Uncovering the Correttis. Carol Marinelli

course.’

      ‘I need the names of a couple of your contacts,’ Dianne said.

      ‘Sorry.’ Emily gave a sweet smile. ‘Naturally, I promised them that I’d never reveal.’

      ‘But how do you know the lake’s going to be dredged?’

      ‘Dianne.’ Emily gave a helpless shrug, then glanced at the clock, surprised to see that it was already after five. She’d been totally immersed in the Correttis and Battaglias and was now excited at the prospect of covering the wedding—but in her own way. She certainly wasn’t going to be assisting Dianne.

      ‘I just need a name,’ Dianne pushed. ‘We’re on the same team.’

      Emily felt her face flush. But hadn’t Adam told her that she needed to toughen up?

      ‘Well, this part of the team is off to cover a wedding. Sorry I can’t help—I have to go and pack for Sicily.’

      ‘I can’t wait to hear what the bride wore.’ Dianne smirked.

      ‘You can both read about it on Sunday,’ Emily responded. ‘When they bring you breakfast in bed.’

      * * *

      Emily didn’t bother with packing till the morning. Even though it was late May, it felt strange to be pulling out summer dresses and sandals when it was pouring down outside. She packed some loose dresses and espadrilles and, determined that this piece be about more than what the bride wore, she also packed a dress suitable for a wedding, hoping to mingle amongst the notorious guests. Maybe she could even try to slip inside, Emily thought, although she knew that it would be close to impossible.

      She met with Gina, the photographer, at Heathrow, though thanks to the weather, they weren’t going anywhere fast. They sat on the tarmac for ages, the planes backed up due to storms, but finally they were in the air. They moaned all the way to Rome about horrible Adam and Dianne and all the changes that were happening in the department.

      ‘You need to remind Adam and the powers that be what a good journalist you are,’ Gina said.

      ‘I’m hoping to.’ Emily sighed. ‘I’m looking to do something a bit different with the wedding piece,’ she admitted, but Gina shook her head.

      ‘Every journalist in Italy will be hoping to do the same.’ Gina was Italian and knew how it worked. ‘Some of them will have serious contacts.’ Again Gina shook her head. ‘These two families are huge, especially the Correttis. The press watch them all the time and even they can’t get close. I doubt you’ll uncover anything new. I think you might have to wait till Monday to set the world on fire.’

      They landed at Rome and said goodbye. Emily was heading straight to Palermo and Gina was going to sneak in a night with family and see Emily there tomorrow. ‘Have fun,’ Gina said.

      There wasn’t time to have fun, Emily thought. Her career was nosediving; she had to come up with something.

      Palermo was gorgeous, though. The sky was blue, the air warm, and as she stepped into summer, she breathed it in, determined despite Gina’s warning to turn things around this weekend. As the taxi drove her from the airport, she noticed how many developments were unfinished, left deserted midconstruction. She tried to ask the taxi driver about them but he spoke little English, though Emily felt the hair on her arms rise when the name Corretti was mentioned.

      Emily checked in and was taking the elevator up to her room when one of her informants called.

      ‘Hi there...’ Emily smiled into the phone but her voice broke off as the most stunning man followed her into the elevator. His hair was jet-black and he was unshaven with a full, scowling mouth, and her first, illogical thought was, it would be heaven to be the recipient of his smile. He was wearing black jeans, a black top and a black jacket, his eyes covered with dark glasses. The lift doors closed and it was just the two of them. As his expensive scent reached her, Emily was incredibly aware of his presence, so much so that she forgot she had taken a phone call until her informant’s voice came down the line.

      ‘Emily?’

      ‘Sorry!’ She returned her attention to the call, or tried to, but her eyes watched as a beautifully manicured finger pressed the button for one of the top floors.

      ‘Wrong lake.’ The connection was loud and Emily held her phone from her ear.

      ‘Oh!’

      ‘I don’t even know which one the police are going to be dredging—they’re keeping it really quiet. But I don’t want you freezing by a lake for nothing in this weather.’

      ‘I’m not covering the story now. Adam and Dianne are on their way there. I’m in sunny Sicily.’

      ‘Doing what?’

      ‘Covering a wedding.’ Emily rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t ask. It’s a very sore point.’

      ‘I never imagined you as a wedding reporter.’

      ‘Neither did I. Look, thanks for letting me know about the lake. I’ll pass it on.’

      ‘No I bloody well won’t.’

      Emily didn’t mean to say the words she had been thinking, but as she pocketed her phone, she realised that she had spoken out loud. Her eyes jerked up to the gorgeous stranger, her face burning red as the elevator doors opened and she realised she was at her floor. He wasn’t even looking at her; he was lounging against the elevator wall reading from his phone. He probably couldn’t speak English anyway, Emily consoled herself as she stepped out.

      ‘Fattispecie.’

      Just as she got out of the elevator, his deep voice halted her and she turned around and looked at him, wishing he weren’t wearing dark glasses just so she could know the colour of his eyes when she dreamt about him tonight. ‘Actus reus,’ he translated, and even though he still didn’t, Emily found herself smiling as the elevator doors closed, as that delicious stranger gave her the legal term for a lie by omission.

      Ah, fattispecie, Emily thought, letting herself into her room and thinking of Adam and Dianne standing in the pouring rain at the wrong lake.

      Such a lovely word.

      CHAPTER TWO

      EMILY WASN’T going to find out anything in her hotel room, so she freshened up with a shower, then put on a summer dress and some make-up before she went for a wander.

      It was early evening and the streets were teeming. Everyone was chattering excitedly about the upcoming nuptials. There were scores of reporters and the police were combing the church with detectors and dogs. Emily dictated a few lines and then put away her recorder. Everything was cordoned off. Even the barriers for the press were set farther back than usual. There really wasn’t a hope of getting closer. Even the most seasoned Italian reporters would have their work cut out, so Emily knew she didn’t stand much of a chance. She walked across to the reception venue but that and the gardens too were cordoned off.

      Damn.

      It was then she saw him again, and despite the dark glasses, she could see that he was unashamedly watching her. ‘Signor Fattispecie!’ Emily smiled.

      ‘The name is Anton.’ He made his way over and introduced himself. Emily waited for him to give his surname, to reveal a bit more as to who he was.

      He did neither.

      ‘It is a pleasure to meet you, Emily.’ He watched her frown as she tried to fathom how he knew her name. ‘I heard your contact speak. So, you’re here to cover the wedding?’

      Emily nodded. ‘You?’

      ‘To observe,’ he said.

      ‘Oh!’

      He could be a Corretti. He was dark and delicious, and like them—well, according to her research, anyway—he gave nothing away. His voice was low and richly accented, and there