Champagne Deception (9 page)

Coretta shivered in the brisk air as a fit of giggles overcame her.  Could it have been
Signora Fiatti?  That
mamma
sure was mad when she left.  She covered her mouth with one hand in an attempt to hide her nervous laughter.

“Are you laughing?” Lorenzo asked
in amazement.

“Yes.  I’m just so nervous.  It’s a reflex,” she said, the laughter instantly fading
into a sobering awareness of what could have happened had the rock landed on the bed.  “I don’t think you’re the target, Lorenzo.  The person must be after me.  None of these things were happening before I got here, right?”

“No, they weren’t.  But that doesn’t mean anything.  Come on, let’s go.”

Lorenzo grabbed Coretta’s hand and led her inside the villa.  Locking the doors firmly, he reached for his cell phone and called the police.  “They should be here in a few minutes to conduct an investigation of the property.  Let’s go in the living room and try to relax until they get here.”

Coretta sat hip to hip with Lorenzo on the sofa, and he did not try to push her away.  As his mind raced with scenarios and culprits, he drew her closer and absently caressed her mussed hair.  The doorbell chimed for the third time that night, startling both of them.

Chapter Eight

Lorenzo looked out the peephole before opening the door to the pair of uniformed police officers.  Young, sturdy, and dark haired, the officers instantly set Coretta at ease.  With three strong men in the house all at once, she didn’t feel vulnerable to whomever was trying to kill them.

Lorenzo explained the incident in Italian to the officers as Coretta interjected pertinent details.  Nodding and taking furious notes on their pads, the officers parted, one heading upstairs to the bedroom and the other outside.

Coretta bit her nails for the next hour as the investigation methodically unfolded.  When the officers rejoined them in the living room, they regretfully announced that they had not uncovered any evidence.  Lorenzo drew a sharp intake of breath, wholly unsatisfied with the results of the search.

“That’s unacceptable,” he clipped.  “An attempted murder took place here tonight, and you’ll have to do better than to just dismiss us and say there’s no evidence.”

“
Signor
Fiatti, I can assure you that we’re not dismissing the case.  We’re simply saying that whoever threw a rock at your house was very shrewd and didn’t leave a trace of evidence.  Not a fingerprint, nothing,” the lead officer explained.

Lorenzo’s hostility mushroomed
as he demanded, “Why don’t you get a forensics team here?  There could be a microscopic piece of evidence that you missed.  After all, you are police officers, not detectives, right?”

“
Si, Signor
.  But no murder has been committed.  No one was even mildly injured.  We only call in forensics teams for investigations into violent crimes.”

“This woman was nearly rammed in the head by a rock!  The rock only missed her by a few inches!” Lorenzo argued, inwardly shuddering at the thought of any injury befalling sweet Coretta.

Both officers remained calm and rose to leave simultaneously as Lorenzo shot them a furious glare.  “
Signor
, we understand your concerns, but our hands are tied.  We have a procedure to follow.  If you’d like, we can put your house under surveillance for a while.  And you can get a restraining order---“

“Against who?” Lorenzo boomed.  “We have no idea who did this!”

The policemen walked to the front door.  “Like I said, we’ll keep your house under surveillance for a while. 
Buona notte, Signor Fiatti
.”

Lorenzo watched the officers leave without bidding them good night.  “What a useless visit that was!” He shook his head angrily.

Coretta had never witnessed his temper before.  Under other circumstances, his passion boiling to the surface would be intriguing, but not after the near death experience she had endured.  She stayed quiet for a few moments as he restlessly paced the length of the villa.

“Lorenzo,” she ventured, meeting him
at the bar where he was pouring himself a snifter of brandy.

“You want some brandy?” He asked gruffly.

“No, I had enough wine at dinner.” Licking her lips nervously, she asked, “Where should I sleep tonight?

He looked up in surprise as though sleep was the last thing on his mind.  Indeed, she didn’t feel peaceful enough to sleep either, but her head was pounding, and she wanted to relax somewhere…anywhere except that
terrifying guest suite.

“You can sleep in my bedroom.”

“What?” She asked in shock.

“I’ll sleep in the guest quarters of course.  Make yourself at home in my bedroom,” he said, taking a long swig of brandy.

“Which guest quarters?  You don’t mean the suite I was staying in?” She asked in disbelief.

“I do, actually.  I don’t have any other guest bedrooms.”

“You mean to tell me that in this huge house, you only have one guest room!”

“Yes.  There are other rooms that were intended to be bedchambers, but I use them for my art,” he explained as she nodded in understanding.

Of course he used the spare rooms for his art.  He was a bachelor through and through.  With his kind of wealth, he could afford plenty of “man toys” like a billiards table and big screen TV.  So far, though, she hadn’t noticed any such objects and found herself becoming more and more drawn to Lorenzo Fiatti, as enigmatic as he was.  But he shouldn’t sleep all alone in the room where she could have been killed…

“Why don’t we both sleep in your bedroom?” She asked boldly as his green eyes widened.  “I mean, you can’t sleep in that guest suite with a gaping hole in the wall.  You could get sick from the draft, and I wouldn’t feel safe in there
if I were you,” she babbled on, hoping he wouldn’t mistake her intentions as a sensual invitation.  In truth, she wanted nothing more than for him to make love to her, but she didn’t want to
ask
him for it.  She wanted him to come to her.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Coretta.  I’ll do my best to patch up the window tonight.  Go ahead upstairs and get some rest.  My bedroom is at the opposite end of the hall
of the guest suite,” he directed, all the sunniness erased from his face.

Impu
lsively, she planted a kiss on his cheek before turning and wordlessly ascending the stairs.  His eyes penetrated her every step of the way.

*****

The next morning, Lorenzo awoke acutely aware that Coretta was slumbering down the hall.  A vision of her in a silky nightgown tormented his mind as he stiffly rose from the empty bed.  Determined not to let her rule his thoughts, he hastened to freshen up and dress for their visit to the gallery.  As he was zipping up his pants and selecting a shirt to wear, Coretta breezed into the room.

“The door was open,” she blurted out, trying not to gawk at his beautiful naked chest.

“I see you’re ready to go,” he remarked, taking in her alluring appearance in a long floral dress and high heel sandals.

“Yes, you said you wanted to get an early start,” she replied, feeling the urge to run her hands up and down the muscles of his chest.

He quickly put the shirt over his head and ran a comb through his thick waves.  He hadn’t shaved yet, and the dark bristle on his face made him look even more appetizing.  Coretta swallowed nervously, not feeling the slightest inclination to eat breakfast.

“Should we just go straight to the gallery?  I’m not very hungry this morning,” she said.

“Neither am I,” he agreed roughly.  “Let’s go…although that dress was not exactly made for a motor scooter.”

“I know,” she grinned.  “Should I change?”

“No.  You look beautiful,” he said simply, touching his lips to hers in a sweet good morning kiss.

The kiss ended as suddenly as it had begun.  With a lingering look at her face, Lorenzo turned and led her to the garage.  As they took off on the Vespa, Coretta felt at once closer to and more distant from Lorenzo.  The cocktail of emotions was not a pleasing one
and, as she gripped him with her hands, she tried to let go with her heart.  Too many interruptions, too many ill-fated circumstances had barged into her life since leaving New York.  Even as she contemplated the strange detours her life had taken, she was somehow content to be in Milan.  As they pulled into the gallery parking lot a few minutes later, her contentment only heightened.

“This place is huge!” She exclaimed, eagerly peeling the helmet off.

“Wait until you see the inside!” He promised, climbing off the bike and running with her to the door.

Like Lorenzo’s sculpture studio, the gallery was isolated from the city center and stood alone at the end of a quiet residential street.  Unremarkable from the exterior, the building’s interior was vast and spacious, easily capable of housing hundreds of art projects for sale. 
The space was one massive room to highlight their paintings and sculptures.  Impressed, Coretta looked around at the clean white walls and hardwood floors.  She nodded her instant approval to Lorenzo who smiled in satisfaction.

“You like it?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

“It’s amazing.  We don’t even have enough pieces to fill up the space yet!  We’ll have to just keep creating,” she bubbled enthusiastically.

“Yes, I agree.  All this square footage will be incentive for us to be more prolific!” He strolled across the room and put his arm around her.  “I think this is going to be a great partnership, Coretta.”

“So we’ll take it?”

“Definitely.  I’ll bid on the space tonight, and I don’t think there are any other potential buyers, so the place is ours.” He rubbed his hands together excitedly, anticipating a classy grand opening affair.

Coretta playfully extended her hand to shake on the deal.  Lorenzo took her hand but refused to shake it, instead gently pressing her palm to his lips.  Coretta melted at the subtle gesture, gazing at his mouth as it tenderly caressed her skin.

He squeezed her hand before letting go and saying, “There’s one more place to see here.  The cellar downstairs.  We can use it as a storage center so you don’t have to rent a unit anymore.”

“Great!” Coretta exclaimed, eager to have all her paintings in a space that was truly hers.

She followed him down a
precariously steep set of stairs.  The cellar was dark and mildewed but as large as the upstairs gallery.  It would make an ideal storage center.  As she was mentally mapping out how to put the space to use, a male voice called out in clear British English from upstairs.

“Is anyone here?” The Englishman inquired.

Lorenzo grimaced and rolled his eyes as Coretta whispered, “Do you know who that is?”

“Yes,” he said sourly.  “That’s Declan Wainwright.  He’s one of my fiercest competitors. “  Frowning anew, he grumbled, “I wonder how he even got this address.”

“I said, is anyone here?  I see your Vespa outside, Fiatti,” the man rejoined as his voice traveled to the top of the cellar stairs.  “You are down here, I see.”  Declan stomped down the stairs and confronted Lorenzo with a sharp display of hostility.  “How rude of you not to answer me.  I know you aren’t deaf.”

Coretta’s eyes widened in surprise as the man imposed himself before them.  His harsh demeanor was momentarily overshadowed by a devastatingly handsome face boasting china blue eyes and
an arrogant mouth.  Somewhere in his thirties, Declan Wainwright had the wicked good looks of Clive Owen but none of the charm.

Lorenzo stood perhaps an inch taller than Declan but overall their physiques rivaled one another, just as apparently their businesses did.  He glared at Declan and stood protectively in front of Coretta.

“Ah, is this the painter you’ve finally chosen to collaborate with?  Lovely choice,” he commented with a naughty gleam in his eyes.

“What the hell are you doing here and how did you even know where to find me?” Lorenzo demanded angrily.

“Word gets around,” Declan evaded.  “I have a few questions of my own for you, Fiatti.”

Lorenzo continued to clobber Declan with his burning glare until Coretta thought he would
attack the man and wrestle him to the cellar floor.  Declan returned the glower with a menacing look of his own that made his blue eyes blacken.

“My primary question,” he ground out, “is how dare you set up a gallery less than half a mile from where my gallery is?  You already have a monopoly on Milan’s art scene.  How selfish can one be?  I hope your enterprise is a dismal failure, and I predict that it will be.”

Lorenzo shook his head condescendingly and scolded, “Declan, Declan.  I’m so sorry that your gallery isn’t doing well.  If you knew how to run a business, you wouldn’t care about how successful I am.”

Coretta silently observed the increasingly bitter exchange between the two men.  An uneasy knot formed in the pit of her stomach as she contemplated how someone was trying to sabotage their gallery before it was even opened.  Immediately, a suspicion arose in her gut about the
rock that was thrown at her window last night---and the unidentified car that had almost killed Lorenzo on the side of the road.