Cosa Nostra by Emma Nichols) 16656409 (z-lib.org) (1)-compressed

by Неизвестный

  continue to look at the woman she loved. Simone shook her head at her and

  looked disappointed.

  “If you knew how much I tried to avoid this happening to him.”

  She knew. She’d really fucked up. She should have said something

  to Simone sooner. She shouldn’t have involved Roberto, but he wanted to

  work for her, and he was good. She was giving him what he wanted, and

  who was she to stand in the way of a man wanting to develop a career for

  himself? She’d done her best to make sure he was ready for the job. She’d

  made sure he had only taken on jobs that he could deliver safely. Vittorio’s

  little prank hadn’t helped matters, of course. But if it hadn’t been for

  Roberto, Vittorio would be lying six-feet underground right now. The boy

  had skills that could be honed, but Simone didn’t want to hear that. Simone

  didn’t want to hear her plan for his future; that he might one day become a

  Don, a solid second in command at the very least.

  Simone picked up the case, and Maria ran to her. “Please don’t go,

  Simone.” She placed a hand on Simone’s arm, and Simone slowly looked

  down at it, her eyebrow raised. Maria removed her hand. “Please, Simone.”

  The heat from Maria’s chest flared upwards, scorched her throat, and

  stopped behind her eyes and she closed them for a brief moment.

  She felt the rush of warm air move past her, and Simone’s perfume

  faded. Her eyes burned and drove her lids to blink repeatedly. The sea

  beyond the window seemed blacker and hazier. She turned to the CCTV.

  Angelo’s car pulled up outside the gates, Simone walked through them, and

  the gates closed behind her. The car disappeared.

  Simone had gone.

  She stared at the blank screen for an unfathomable length of time

  and the depth of emptiness she had felt once before, expanded within her.

  The intensity of it overwhelmed her as it had done back then too. She

  removed her jacket and threw it to the floor. She walked to the side of the

  house and, driven by the same fire that she’d felt when Rocca had informed

  her of her father’s death, she punched the boxing bag hard until her

  knuckles bled. Only then did she drop to her haunches and allow the tears to

  flow freely. She had found herself a really good girl—the best—and now

  she’d fucking lost her. Anger aggravated her thoughts, and she screamed.

  Without Simone’s love, life wasn’t worth living. Why does this fucking job,

  this place, this fucking code, fuck up anything that means something to me?

  What did I do to deserve this?

  33.

  The chill from the space in the bed next to Maria filtered from her

  fingertips to her stomach as a dull ache of recognition. Every morning was

  the same routine with the same sense of desolation, and then the tightness

  and burning accompanied utter self-contempt. She fisted the cool sheet and

  winced as a sharp pain shot into her wrist. The stiffness in her fingers still

  refused to cooperate with her mental demands, though there was some

  small pleasure in feeling the pain she deserved. She had badly strained the

  ligaments in her hand boxing in anger, but she didn’t care about that. Rage

  flared wildly, confirming that she hated herself, her life, and the torment

  that ate at her like a cancer in Simone’s absence. She launched herself out

  of the bed, scrambled on her clothes, and went into the kitchen.

  Pesto came to greet her with a wagging tail just like every other day.

  Except it wasn’t every other day. It was another day in the absence of

  Simone, another day where Maria would have to fight her unrelenting inner

  voice and the incessant erupting negative emotions. Good girls don’t want

  to be involved with this business. But she had found that good girl, fallen in

  love with her, and she had even allowed herself to dream of a future

  together.

  Mechanically, she went through the routine of petting Pesto, filling

  his bowl with food, grinding the coffee beans, sipping at a bottle of water,

  and stepping onto the veranda. She glanced around the cove. The sea, as

  calm as it always was this time of year, lapped reluctantly with tiny waves

  at the sand. She put on her trainers, a signal for Pesto to join her, and started

  to jog. Every step was sluggish, her head pounded, and her wrists throbbed.

  Discipline is the most important quality, Maria. Her father’s voice reassured

  her.

  She jogged and sprinted to the left side of the cove, took the route

  inland, up and around the front aspect of the villa, weaving a path to add

  distance sufficient to exhaust her. Returning to the veranda with a final

  sprint across the sand, she came to a sudden halt. Her empty stomach didn’t

  stop her body trying to rid her of its liquid contents. Bile rose, caused her to

  retch, and stung the back of her throat, then stomach cramps brought her to

  her knees. She buckled over, breathing slowly to stem the shooting pains.

  Pesto jumped at her, licked her face and hair, and nuzzled beneath her to lift

  her from the ground, and then yapped into her ear. She lifted her head

  slowly, held out her hand to him, and stroked him. “It’s okay, boy.” Easing

  slowly to her feet, she winced. She made her way to the kitchen and pulled

  out a bottle of water. She sipped and watched the CCTV. She’s not coming

  back, Maria.

  She picked up her phone and messaged Giovanni, put the coffee on

  to brew, showered, and dressed.

  The chocolate notes hit her tongue, and the caffeine added an edge

  to her determination. With the gun resting reassuringly at her side, she

  pulled a small travel case from the cupboard and moved about the villa.

  She slotted the documents Giovanni had arranged for her into the

  sleeve in the lid of the case. A plain envelope contained a small sum of

  euros. A laptop held the details of the bank accounts in Switzerland and the

  legal documents for the property in the Pyrenees and the Octavia. She threw

  in a set of keys for the boat and left the second set on the bed. She pulled

  open the drawer to her desk and sighed as she removed the gift. She’d

  planned to give the surprise to Simone once all the Italian business had been

  sorted as a celebration for them to enjoy together in the autumn. A sharp

  stab to the heart reminded her that their past was no longer her future. She

  hoped Simone would appreciate the gesture, nonetheless. Hovering the

  present over the case, her hands trembled. She studied the swollen and

  bruised skin as if it was alien to her and frowned at her fingers gripping

  tightly and the white knuckles that refused to let go. She turned her head,

  looked to the ceiling to stem the burning at the back of her eyes, and

  dropped the package into the case.

  She threw in her favourite pair of shorts and T-shirt, the set that

  Simone had admired the time she had tantalisingly removed each piece of

  clothing from her body and deliberately tasted every ounce of flesh as she

  revealed it. A shudder of pleasure came to her with Simone’s kisses igniting

  her skin. She swallowed down the feeling and buried it deep, deep enough

  so that it might not hurt her. She threw in a new toothbr
ush, toothpaste, and

  the bubble bath that Simone had enjoyed and then went back into the

  kitchen. That was everything that meant anything to her. The sum of the life

  that mattered sat in a small, innocuous case on the bed.

  She located a pen, plucked a sheet of paper from the desk, and set

  them on the breakfast bar. Slowly she prepared another coffee while

  glancing between the paper and pen, the walls that had been her home for

  so long, and the beach and sea. Pesto was oblivious to her fate. She took the

  cup to the bar and sat staring at the blank white sheet of paper. How do I

  write a posthumous declaration of love? She sipped the coffee, hoping the

  words would come.

  My love, Simone,

  Everything I own that cannot be traced is in this case. I give it to

  you with all my heart. I loved you from the first time I saw you. I’m

  sorry I failed you, and us. Please, enjoy the gift with an open heart and

  think of me.

  Love always, Maria x

  She placed the note into the case, zipped and locked it. With the case

  in hand and Pesto at her heels, she made her way to the Maserati. Even the

  hollow emptiness had become a sense of non-existence. She felt nothing.

  But her focus had never been sharper.

  She stood at the window that looked out across the heart of the city,

  her mobile at her ear. She continued with the call as the office door opened.

  “Sí, Rafael. Muchas gracias. Sí, Sí. Hasta luego. Caio.” Pocketing her

  phone, she turned and greeted Giovanni with a weary smile. Rafael had at

  least given his assurance that the shipment from Spain hadn’t been

  tampered with, and she believed him.

  He bowed his head as he spoke. “Donna Maria.”

  “You heard?”

  “Yes, Donna Maria. I was very sorry to hear.”

  She cleared her throat. “We have work to do, Giovanni.” Her tone

  was clipped.

  He nodded. She turned away, then turned back and stared at him.

  “Angelo has eyes on Simone,” he said and smiled softly.

  She wetted her lips, glanced at the case at the side of the desk, and

  took in a deep breath. She picked it up and held it out to him, holding his

  attention with a determined look. “If anything happens to me, will you give

  this to her, please?”

  She saw his jaw clench as he took the case. She took in a sharp

  breath that impaled her chest, swallowed down the rising emotion, cleared

  her throat, and turned back to the safety of the view from the window. “I

  want you to run the Lombardo business, Giovanni…with Roberto at your

  side.”

  The silence drove steel into her back until she couldn’t bare it any

  longer. She turned to face him and stifled a gasp. The rims of his eyes were

  red, and he immediately averted his eyes.

  “Yes, Donna Maria. I understand.”

  His voice sounded broken with emotion, and she pushed away the

  desire to console him with a hug. They’d only ever hugged once, and that

  was at her father’s funeral. Perhaps this was another solemn enough

  occasion, but the moment passed and she simply nodded. “Good, I will let

  Matri know.”

  Giovanni cleared his throat. “Roberto?”

  “I know Simone is against him working for us, but this is what he

  wants to do. He is adamant. And he is clever. I’m not going to stop him

  from living his life.”

  “He has a good head for business and is personable. A good

  memory for faces too. And, did you know, he can hit a pigeon between the

  eyes at fifty metres?”

  She couldn’t bring herself to smile at his light-heartedness. “I will

  talk to Matri regarding Vittorio’s position with the company, but with his

  injuries I think he might struggle. He will have a family to look after soon,

  and I don’t want my sister ending up a widow before she’s thirty. Maybe we

  could offer him an office job?”

  “I will deal with it, Donna Maria.”

  His eyes glassed over, and the muscles in his cheeks flickered and

  tensed. He had lost the battle to conceal his emotions. She smiled through

  tight lips. “I’m sure everything will be fine, Giovanni. We just need to take

  proper precautions. It’s good business practise.” She smiled reassuringly.

  A smile appeared faintly at Giovanni’s lips and disappeared quickly.

  “Is there anything else we need to consider?”

  She turned to the window. “I have some things stored at the reef,”

  she whispered. Giovanni remained silent. She sighed. “Octavia guards them

  for me. If…” The words caught in her throat.

  “Yes, Donna Maria,” he said quietly.

  She breathed strength into her tone. “Small things, my will, the legal

  documents for the villa here, a letter for Matri, some photographs. Retrieve

  them for me and give them to Matri. She will need them.”

  “I promise, Donna Maria.”

  She turned to face him. “Will you look after Pesto for me?”

  He nodded.

  Remorse coursed through her like heroin through her veins, the

  damage just as destructive, before she shifted focus. “Keep a watch on the

  Amatos. I trust Patrina as much as I can, but…”

  “Of course.”

  She smiled and felt a greater sense of purpose.

  Giovanni inclined his head. “Simone did not turn up for work

  today.”

  She nodded. “I think we can assume she has given her notice. But if

  she changes her mind, the job at the Riverside is there for her.”

  “Of course, Donna Maria. Perhaps Roberto can persuade her.” He

  smiled ruefully.

  Maria moved back to the window and put her hands in her pockets.

  “Thank you, Giovanni.”

  “Bona sira, Donna Maria.” He turned and made his way to the door.

  Maria stared out of the window. Would this be the last time she

  looked out across the city from her office window? Had that been her final

  conversation with the brother she had never had? The leaden feeling in her

  heart reflected how she felt about the man who had stood beside her all

  these years. Rooted to the spot with regret, she wiped the tears from her

  cheeks and told herself there would be other times to come. The heavy

  feeling became dense with her sorrow as she wished she had hugged

  Giovanni and told him how much she cared. The tears flowed faster, and

  she heard herself sobbing.

  34.

  Roberto paced the small living room at Benitos Street and raked his

  fingers through his hair. “I told you before, I want to work for Maria.” He

  threw his arms in front of him in a submissive motion, as if pleading for

  Simone’s understanding. “She’s been good to me. And I am good at what I

  do, Simone. This is the perfect business for me. I don’t want to be a pizza

  boy or manage a shop. That isn’t progression, that’s a life sentence.”

  Simone’s stomach churned. She lowered her hands from her hips

  and shook her head. No wonder Roberto had become distant. Was this how

  he’d made the money for her extravagant birthday gift? Bile rose in her, and

  she clamped her hand to her throat. “Who are you?”

  Roberto flicked his hand dismissively at her and hissed th
rough his

  teeth. She saw darkness behind his eyes and felt the impenetrable distance

  fortifying between them. In that moment, his demeanour reminded her of

  Maria’s when she was preoccupied with the needs of the business. Fuck the

  business that had ruined my life and stole my family. And now it had ripped

  her brother from her and driven her from the only woman in the world she

  had truly loved.

  “You want to kill me, Simone? You would have me work in a dead

  end job for a pitiful wage like our father did? I make more money in a

  month than I did in a year at the hotel.”

  Simone’s hands returned to her hips as she leaned towards him. “At

  least our father made an honest living.” She tossed her words at him like

  weapons.

  Roberto stood taller and gave her a hard stare. “You know nothing.”

  Simone turned her back to him. “I’m not playing these games with

  you.”

  “Yes, even this house, your waitress job. It was bought with blood

  money, Simone. We both know that. There’s no escaping the fact. We were

  effectively sold to the Amatos. Why?” He started to pace. “You know, it

  took me a while to work it out. Why didn’t Alessandro recruit me into the

  clan? His men have watched me for years working the streets. You think

  you had some kind of power over them and could make demands of them?

  They take what they want, and if they don’t take, there’s a good reason. Our

  father passed information to Stefano, quietly and in the background. One

  time, that information saved Stefano’s sorry life. So, out of loyalty to our

  father, and respecting your wishes not mine, they have stayed away from

  me.”

  Simone snapped her head towards him. His words weaved fire

  through her veins. No, no, no. Her father wouldn’t have sided with the

  Amatos. He was a shopkeeper who worked hard to earn a living so she

  could benefit from a university education. She shook her head, her knees

  buckled beneath her, and she slumped into the chair. “You liar. You’ve

  become just like them.” She spilled the words on a wave of fatigue with

  which came a realisation of the truth.

  “Maria is not buying me or you, Simone. And the past is in the

  past.”

  Simone didn’t look up. She interlocked her hands in her lap.