Violent Daylight

by Caroline Angus Baker

  “I know… but…”

  There was a short, hard knock on the door before it opened, and tall and handsome blonde man appeared. Claudio didn’t like attractive men in Canna’s office. Ever.

  “Catherine,” said the man. “What the fuck? We’re in a meeting.”

  “I’m sorry, Giorgio, but I can’t take any more arguing.”

  The man looked from Canna to Claudio. “I’m sorry, am I missing something?” He looked at Claudio with an expectation of an introduction. He didn’t know that Claudio had already assessed him and made the judgment that he was an asshole.

  Canna sighed. “Giorgio Savelli, meet Claudio Ramos. Giorgio is the other CEO alongside me in Caraceni Industries.”

  Giorgio put out his hand and shook Claudio’s with considerable force. An intimidating handshake. “What do you do, Signore Ramos?”

  “Claudio is a Spanish opera singer,” Canna said for him. She watched Giorgio smile a little; he thought he was better than Claudio. “Claudio is successful, wealthy and powerful. If you were to drop his name at La Scala next time you visit, you would do exceptionally well to impress your wife, or your mistress.”

  Giorgio’s face lit up the moment he thought Claudio was a member of the super-rich club. “A pleasure to meet you, sir. I hope you’re not here to discuss the donation that Caraceni Industries gives to the music charities here in Milan. We are caught up in larger scale operations at the moment. Guillermo Savelli deals with our charitable donations now that he has retired.” He stepped to one side and placed a hand on Canna’s back. “Catherine and I have considerable deals to cope with, don’t we, my dear?”

  Canna smiled at Giorgio. “Get your dirty fucking hand off me,” she said in a sweet tone. “I’m not going to meet with any of the board directors until the final tax costs are finalised. You can go back to the screaming match, but I have another meeting.”

  Giorgio’s face clouded. “Sono molto importante.”

  “You’re important, but I’m just as important. We are both the CEO of this company.”

  Claudio watched the man leave the office with a slam of the door. “Who was that?”

  “Giorgio is Guillermo Savelli’s son. Guillermo is Giuseppe’s brother. Guillermo and Giuseppe ran this company together and left it jointly to Giorgio and me.”

  “That’s a lot go G’s.”

  “It’s a family tradition. Guillermo is in his sixties and has retired from the Caraceni company. Giorgio took his place, as is the custom. Of course, Giuseppe had his daughter Gia, who is incompetent, and had no one else to leave the company to until he married me.”

  “And hoped to put a baby in you.”

  “Now, I’ve inherited the business and majority share, and Giorgio is livid. He saw himself taking over the whole business.”

  “He is unnaturally good-looking.”

  Canna smirked. “He’s only 45, but has already had a facelift.”

  Claudio chuckled. Loser. “You have another meeting? I really fucked up in coming to see you.”

  Canna glanced at her cheap plastic Mickey Mouse watch, her only reminder of her time with Virtuosi. “I wasn’t far off leaving the office anyway. You’re welcome to join me. It’s not a meeting, as such, rather a night out.”

  “If I’m welcome to join the Countess, I would be honoured.”

  “Excellent. It’s Francesca’s birthday, and she doesn’t know that I have arranged an evening out for her and her husband. I will surprise her, and then we can go out.”

  “That’s a very nice… a very un-Canna thing to do.”

  “Who do you think saw me limp out of here, blood running down my legs after being raped by Giuseppe, and was kind enough not to mention it? I owe that woman a lot. She would send me Giuseppe’s schedule so I could avoid him as much as possible. You never know who you need to be your friend.”

  CHAPTER 2

  MILAN

  Canna held Claudio’s hand in the elevator. She smiled at him without a word. But the moment the door opened, Canna let Claudio go and moved away, and left him to trail behind her. Canna wanted to keep Claudio a secret.

  “Where are you staying?” Canna asked as they crossed the lobby. The sound of her heels on the black marble echoed in the huge space.

  “That charming hotel we stayed at when Virtuosi performed at La Scala earlier this year. The Principe di Savoia.”

  “Stay with me instead; I will get Giancarlo to fetch your things and check you out of the hotel.”

  “Can he do that?”

  “Giancarlo is my bodyguard; he can do whatever he likes.” With a smile, Canna put on large dark sunglasses, and they stepped through the automatic doors out onto the footpath. Giancarlo had just pulled up in large black Mercedes and had the back door open for Canna. This was the life. Luxury beyond imagination.

  “Contessa?”

  Canna turned to the unfamiliar voice and saw a man with a camera. Not another one of those fucking photographers. Everyone wanted to see what the Countess did with her late husband’s business… and her personal life. “Vaffanculo,” Canna swore at the guy.

  The man continued to take photos anyway. “Chi è l'uomo con te?” He gestured at Claudio.

  “This man is none of your business,” she spat back. Canna hoped Claudio had got into the car behind her, but no.

  “E 'vero che ci si trova in una relazione romantica con Giorgio Savelli?”

  Dating Giorgio Savelli? Right, that was enough. With the camera held to his face, the photographer didn’t see Canna take a swing. Her fist connected with his jaw, enough to throw off his balance. He dropped his camera as he got introduced to the pain Canna could inflict. The camera smashed onto the ground, and Canna stomped on it with her sharp high heel. That was the end of that.

  “Car!” Giancarlo shouted, and Claudio pulled Canna by the arm, and they climbed in the back together. Claudio shut the door and saw Giancarlo pull the man to his feet with a single hand and shake him. He couldn’t hear whatever Giancarlo said to the man, but he nodded at the Italian giant, who almost shoved him to the ground when he let go. Giancarlo swiped up the broken camera and tossed it on the front seat as he jumped behind the wheel.

  “Grazie, Giancarlo.” Canna glanced out the window at the tall buildings in Milan’s central business district as they sped away.

  “Prego, Canna.”

  “You need to go to the Savoia. Claudio needs to be packed and checked out. Do you have time to take care of that?”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  Canna turned to Claudio, who sat stunned after her attack on the photographer. “Did you bring anything nice to wear, like a suit?”

  “Ah… no, I didn’t. I only packed a few things.”

  “I will call Francesca; she will have a suit sent to the apartment for you.”

  “I hope it fits.”

  “Of course. Francesca has your size, and the designer we call on can Google a few photos of you. He never fails. We need to look our best tonight. Are you excited, Giancarlo?”

  “Very, I’ve been looking forward to it.”

  “You just smacked a guy in the face!” Claudio blurted out.

  “Are you still on that?” Canna asked.

  “What if you get into trouble?”

  “That guy wanted to know who you were. He also asked if I was dating Giorgio. That’s fucking slander right there! He deserved it.”

  “He could get you into trouble.”

  “He can take a number and get in line.”

  “It’s not the first time the paparazzi has received this treatment,” Giancarlo said. “I should deal with them. I’m sorry, Canna, I didn’t see him.”

  “It’s fine, Giancarlo,” Canna replied. “Claudio, don’t worry. His male pride won’t admit he got done over by a girl. If he does, we can say he hounded a grieving widow and the friend who was there to help her through her strenuous day. Any story can be spun to suit. Caraceni Media owns most newspapers and magazines in Italy.”

 
“Is that what I am? A friend?”

  “Men,” Canna sighed. “Always labelling relationships. So needy.”

  Claudio screwed his face up, and she winked back with a naughty smile. Everyone wanted a piece of Canna; they just couldn’t choose which piece they received.

  ~~~

  Holy shit. They were the only words that fell out of Claudio’s mouth as he wandered into Giuseppe’s Milan apartment. The place seemed like a palace. The winding staircase in the entrance way that led to the bedrooms upstairs was impressive enough, but the whole house was mind-blowing. Luxurious. It reeked of power and ego and self-indulgence. Room after room was full of sumptuous furnishings and expensive detail. A palace fit for a king.

  “You should see the home in Sardinia. This is just the apartment used as a base while having to work in Milan,” Canna commented.

  Claudio sighed, and swore he could hear it echo through the high-ceiling place. “It’s incredible that one man could be this rich.”

  “Old money,” Canna smiled. “Hundreds of years of businesses, wise investments, scheming and other poor behaviour by the Caraceni family got Giuseppe to this level. The home in Costa Smeralda has been owned by the Caraceni family for 700 years. They sold much of the land off to the super rich. It’s easy money. That home… the peninsula overlooking the sea, surrounded by olive groves… the place is heaven on earth. It was where Giuseppe was hitting me, cheating on me, and ran me over with my own car… but that aside…”

  “But that aside,” Claudio muttered. “It’s also where you killed Giuseppe.”

  “He wanted to die there, and I wanted him dead. It was a win-win situation.”

  “Have you been back to Costa Smeralda?”

  “No.” Canna looked at her bare feet on the gold rug. “I signed the Sardinian property over to Gia… sorry, Contessa Gianna as she wants to be known now. Gia is Giuseppe’s daughter, so she can have the place. She will have the opulence of the mansion and men will use her. Gia will die alone and bitter. The joke is on her.”

  “Money can’t buy happiness.”

  “Sure it can. It’s easier to cry over problems in the front seat of a Porsche than to cry on foot. Trust me, I’ve done both.”

  Claudio sniggered. “I can’t imagine Gia, or Giorgio for that matter, having problems to cry over.”

  “They have no street smarts. They have lived their lives in a bubble, and always will. Regular problems don’t apply, but they are shallow and just don’t realise it. God, I hate these people.”

  “Then why hang around here?”

  “Hello, can you see all the money?”

  “Well,” Claudio said, and took his hands from his pockets. “I can see why you chose to return to work in Milan, and not follow me to London. I don’t have much money. I don’t have a lavish apartment.”

  “Your little apartment in Madrid is great. I had a fantastic time in Madrid. Best holiday ever. Plus, I got to spend my 100th day of being clean and sober there. I’m clean and off morphine because of you.”

  Claudio pouted. “But I’m not old money. I’m not even rich.”

  “You should have received your royalties from this year’s sales of the Virtuosi album by now.” Canna wandered over to him and slipped her hands around his waist.

  “Yes, and my accountant is doing his best to save me from the tax office as we speak.”

  “I’m sure he is! You sold over a million albums in the States, and soon it will be that many in the UK. Maybe even another million here in Europe? You’re a successful man, Claudio Ramos Ibáñez. Don’t talk yourself down from the height you have built yourself up to with Virtuosi, the world’s most popular opera quartet.”

  Claudio put his arms around Canna, and watched her smile. “I’m not sure I will ever make enough money to make you happy.”

  Canna raised her eyebrows. “You know, in my early twenties, I wasn’t rich. Sure, I had a job I loved and made enough money to pay rent, buy food, pay off a shitty used car, but not much else. I was so happy. It gave me a sense of achievement. I was on my way to great things… whatever those things would be. That’s the beauty of youth, the options and possibilities. Now, here I am at 30 years old, and I’m rich. I also have a failed marriage, a violent track record and a drug addiction under my belt. Money did me no good. It can buy happiness, but not self-worth. I envy the confidence you have of your life’s direction, and in your talents. It’s more beautiful than any amount of money.”

  Claudio brought his hand to Canna’s cheek and stroked her skin with his thumb. “You have a way with words, Ms. Medici. Maybe I should put you to work, writing songs for my new album.”

  “With your voice, you could recite my phone bill and make it sound romantic.”

  “You’re quite the charmer, aren’t you?” His voice had become soft and gentle.

  “I learned it from you.”

  It felt such a relief to kiss Canna, so slow, warm and emotive. It was unrivalled in the sense of love and comfort that it gave. How he missed Canna, how he ached when he didn’t see her. It had been two weeks since they separated in Madrid; Claudio went back to work in London and Canna to Milan. Two weeks of sitting in a small borrowed flat in cold grey London, pining for the woman he had at last won. He had won Canna back from her demons and from Dane Porter. Claudio let her lips go and watched her eyes sparkle.

  “You have that smile,” she whispered.

  “What smile?”

  “A smile that says ‘I love you and I don’t have to hide it anymore’. It’s a tiny smile that no one ever saved for me before.”

  That was what Claudio had stuck to his face. A cute little smile, the kind that comes over a man when he is in love, and gets a private moment with the woman he craves. The kind of love that strikes a man half his age. The kind that makes him feel like love is the greatest thing in the world, and also the easiest way to have your life ruined. Claudio’s eyes glazed over; his mind didn’t want to focus on anything but the woman in his arms. He didn’t have a reply for Canna; there were no words. Canna was still the violent drug addict he knew. She was also the woman who stayed with him for two weeks in Madrid, dressed in no more than one of his shirts for most of the time. Canna had been exposed to him physically and emotionally. Claudio didn’t ever want to recover from his addiction to Canna.

  Claudio swept a lock of jet-black hair from Canna’s face and kissed her lips. She had her own little smile, and her gaze moved between his eyes and lips, eager to be kissed again. Claudio took a few steps forward and moved Canna with him until she leant against the dark pool table in the centre of the room. Claudio lifted Canna and sat her on the edge and kissed her again. Canna spread her legs open, letting her skirt slide up her thighs so he could stand between them. As lost as he was in the sensations of her affection, Claudio could feel her take off his jacket. Her nimble fingers tickled his throat as her hands went to his collar, and began to undo the buttons on his shirt. The moment acted itself out in slow motion, and he loved it. Every response seemed heightened; every stroke, every caress, every deep and sensitive kiss. Canna danced her fingers over his skin when she took off his shirt. He fumbled through the delicate buttons on Canna’s blouse, and he ran his hands over the curves of her body and pulled at her blouse. His hands held Canna’s shoulders as he pulled his lips from hers to look at her. He took a few deep breaths as their eyes locked.

  “What?” she whispered.

  “I love you.”

  Canna nodded but said nothing. She shrugged his hands from her shoulders, and discarded her blouse, and her bra went with it. She sat up straight and watched Claudio’s gaze glide over her scars and tattoos, though her breasts commanded most of his attention. Claudio took a deep breath and held it; he felt so aroused by her presence that he had to try and control the urges that fired in each of his senses. Every time he touched Canna he was gentle, considerate, calm. Claudio had to slow down; he could never be rough with Canna.

  “Espirar,” Canna whispered.

&n
bsp; Claudio obeyed and exhaled. He had no idea why, but to hear her say it in Spanish made him hotter. He ran is hand up and down the scarred skin of her straight and tall back a few times and rested his hand on her collarbone.

  “Bésame,” she whispered.

  Claudio brought his body and mouth to hers. The taste of her mouth, the sight of her body, the sound of her whispers in Spanish, the warm and seductive smell of her body, they all simultaneously enticed him. One by one, Canna engulfed his senses. He needed touch. His hands dropped to where her skirt had ridden up her around her hips, and pulled at it. He shuffled the stupid thing and its accompanying underwear down far enough so she could kick them to the floor.

  “Tócame,” she whispered against his lips.

  One of his hands had already dropped to her thighs, and it curved between her legs in his eagerness to feel how ready she was to receive him. She gasped through their kiss as he stroked her, just enough to excite. Claudio felt lost in the unfamiliar house, exposed in the middle of a room, with a naked woman wrapped around him. He wasn’t sure how much longer he would be able to stand up; his legs were about to buckle under the pressure of the arousal. One of Canna’s hands weaved its way around him and undid his trousers. It excited Claudio more, and he had to stop her. He could barely breathe and needed Canna on her back underneath him. There was only one thing for it.

  Claudio fought off the rest of his clothes, and watched Canna sit there, legs apart, her eyes going up and down his body. Her hand went straight between his legs and cupped him, her hand hot against him. The throb in her hand told her how much restraint Claudio had left; none.

  Canna pulled herself back onto the soft surface of the pool table, and Claudio climbed up after her. In seconds she was on her back, her legs apart for him. He watched her stare right back into his eyes as he steadied himself over her. “Hazme el amor,” she whispered.

  Make love to her? Deal. Claudio watched her expression change as he took her; a tiny look of trepidation, followed by an expression of relief and pleasure when she realised he wouldn’t hurt her. One of her hands slapped Claudio’s back in an attempt to hold on to him. Canna arched her back so she could hold her body close to his. Her black and blonde hair spread out around her while she moaned with every thrust, and the sight was too much for Claudio to take. As he climaxed, he reached out and held the edge of the table, a way to steady himself inside her as he rode the shock of the emotion. He could hear a desperate pant, almost a whimper, but realised it came from within. Claudio had orgasmed to within an inch of his own life. It all seemed too quick, so intense and so sudden, but he had felt Canna quiver and heard her cry out; she had climaxed just as fast.