In a hospital in Vienna, Leo finally saw Rachel Stone, her body wrapped in bandages.
Emily stood anxiously by the bedside, clutching Leo's hand tightly, trying to calm the chaos in her heart.
Rachel—this strong woman who on the battlefield was no weaker than any man—now had a face full of anger.
"Despicable cowards. They actually resorted to dirty tricks."
From Rachel's account, Leo finally pieced together what had happened.
Vienna, as the world's capital of music and art, had quickly restored its pre-war level of performances.
Emily, as a young opera student, often performed, though usually in minor roles with just one or two lines.
As the year drew to a close, her academy carefully prepared an ambitious end-of-year production. The director was a renowned master in the European opera circle. Because the lead role was a youthful schoolgirl, the director didn't cast his usual mature female collaborators. Instead, he held an open audition at the academy. Emily and her classmate Christina were both fortunate enough to be shortlisted for the female lead.
After the cast was finalized, the more socially adept Christina invited everyone to a dinner gathering. Emily usually had no interest in such parties, which she considered a chaotic carnival of depravity.
War had left Europe impoverished, yet many men and women still sought luxury: some became mistresses, others gigolos. The lucky ones became the playthings of nobility; the unlucky ones settled for American officers stationed in Austria or even local mafia bosses.
To Emily's shock, some even swapped partners, and such gatherings served as their hunting grounds. Emily had always kept her distance from these sordid affairs.
But this time was different—the director himself was attending. With his personal invitation, Emily thought it might be more proper. Still, she remembered Leo's advice: never lower your guard. She therefore brought Rachel Stone along.
Unfortunately, the gathering's nature didn't change because of the director's presence. Emily watched in disgust as the director draped his arms around both his favorite actress and Christina. At that moment, she abandoned any illusions—she left immediately, even if it meant losing the lead role.
Not long after they left the restaurant, they were ambushed.
Leo, distressed, hugged Emily tightly.
Rachel rolled her eyes and muttered:
"Emily's fine. When those bastards tried to hurt her, thank goodness Rainier appeared."
"Rainier?" Leo raised an eyebrow.
"A European noble," Rachel explained, "and Emily's admirer."
Leo frowned. "We had an agreement about this sort of situation, Rachel. You should have called me."
"It was my idea not to," Emily said softly, lowering her head.
"Don't blame Rachel. You've been so busy with the presidential campaign. I didn't want to distract you with my troubles."
Leo frowned deeper. The situation smelled familiar—too much like when he had once courted Grace Kelly as part of a ploy.
Back then, he had mingled on Broadway for three months, learning the theater world inside and out. He knew that without patrons, students never became lead actresses. The so-called "fresh, youthful spirit" was just a trick to fool naïve girls like Emily. Mature actresses could easily act youthful on stage. This wasn't film, where cameras magnified every wrinkle.
So this "audition" already made Leo suspicious. At first, he blamed the director. Now, with this "heroic savior" Rainier, the suspicion deepened.
Having dealt with many nobles in Britain, Leo understood them well. These men, never lacking women who willingly threw themselves at them, cared less about the women than about the hunt.
"Rachel, who do you think was behind the attack?" Leo asked.
"Christina," Rachel said without hesitation. "She's the mistress of the police chief of Vienna's Burgenland district. He controls many Eastern European gangs. The attackers had Eastern European accents. Plus, Christina had motive: if Emily were injured, she'd secure the lead role. After a year studying with Emily, I've seen it—these girls will do anything for a chance."
Leo chuckled. "Rachel, you've grown. Using words like motive now?"
Rachel blushed. "Well… I didn't come up with it. Prince Rainier told me."
Leo's eyes narrowed. "So it was also Rainier who told you Christina was the police chief's mistress?"
Rachel nodded. Emily, silent all this time, looked at Leo with wide, thoughtful eyes.
"Leo, are you suspecting Rainier?" she asked.
Relieved his woman wasn't naïve, Leo nodded.
At that moment, a knock came at the door. Speak of the devil—an impeccably handsome, tall young man entered with two bouquets: lilies and roses. Smiling, he opened his mouth as if to greet Emily—then froze when he saw Leo.
His smile stiffened, his eyes flashing with displeasure as he noticed Emily clinging to Leo's arm. Quickly recovering, Rainier placed both bouquets smartly on Rachel's table instead.
Then he turned to Leo with measured scrutiny.
"Emily, so this is the reason you refused me?
Good day, sir. I am Rainier Louis Henri Maxence Bertrand Grimaldi."
His voice brimmed with confidence, certain that his illustrious aristocratic name would overwhelm some American upstart.
Leo, however, wore an astonished look—not because of the long name, but because he knew it. This was the future Prince of Monaco, Rainier, the man destined to marry Grace Kelly.
And hadn't Augustus once mentioned a major venture involving him? Indeed—under Augustus' arrangement, several young European royals planned to turn Monaco into a gambling haven modeled after Las Vegas. The central figure was none other than the man before him.
"Your Highness Prince Rainier," Leo greeted politely.
Rainier lifted his chin, pleased that Leo recognized his status. Like Leo suspected, Rainier was fishing—this was his sport. He was drawn not just to Emily's beauty but also to her American small-town innocence.
Having investigated her, he believed she had come to Europe with her father, Michael, who ran a Vienna trading company selling American goods. Enough to intimidate locals, but not someone an aristocrat like Rainier would hesitate to cross.
Especially now that he had ties with the Morgan family—ties that, if cemented, would make him one of Europe's brightest royals.
But discovering Emily had a boyfriend—and an American one at that—irritated him. His carefully staged "heroic rescue," arranged with directors and police chiefs, had netted him a flawed catch. He couldn't abandon it, though; his aristocratic circle already knew of his pursuit. Failure would make him a laughingstock.
Seeing Leo's handsome face, Rainier felt jealousy for the first time, coupled with a primal loathing—as if something vital had been stolen from him.
Yet this only excited him more. The thought of making Emily lean in his arms while Leo watched promised perverse satisfaction.
"Since you know me," Rainier smirked, "as a gentleman, shouldn't you introduce yourself?"
"Leo Valentino," Leo said, extending his hand.
Rainier vaguely recalled the name but dismissed it. He turned to Emily instead:
"Emily, since you're better now, if you wish to investigate who hurt Rachel, come to me. I have many friends in Vienna. And about your dream of becoming a lead actress—don't worry, as a friend, I'll help."
The seasoned fisherman knew not to clash head-on with Leo. Instead, he showcased his capability and charm. With a nod to Rachel, he departed without awaiting Emily's reply.
Outside, Rainier smirked, imagining Leo gnashing his teeth. The more Leo opposed him, the taller Rainier's image would grow in Emily's heart. Soon, the fish would bite.
Inside, however, Emily whispered:
"Leo, something feels wrong. But… will dealing with such a prince cause trouble for you?"
Touched that she still worried for him, Leo stroked her hair.
"Don't worry. In two or three days—maybe tomorrow—Prince Rainier will come here to apologize."
Then he turned to Rachel with a sigh.
"Rachel, you need to read more. You're great at fighting, but protecting Emily with that brain of yours worries me."
Joking aside, as he left, Leo added seriously:
"Rest well. I'll avenge you."
Back at the hotel, Leo immediately called Marshall. Anyone who dared wound his people would pay. With Truman's victory, Marshall had gained much too, and readily gave Leo the U.S. Army garrison commander's number in Austria.
Coincidentally, a unit was already stationed in Vienna.
"Sir, what's our objective?" the officer asked.
Leo's eyes gleamed coldly.
"The Burgenland District Police Headquarters. Find the chief's residence. Through him, locate the Eastern European gang that hurt our citizen Rachel Stone—and wipe them out.
And don't forget: in this glorious battle against Eastern European criminals, the district police chief died heroically on the front line. He's a hero of Vienna.
My men will meet you at the station."
Leo assigned Walter to oversee it. As for "evidence"? Suspicion was evidence enough. In Austria, no one could make Leo hesitate.
Meanwhile, he enjoyed dancing with Emily, her singing soothing his soul.
While Leo basked in tenderness, Rainier arrived at a castle on Vienna's outskirts—once belonging to the Marquis of Hohenberg. Here, his friend Vitelli Hohenberg was hosting a banquet to welcome none other than Morgan Augustus, freshly arrived from London.
Rainier entered the inner hall, where all the nobles fawned over Augustus. Though Rainier secretly looked down on Americans, the wars had changed everything. To preserve their aristocratic privileges, they now needed money.
And for Rainier, facing de Gaulle's covetous gaze on Monaco, wealth was the only way to secure his family's future glory.
After several rounds of wine, the atmosphere warmed. To liven the mood, Rainier's friend Traun teased him:
"So, Rainier, have you caught your American beauty yet?"
Hearing "American girl," Augustus glanced curiously. Rainier's eyes lit up—this was his chance to build rapport.
"Not yet," Rainier admitted. "She has an American boyfriend. Mr. Augustus, I truly adore her. Could you help investigate her boyfriend, so I can pursue my love?"
Augustus, in good spirits, sipped champagne and casually asked:
"Of course, Prince Rainier. What's his name?"
"Leo. Leo Valentino. Please, Mr. Augustus."
The moment the name left his lips, the banquet's lively air froze. Augustus, who had been smiling warmly, set down his glass and stared icily at him.
"Repeat who you want me to investigate."
Rainier's heart sank. But under that cold gaze, he stammered:
"Leo… Valentino."