by Dana Delamar
Silence, then he heard Dom clearing his throat. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I do. We’re not men of honor if we don’t live by the code.”
“The fucking code!” Enrico could practically see Dom’s eyes rolling. “The code is antiquated. How do you expect us to compete with the Sicilians and the Russians if we don’t change our ways?” Dom was careful not to mention the drugs or prostitution forbidden by the code, in case the phones weren’t secure. One never knew.
“There are plenty of other ways for the families to make money. Look at ours.”
“Hmm. Yes, every family has an investment banker at the top.”
“I’m hardly an investment banker.”
“You’re far too modest. You’re a banker and an excellent shot.”
Enrico laughed. “If you say so.”
“You and I both know most of the families haven’t the brains to do what we do. Hell, I don’t have the brains to do what you do. I know that. That’s why you run the banks and take care of the wash.” The wash was their code for money laundering. Most of the families used the Lucchesis to clean their money—by running it through legitimate businesses or through a byzantine series of dummy corporations—and to manage it.
He heard Dom exhale before he continued. “You can’t really mean to cut ties with Andretti. If you think he wants to kill you now, just wait. And we can’t cut off the others. It’ll be suicide.”
“I do mean to cut Carlo off. At least him. Preferably all of them. I know it’ll hurt our profits, but I can’t stomach it anymore.”
“You and your father. Such men of principle. Principles are the excuse people use when they don’t want to be practical.”
“I am practical.”
“Of the two of us, when have you ever been described as the practical one?”
Enrico heard a hint of humor in Dom’s voice. But what he said was true. “You’re right. As usual. My head’s in the clouds looking at lofty goals, not at the situation on the ground.”
“So will you listen to me? We already charge Carlo and the others more to deal with their dirt. We cannot cut off all the families. If we’re to deal with Carlo, we’ll need all the friends we can get—or at least no more enemies.” Dom paused for a second. “You do agree, yes?” When Enrico gave his assent, Dom continued. “You ought to be smoothing things over with Carlo. I’ve been thinking about it, and since your marriage to Antonella kept the peace for so long, what about marrying Delfina?”
A bolt of surprise hit Enrico in the chest. “Dario’s Delfina? She’s far too young. And she’s my niece.”
“She’ll be twenty-two next month. And she’s blossomed this last year. I saw her recently, and it’s been on my mind ever since to propose the match.”
Enrico turned the idea over. Kate was an impossibility. And, if Carlo would agree to it, marrying his granddaughter would solve Enrico’s problems—it would end Carlo’s threats to his life and his business, and it would provide him with the heir he needed. What was there not to like?
Nothing. Except that Delfina wasn’t Kate.
“Rico, are you there?”
“I’m thinking.”
“So it’s not an automatic no?”
Enrico didn’t miss Dom’s hopeful tone. “It’s not a yes, either.”
“Fine. But in the meantime, let’s not upset Carlo further. Or any of the other families. We have enough trouble as it is.”
“All right, all right. I’m listening to you. As usual.”
“As you should. I didn’t get to be your right hand based solely on my good looks.”
Enrico laughed. He and Dom looked so much alike people often mistook them for brothers. “Remember, I’m the good-looking one.”
Dom sighed in mock sorrow. “Don’t I know it.” He paused, then continued, his tone serious. “Please do consider Delfina. It’s the perfect solution.”
“I know.” Enrico sighed. “I’m just not sure I’m ready.”
“Antonella’s been gone a year. You know she wanted you to remarry. And to keep the peace with her father. I’m sure she’d approve of the match.”
Dom had him there. After all, Antonella had been the one who’d proposed their marriage to Carlo, all those years ago. The fact that Carlo had taken her counsel, even though she’d been only fourteen, spoke more for her wisdom than anything else Enrico could think of. Could he find a similarly developed mind in Delfina or another young girl? Unlikely. But Kate… Kate had shown him glimmers of her mind, how she thought, who she was. And he was hopeful.
But he shouldn’t be. Not if he wanted peace with Andretti.
“Rico?”
“You’re right, Antonella would approve.”
“So, should I speak to Dario and Carlo about it?”
“Give me a little more time.” He needed to get used to the idea. “I need to talk to her first.”
“I’ll arrange it.”
Enrico chuckled at Dom’s eagerness. “I never realized you were such a matchmaker.”
“I want you to be happy. And I don’t want to see you shot down in the street like a dog.”
Enrico’s mouth twisted at the image. It reminded him of the crime-scene photos from when his mother and his brothers were killed. Primo’s body pocked with bullets, lying in a pool of blood beside their car, Mario slumped halfway out the open door to the back seat. It was an image that haunted his dreams. “I don’t want that either.”
“Good. I’m glad you’re seeing sense about this.”
“One of us has to be the practical one.” They both laughed and then said their goodbyes.
After he ended the call, Enrico felt a niggling uneasiness. Delfina. Could he seriously contemplate taking her as his wife? Then again, how could he not?
He looked at Antonio and Ruggero. He owed it to his men to at least consider the possibility. Ignoring it could get them all killed, could destroy the Lucchesi family, could destroy the lives of the hundreds of people who depended on him. Dom or his sons could carry on without him, but only as long as the men followed them.
The death of a capo di famiglia often brought challengers into the open. Unless there was a clear successor, preferably a direct heir. And even then, nothing could be assumed.
If he didn’t marry soon and produce an heir, he was going to have to openly declare Dom his successor. Making that clear to the men would help Dom if the time ever came.
If Enrico didn’t marry Delfina, that time might be imminent.
CHAPTER 3
At the sight of the dark purple bruise on her cheek, a lump formed in Kate’s throat. She was such an idiot. Tears rolled down her face, and she turned away from the bathroom mirror.
Wiping her eyes, she sucked in a lungful of air. She wasn’t an idiot. She’d just been too quick to trust. Too impulsive for her own good. The next man she thought about marrying would have to prove himself to her—in spades—before he ever put a ring on her finger. She wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice.
If she ever decided to marry again.
Swallowing down the tightness in her throat, Kate grabbed an overnight bag and filled it with clothes, toiletries, a few photos, and some keepsakes she didn’t want to leave behind. Nothing Vince would miss in case he came home early. Her passport went in her purse.
Then it struck her: just where exactly was she going? She couldn’t go to her parents. Or Terri. Vince knew where they lived. And he knew her friends in New York. Not that she felt close enough to any of them to ask for help.
Fuck! What was she going to do?
The exact opposite of what he would expect. Vince would automatically go to New York looking for her. He wouldn’t think she’d stay in Italy. All she needed to decide was where.
The next big problem was money. She needed cash he couldn’t trace. All her credit cards were in his name; her own credit was atrocious. If only she’d known back then what her poor choices were going to cost her now. But what was done was done.
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br /> Damn it. She had to call her parents. Kate picked up her cell phone, then put it back down. She’d better get out of the apartment first. That call was bound to be a long one, and it would be just like Vince to march back in and demand to talk to her. And if he saw the bag, he wouldn’t let her leave.
Not if he was in the Mafia.
She rubbed her aching cheek again, then her eyes flew open. What was she thinking? She couldn’t go out in public with a big bruise on her face. Jesus, her mind was careening all over, like she’d turned into a kid with a monster case of attention deficit disorder. Kate took a deep breath. She needed to get a grip.
In the bathroom, she rummaged through her makeup kit, applying concealer and powder to little effect. She was just too damn fair; every little freckle stood out, much less a bruise. Kate cursed her genes. Why couldn’t she have nice olive skin like everyone else here?
After repacking her makeup, Kate picked up her bag and gave the little apartment one last sweeping look. It wasn’t much, but she’d had a lot of hope for the future when she and Vince had moved in.
So much for that.
Breathing in deep, Kate tried to shove down the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. Vince had been the guy she’d hoped for—a man’s man who wanted a family, who loved and cherished her, who wanted a long and happy future with her, not just a night or a weekend in the Hamptons. He wasn’t like all the rich, slick men she’d dated before him; Vince wanted to settle down. He wasn’t afraid of commitment.
On their second date, he’d told her that one day they’d marry, that he, Vince Andretti, would be her husband. She’d known him just two months when he’d proposed, and she’d thought it the happiest day of her life.
But he’d just proven that their courtship, their marriage, was all illusion, a fairytale. Her prince was a villain in disguise. If she’d learned anything useful from her mother, it was that you never forgave a man who hit you. Constance had been quite vehement on that point. She’d never explained why, and Kate hadn’t asked. She’d just trusted the look in her mother’s eyes when she’d said it.
It was the only advice she’d ever taken from her mother. Maybe she should have taken more.
Well, it wasn’t too late for that. But first she had to get out of harm’s way.
Kate hurried out of the apartment and hopped on the nearest autobus that headed toward the orphanage. Dottor Laurio owed her a month’s pay.
She just hoped the director didn’t ask too many questions about Vince’s handiwork. Kate smirked as she thought about the word. Handiwork—pun fully intended. At least she could still laugh.
As the tiny bus lumbered through Cernobbio and then up into the hills above the town, she thought about where to go. What about Florence? She hadn’t seen it yet, and it was big enough that she wouldn’t stand out. She’d be just another tourist.
A little bubble of hope warmed her chest. She could manage this. All she had to do was get her check and get out of the Lake District without running into Vince.
If I’m lucky, he won’t pry, Kate thought as she headed straight for Dottor Laurio’s office. Hopefully he’d be in early—never a certainty with Italians—and could cut her a check right away.
She knocked on his door, her heart fluttering. No answer. Time to try his secretary. She knocked on the door next to the director’s. A throaty voice bid her to enter.
Gina, a fading beauty in her late fifties, gave Kate a soft smile when she walked in. That smile immediately turned to concern. “Caterina, la tua faccia!” she said, gesturing to Kate’s face.
Kate’s hand flew up to cover the mark and she flushed. “It’s nothing. I ran into a door, that’s all.”
The secretary clucked her tongue. Cocking her head to the side, she studied Kate. “Caterina, that is not what happened to you.”
She took a deep breath. “Do you mind if we don’t talk about it?”
Gina pursed her lips and sat back in her chair. “If you insist. How can I help you?”
“I need to see Dottor Laurio. Do you know when he’ll be in?”
“He is ill. He will not be here today.”
Damn. Now what? “I need my paycheck.”
Gina glanced at Kate’s cheek again. “Sì. If you can wait, Signor Lucchesi will be here this afternoon. He can issue your check.”
Kate nodded. The wait was risky; then again, it would be that much less money she’d have to ask her parents for.
Hopefully Enrico wouldn’t inquire about the bruise, although he seemed like the kind of man who would. Even if she’d spoken to him only a handful of times, he felt like a friend. He’d definitely tried to make her feel welcome and to help her fit in. He’d even advised her to teach the children English in order to learn Italian, and it had worked. She still had a lot to learn before she’d be fluent, but her Italian was much improved.
She said goodbye to Gina and headed to her office. Nothing to do now but wait. And write a letter of resignation to Dottor Laurio.
Kate sat at her desk and looked around her cramped little office. It wasn’t much, but it was hers. She’d personally gone through at least a quarter of the papers in the still overflowing metal file cabinets behind her, had read the histories of the children as she’d converted their information to the new electronic system.
Oh God. She’d have to say goodbye to the children. Tears filled her eyes again—could she do nothing today but cry?
At least she had one thing to thank Vince for; he’d inadvertently led her to her calling. After she’d gotten her degree in social work, she’d worked with homeless people, trying to find them permanent housing, but her days had filled her with hopelessness. Even when she’d succeeded in securing all-too-scarce low-income housing for her clients, many had ended up back on the street due to substance abuse or mental health issues.
She’d been frustrated, adrift, when she met Vince. Maybe that was why she’d been so attracted to him—he was so sure of himself, so confident. And he had a future mapped out for them right away. A future that had brought her here to the orphanage, to a place where she finally felt she could make a difference.
Maybe she could find work at another orphanage—no, that would be the first place Vince would look for her. Damn it, how could she work anywhere or rent an apartment with a false name?
Jesus. This plan was getting more and more complicated. But she’d figure it out. Vince was not going to get the best of her.
Kate Andretti was no man’s punching bag.
How should he respond to Carlo’s threat?
Enrico sat on the sofa in his study, while Ruggero stood by the window, waiting for his boss to speak. Various strategies tumbled through Enrico’s mind, as they had during the entire forty-five minute drive from Milan to his home on Lake Como. Should he strike out at Andretti’s holdings, put him off-guard? Should he respond at all? Dom urged him to make peace, but Carlo might see that as weakness. And that could be fatal.
In the meantime, he’d have Dom organize thorough yet discreet surveillance of Carlo and his men. They needed to know everything about the Andrettis, every base of operation, every safe house, every official who was on the Andretti payroll. If he had to strike at Andretti, Enrico wanted to be able to hit him hard. Perhaps if he could make Carlo feel enough pain upfront, he’d be able to stop more bloodshed later.
Perhaps.
Carlo had killed Enrico’s mother and brothers, despite the risk to Dario, who’d been a Lucchesi hostage at the time. If the man didn’t care about his own son, what would he care if he lost some men?
Money. That was the key. Cut off the money, and Carlo would howl.
His thoughts were interrupted by Antonio coming into the room. He was carrying the carved box, now empty. “What should I do with this, signore?”
“Put it behind my desk.” He pointed to the shelves built into the far wall, which were filled floor to ceiling with books and pieces of art placed here and there by Antonella to break up the monotony. He’d give C
arlo a cigar out of that box. Right before he pulled the trigger and ended Carlo’s life.
He’d have vengeance for his family at last.
But like so many things he wanted to do, it wasn’t possible. Sighing, he rubbed a hand across his eyes. He’d promised Toni.
Carlo had to make the first irrevocable move. And most likely, it would be Ruggero pulling the trigger, not Enrico himself. Revenge, as they said, was a dish best served cold. And best not served by the chef.
Enrico watched Antonio leave the room, then looked over at Ruggero, who as always, was watching him intently. There were few men he counted on as much as his guard. Ruggero’s lapse in the hotel lobby this morning was puzzling. And more than a little worrisome. Was it possible, as Dom had suggested, that there was a traitor close to him?
Ruggero waited, hands clasped behind his back, his dark eyes expectant. Waiting for Enrico to say something. Perhaps waiting for the order to kill Carlo. Such a task would be difficult, possibly even suicidal, and yet Ruggero would accept it. Perhaps he’d even relish the idea. The man was ruthless, amoral, and cold to the bone. Could Ruggero have any genuine honor, any real loyalty? Could he truly be trusted?
Enrico cleared his throat. He fingered a handsomely bound book lying on the coffee table in front of him. Niccolò Machiavelli’s The Prince. It was a gift from his godfather, and his bible for navigating the underworld he found himself in. But it didn’t necessarily have the answers to this situation.
He looked up at Ruggero. “As you know, this will be a difficult time. I will call upon you at some point.” He held the man’s eyes with his. “You will not fail me.” Ruggero nodded. “However, you are to do nothing now but keep your eyes open.” He paused, trying to read the bodyguard’s face, but as usual, the man gave him nothing. If Ruggero was surprised, it didn’t show. “Do you have any questions?”
“You have your reasons for waiting. I don’t need to know them.”
Enrico rose, walked over to his desk, and picked up the phone.
