As she curled her damp and shaky fingers around the handle, a smile of relief spread across her face. She turned it anticlockwise. Nothing. She turned it clockwise. Nothing. She wiped both hands on her apron, and applying as much strength as she could muster, she tried again, but it wouldn’t budge. She rattled the handle a couple of times. It was definitely stuck.
Beyond the door the smooth, soothing tones of Dean’s voice rang out, accompanied by the distant ringing of her mobile. She tapped her apron pocket, heart doing a nosedive at the realisation that she’d left her phone on the teashop counter.
The traffic had cleared at last. Dario put his foot down and turned up the volume on the stereo, his fingers tapping the steering wheel in time to Fabrizio Moro, his mood instantly lifting.
As a teenager, much to his parents’ dismay, Dario had modelled himself on the cool Fabrizio, with his wild hair, designer stubble,ear piercings and tattoos – though all that had changed when he joined the Carabinieri police force. But listening to his music always took Dario back to his carefree youth.
Only that morning, while waiting for the traffic lights to change, his attention had been drawn to a poster advertising Fabrizio’s tour dates. Dario made a mental note:28 July Augusteo Theatre.
If the right moment presented itself that evening, why not invite Lucy? She’d introduced him to the world of opera. Why shouldn’t he reciprocate by allowing her a glimpse into his musical tastes?
Dusk was now starting to descend as he took the Torre Annunziata turn-off. Not long now. The thought of seeing her again sent a surge of electricity through him. How he longed to hold her in his arms once more, to lose himself in those bewitching emerald eyes, feel the warmth of her body, the softness of her lips, to kiss her freckled nose and run his hand through her silky auburn hair.
Did he dare hope that this could be the start of something? Did she feel the same, or had she simply been swept along in the heat of moment?
Sinking onto the top step, Lucy closed her eyes and sang along to ‘Mambo Italiano’, her voice echoing eerily in the darkness.Dario will be here soon. Dario will be here soon…
The road to the factory rose in front of him, dipped, then rose again. Dario narrowed his eyes. Strange. It looked like dawn was breaking ahead. The light was becoming ever brighter the closer he got.
A scarlet glow seeped across the sky, like a splash of blood. Cold fear rinsed through his chest. Images of that harrowing night flashed before him, like the trailer to a horror movie.
Launching into emergency response mode, he activated the blue light and the siren, pressed down on the accelerator and radioed for fire and ambulance backup.
Lucy’s nostrils flared at the faint smell of… smoke?
The shrill beep of the smoke detectors, followed by the clanging of the fire alarm confirmed her worst fears.
She called out, an edge of panic in her voice. ‘Hello! Can somebody help me?’
She drew a sharp breath, suddenly aware of a strange crackling sound on the other side of the cellar door.
‘Please, please help me.’
Cold fear gripped her. She wanted to scream, but it came out as a spluttering cough.
She shuffled back down the steps, stumbling forward as she reached the bottom, blindly feeling for the sink and the tap.
Arms aching, she hauled up the overflowing bucket and cautiously felt her way back up the steep stairs with her feet, stopping every few seconds to regain her balance.Breathe. Breathe.
The thin strip of light from under the door told her she was very near the top.
But then, in the next moment, an ear-splitting crash cracked through the air, sending her and the bucket tumbling back down onto the flagstone floor.
With a screech of tyres, Dario turned the corner then skidded to a halt outside the factory.
He leapt out of the car, leaving the door open.
He raced round to the back of the building, where flames were licking the roof of the teashop, as smoke further darkened the night sky.
A loud rattle like a pistol shot rang out. He spun around, to see a pale green Vespa lurching into a full-throttle jolt before roaring into the distance in a cloud of blue-grey smoke, red tail light blinking. Who was the driver? Why were they in such a hurry to leave the scene?
Dario’s eyes narrowed as he attempted to make a mental note of the registration number. XJ68… Shit! Too late.
He could either jump back in his car and give chase, or enter the burning building and attempt to rescue anyone who might be trapped inside.
He knew Matteo was out at band practice, Valentina on a blind date and that the factory workers would be safely home by now. That left Lucy. Why hadn’t she picked up when he rang? Why hadn’t she called him to let him know about the fire and where she was?
He tried her number again. No answer. Why was he dithering? If he didn’t try, the guilt of knowing he might have prevented another tragedy would be too much to bear.
