Page 70 of Once Upon a Time in Venice

She followed Brad back through the palazzo, past the acrobats and the living statues, out of the main door and into the Venetian night. The sky was black like velvet, a gleaming moon suspended in the darkness, as they boarded their private boat to return to the White Palace. The skipper was up at the front, while Brad and Issy relaxed in the cosy, glass-covered cabin at the back, reclining on the soft cushions of the sofa-like seating. Despite the cabin being heated, Issy couldn’t seem to get warm, and she shivered.

‘Are you cold?’ Brad asked, and Issy nodded.

He moved closer, wrapping his arm around her. ‘Lean into me, I’ll keep you warm.’

Issy did as he’d suggested, luxuriating in the closeness, the heady feeling of being pressed against his body, his muscular arms wrapped tightly around her. The tension between them was so intense that Issy felt she might explode, every nerve ending in her body on high alert.

‘You can take your mask off now,’ Brad murmured.

‘Oh,’ Issy faltered, feeling foolish. She’d almost forgotten she was wearing it.

Brad removed his too, and for the first time that evening she could properly see his handsome face: the lightly tanned skin and lantern jawline and full lips. His piercing blue eyes were looking at her with unmistakeable desire.

Brad and Issy moved almost imperceptibly closer, as though by unspoken agreement, and Issy knew that Brad was about to kiss her. Finally, blissfully, their lips met, and it was everything Issy had ever imagined. It felt so natural, so right, yet so incredibly exciting all at the same time. Their bodies moulded together, unfulfilled longing finally finding a release, as Brad’s hands slid urgently over her body and Issy moaned softly.

Overhead, through the glass panel, the stars were dazzling, the water lapping gently against the sides of the boat as it chugged through the water. Venice was beautiful, and the night was perfect.

Chapter 30

Lucia took a sip of water and looked out at the hastily assembled journalists, seated in rows in front of her.

She was in the opulent ballroom of the White Palace, amidst the frescoes and chandeliers, seated at a long table with her agent on one side of her and her publicist on the other, and she was dressed perfectly for the occasion in a demure white dress with a high collar, to signal her virtue. Her platinum-blonde hair was tied back in a low ponytail, and her make-up was minimal.

There was a buzz of excited chatter, until her publicist, Allegra Girardi, held up a finger for the room to quieten down and a flurry of hands shot into the air.

‘Lucia, why did you cancel your performance last night?’

Lucia cast her gaze down in an expression of penitence. ‘Of course it was the last thing I wanted to do – I never want to let down my fans – but I didn’t have a choice. As I’m sure you’ve all heard by now, I was questioned by a detective regarding an unsolved missing persons case.’

The flashbulbs went crazy, exploding like fireworks, as the photographers at the front rushed to capture this confession on film.

‘Can you tell us the details of this case, Lucia?’

‘I’m not sure if I’m at liberty to say,’ Lucia began coyly, knowing that the information had been splashed all over the front pages and on the television news that morning – leaked by the very capable publicist sitting beside her. ‘But what I will say is that it relates to a young man who disappeared a decade ago in my hometown of Cannegia.’

‘Did you know the man, Lucia?’

‘I’ve already answered this question for the detective,’ Lucia said. ‘I won’t be saying anything further at this time.’

‘Signora de Santis would now like to read a statement she’s prepared,’ said Allegra.

The journalists sat up a little straighter, leaning forward imperceptibly, while the photographers’ fingers hovered over their camera buttons.

Lucia coughed lightly to clear her throat and looked around at the assembled press pack, knowing that she had them in the palm of her hand. This was just like performing on stage – knowing how to read the audience, instinctively calculating just the right degree of emotion to put into your words so you didn’t overplay your lines. Perhaps she should have been an actress after all, Lucia mused. She couldn’t wait for her role in High Voltage – she would act Brad Redford off the screen.

She glanced down at the piece of paper on the table, though she hardly needed to refer to it. She’d practised it so many times in the mirror this morning that she knew the words off by heart.

‘My heartfelt apologies to my fans who were hoping to see me perform last night. I’m distraught that I was unable to honour my commitment. My heart goes out to that poor boy’s family, and I intend to cooperate fully with the police. I’ll do everything in my power to help find out what happened to Lorenzo Mancini, and ensure that the culprit is brought to justice.’

Gina was standing at the back of the hall, hidden in the shadows. Her blood ran cold as Lucia stared directly at her with those final words, and it was all she could do not to turn and run from the ballroom.

But Gina lifted her chin and stood her ground. She was getting tired of being pushed around by Lucia de Santis, dancing to Lucia’s tune like a puppet dangling on a string. Perhaps, most significantly, she resented La Leonessa dictating who she could and couldn’t date. She refused to spend the rest of her life in fear, forever running from that fateful day.

‘Help me, Maria …’ His dark eyes stared up at her, wide with fear.

She moved towards him, and the next moment there was a bloodcurdling scream as he fell into the jagged rocks below …

Gina blinked, pushing away the memory. The journalists were standing up, filing out of the room amidst a hum of low chatter. Some were already calling in the story on their mobile phones, others scribbling the perfect turn of phrase in their notepads. Lucia had swept out ahead of them, her chaste outfit belying the way she moved imperiously like a queen.