‘Signora de Santis,’ the restaurant’s owner came rushing out, eager to greet La Leonessa. ‘Thank you so much for visiting our humble restaurant …’

Marco looked up and spotted her, and Lucia saw his expression as he took in her appearance, his gaze running over her appreciatively. She couldn’t blame him – she looked incredible. She shrugged off her coat and a waiter was on hand to whisk it away; that was how things worked in Lucia’s world. She was aware that other diners were turning to stare, excitement and awe rippling through the room, and Lucia revelled in the attention, feeling like a queen walking amongst her subjects.

She was dressed to kill in a red Versace dress that clung to her voluptuous figure, pushing up her impressive cleavage to eye-popping levels. Marco stood up as she approached, like an old-fashioned gentleman. Lucia leaned in to kiss him and he smelt delicious; she lingered a few moments, making sure her body was pressed lightly against his. He looked sexy as hell in a classic black shirt by Prada, teamed with smart black trousers and Italian leather brogues, a belt at his waist emphasizing his slender, toned physique.

‘Thank you for coming,’ Lucia purred, her voice low and seductive.

‘It’s hard to refuse an invitation from you,’ he smiled. ‘I think you’re used to getting what you want.’

Lucia threw back her head and laughed throatily. ‘Speaking of which, why are you hiding out in this … cave in the corner?’ She spun round, fixing the manager with a deathly glare. ‘I specifically requested that table,’ she said, pointing beneath the window where an elderly couple were sitting eating their meal, looking rather nervous as all eyes swivelled to them.

‘I’m so sorry, Signora de Santis.’ The manager began to wring his hands, his expression grovelling. ‘We did receive your request but the table here is much nicer – it’s cosy in the corner, and discreet. We wanted you to enjoy our delicious food, not have everyone staring at you …’ He trailed off as Lucia fixed him with a deadly glare.

She spoke under her breath, not wanting to create a scene in front of Marco, but her tone was like ice and her meaning was clear. ‘I. Want. That. Table,’ she hissed. It was all she could do not to stamp her foot.

‘Of course, of course,’ said the manager, eager to pacify her. ‘I will sort it immediately, signora.’

Everyone was watching as he strode over to the couple by the window, speaking to them in low tones. He clicked his fingers, signalling for two of the waiters to come over and help him. Working swiftly and in sync, they moved the pair’s drinks glasses, plates and cutlery, ushering them across the restaurant, hastily procuring a fresh tablecloth and resetting their table in the new position.

Lucia watched the whole process without a flicker of remorse, not even when Marco came across and touched her lightly on the elbow. ‘Lucia,’ he said softly, ‘is this necessary?’

‘Yes,’ she said hotly. ‘People try to take advantage of my good nature all the time, and I have to stand up for myself. I requested that table – why should they decide that I can’t have it?’

‘I understand,’ Marco nodded, and in that moment Lucia felt immensely grateful towards him. Handsome and kind. She’d chosen well.

‘Your table, signora,’ the manager said, extending his hand and inclining his head as Lucia swept imperiously past him. She was gratified to note that Marco pulled out her chair for her, his manners impeccable.

A waiter hurried over with a bottle of vintage champagne. ‘On the house, of course. We are immensely sorry for any distress.’

Lucia accepted the apology – and the champagne – as though they were her birthright. ‘Salute,’ she toasted, batting her eyelashes at Marco as they clinked glasses across the table.

‘What was that?’ Marco asked, distracted, his eyes darting to the window.

‘What?’ Lucia asked innocently.

‘I thought I saw … It doesn’t matter,’ Marco said, shaking his head.

Lucia smiled, rearranging her hair to make sure it looked perfect for the paparazzi outside. She’d asked them to be discreet; she hoped there weren’t too many more camera flashes to make Marco suspicious, but she would do her best to distract him.

She leaned forward, pushing her breasts together so that they were in danger of falling out of her dress. If this didn’t distract him, nothing would. ‘So,’ she purred, ‘tell me all about yourself. I want to know everything about Marco DiMaggio.’

‘That was incredible,’ Marco groaned, sitting back in his chair at the end of the meal. It had been superb. They had started with steamed lobster, followed by a primo piatto of squid ink risotto, and a secondo piatto of veal with baby vegetables. They’d both been too full for dessert, but the manager had insisted on bringing out an exquisite white chocolate mousse with berries, of which Lucia had eaten two spoonfuls before determinedly setting it aside. Lucia had never believed in starving herself, and loved her fuller figure, but she knew when to stop.

‘So, it was worth coming out for dinner with me after all?’ Lucia smiled. She had thoroughly enjoyed herself – Marco was excellent company, intelligent and funny – and he knew how to treat a woman.

‘You were very insistent,’ Marco laughed modestly. ‘Tell me,’ he continued, the alcohol and the candlelight making him feel mellower. ‘Why did you invite me to dinner?’

‘I like you,’ Lucia shrugged. ‘So many men are scared to approach me, so I have to approach them myself if I like them.’

Marco didn’t respond. He had the strangest feeling that Lucia wasn’t telling the truth. They’d had a great evening, and Lucia was undoubtedly entertaining, telling him endless outrageous stories and name-dropping wildly. He’d seen flashes of vulnerability too, and moments of honesty when she wasn’t trying to live up to her diva reputation.

‘Do you like me?’ Lucia pressed. She leaned across the table towards him so that their faces were barely inches apart.

‘You’re an incredible woman, and I’m sure you know that. But perhaps our lives are not so compatible.’

Lucia’s face hardened and Marco detected that it was hiding wounded pride. For all her arrogance, he could tell she was lonely. But he wasn’t going to flatter her for the sake of it; it was better to nip the situation in the bud before it could get out of hand. Getting involved with Lucia was way more stimulation than he could handle right now. He’d agreed to one date for Gina’s sake, but there were not going to be any more.

As though Lucia had read his mind, she asked coldly, ‘Is it because of Gina? Are you two having an affair?’

Marco was taken aback for a moment, surprised by the rancour in her voice. ‘No, Gina and I aren’t … together.’

‘You’re married, yes?’ Lucia said, glancing at his wedding ring. Marco was surprised she hadn’t raised it before now. Then again, if her love life in the gossip columns was anything to go by, she didn’t care whether her lovers were married or not.

‘I was,’ Marco said slowly. ‘My wife died … three years ago now.’

‘Oh.’ For once Lucia was speechless. ‘I’m very sorry. I didn’t realize. It hurts … to lose someone you love, I know this too.’

‘Yes,’ Marco agreed. ‘Yes, it does.’ He drained the last of his champagne; the bubbles had gone flat, and he felt tired suddenly. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to get home to his daughter. Daniela had been fine after last night, but he wanted to be there for her if she needed him. ‘Lucia, I’ve had a wonderful evening, and I’m very flattered you invited me, but it’s getting late and I have a five a.m. start tomorrow. I’m sure you need to get your rest too.’

Lucia looked at him for a long moment, as though she were considering saying something further, but instead she smiled at him, her feline eyes narrowing. ‘Of course. It’s been a pleasure.’

She reached across the table to squeeze his hand. Marco was surprised but didn’t pull back. Her nails were long red talons, her fingers encased in enormous jewelled rings. She threw back her head and laughed suddenly, her eyes growing soft. ‘You have something on your cheek,’ she murmured, reaching across to brush it off. Her fingertips lingered on his face. He frowned in confusion and then a round of flashbulbs lit up the night sky outside the window.

Marco recoiled instinctively. ‘What the hell …?’ he began. He jumped as a face appeared at the window, followed by a second; cameras thrust against the glass and flashbulbs popping.

Marco jumped to his feet and Lucia did the same, hurrying over to him, pressing herself against his chest as though for protection. ‘Those damn paparazzi follow me everywhere,’ she cried, tossing her head dramatically.

Marco’s heart was thumping. He didn’t know what was going on, but he didn’t like it; he had the feeling he’d been set up.

The manager moved leisurely to pull down the shutters. ‘I’m so sorry, Signora de Santis,’ he said.

‘Is there another way out?’ Marco demanded, as he looked towards the door and saw photographers crowding the entrance.

‘Follow me,’ the manager said. ‘I’ll take you through the kitchens.’

‘Thank you,’ Marco said gratefully.

He and Lucia emerged into a narrow alley at the back of the building, which was mercifully free from photographers.

‘What now?’ Marco asked, looking around him as though expecting to be ambushed at any moment.

‘I have a boat waiting, follow me.’

Lucia rounded the corner to a narrow canal, where a sleek boat was waiting. As soon as he saw her, the driver started the engine. What had been going on here? Marco had the uncomfortable realization that he was being used. Had Gina known about this?

Marco helped Lucia on board then turned to walk away.

‘Aren’t you coming?’ Lucia asked, looking displeased that he wasn’t going to accompany her.