Lucia’s gaze was focused on the incredible view across the lagoon, but Gina knew that – right now – she wasn’t seeing any of it, transported back to her childhood and the chilling memories she described.
‘Nothing can erase the fear of poverty, of never having any money because your papà has selfishly spent what little the family has on another bottle of grappa, while you hide beneath your bedsheets, terrified to hear him return home because you don’t know if he will be drunk, and show his frustration at life with his fists. So you spend most of your time living in a daydream, imagining another life, because you can’t wait to escape the one you have …’
Lucia turned around and fixed Gina with a hard stare, her expression impossible to read. ‘I think that we are alike, you and I. That you know all too well what it was like to grow up in poverty and to claw your way out, whatever the consequences. Yes, Gina Bellini, I think you understand me very well.’
Gina said nothing, and wasn’t sure she could speak if she tried. Where was Lucia going with this, and what did she want with her?
‘I knew that my voice would be my way out. I was always singing – at home, at school, in church.’ Lucia fixed Gina with a meaningful look. ‘I longed to be discovered, knowing it would be my only escape from being married off to an uneducated peasant boy.’ Her voice dripped with disdain. ‘But I knew that no one would help me, and I would have to use what God had given me.’ She swept her hand down her body, highlighting her curves and her full breasts. ‘No one was going to find me in that forgotten backwater, I had to take matters into my own hands. When my father took things too far and almost killed my little brother one night after staggering home drunk out of his mind, I knew I had to get out, or next time it would be me.’
The cruel look was gone from her face now, and Gina could see raw emotion there, the trauma of her past plain to see across her tortured features. ‘I fled to the city one night, with only the clothes I stood up in.’ Lucia looked away, her eyes low. ‘Those days were hard, harder than even the myth La Leonessa tells. I would have done anything – anything – I could to get what I wanted. You have no idea of the sacrifices I made.’
Now she looked up again, pride and defiance in her face.
Gina met Lucia’s eyes with her own. ‘You aren’t the only one. Most people have to make sacrifices …’
Lucia glared at her angrily. ‘What did you have to do? What price have you paid to escape, Gina Bellini?’
Maria Monti was sprinting through the woods, branches clawing at her face, her cheeks wet with tears. She was sobbing, panting, out of breath but unable to stop running, as though the hounds of hell were chasing her.
There was mud and leaf detritus on her hands. It had oozed under her fingernails; the cuticles were black with dirt.
She stumbled over a tree root and almost fell but didn’t slow down. Running, must keep running, don’t stop!
She was almost home; nearly there, so close, and then everything would be all right. Home meant safety; nothing bad could happen to her there. She could bury herself beneath her blankets, hide in her bed, and not have to face the consequences of what she’d done …
Gina blinked, pulling back her shoulders and lifting her chin, looking straight at Lucia. When she spoke, her voice was calm and controlled. ‘Why have you called me here, Signora de Santis? How can the White Palace be of service to you?’
A feline smile spread across Lucia’s beautiful face, her composure returned. ‘That man – your friend, Marco. I want to have dinner with him.’
Gina frowned. That was the last thing she’d been expecting. A new feeling rose within her – was it jealousy? Possessiveness? Gina wasn’t sure, but she sure as hell didn’t want La Leonessa getting her claws into Marco.
‘I’m a concierge, not a matchmaking service,’ she shot back, her hackles rising. ‘Besides, he’s a married man.’
Lucia gave a tinkling laugh, which was anything but humorous, and her eyes glittered dangerously. ‘That has never held me back before. All you need to do is provide what I ask for. You wouldn’t want a story getting out about how La Leonessa was so disappointed with her stay at the White Palace. Its standards have dropped terribly – it’s all style and no substance – and she would strongly recommend to all her well-connected friends that they stay elsewhere the next time they’re in Venice.’
Gina inhaled sharply, trying to keep her temper. It felt as though the walls were closing in on her. ‘That story wouldn’t be true, but our guests come first, we pride ourselves on it. Plus, I can’t guarantee—’
‘I’ve spoken to Brad, and he thinks it’s a wonderful idea. So, I think you’d better try your absolute hardest to make it happen, don’t you? We wouldn’t want your little secret getting out either …’
‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’
‘Oh, but I think you do.’ Lucia threw her head back and laughed.
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
As Gina left the room, La Leonessa’s cruel laughter ringing in her ears, she felt as though Lucia had wrapped a cord around her neck and was slowly strangling her, cutting off the oxygen until she couldn’t breathe.
The noose was tightening, and it seemed like there was no escape for Gina.
Chapter 15
Lombardy, February 1995
Detective Roberto Gallo was sitting at his desk in the Varisi police station, reading the details of a burglary case that had happened nearby. He was of average height, mousy-brown hair, slim and tidily dressed. He was not somebody who attracted attention, which in many ways was ideal for his role. He chewed absentmindedly on the end of his pen. This was about as exciting as his job got. Any bigger cases were handled by his colleagues in Milan.
He looked up as he heard a knock, then the door flew open before he’d had a chance to offer a response.
It was a young recruit by the name of Costa; his eyes were wide, and he delivered his news breathlessly: ‘Detective, it’s come through. Forensics have identified the body.’
‘And?’ Adrenaline rushed through Detective Gallo, and he felt a pang of shame, reminding himself that this had been a real person, with hopes and dreams and loved ones.
‘You were right. It’s him.’
Detective Gallo let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, and resisted the urge to punch the air.
Lorenzo Mancini.
The case had plagued him for a decade; it was one that Detective Gallo had always wanted to solve. Lorenzo Mancini had been a young man when he’d disappeared on his way home from church. He had seemed to vanish into thin air, and the rumour mill had whirred into action. There were whispers that he’d run away, or that he’d simply left home and moved to the big city, perhaps following a girlfriend no one knew about. There had been mutterings that the Camorra might have been involved.
But Lorenzo’s mother was insistent that none of these was the case – something had happened to her boy, she was sure of it. Detective Gallo thought so too. Something was off; his gut told him that something wasn’t right, and he was determined to find out what had really happened.
He had faithfully promised Lorenzo’s distraught mother that he would solve the case, and he intended to honour that commitment. Her son’s disappearance had haunted her ever since; it was such a quiet town, and things like that didn’t happen in Cannegia.
But there had been no leads, no evidence, no witnesses and no body. The trail had gone cold, and the file languished, unsolved, at the back of Detective Gallo’s cabinet.
Now, with Lorenzo’s remains on ice in the morgue, everything had changed. The body’s remains had been partially preserved by the unique conditions in which it had come to rest, caught on a ledge – too high to be seen from below and too hidden to be seen from above. Frozen for most of the year on the ledge where sunlight rarely reached, and unreachable to the forest creatures who might have feasted on the remains. Now there would be an autopsy, DNA samples, forensics.
It was no longer a missing persons case.
‘Marco? It’s Gina.’
Gina was back in her office, making a call to Marco’s mobile. It had been half an hour since she’d returned from Lucia’s suite, and Gina hadn’t done a stroke of work since. She’d kept replaying her conversation with La Leonessa in her head, and had finally decided she couldn’t put the inevitable off any longer. She dialled Marco’s number.
‘Gina! This is an unexpected pleasure.’ She could hear the smile in his voice, but couldn’t find her own right now.
‘I need a favour.’ Gina closed her eyes, grimacing as she said the words. She concluded that she had no option; perhaps Lucia was bluffing, but Gina didn’t intend to find out. If La Leonessa wanted a dinner date with Marco – and Brad Redford thought it was a good idea – then Gina would do everything in her power to make it happen. That was her job, she told herself.
‘Sounds intriguing,’ Marco replied. ‘I’m actually on my way to the hotel right now, with Edoardo. I’ll come and find you?’
‘That would be great, thanks, Marco,’ Gina sighed in relief. ‘I’ll see you soon.’
‘Ciao.’
Gina, Marco and Edoardo were sitting in the glamorous surroundings of the hotel’s Casanova Bar. It was decorated in the same extravagant style as the rest of the White Palace, with flock wallpaper and wingback armchairs, and a Canaletto painting on the wall that was almost identical to the view of Venice that could be seen through the arched windows. A long marble bar ran the length of one wall, with scores of bottles on glass shelves, and suited waiters attending to the guests as piano music played softly in the background.
Across the low table, Gina looked at Marco, trying to work out how she felt about him. The last time she’d seen him, when they’d sheltered from the rain after the opera, there’d been a chemistry and connection between the two of them. But now the situation was completely different; they were in a work environment, and had to be professional. Still, Gina couldn’t help noticing how good he looked in jeans and a chunky navy sweater, a smattering of stubble peppering his jaw. Beside him, Edoardo cut a more slender, wolfish figure, in black trousers paired with a black polo neck.
They made small talk until their coffees arrived, and then Marco sat forward and said, ‘You wanted to ask me for a favour?’
