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determined
her
life would be different. She had no intention of following her mother’s treacherous path to unhappiness: three husbands, and an excess of selfish pleasures.
    Brigette was thirteen when Olympia died. She’d never known her real father – an Italian businessman whom her grandfather had always referred to as ‘the fortune-hunter’. Olympia had divorced him shortly after Brigette was born, and several months later he’d been blown to pieces by a terrorist car-bomb in Paris. Losing her mother and natural father at such an early age was bad enough, but more tragedies loomed ahead. Several months later she and Lucky’s son, Bobby, became involved in a kidnapping. Santino Bonnatti, a known crime czar and lifetime enemy of the Santangelo family, had the two children trapped in the house of his girlfriend, Eden Antonio, and was intent on sexually molesting them. Before he was able to succeed, Brigette had managed to grab his gun and fire three times, just as Lucky came to their rescue. Almost immediately the police were at the front door, but by that time Lucky had made sure Brigette and Bobby were hustled out the back and taken safely home. Lucky had then proceeded to accept responsibility for Santino’s death.
    Months later at Lucky’s trial, Brigette had gathered all her courage and jumped to her feet, publicly confessing. It was a brave thing to do, but she was unable to sit back any longer and allow Lucky to take the blame. Fortunately, there was a videotape proving Bonnatti’s shooting to be a clear case of self-defence.
    Brigette was placed on probation for a year and sent to live with her grandmother, Charlotte, Dimitri’s first wife.
    Charlotte was no comfortable grandmother figure. She was an elegant society matron, now married to her fourth husband, an English stage actor ten years her junior. They divided their time between a house in London’s Eaton Square and a New York brownstone.
    Looking after Brigette’s welfare was not exactly Charlotte’s dream come true. She had immediately enrolled her granddaughter in a strict private boarding school an hour’s drive from New York.
    All Brigette wanted was to be left alone. She felt like the original poor little rich girl with a scandalous past.
    She kept to herself, shunning any offers of friendship, for above all Brigette had learned the true secret of survival – and that was never to trust anyone.
    * * *
    â€˜Hey – Stanislob – it’s the phone for you.’
    Stanislob was one of the better names they called her. Brigette didn’t care. She knew who she was. She was Brigette Stanislopoulos. Person. Human being. Not the spoiled brat some of the tabloids liked to make her out to be.
    They never left her in peace, the gutter press. There was always someone lurking around, spying. A photographer hiding in the bushes, an insolent reporter tracking her every move. They watched her relentlessly.
    The tabloids had their favourites. Lisa Marie Presley, Princess Stephanie of Monaco, and Brigette Stanislopoulos – three young heiresses, always good for a story.
    Ignoring the stupid nickname, Brigette took the phone from a tall girl with frizzed hair and an abundance of freckles. Maybe they could have been friends. Another time – another life.
    â€˜Yes?’ She spoke hesitantly into the receiver. Her calls were supposed to be monitored, but nobody ever bothered.
    â€˜Hey – pretty girl – it’s Lennie. As usual I’ve come up with a sensational idea. What are your plans for the summer?’
    â€˜No plans.’
    â€˜I like it. I’m gonna speak to Lucky about you coming out here and spending time with us in Malibu. We’ve rented a sensational house. How about it?’
    Brigette was delighted. Lennie Golden and Lucky were the only two people she really cared about. Lennie, her ex-step-father, now married to Lucky, who had once been married to her