Kitabı oku: «The Correttis (Books 1-8)», sayfa 6

CHAPTER EIGHT

SHE WAS UNABLE to get hold of Paulo for a couple of days, but when Ella did he was delighted to hear from her.

But trying to arrange an interview proved a little difficult. ‘What about next Sunday?’ Ella peered at the diary, then changed her mind. If they changed the shipping dates, it would be the final day of filming and there would be three hundred extras milling around and the set would be crazy. ‘Let me sort out things this end and then I’ll get back to you.’

‘No problem.’ He was just so funny and nice and keen to work for Santo, and he told Ella that he was happy now to take just one week off between jobs. ‘Even no time off, but don’t tell him that yet—I would love to work for Santo,’ Paulo said. ‘I have heard so many good things.’ He laughed then and so did Ella. ‘Lots of terrible things too—the whole family, really. They’re a PR nightmare. I assume you’ve seen the papers this morning?’

‘You really don’t expect me to discuss that!’ Ella smiled, because there were tales of infidelity and missing grooms and illegitimacies. It was Santo’s mother, Carmela, who was taking up the news today. She was an exceptionally cold woman, one who had been more interested, the newspaper article read, in her designer suits than being a mother to her children. Even if Santo knew that already, he was surely reeling from the news that had just broken of his mother’s most illicit affair.

She turned her attention back to Paulo. They really weren’t gossiping. Ella had asked him questions about his employer, liking the fact that though Paulo chatted away, he told her nothing. ‘There is an awful lot of discretion required for this role.’

‘Of course.’

‘Even with Santo—though you work alongside him, really, you won’t have a clue half the time what is going on. He especially doesn’t discuss his family.’

‘I would never expect a Corretti to,’ Paulo said. ‘I am Sicilian, I know.’

Marianna was nowhere near as accommodating or as pleasant to speak to as Paulo.

Most annoyingly, Marianna insisted on speaking in English. God, the Italians were so good at delivering a snub when they wanted to, but Ella took it nowhere near as well as she did when it was Santo. It was even harder to pin her for an interview time than it had been with Paulo.

‘I’ll arrange transport for you if you can just give me a suitable date.’ Ella did her best to keep her voice even. ‘Santo really would like to get this organised as soon as possible, so if you could let me know when you’re available, I’ll try to sort things out with him.’

‘I’ll arrange my own transport,’ Marianna said. ‘You can reimburse.’ Ella held on to her breath. Really, she felt rather more as if she were the one being interviewed, as if she was Marianna’s assistant. She tried to remember that this was the sort of person best for the job—someone brash and confident, someone who would be able to reschedule a ship at five minutes’ notice and deal with all the drama Santo generated. There was certainly no off-the-record chats with Marianna. In fact, she wanted to speak only with the man himself.

‘I will look in my diary and see when I am available. Perhaps if I speak directly with Santo…’

‘Santo is busy with filming at the moment,’ Ella said. ‘I arrange his diary.’ And she heard the note of possession in her own voice and tried to stifle it. ‘If we can organise a mutual time that would be great, but there are several applicants and Santo is very busy.’

‘I’ll be in touch.’ It was Marianna who rang off.

Still, it was a minor triviality and not one she would worry Santo with, because the filming was going from bad to worse and, as the days progressed and the filming didn’t, his mood darkened. The crew were putting in incredibly long hours but it was seemingly all going backwards. Still, Ella had more on her mind than Santo. It was the day she had been dreading for weeks—her mother’s birthday—and later she needed to ring her.

And say what?

Ella tried not to think about it. Instead she responded to a couple of texts from Santo, who was already on set, and then sorted out some of his overnight correspondence.

The second it was 9:00 a.m., she started on the endless phone calls to sort out the extras and ship, and then it was time to head for the set.

She could feel the tension on set as she approached.

Santo had been right to reschedule the ship scene. There was no way they would have been ready otherwise.

‘Where’s Vince?’ someone called.

‘Sulking in his trailer.’ Santo scowled back.

She looked to where Rafaele was placing all the actors, and then glanced over to Santo. There was a muscle jumping in his cheek as he watched the placement. ‘What the hell is he doing?’

Ella said nothing—it wasn’t her place to—but how she would have loved to get in and change things. Rafaele had Vince walking along the docklands where he would come across Taylor crying and stand watching her for a long moment before making his way over.

It didn’t work.

The characters weren’t supposed to even like each other and it just made Vince look opportunistic, especially when Rafaele asked him to put more purpose in his stride.

‘Yep…’ Santo gritted. ‘March over there, why don’t you…’ He turned his head to Ella. ‘Is Rafaele reading the same script as you and me?’ Ella said nothing, just watched in silence as, yet again, the make-up team were called on to touch up Taylor’s make-up.

‘This is a disaster,’ hissed Santo.

Again Ella said nothing.

But absolutely he was right.

Over and over they watched as Taylor cried on cue, and then, over and over, Rafaele called for her to do it again.

‘It’s too much,’ Santo said, and Ella stayed silent, knowing Santo wasn’t stressing about the pressure on Taylor. It was that there was far too much going on in the scene that was the problem. This particular scene was to be combined with a flashback of her receiving the news that her lover had died. It was supposed to portray the devastated heroine staring out to sea and breaking down as she realised her lover would never return.

‘Action,’ Rafaele called, and Ella watched as again Taylor broke down. Vince was being filmed too, from the rear first, watching her from a distance, then walking across the docklands towards her. It was at the end of this scene their grief and passion would ignite.

‘First her face—’ Santo was incensed ‘—then the beach, then back to her face, and now Vince.’

Santo was right. Vince was just bombarding the scene. Ella could see what was needed, could actually see it before her eyes. Taylor was acting beautifully. It was an Italian shot that was needed—an extreme close-up of her eyes with the ocean reflected in them and then turning as Vince joined her side.

God, she could see it.

‘It’s going to be like watching tennis,’ Santo moaned.

Still Ella said nothing, just watched as a very tense Taylor flounced off. Finally Rafaele told everyone to break for lunch.

‘What do you think?’

An ironic smile twisted her lips, that he had the audacity to ask her.

‘Come on, Ella, say what you’re thinking.’

‘That I need your signature to transfer some funds for the extras….’

‘I meant about this scene.’

‘I’m your PA,’ Ella said. ‘You declined directing advice from me.’

He looked over, his expression somewhat incredulous. ‘Are you still sulking about that?’

‘I’m not sulking.’

‘Absolutely you are.’

‘Do you know what?’ Ella muttered. ‘Not everything goes back to you, Santo.’

‘Of course it does.’ It was the first smile she’d seen on him today, but it faded when he turned and saw her expression. ‘That was a joke,’ he said. ‘So what’s wrong?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘It does to me.’

Sometimes he could be so nice, just so damned nice, which was why he charmed so many, why he was so brilliant with women, Ella reminded herself.

‘Are you having second thoughts about working for Luigi?’ he asked as he added his signature to the paper she had brought for him to sign.

‘No.’ Which was an outright lie, since Ella had accepted the job she’d had five emails from her soon-to-be-boss, each one a touch more familiar. ‘We need to sort out a time for your interviews with my replacement.’

‘And when you no longer work for me, can we celebrate in bed?’ He watched her eyes close for a second. ‘Get used to it, Ella. If you think I’m a lech, you wait till you start your new job.’

‘I never said you were a lech.’

‘What then?’

‘Let’s just concentrate on work for now. Paulo can’t come till next Sunday.’

‘It will be the final day of filming.’

‘If I can rearrange the ship.’

‘You have to,’ Santo said. ‘We’re getting nowhere.’

‘Okay.’ Ella sighed. ‘I’m doing my best. I’ll arrange for Paulo to come about four. You can do a brief interview in your trailer and then I’ll take him out to dinner, while you lot all party.’ She gave a tight smile, because the parties Santo threw at the end of filming were legendary, though the way this movie was going it might end up being more of a wake.

‘What about the other one?’

‘Marianna seems to think she should be discussing things directly with you.’

Santo merely shrugged. ‘I’m a bit busy with other things to be sorting out interview times, Ella.’

‘I know that. I was just letting you know. Okay, if there’s nothing more you need me for here I’ll head back to the hotel.’

‘Stay,’ Santo suggested. ‘Rafaele is going to give the crying scene a rest, thank God, and work on the final kiss.’

That, she did not want to see, because she remembered them acting it out. But more than that, she wanted to give in to him, to just give in to herself and say yes.

‘I have a ship to sort out.’

‘Ella…’ He could not stand this. He had never wanted someone so badly. He was turned on and pissed off and he did not understand why she was so reluctant to be with him, why she didn’t even seem to want to talk to him.

Santo blew out a breath called frustration. He had been nothing but nice. The sex had been great and he had kept his distance. He didn’t know what he was doing wrong. Finally there was a woman his user guide manual couldn’t work out and he didn’t like it a bit. ‘I want to talk to you,’ Santo said. ‘Away from here. I am going to finish at seven tonight and then I am taking you out for dinner. No work—’ he made it very clear ‘—there is no need to bring my diary. We are going out for dinner.’

‘I don’t think that’s necessary.’

‘It’s very necessary…’ he started, but he didn’t get to finish because his assistant came to tell him that Taylor was getting upset.

‘That’s all I need.’ Santo rolled his eyes and then turned to Ella. ‘Can you talk to her, maybe have lunch with her. You’re good with people. It might calm her down.’

‘That’s not my job, Santo.’ And she should say nothing, Ella knew it, should just walk off and be done, except she couldn’t resist. ‘And I don’t blame her for being upset—she’s done an amazing job this morning. If Rafaele didn’t get his shot, it has nothing to with Taylor. If I were directing we wouldn’t be wasting so much time on the crying scene. I’d zoom into an Italian shot of Taylor crying, which could be done back in the studio if it doesn’t work out here, and I wouldn’t have Vince walking over to her. I’d have a moment of him watching and then Taylor turning, just his hand moving towards her face… .’ And she was sulking—oh, yes, she was—because it should be her directing this film, and with that she walked off.

And Santo stood there, when he wanted to chase after her.

Ella was affecting him in a way no woman ever had. Since their time together she was all he had thought about—and for what?

He looked up and straight into the eyes of a pretty young actress who smiled straight back at him. If he just took her to his trailer he’d feel better in ten. He should just get over Ella in ways of old, but he was back to the wedding that never happened again—just utterly bored and unmoved by the usual temptations. He’d been working in the chocolate factory too long, perhaps, Santo realised, had possibly reached his fill, except he wasn’t sure he wanted it over.

And for what?

For someone who didn’t even want to talk to him?

For woman who was heading for Roma and that sleaze Luigi?

A moody, unreasonable, uptight woman who wasn’t even a very good PA, Santo told himself.

So why had he hired her?

You know why, a small voice told him.

Because it wasn’t for her PA skills that he wanted her around, and no, he hadn’t been thinking with his head when, despite her terrible Italian, he’d kept her on.

And then he stopped thinking about Ella. Santo had no choice but to, as suddenly, albeit not completely unexpectedly, all hell broke loose on the set.

CHAPTER NINE

IT WASN’T ALL about Santo.

Ella had been telling the truth.

Today was the day she had been dreading for weeks now.

Calling home had always proven difficult, but in the past six months it had become almost impossible.

She put it off for as long as she could. Ella completed some of Santo’s banking, rang and arranged the interview with Paulo and left a message for Marianna to call her. When she could put it off no longer, Ella dialled her parents’ number and prayed that she’d get the answer machine.

She didn’t.

‘Hi, Mum.’ Ella attempted upbeat. ‘Happy birthday.’

‘Ella!’ She could hear the strain and discomfort in her mother’s voice. No doubt she had been dreading this phone call too. There was just so little they had to say to each other. ‘It’s so lovely to hear from you–where are you?’

‘We’re on location, filming.’ Ella did her best to be vague, but when her mother pressed for more information about her beloved homeland, Ella told her where she was.

‘Oh!’ There was silence for a moment. ‘That is close to where I grew up.’

‘I know.’

‘Have you been to have a look at my village?’

‘Not yet,’ Ella said. ‘I’ve been so busy with work and everything and the shooting is falling way behind.’

‘Your aunts will be so excited to finally meet you,’ Gabriella said. ‘I told them so much about you, about your work in the film industry.’

‘I’m not working in the film industry.’ It was a very sore point. ‘I’m a PA.’

‘For now,’ Gabriella said. ‘But you don’t need to tell your aunts that. You tell them how well you’re doing, how good things are….’ Ella could hear the veiled warning, the call to keep up the pretence, to carry on with the hopeless charade that everything was perfect. ‘Or maybe it would be better for you to say nothing about work. I don’t think it will be good if they know you are working for a Corretti.’

‘I’m not going to lie.’

‘I never ask you to lie. I just don’t think they need to know everything. The Corretti name has a long history—it might not go down too well. You know how shocked I was when I found out who you were working for. That name is one that strikes fear into a lot of people and especially in my village.’

And finally, finally, there was something to talk about, a common ground they could share. Maybe her trip to Italy was worth it, because at last there was a mutual link. ‘That family is dangerous,’ her mother warned.

‘I think things are very different now.’

‘There are no changes. I saw on the news that the wedding between the Corretti and Battaglia families didn’t go ahead.’ Ella smiled, because since she had been a little girl her mother always had the Italian radio on. The one thing Ella had been able to do for her mother, to make her life a little more pleasurable, was to get satellite television so that she could watch the Italian news, which Gabriella did, all of the time. ‘I remember only too well Salvatore’s sons…’

‘Carlo and Benito?’

‘Morto!’ her mum said. ‘I still remember the night they died. My sister rang and I turned on the news….Don’t you remember?’ And a memory unfurled then. Ella would have been about twenty. She could see her mother standing by the television screen, shouting, a huge warehouse fire being shown on the news. It had meant nothing to Ella at the time, but it meant so much more now. She listened more carefully than she had back then as her mother spoke of that night. ‘It was no accident, whatever anyone says.’

‘They were killed?’ Ella felt a shiver run down her spine.

‘Who knows?’ Gabriella said. ‘They have a lot of enemies. Some people said it could have been an insurance scam that went wrong. These are the people you are dealing with—you should remember that at all times.’

‘Santo is nothing like that,’ Ella said.

‘Please,’ her mother scoffed. ‘He is Carlo’s son. He could be no other way. Carlo was obsessed with power, with money, with women—he could not stay faithful to his wife for even five minutes. Oh, but he was a charmer too.’ Maybe Santo did take after his father after all. ‘Salvatore was the worst.’

‘Did he cheat too?’

‘Who knows?’ Gabriella said again. ‘He was just pure bad—the Battaglia family too. How they ever slept at night with their consciences…’ Gabriella said. ‘Their wives were as bad too. Lording over everyone as if they were royalty, holding their fancy dinner parties. Your aunt worked in the kitchen of Salvatore’s wife, Teresa, once for a dinner party. Their money was filthy—you ask your aunts. They will tell you—oh, the stories you will hear….’ Then her voice cracked as a huge pang of homesickness hit. Gabriella missed her sisters so very much, but it wasn’t just them. She missed her home, her village and her history too. ‘I wish I could speak with them. I mean, I know we speak on the phone but I want to see them. I wish I could be there when you all meet. I want to show you my village… .’

‘Mum…’ Ella’s voice was thick with unshed tears. ‘Why don’t you come over?’

‘Please, Ella, you know it is not possible.’

‘Just for a holiday. I will pay your airfare…’ But Ella stopped then. She was just repeating herself and, given it was her mother’s birthday, Ella didn’t pursue it further. She didn’t want to upset her today. ‘I’ll go and visit everyone soon and give them all your love.’

‘Let me know when you go, so I can ring them and tell them to expect you.’

‘Okay.’ Ella could not manage upbeat even a single second longer. ‘I really do have to get to work now. I love you, Mum.’

‘I love you too, Ella. Do you want to speak with your—’

It was Ella who hung up.

She was actually shaking with anger as she did so. That her mother could even suggest that she speak with her father after all that had gone on, that still she was supposed to pretend that terrible day had never happened.

Yet it had.

She could not break down again, but she could no longer pretend to forget either. She looked into the mirror, lifted her hair and saw the pink scar. The scar was proof that that day had happened. It was even there when she smiled. Those lovely white teeth had come at the most terrible price. Ella could still remember spitting her own teeth into her hand, but worse than that was the memory of the betrayal—that her mother could have forgiven him and stayed.

That she could watch as her own daughter was beaten and, instead of calling the police, had stood there sobbing and screaming. Instead of calling for an ambulance, she had handed Ella ice packs and told the story to give to the dentist, to the doctor. Had told Ella that if she didn’t want to make it worse for her mother, then she must tell everyone that she fell.

Ella needed to get out, to walk, to run. It was the reason she opened her door, for she would never have opened the door to Santo in this state. She wasn’t crying, but she was still shaking in anger, still holding in a scream that wanted to come out.

‘Ella?’

She brushed past him, but he caught her wrist.

‘Please, Santo.’ She was having great trouble keeping her voice from shouting. ‘I was just about to go for a walk.’

‘Later…’ He simply could not let her walk off like this. He could see how upset she was.

‘I just need to get out for a while.’

‘Of course you do.’ Santo was very practical. ‘We all go a bit stir-crazy in the hotel after a few days. I’ll take you for a drive. I could use one too.’ He was not going to argue about this. He had come to visit Ella for rather more pressing reasons than a drive, but for once, work could wait.

They drove, in silence at first, around the winding streets, but Santo drove the powerful car with far more finesse than Ella and it was actually nice to sit back and stare at the scenery.

‘It’s beautiful.’ Ella looked at the dotted beige buildings built into the hills and then they turned into a village. Another one, Santo explained, that was run-down and in much need of the new lease of life the redevelopment might bring.

‘There is only one café now,’ he explained, slowing the car down. Ella peered up a long set of steps. ‘Do you want to stop for a drink?’

Ella shook her head.

‘There are only a couple of shops….’ She was starting to understand more and more the difference this movie could make. It was such a stunning part of the country. There were just picture-perfect views everywhere. Yet so many, like her mother, had left. She blinked and turned her head as she passed vaguely familiar buildings, recognising some of them from the photos her mother spent a long time reminiscing over.

‘This is my mother’s village.’

‘I know.’ Santo turned and smiled. ‘You could drop in on your aunts now.’

‘I don’t think so.’ Ella gave a tight smile.

‘Probably a good call,’ Santo said. ‘Your mother would never hear the last of it if you arrived with a Corretti in tow.’

‘Slow down a moment.’ He did so. ‘I think that’s the baker’s that my mother used to work at before she moved.’

‘Does she work now?’

‘No,’ Ella said. ‘She worked in a factory till she had me, then gave it up to help out in my father’s shop.’ She peered into the window as Santo slowly passed. ‘It’s nice to see it.’ It really was. There were a few people walking, and some women sitting in the front of their gardens talking. And it was actually nice to see it for the first time with Santo rather than alone. She took a breath. ‘Could we get that coffee?’

‘Sure.’ He turned the car around on a very narrow road with a very steep descent on one side. Only that wasn’t what had the sweat beading on Ella’s forehead. She should take a moment to touch up her make-up. She was supposed to look nice at all times, but she wasn’t actually working, Ella realised.

This was very personal indeed.

They walked along the narrow pavement. Even the street was cobbled—it was like stepping back in history. They stopped outside a tiny church.

‘My mum gets so upset when anyone gets married. She’s told me all about the church. She says the parties afterwards are amazing….’

‘The whole street comes out,’ Santo said. ‘Tables are set up for the reception.’

‘It’s just so different from anything I’m used to,’ Ella said. ‘Not just here, the whole of Italy. Everything’s so much newer in Australia, even the old buildings aren’t comparatively old.’ She looked around at the relatively unchanged architecture, could completely understand how her mother missed it, how Gabriella could still picture it so well, because it was just as it appeared in the photos. ‘Nothing’s changed,’ Ella said.

‘Of course it has,’ Santo responded. ‘The changes just don’t show.’

They climbed the narrow steps to a café and certainly they turned heads when they walked in. Ella was quite sure it was because Santo was a Corretti, and that it had nothing to do with the fact he was possibly the most beautiful man in the world.

The whole place fell silent and they were shepherded to a seat.

‘Are they scared of you?’ Ella asked in a low voice. ‘Or angry?’

‘Both,’ Santo said. ‘I hope soon they will be neither.’

He ordered—coffee and crêpes that were filled with gelato. It was just so nice to be away from set. The locals were starting to talk amongst themselves again, and yes, the gelato was as good as her mother described.

‘It’s nice to be out, thanks for this.’

‘No problem.’

‘How come you’re not on set?’

He just shrugged—those reasons could wait. For now Santo just wanted to talk about her. ‘Your mother’s never been back?’

‘Nope.’

‘One day, maybe?’

Ella didn’t answer.

Even when they were back in the car, when he tried to work out just what it was that had upset her so much today, still Ella spoke about work.

‘I spoke with Paulo and arranged his interview and I left a message for Marianna. Paulo sounds really good, he’s just not able to start yet.’

‘Which is a problem,’ Santo admitted. ‘I need someone who can start as soon as possible.’ He had, Ella realised, stopped trying to dissuade her from leaving. ‘What about Marianna?’

‘The truth?’ Ella checked. It was nice to be chatting, nice to be driving and away from everything, and just so very nice to be with Santo.

‘The truth,’ Santo confirmed.

‘She’s awful,’ Ella said. ‘She’s incredibly confident, treated me like I was her secretary, wanted to only deal directly with you. She refused to give an inch when I tried to pin her for a time to come in for an interview.’ Ella rolled her eyes. ‘To sum up, I think she’ll be perfect for the job.’

‘I thought I already had perfect.’

He glanced over and reluctantly she smiled. ‘No, we both know that you didn’t.’ Maybe it was because Santo was so open and honest, that in this, Ella found that she was able to be. ‘I’m not tough enough.’

‘I don’t always like tough.’

‘I’m not…’ She didn’t really know how to say it, how to admit just how much it all had hurt her. ‘I don’t think Marianna will sulk if you don’t send her flowers.’

‘So you were sulking.’

‘Yes.’

‘What else is Marianna good at?’

‘Multi-tasking apparently.’ She looked out of the window at the ocean and the beauty of the day and hated her melancholy, hated that she hadn’t been able to play by the rules and happily tumble in bed with him without adding her heart to the equation. ‘She’d probably be taking dictation now and giving you a quick hand-job as she did so.’ Ella turned to the sound of his laughter, realised she was smiling now too, because that was how he made her feel. Yes, it was so good to get out.

He pulled the car over and he just smiled as she sat there blushing, as the best lover in the world, as the man she had so foolishly thought she could bear to lose, cupped her face.

‘I walked into a storm that morning—I lost my director, I had stuff going on with my family, I had my brother out at sea.’

‘I know, I know.’

‘But when I knew you were arriving I did arrange flowers,’ Santo said. ‘I had them sent to the room, the same room that you took one look at and left. And I organised dinner—I really wanted to tell you how much our time together had meant, how I was looking forward to seeing you, how it killed not ring—’ He looked at her for the longest time. ‘Who hurt you?’ He saw her rapid blink. ‘Is there an ex-husband?’ He saw her frown.

‘Of course not.’

‘What do you mean “of course”?’ Santo said. ‘I know nothing about you, Ella. What I do know I could write on a Post-it note. I know your parents are together, that there are no brothers or sisters, that your mother is from here.’ He saw the well of tears in the bottom of her eyes. ‘That the sex was like nothing I have ever known, but I don’t know you….’

‘You’re my boss, you don’t need—’

‘I’m your lover!’ He almost shouted it. ‘Get it into your head.’

‘For how long though…’ She hated the neediness, but it was the truth, because he was telling her to open up to him, to give him more than sex, and she was terrified to.

‘Who knows?’ He was completely honest. ‘But if we can’t talk, then not for much longer.’

‘You don’t talk about the stuff that troubles you.’

‘I’ve tried more than you,’ Santo said.

‘Santo, I don’t tell anyone…’ She was close to panic now. ‘I don’t share myself with anyone and I’m not going to start pouring my heart out to you.’

‘You will.’ The view was more stunning than the ocean behind him—his eyes so intense, the passion blazing—and she was there in his spotlight now. He would strip her bare and she was petrified, not just of it ending, but of the togetherness too. She could simply not envisage sharing herself so completely with another, of trusting another. ‘Tell and kiss.’ She could feel the warmth of his skin so close and she teased his translation, just as he did to her.

‘It’s kiss and tell.’

‘No.’ His eyes were open. Santo had made up his mind and he moved back and started the engine. ‘It’s tell and kiss.’ And as he drove off, as always he made her smile. He took her hand and placed it in his lap. ‘Though, of course, I don’t mind a woman who can multi-task.’

‘Ha, ha…’ She took back her hand.

They had been out for a couple of hours and he knew no more than he had when she had opened her hotel door.

‘What was it like?’ He turned to her question. ‘I mean, back there, in the café. People were nervous just to see you….’

‘That is because I would rarely go there, but here…’ He nodded ahead. ‘They are more used to us. This is where my nonna lives.’

‘But what was it like?’

It was Santo who couldn’t answer. He could see his grandparents’ house, huge and imposing and the keeper of so many secrets.

‘Have you seen today’s papers?’ He didn’t wait for her response, he knew that she had. ‘There is far more to come. Always it is about power—that is how it is, that is how you are taught—but sometimes you just want to walk in a café and have coffee.’ Ella nodded. ‘That is why I like being on set—I am just Santo there. Of course, there are a few awkward looks today, given what has been said in the newspapers about my mother. I just have to wear it. Battaglia is determined to crush us and will stop at nothing—so now he makes sure that every piece of filth he can find ends up in the papers.’ He looked at Ella. ‘There is a lot of filth.’