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  Luca sat up, frowning.

  “Gianfranco?”

  “He told me he has heard that we are together. I think he wanted to try and blackmail me into bed.”

  “He what?” Luca’s fist crashed down, denting the mattress. “I will—”

  “No, you won’t. Stop seething, Luca, and listen. We have to be careful.”

  “What is seething?”

  “Being angry.”

  “Well, I feel like seething. I am going to seethe.”

  “Fine, just do it quietly then. But we have to keep our heads. Gianfranco might go straight to Carlo and tell him about us. One of us might lose our job.”

  Luca considered this. “No, I don’t think so. They already lost one tenor. It will be too much trouble to find another.”

  “Sopranos are easy to come by though,” said Julia emphatically.

  “No, no, they would not do that to you.”

  “Gianfranco is jealous of you. I don’t think it’s entirely down to me either. You have taken attention away from him. He isn’t the shining star any more. Everyone wants a piece of you. He hates it. He wants to get rid of you.”

  Luca snarled, rather alarmingly. “Did he touch you?”

  “He…” Julia faltered, remembering the weight of Gianfranco’s palm on her hand. “Not really.”

  “He did! He touched you!” Luca’s eyes were dark with fury. He swung his legs to the side of the bed, looking ready to spring to the door. “I am going to see him.”

  “Stop!” Julia chased him across the floor, capturing an arm and hanging on to it for dear life. “Please don’t, Luca!”

  “He is trying to steal you! He is a thief!”

  “Nobody can steal me if I don’t want to be stolen. I don’t want to be stolen, Luca. It’s you I want to be with. Leave the stupid bastard to stew, and come back to bed.”

  Luca’s shoulders dropped a notch. The mention of bed had taken some of the wind out of his sails. “Bed?”

  “Yes. Your blood is hot and you want to lash out. Channel that passion. Use it to give pleasure instead of to get yourself into trouble. Come on. Throw me on the bed and ravish me. I guarantee it’ll be better for you than taking a swing at Gianfranco.”

  Luca took a breath and let the sun come back out across his face.

  “Throw you on the bed, huh? Ravish you, huh? Do you have any idea what you are asking for? What I am capable of?”

  “Well, I do have some idea.” Julia grinned. “You gave it to me last night.”

  “And I can give it to you again,” he said, his brazen smile chasing the last of the clouds away.

  She squealed as he swept her without warning into his arms, then squealed once more as he dived with her on to the bed like a footballer scoring a touchdown.

  Her giggles and yelps turned to fast, deep breaths once Luca had her pinned to the bed beneath him, his eyes boring into hers as if searching for the secrets of her soul.

  “I know you would not let him take you, Julia,” he said fervently. “The only man who can take you now is me. You know that.”

  “Yes,” she breathed, though it had been less a question than a statement of fact. She felt the power, the repressed anger firing through his veins, turning to liquid golden desire above her. She trembled in anticipation of the passionate coupling that Luca’s eyes promised her, feeling the telltale wetness dew her thighs. “No other man. Only you.”

  “Just these hands,” he said, closing them around her wrists. “Just these lips.” He lowered them on to hers, using his mouth and tongue to assert his possession until her eyes rolled back and she was floating in a whirlpool of pure need.

  He released her wrists, only to position her more accessibly on the bed. She gasped as he grabbed the neckline of her dress and wrenched, tearing the fabric to expose her breasts in their gauzy bra cups.

  “That dress! Luca!”

  “I buy you another the same.” He swooped to her nipples and treated each one in turn to a thorough ravagement by teeth and tongue.

  Her objections melted away under the searing heat of his attentions, and instead she found herself using her thighs to enclose his pelvis and force him closer to her, unequivocally expressing her lust.

  The bra cups were soon history too and, once Julia’s nipples had been sucked and nipped until they were painfully stiff and tender, Luca turned his endeavours to her skirt, pulling it urgently upward, nestling his jeans-clad crotch between bare thighs, nudging at the lacy front of her thong.

  “Mine,” he growled. “Give it to me.”

  She spread herself wider, urging him in, bringing jittery fingers around to his jeans button.

  He slid a thick finger inside the lace of her thong, pulling it aside to reveal plump wet lips. She peeled down his jeans along with his underpants, and her slippery fingers dealt with the condom in his pocket as hastily as they could, skinning it over his hard cock. What she lacked in expertise, she made up for in enthusiasm. As soon as the rubber sheath was in place, she pushed eager fingers up against her clit and levelled her well-lubricated pussy with the tip of his cock. It went in so smoothly, so easily that she purred into Luca’s neck, tethering him to her with her ankles crossed against his back. They let their anger and distress convert into flames of pure desire. Every thrust was fuelled by jealousy, every sigh by fear, but those negative emotions dissipated into the steam that clung to their skin and surrounded their writhing bodies.

  Julia cried out as her orgasm overwhelmed her, knowing that she belonged to him. When he followed her into the climactic waves, she felt proud, protective and vulnerable all at the same time, cradling his head in the slopes of her breasts.

  Nothing should come between them. Nothing would be allowed to.

  Chapter Three

  Julia did not like the way Gianfranco was playing this scene one bit.

  Having flung Luca into the torture chamber, his character was telling hers that the only price he would accept for her lover’s freedom was her submission.

  Julia always found this scene emotionally draining, but today Gianfranco had an air of calculating cruelty on top of his usual operatic bluster. He meant these words, and the glint in his eye reinforced them all too unpleasantly.

  What made it worse was the way Luca stood in the wings, watching it all with barely contained rage simmering away on a low boil.

  Julia tore her eyes away from him and fell to her knees for her big aria.

  Pleading with God for some understanding as to why her gentle art-loving spirit was being thus tested, it occurred to Julia that this song was imitating life in the most uncanny way. Like Tosca, she had sought only to love a man and touch others with song, yet her reward was to be placed in impossible dilemmas. What on earth could she do about Gianfranco? He clearly meant to ruin both her and Luca.

  Her pleas ignored by Gianfranco’s Scarpia, she found herself being seized by him, far more roughly than in previous rehearsals, not to mention the unwelcome connection of his brawny hand with her bottom. Her exclamation of pain and anger could be heard over the music and Gianfranco stopped singing to prevent her from freeing her hand to slap him.

  Carlo could be heard bellowing irately from the stalls, but neither Julia nor Gianfranco took any notice, locked into their own private power struggle.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Get your hands off me!”

  “Don’t tell me you don’t like it. I’m just taking a taste of what I’m going to get later.” Gianfranco squeezed her buttock rudely and she screamed with rage.

  Then Luca was on stage, fists flying, having to be dragged backwards by a pair of burly stagehands.

  “Gianfranco!” yelled Carlo. “What is going on?”

  Reluctantly, the baritone released his grip on Julia, who sprang backwards and ran off stage, desperate to find out what had happened to Luca.

  “Luca? Where is he? Is he okay?” She questioned the chorus members who had been watching avidly from the wings.

  Mos
t of them shrugged. “He’s gone, I think,” said Liddy.

  “What, he’s left the theatre?”

  “I think so. I heard the stage door bang.”

  “Oh God. Should I follow him?”

  Julia flailed around indecisively, knowing that she was probably broadcasting the news of her relationship with Luca to all and sundry, but finding herself past caring now. Just as she made up her mind to chase Luca and headed for the steps, Gianfranco’s hand on her shoulder halted her.

  “Get off me!” she hissed, but Gianfranco’s lips bent to her ear while firm hands held her upper arms tight to her body.

  “Don’t chase him. Let lover boy go. He has old friends who will be glad to see him.”

  Julia looked up into hard black eyes.

  “What?”

  “There are things you need to know about our handsome tenor friend, Julia. If you come to my apartment tonight, I can let you into a few little secrets.”

  “What? What are you talking about? Tell me now!”

  “Oh.” Gianfranco shook his head, clicking his tongue in reproof. “Impatient. I can’t tell you now. Carlo wants us back on stage to go through the scene again. Come on.”

  * * * *

  For the twelfth time, the disembodied Italian voice told Julia that Luca’s cell phone was switched off. She craned her neck upwards, squinting at his shuttered windows. Her forefinger was numb from pressing the buzzer. She had to face the fact that he was not there.

  But where was he? Uneasily she realised that only Gianfranco held the key to Luca’s possible whereabouts. With nothing else to go on, she would have to meet up with him, and endure more of his heavy-handed seduction techniques.

  She dialled his number, walking swiftly down the street away from Luca’s apartment. Greeted by Gianfranco’s voicemail, she spoke rapidly, raising her voice above the blare of the traffic.

  “Gianfranco, can you come to my apartment instead tonight? Perhaps about eight o’clock? I’ll be waiting for you.”

  Yes I will, she said to herself, jabbing the End Call button with a grim smile. I’ll be waiting for you.

  She set up the webcam on the open screen of her laptop, leaving it unobtrusively on a shelf that lay in partial shadow in a corner of the room. Then she busied herself with uncorking a good red wine and emptying some nuts and olives into dishes. She was not going to bother cooking for the persistent baritone—if he wanted supper, he would have to sing for it. Or rather, talk. Tell all.

  At the staticky sound of the buzzer, her heart leapt into her mouth. For that split second before Gianfranco’s fruity tones travelled over the intercom, she found herself hoping that it was Luca.

  She worked hard on extending a gracious welcome to Gianfranco when he walked through her door, putting up her cheeks to be kissed and allowing him to crush her against his big barrel chest.

  “Julia,” he crooned, patting her back. “I knew you would see sense. Pour the wine, carissima, and we can talk.”

  She showed him to the battered leather sofa that took up most of the space in the apartment’s small living area and retrieved the wine bottle and glasses from the kitchen. She could see that Gianfranco was in a relaxed and expansive mood. Whatever he knew about Luca was going to be bad. She should prepare herself.

  “So. Luca’s big secret.” She sat at the far end of the sofa. “Am I allowed to ask?”

  “Of course, of course.” Gianfranco smiled broadly and shoved himself a couple of inches closer to his quarry. “After all, you must be worried for your lover.”

  “Gianfranco, I’ve told you already, we are not lovers.”

  “If you want the truth from me, Julia, I must have the truth from you. Come on, now. Somebody here isn’t being honest.”

  His light, mocking tone didn’t fool Julia for one moment. There was danger behind it, and all kinds of treachery.

  “Okay,” she muttered. “We’ve been out for dinner together. Kissing might have been involved.”

  “Just kissing?”

  She chewed her lip, and Gianfranco shook his head like a schoolteacher disappointed in his protegée’s poor test score. He rested his arm along the back of the sofa, letting his fingertips make contact with Julia’s hair, ruffling it so that her neck prickled.

  “Little Julia. I thought you were saving yourself for me.”

  “Oh, stop it, Gianfranco. Tell me what you know, for Christ’s sake.”

  “So fiery! Such passion!” The fingertips pressed into the tender flesh beneath her ear. Despite herself, Julia found her breathing speeding up and her pulse racing. There was a power behind Gianfranco’s touch that she could only guess at.

  “Please,” she murmured.

  “Okay. But I have a price. I’m sure you know what it is.”

  She raised angry eyes to his. “You really are low-life, aren’t you?”

  “Actually,” he said, lifting his hand and using it to hold her by the shoulder, “no. I am not low-life. But I know somebody who is.”

  Julia tensed. “What do you mean?”

  “Our celebrated tenor, Signor Luca di Cecco, has an interesting story. Do you know where he is from?”

  “No.”

  “He is a Napoletano.”

  “Naples?”

  “Is that what you call it? Napoli? Yes. Down in that city they have a few gangs. One of them is called La Camorra.”

  “Are you telling me that Luca was in a gang?”

  “I am telling you that he was in the gang. The gang that killed a policeman during a raid on a restaurant.”

  “He…was there?”

  “He was in the gang. They caught some of those boys, but not all. Their code of honour, you know. They never tell.”

  “How do you know this? About Luca?”

  “I have a very good, what do you say, network.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “It’s true, Julia! I am sorry. You don’t want to believe me, of course. But I think you have to.”

  His large hand landed on her knee. Too stunned to move, she let it lie there.

  “Julia,” he said, his voice like sticky black tar seeping into her ears. “He does not deserve you. You are upset, but look upon this as a lucky escape. I have saved you from getting too involved. Don’t I get a thank you?”

  “Thank you,” said Julia mechanically, and then she was gathered up and held tight while large, sensual lips collided with hers, their scent of rich red wine drugging her into compliance. Gianfranco wanted her, and he was safe and strong, and he could block out all this pain, just for a moment, just for now…

  She drifted along, carried on the wave of his kiss, letting him shelter her within those powerful arms, giving him all the license he craved over her listless body.

  “Mi amore,” he said. “Let me keep you close. I will take care of you. You will want for nothing, especially in bed.”

  Bed. The word woke her up, shook her out of the cloudy dreamstate Gianfranco’s kissing had created. No matter what Gianfranco’s version of events was, she would be disloyal to Luca if she did not at least ask him for his own.

  She began to wriggle a path to freedom from the Italian’s restricting embrace, twisting her neck away from his face to deprive him of further kisses.

  “Julia, what is wrong? I am not letting you go now. You cannot tease me any more. I’m going to take you tonight, carissima, and every night.”

  His meaty fist held her in place, clutching at her dress, but she jerked away from him, hearing the inevitable rip of the fabric but able to use that moment of indignant confusion to duck out under his arm and make for the door, slamming it open.

  She held her dress in place where the tear had exposed her bra and stood against the door, catching her breath, scarlet with fury.

  “Get out of my flat!” she shouted. “Get out before I call the police.”

  “Police?” Gianfranco was incredulous. “You think the police will be interested in a prick-teasing little slut like you? Your word agains
t mine, cara.”

  He stood slowly, approaching her with as much dignity as he could muster with a raging hard-on visible through his expensive pants. Julia flattened herself against the door, fighting the impulse to run. She had to stand her ground.

  One large palm made its imprint on the door above her head while Gianfranco loomed down over her, his hot breath washing her face.

  “You know I could,” he said, nudging his pelvis so that it pressed her back into the wood. A sudden thrust of her hips made her yelp. “I really could. Nobody would believe you. But you aren’t worth the effort, little girl. Let me know when you need a real man. I’ll be waiting.”

  He put a finger up to her lips, then swaggered out of the flat, adjusting his jacket to cover the giveaway bulge. Julia slid to the floor, shaking, resisting a strong urge to burst into tears. She didn’t have time for that. She crawled across to the sofa where her handbag lay and retrieved her mobile phone.

  Please pick up, she whispered, re-dialling Luca’s number.

  On the twenty second re-dial, he picked up.

  “Luca!” she almost sobbed. “Where are you? Please! I need to talk to you.”

  “I am sorry,” he said, his voice tight and distant. “So sorry, Julia. I am at the Castell Sant’Angelo. Meet me there.”

  She hung up immediately, grabbed her denim jacket and flew down the stairs of the tall apartment building, heading for the banks of the Tiber and the fortress on the other side.

  She shivered in the gathering dark as the battlements of the gloomy former prison blocked out the moon. Up on the terrace, she spotted a face peering down…was it him? It was too dark to tell, but she hastened upwards, shuddering slightly at the thought that this was the building where Tosca and Cavaradossi met their deaths in the opera. Don’t let life imitate art, she pleaded silently.

  Up on the terrace, Luca stood staring out over the twinkling lights of Rome. At the sound of Julia’s footsteps, he wheeled around and pulled her into him, falling on her neck and kissing it feverishly amidst murmurings in Italian that she could not translate. Eventually, tumbled and lost in his arms, she realised that he was quoting lines from his big Act Three aria, E lucevan le stelle, Cavaradossi’s lament to his lost passion as he awaits execution.