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Switzerland is a wonderful country and Swiss banking laws are ideal for someone like me.

Just a month after spending the winter at Senora Cortez's winter retreat in the Canary Islands, Diego Hernandez disappeared as did some of Maria Alejandra's wealth. To reiterate, I spent my time in the Canaries between her legs or Maria Alejandria was on her knees.

I spent my time in the Canaries moving small sums of her money to my accounts.

I re-appeared in Zurich. I should say Enzo Mancini appeared in Zurich. Enzo spoke Italian like he was born in Naples.

In addition to their banking privacy laws, Switzerland was a haven for displaced royalty. They were everywhere, and to my joy many fled their counties of origin with the crown jewels; literally.

My fear was that I'd run into "friends" of Princess Sophie von Hauphtmann. Friends who Sophie had insisted I entertain with the tongue she'd trained. Friends who she told about her missing jewels, gems, money.

It was bound to happen and I'd prepared myself for it. Six months after fleeing the warm bed of Maria Alejandra I was enjoying morning coffee on the patio of a Zurich bistro overlooking the lake and the mountains. It was a glorious morning.

I'd left the villa of a lovely young Swiss woman just an hour ago. The woman had a talent that's for sure. Her ass was in non-stop mode much of the night and my cock was the recipient. It was marvelous. It had happened a number of time since I'd arrived here. Unfortunately, like the woman last night, none had the wealth I was seeking.

"Excuse me," a woman, perhaps in her fifties, interrupted my day dream of the woman whose bed I'd shared last night and this morning, "aren't you Ivan Rudzinski?" she asked in a Slavic language common in my native land.

In Italian I said, "I don't understand."

"My apologies, sir," she switched to Italian. "You look just like a man I once knew."

"My name is Enzo Mancini."

She was right. Princess Sophie insisted that I spend a night with her, but it had been almost three years ago. I couldn't think of her name. I mean it was just one weekend, and our conversation was limited to mostly grunts and groans, and "Oooooooooh, Ivan, oooooooh Ivan, your tongue, ooooh your tongue."

"Madam, my tongue is attracted to the sweetest pussy a man could imagine."

"Sorry, signore. I must be mistaken."

I nodded, as she started to walk away. She looked back at me.

I stood up, "Signora, won't you join me?" I pulled out a chair and waved to a waiter.

"Thank you. My name is Olga Semenova." Of course, it was. Now, I remember leaving her with a smile on my face, laughing at the thought that Olga Semenova had a thing for semen. I mean, she'd just about drained it all out of my cock. How ironic Semenova=semen.

"Enzo." I held the chair as she sat down. I smiled thinking of the time Princess Sophie fixed me up with her. "Ivan, she's not the prettiest woman you'll ever please with your tongue, but when the Communists took over Russia, her family fled. They deposited millions and millions in banks in Switzerland, England and in the United States. They could buy a small country."

Now, that same Olga Semenova was sitting across from me. We made small

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