Captive in the Spotlight

The realisation sideswiped her.

Who’d have thought she’d owe Domenico Volpe such a debt? A solid night’s sleep, undisturbed till late morning judging by the sunlight rimming the curtains. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept so long or so soundly.

Lucy flung back the covers, eager to see where she was. Last night she’d left from the helipad on the roof of the palazzo and headed into darkness. Domenico Volpe had said merely she’d go to one of his estates, somewhere she could be safe from press intrusion.

After yesterday’s traumas that had been good enough for her. She desperately needed time to lick her wounds and decide what to do. With no friends, no job and very little money the outlook was grim.

Till she pulled back the curtains and gasped. Strong sunlight made her blink as she took in a vista of wide sky, sea and a white sand beach below a manicured garden.

It was paradise. The garden had an emerald lawn, shade trees and sculpted hedges. Pots of pelargoniums and other plants she couldn’t identify spilled a profusion of flowers in a riot of colours, vivid against the indigo sea.

Unlatching the sliding glass door, Lucy stepped onto a balcony. Warmth enveloped her and the scent of growing things. Birds sang and she heard, like the soft breath of a sleeping giant, the gentle shush of waves. Dazzled, she stared, trying to absorb it all. But her senses were overloaded. Tranquillity and beauty surrounded her and absurdly she felt the pinprick of hot tears.

She’d dreamed of freedom but had never imagined a place like this. Her hands clenched on the railing. It was almost too much to take in. Too much change from the grey, authoritarian world she’d known.

A moment later she’d scooped up a cotton robe and dragged it on over her shabby nightgown. She cinched the tie at her waist as she pattered down the spiral staircase from her balcony.

Reflected light caught her eye and she spied a huge infinity pool that seemed to merge with the sea beyond. Turf cushioned her bare feet as she made for the balustrade overlooking the sea. Yet she stopped time and again, admiring an arbour draped with scented flowers, a pool that reflected the sprawling villa, unexpected groves and modern sculptures.

‘Who are you? I’m Chiara and I’m six.’ The girl’s Italian had a slight lisp.

Lucy turned to meet inquisitive dark eyes and a sunny smile. Automatically her lips curved in response to the girl’s gap-toothed grin, stretching facial muscles Lucy hadn’t used in what seemed a lifetime.

‘I’m Lucy and I’m twenty-four.’

‘That’s so old.’ The little girl paused, looking up from her hidey-hole behind a couple of palm trees. ‘Don’t you wish you were six too?’

Unfamiliar warmth spread through Lucy. ‘Today I do.’ How wonderful to enjoy all this without a care for the future that loomed so empty.

It had been years since she’d seen a child, much less talked with one. Looking into that dimpled face, alight with curiosity, she realised how much she’d missed. If things had been different she’d have spent her life working with children. Once she had the money behind her to study, she’d intended to train as a teacher.

But her criminal record made that impossible.

‘Will you play with me?’

Lucy stiffened. Who would want her daughter playing with an ex-con? A woman with her record?

‘You’d better talk to your mummy first. You shouldn’t play with strangers, you know.’

The little girl’s eyes widened. ‘But you’re not a stranger. You’re a friend of Domi’s, aren’t you?’

‘Domi?’ Lucy frowned. ‘I don’t know—’

‘This is his house.’ Chiara spread her hands wide. ‘The house and garden. The whole island.’

‘I see. But I still can’t play with you unless your mummy says it’s all right.’

‘Uncle Rocco!’ The little girl spoke to someone behind Lucy. ‘Can I play with Lucy? She says I can’t unless Mummy says so but Mummy’s away.’

Lucy spun round to see the stolid face of the big security guard she’d lambasted outside the prison. Did it have to be him of all people? Heat flushed her skin but she held his gaze till he turned to the little girl, his features softening.

‘That’s for Nonna to decide. But it can’t be today. Signorina Knight just arrived. You can’t bother her with your chatter.’ He took the child by the hand and, with a nod at Lucy, led her to the villa.

Lucy turned towards the sea. Still beautiful, it had lost some of its sparkle.

At least Rocco hadn’t betrayed his horror at finding his niece with a violent criminal. But he’d hurried to remove her from Lucy’s tainted presence.

Pain jagged her chest, robbing her of air. Predictable as his reaction was, she couldn’t watch them leave. Her chest clamped around her bruised heart and she sagged against the stone balustrade.

Lucy had toughened up years ago. The naïve innocent was gone, replaced by a woman who viewed the world with cynicism and distrust. A woman who didn’t let the world or life get to her any more.

Yet the last twenty-four hours had been a revelation.

She’d confronted the paparazzi, then Domenico Volpe, learnt of Sylvia’s betrayal and faced the place where her life had changed irrevocably. Now she confronted a man’s instinct to protect his niece, from her.

All tore at her precious self-possession. It had taken heartache, determination and hard-won strength to build the barriers that protected her. She’d been determined never to experience again those depths of terror and pain of her first years in prison. Until now those barriers had kept her strong and safe.

Who’d have thought she still had the capacity to hurt so much?

She leant on the railing, eyes fixed on the south Italian mainland in the distance.

Domenico took in her slumped shoulders and the curve of her arms around her body, hugging out a hostile world.

It reminded him of the anguish he thought he’d spied yesterday in her old room at the palazzo. She’d hunched like a wounded animal over the spot Sandro had died. The sight had poleaxed him, playing on protective instincts he’d never expected to feel around her.

Almost, he’d been convinced by that look of blind pain in her unfocused eyes. But she’d soon disabused him. It had been an act, shrewd and deliberate, to con him into believing her story of innocence.

Innocent? The woman who’d seduced his brother then killed him?

He’d once fancied he felt a connection with the girl who’d burst like pure sunshine into his world. But before he could fall completely under her spell tragedy and harsh truth had intervened, revealing her true colours.

A breeze flirted with her wrap, shifting it against the curve of her hip and bottom.

She didn’t look innocent.

He remembered her trial. The evidence of Sandro’s Head of Security and of Pia, Sandro’s widow, that Lucy Knight had deliberately played up to Sandro, flirting and ultimately seducing him.

When it became clear her relationship with Sandro was core to the case against her, Lucy Knight had offered to have a medical test proving her virginity.

You could have heard a pin drop in the courtroom as all eyes fixed on her nubile body and wide, seemingly innocent eyes. Every man in that room had wondered about the possibility of being her first. Even Domenico.