‘Very good, signora.’

She watched as the besuited waiter approached him, speaking to him discreetly. The man’s head snapped up then swivelled in her direction. As his eyes landed on Lucia he grinned, picking up his glass and walking towards her with a swagger. He clearly thought his luck was in. Pathetic.

Lucia pasted on a smile and took the hand he was extending. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it, and Lucia suppressed a shudder of distaste.

‘La Leonessa, I am honoured,’ Edoardo drawled, his slurred voice betraying the fact that this wasn’t his first drink of the afternoon. ‘I am Edoardo Conti. How may I be of service to you?’

Conti … The name rang a bell. Of course! ‘You work for Elicotteri Conti?’

‘The very same. My father founded the company.’

‘How wonderful, take a seat,’ Lucia purred. Edoardo slid into the booth, getting slightly closer to her than she would have liked, but she was prepared to endure it. ‘I’ve met one of your colleagues – Marco DiMaggio.’

Edoardo’s face instantly darkened. ‘I know. I heard about it.’

‘And do you and Marco work closely together?’ Lucia asked, wondering if Edoardo could be her ticket to seeing Marco once again.

Edoardo snorted. ‘Not if I can help it.’

Interesting, thought Lucia, noting Edoardo’s shift in manner when she’d mentioned Marco.

‘I imagine you’re in a much more senior position than he is,’ she smiled, leaning forwards to give him the benefit of her cleavage in the closely fitted, low-cut dress she was wearing. ‘What with you being the son of the founder.’

‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you?’ Edoardo said tightly. ‘But for some unknown reason, my father thinks that my brother-in-law is the perfect person to take over the company now he’s retired. It’s bullshit.’ He downed his shot of whisky in one.

Lucia took a moment to digest this new revelation. ‘Marco is your brother-in-law?’

Edoardo raised his dark eyebrows. ‘What is it they say? You can choose your friends, but you can’t choose your relatives.’

‘Oh, do I detect some family tension?’ Lucia probed, her face the picture of understanding and empathy.

‘È uno stronzo!’ Edoardo swore, resentment spiking his words. ‘He’s so arrogant and smug. He thinks he’s so superior, just because my father thinks the sun shines out of his backside, and …’ Edoardo broke off as the waiter brought Lucia’s Spritz.

‘A top-up for my friend here,’ she instructed.

Edoardo smiled lazily, his eyes hazy. ‘Are you trying to get me drunk?’

‘Not at all,’ Lucia lied smoothly. ‘You seem as though you’ve had a tough day.’

Edoardo laughed hollowly. ‘You could say that. I was supposed to be in Murano with Brad Redford and his assistant, and Marco and Gina, all of us acting like we’re best friends and doing this ridiculous tourist crap. It was bullshit, so I told them to screw it.’

‘Gina and Marco?’ Lucia demanded, a bolt of fury shooting through her, but she tried to keep her expression neutral. ‘Marco told me they weren’t together.’

‘I don’t know if they are, but they couldn’t keep their eyes off one another, and I overheard them arranging dinner together as well. My dead sister deserves better.’ Edoardo’s voice was getting louder with every word, and he balled his fists angrily.

‘Marco told me about her. I’m sorry.’ Lucia was genuinely sympathetic.

‘Yeah?’ Edoardo’s head snapped up, and he looked her straight in the eye, his eyes black. ‘Did he tell you that he killed her?’

Lucia gasped. ‘What do you mean?’

‘He let her go up in one of the ’copters when the weather was bad. She should never have gone out that day, and he knows it. The crash was inevitable and, as far as I’m concerned, he was entirely responsible. He killed my sister.’

Lucia was shocked. Marco had seemed like such an upright and decent man, a poor widower who’d suffered a devastating loss. In reality, it seemed he was hiding secrets of his own. ‘I had no idea.’

‘Yeah well, he doesn’t exactly advertise it. Everyone falls for the “poor me” act; they all think he’s such a hero carrying on as a single father. But it was all his fault, and he’s never faced justice. One day he’ll pay for what he did to Stephana.’ Edoardo’s expression was grim, and he clutched his whisky glass so tightly that Lucia feared it might shatter.

Instinctively, Lucia reached out and touched his arm, a gesture of comfort and reassurance. As one lonely person to another, recognizing sadness and anger within. She knew what it was like to feel unworthy in the eyes of others, to feel you had to fight to be deserving of love. ‘I feel your pain,’ she said.

Edoardo looked up and Lucia knew she’d misjudged the moment. His eyes were full of lust, a sleazy grin spreading across his face.

‘Why don’t we go up to your room?’ he suggested with an unattractive leer. ‘We could have a little fun, keep each other company …’

Lucia glanced at her pink-diamond-encrusted Chopard watch. ‘Oh my goodness, is that the time? I’m due at La Fenice for my performance and I must prepare. Waiter,’ she called, as she slipped out of the other side of the booth. ‘Get my friend another drink. Charge it all to my suite.’

In a whirl of Shalimar perfume and platinum-blonde hair, she was gone.

Edoardo stared drunkenly after her, blurrily watching her walk away, following the wiggle of her bottom in her tight dress as she sashayed across the bar.

‘Puttana,’ he swore under his breath. Bitch. She thought she was too good for him. They all did: Lucia, Marco, Gina … He hated them all. They were probably laughing at him right now. He drained his glass, slammed it down and walked unsteadily over to the bar where the barman was preparing his next drink.

The guy looked at him uncertainly before pushing it across the marble countertop towards him. Edoardo took a slug, enjoying the way the whisky burned, the way it blotted everything out for a few moments. He would have the hangover from hell in the morning, but right now he intended to drink himself into oblivion.

He knew he was drunk, but not nearly enough, yet. Allowing his resentments free rein with Lucia had opened the floodgates. If Marco was in front of him right now, he’d tear a piece off him. No – more than that – he’d sock him one, or worse! In fact, he’d knock him unconscious.

Then I’d take him out in one of the helicopters and throw him in the Lido, where he can sink to the bottom and rot.

Edoardo seated himself unsteadily at the bar, and tried to look more sober than he really felt. He desperately wanted another drink and didn’t want to get slung out. This place was up itself, and it was just the sort of thing it would do to an ordinary guy like him.

He nodded to the bartender for a whisky. ‘Make it the finest malt, the lady’s paying.’ Then he looked to his right and noticed for the first time a middle-aged couple who were sitting next to him at the bar.

They seemed to him like the usual well-heeled sorts that the White Palace attracted. The bartender placed a drinks mat in front of Edoardo, hesitating slightly as he scrutinized his boozy customer, before placing a Macallan eighteen-year-old single malt on ice before Edoardo, who picked it up and said, ‘Salute’ to the couple, before taking a swig.

The woman turned to him, clinked her G&T glass to his and said, ‘Bottoms up’ in an English accent.

‘You’re English?’ Edoardo asked and the couple nodded.

‘We’re getting married,’ she told him, ‘in a few days.’

‘A wedding and honeymoon all joined into one,’ the man added.

‘Ah, true love eh?’ Edoardo slurred, leaning his elbow on the bar, missing the first time. ‘I never got married myself, never wanted to be tied down by a woman, you know?’

‘Oh, I think there’s nothing more wonderful than having that someone special in your life, someone who will always be there for you, don’t you agree Max?’

The man smiled indulgently at his fiancée, ‘I couldn’t agree more Olivia.’ He kissed her on the cheek.

‘So, as you are footloose and fancy-free, what do you do with yourself, Mr—’