edge of a nightgown she had no knowledge of putting
on.

“Bastard! Don’t you touch me!”

She tried to push him away but could not
match his strength.

“How did you find me?” She asked, even though
she knew, for a man like him, it would not have been too
difficult.

“I know all of your favorite places to
hide.”

Though fear had paralyzed her body, her mind
remained sharp.

“Isn’t it enough that you’ve killed everyone
I ever loved?”

“I used to think so.”

“Then what changed your mind?” Even though
the answer terrified her, she had to know the truth.

“I think you already know.”

As the sharp white gleam of a lightning bolt
back-lit his body, she released a small scream.

“No. It can’t be. I’ve done everything to
protect him. You couldn’t have found him. Not Raulf. Not my
baby.”

“Don’t you mean ‘our baby’?” Giotto’s
thunderous voice boomed throughout the room. “How dare you keep him
from me. The heir to my legacy.”

“Giotto...”

She tried to speak, but her attempt was met
with the palm of his hand striking her cheek. Remembering all too
well the feel of that sharp snap, she shook.

“You’ll pay, Valerie,” he seethed. “No one
deceives me once, let alone twice.”

As the tears she’d held inside for years fell
from her eyes, she took shallow breaths. After seeing him once more
in the flesh, the sting of the skin on her cheek was nothing
compared to the arrows of sheer terror that punctured her
heart.

For the last five years, she had kept Raulf
hidden from his father. She’d done everything she could to keep him
from harm, all the while knowing that if Giotto was still alive,
he’d eventually return to claim what, in his mind, was his
alone...their son.

“Where is he?”

With all the resolve and faith she still held
onto, Valerie laughed.

“You must be out of your fucking mind to
think I’d tell you that.”

She clenched her teeth then spit at him.

“I’ll die first,” she said, willing to do
whatever it took to protect her son.

Giotto raised one fist high into the air and
grabbed her throat.

She closed her eyes and prayed to Saint
Christopher that she and Raulf would be safe in their future
journeys. She thanked her heavenly father that she, and not her
son, had met Giotto’s final wrath. With a last ‘amen’, she reached
one hand under her pillow and tightly grasped the cold metal handle
of the knife she always kept there.

Just as she began to feel her spirit leave
her body, the sound of a powerful explosion catapulted her back
against the wrought iron headboard.

Giotto released his hold on her throat. His
body lunged forward and then crumpled backward to the floor.

She recognized the smell of a fired pistol.
Whispy swirls of smoke drifted in front of her. Her gown was wet,
spattered with Giotto’s blood.

Coughing and choking as air rushed back into
her lungs, she heard the sound of metal hitting wood and saw her
silver revolver lying on the floor.

She reached for the folded parchment the
street urchin had given her which was on her bedside table. She
crushed it between her blood-stained hands and threw it into the
flames of the hearth.

Stepping over Giotto’s body, she reached
inside the hidden compartment underneath the false bottom of the
drawer in her night table.

Thank God it was still there, she thought. He
hadn’t found the other thing he was looking for.

She removed the gilded key she hoped to
someday use then reached for her son’s still shaking hands.