Her knees wanted to buckle. She’d just seen her brother. Her brother! Twenty-two maybe, he was a little taller and thicker-set than Gerardo. He looked as if he could be a good guy, handling his tricky father with good humour and holding his head up in an embarrassing situation.

On unsteady legs she turned and headed back for her car. Once inside, she sat for a long time staring at the yellow streetlights and the peeling paint on nearby buildings. Heart racing, she tried to process the sighting of her younger brother. Riccardo.

Then the enormity of what Gerardo had told her about Brendon filtered in.

She forced herself to face the truth. She, and she alone, had caused the chasm between herself and Piero. She’d accused without checking a single fact. Not one. No wonder he’d stared at her so blankly. So silently. It had been a refusal to lower himself to answer such a challenge to his integrity.

She was an idiot. She must apologise, and not the tempering half-apology she’d offered him tonight but an unreserved, wholehearted acceptance of fault.

But there was something she needed to do even before that. She took out her phone and dialled.

Brendon answered, ‘Hey,’ in a smug, I’ve been waiting for this call tone.

‘What the fuck?’ she said flatly.

‘Well, good evening to you, too,’ he purred mockingly.

‘How did you get hold of my birth father? How do you know who he is? And why would you encourage him to ask me for money?’ She thought she knew at least some of the answers but needed to hear it from his own lips.

Brendon laughed, obviously pleased with himself. ‘It’s been interesting, following your little adventure second-hand. Especially the private investigator stuff. Who would have thought it’s so easy and effective? A few quid and I had your father’s address. I wrote, including my contact details and the offer of a reward, and he was on the phone like a punter with a winning lottery ticket.’

Disappointment shrank Zia’s skin. ‘You mean you’ve been fishing for information about me via Stephan, who gets it from Ursula? Like … stalking.’

His laugh was astonished this time. ‘That’s not stalking.’