This is a story I adopted from my dear friend Daphne. The first two chapters are hers, but the rest was written by me. I hope you like our Victory creation.

Chapter 1

What the hell had she been thinking coming here? Marty Saybrooke wondered for what must have been the hundredth time since her feet hit the tarmac back at the small airport. This trip was sure only to end in misery but she had to do this. A life truly was truly depending on it.

She sat in the back of the taxi now watching crystal blue waves roll in and out with the tide from her vantage point at the rear window. All too soon, the taxi was pulling up in front of what could only be described as a magnificent estate. A sprawling villa stood before her overlooking a sharp drop down into the frothy ocean. Its high walls looked fortress-like to Marty then and she wondered if she would even be allowed past the front gate.

She had no choice but to try though. She climbed out of the taxi as it stopped at the gates. She handed the driver, a chunky, bald man, a fistful of American dollars and his eyes danced with joy. He pocketed it and then zipped out of there. Marty realized if she was turned away, she had no less than a ten mile walk back to civilization. It was just another reason she couldn't leave empty-handed. She refused to.

Yes, she refused to. He would just have to see reason though he was a hot-head when she knew him and an unpredictable one at that. She didn't know how all this was going to go but she prayed that she could evoke the humane, giving side of him and he would help her dying relation.

She sighed and walked towards the intercom. It took a long moment before she could bring herself to press the button on it. It crackled and then an accented female voice was saying, "Salve. Portere aiuto?" Marty remembered from a high school Latin class that salve was the word for "hello" and aiuto the one for "help". So someone was asking her basically can I help you?

Oh that they could.

"Salve," Marty returned. "Do you speak English by any chance?"

A loud sigh and then the women was saying, "We don't invite nor do we appreciate door-to-door solicitation."

"I am not selling anything!" Marty insisted. "I just really need to speak with Victor Lord Junior."

"Don't they all?" The disembodied voice returned. "What does this concern?"

"It's a private matter," Marty said.

"Sorry but that is not sufficient enough of an explanation for me."

"Please, Ma'am, I really need to speak with him! Please tell him his ex-wife Marty Saybrooke is here to see him."

Silence stretched on for a long moment and Marty was sure she had been dismissed. But to her surprise, the woman said, "I will go and speak with Mr. Lord. Wait there."

Marty nodded. "I'll stay put. Grazie."

She then had no choice but to wait.

XoXoXo

Antonia Ludovica turned away from the intercom in the control room and instead moved over to the panel of televisions that were lined along the wall. She hit the number four and immediately she was looking at the front entrance of the compound-like villa where the intercom was positioned. Her coal-black eyes zeroed in on the live picture of a woman with impossibly curly blonde hair pacing anxiously in front of the gates. Antonia watched her pause in her anxious steps for a moment and look in the direction of the camera, as if she sensed she was being watched. The woman was beautiful; Antonia could see that easily enough. She was also American. Antonia could tell that by her dress and unaccented voice. More curiously, she couldn't have been more than twenty-five. Far too young for the going on thirty-eight year old Victor Lord Jr. Antonia was cut with a brief indecision about what to do. She could easily send the woman away – even have her carted away by physical force – but she knew Victor would enjoy dressing this woman down. No one could tell someone off like her employer and certainly, he would do the same to this wanton American woman. Antonia knew Victor was never married because he would have told her so. He confided everything in her. He trusted her implicitly.

Antonia pushed her veil of black hair off her slender shoulders and then turned and walked purposefully out of the control room. She passed no less than three maids just on her short trek to the study at the top of the main staircase. She approached the door and knocked. "Victor, it's Antonia," she announced herself.

"Come in," he said after a long moment and she pushed back the door to find her extremely handsome employer and sometimes lover sitting behind his desk, surrounded by a pile of blue prints. It was no secret that he wanted to expand on the already impressive villa by adding another wing to it. A wing that would be a nursery if he had his way.

Victor looked at Antonia under his long, blonde eyelashes. "What is it, Toni?"

"There is someone at the front gate asking for you."

"Another charity case?" Victor sniffed. He was among the richest men in Italy. Of course people routinely asked for handouts.

"Maybe, I can't decide. I do know that she's cooked up a nice story to try to get to you."

"Oh?"

"Yes. She says she's your former wife."

Victor's expression didn't change. "Did she give you her name?"

"She did. It's Marty … Say … Saybrooke," Antonia said and this time his expression changed ever so imperceptibly. His jaw tightened and his eyes darkened a bit in shade.

"Marty you say?"

"Yes, do you know her?" Antonia asked. "If she really who she claims to be?"

Victor nodded. "Yes, yes, she is," he said. "Show her in."

"Victor, do you think it's wise to –"

He cut her off with a menacing glare. "I said, show her in. This should be very interesting."

"To say the least," Antonia said and stalked off to retrieve the American woman she knew was going to put a major fly into her ointment…