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Gina stiffened. ‘Lucia de Santis?’

‘The very same.’

‘Where is Massimo?’

‘She’s requested you, I’m afraid.’ Vittoria shot her a sympathetic look, then mimed holding a phone, imitating Lucia’s commanding voice. ‘No minions! I want Gina Bellini. Now!’

Vittoria laughed, but Gina didn’t. Clearly she was now on Lucia’s radar. Perhaps she was angry because Marco had turned her down. If that was the case, she would simply reassure Lucia that there was nothing between them, purely business. But if it was something else …

An image flashed across her mind, a tumble of rocks, an outstretched arm. Help me …

‘What does she want?’ Gina snapped at Vittoria. There was a sinking feeling in her stomach, as though she’d swallowed a mouthful of stones. She had a creeping sensation that she was teetering on the edge of a precipice, about to fall.

Vittoria looked confused and taken aback by her tone. Nothing usually fazed Gina, but Lucia de Santis had clearly rattled her. ‘I don’t know what she wants, she didn’t say. What’s the matter, Gina? You’ve dealt with bigger divas in your time. I know she’s a pain in the ass, but it’s nothing you can’t handle.’

‘Yes, you’re right. Sorry, Vee, I’m a little tired.’ Gina smiled reassuringly, standing up and smoothing down her trouser suit as she snapped back into ice-queen mode. She didn’t want Vittoria to suspect that anything was wrong.

‘That’s my girl,’ Vittoria winked. ‘Time to show that diva who’s really in charge around here.’

Gina laughed. ‘Don’t worry, I will.’

In the elevator ride to the Royal Suite, her stomach was churning, and Gina willed herself to stay calm. What could Lucia possibly want with her that she couldn’t get from Massimo?

Gina’s mind was circling, but she kept coming back to the same idea: She knows.

Gina caught herself sharply, telling herself not to be so ridiculous. Lucia had scarcely looked at her; she probably had some ludicrous request involving repainting the entire suite or procuring a basket of white kittens that Massimo didn’t know how to deal with.

Faking confidence, Gina strode down the hallway, but her heart was beating wildly as she arrived outside Lucia’s suite and knocked on the door.

No one answered, and for a moment Gina dared to hope that Lucia had gone out; that it had all been a misunderstanding and Gina could get back to work and carry on with her day. But as she turned to leave, her kitten heels grinding into the carpet, the door flew open.

Lucia was standing there, looking resplendent in a little black Gucci dress, its plunging neckline and clinging fit showing off every curve. Her nails were blood red, like talons, her white-blonde hair poker-straight, and the expression on her face was like a cat toying with a mouse.

‘Miss de Santis, I understand you sent for me. What can I do for you?’

Lucia looked her up and down, her feline eyes resting on Gina’s face for just a little longer than she was comfortable with. ‘You’d better come in,’ she snapped, ‘I’m sure you don’t want to talk out here in the corridor, where anyone might overhear.’

Reluctantly, Gina stepped into the suite, the door closing behind her with an ominous click.

‘What can I do for you, Signora de Santis?’

‘I know who you are.’ Lucia spun around to face Gina and her eyes were like ice, with a glittering fire at the heart of them.

Though she felt as though her legs could give way at any moment, Gina held her nerve. ‘I don’t understand what you mean. I think you must have mistaken me for someone else.’

Lucia laughed menacingly. ‘I’m never mistaken. I might seem like a spoilt princess to the world, but it wasn’t always so. I can still pay attention, and I see what matters.’

Lucia walked over to the window, staring out at the city, not looking at Gina. ‘The press love a good story, a rags-to-riches tale. It makes for a great read. All the public see now is what I’ve become – celebrated, rich, famous. But none of them really understands what I’ve been through or what I’ve had to overcome. They don’t know what it was like to grow up with nothing.

‘Now I can dine in the finest restaurants, but you can never forget the gnawing feeling of hunger every night in your belly, because all you’d had to eat was a piece of stale bread your brother had managed to steal for breakfast. Now I can spend millions of lire on designer dresses, but I’ll always remember what it’s like to have nothing but the clothes on your back, tattered and threadbare. Always cold, always hungry …’

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?