by Dana Delamar
Not that she noticed any of his attentions. When she wasn’t with him, he often heard her weeping. He had to remind her she was pregnant, that she needed to eat.
He also had to remind her to take the prenatal vitamins they’d given her in the hospital. He’d taken to doling one out to her each morning at breakfast. On the fourth day, she looked up at him when he gave her the pill and said, “Thank you. You’ve been very good about all this.”
“It is my pleasure, signora.”
She smiled at him. “Your English is improving.”
He looked down, pleased she’d noticed his efforts. He’d spent all his free time since the break-in working on his English. It was time for him to grow up. If he ever wanted to be capo di società, his English had to be impeccable. Besides, it made it much easier to speak to the signora.
“Are you blushing?” she asked.
His face grew hotter, and he wished he wasn’t so fair. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
She nudged his arm. “Stop that. I was just paying you a compliment. You don’t need to be so modest.”
He collected himself. “I’m sorry, signora. I’m not used to attention from someone….” He let that trail off. Flirting with her wasn’t a good idea.
“Someone what?”
He shook his head. “It is nothing.”
“I’d like to know.”
He blushed again, unable to meet her eyes. “Someone so bellissima.”
She slowly let out a breath as she looked at him. Finally she said, “That’s nice to hear.”
He recovered enough to look at her. “But not wise to say, yes?”
“If Enrico heard you—” She cut off that sentence.
“Yes, I know, signora. He would kill me.”
Kate looked away from Antonio, a lump filling her throat. She toyed with the vitamin he’d handed her. She needed to take it, but swallowing the horse-sized pills was always a struggle. She set it next to her teacup. When was she going to get over Rico? It felt like an eternity since they’d last spoken. Why did she even care? He could very well be planning her death.
And yet she ached. Her baby would grow up never knowing its father. And she would never experience the joy of the marriage she’d looked forward to, however briefly. She’d thought she was marrying a good man, a different man from Vince. But she’d been wrong. Enrico was a mobster, just like Vince.
Except… he wasn’t like Vince. He wasn’t. He was… just in a terrible spot, wasn’t he? His anguish at letting her go seemed genuine. But it didn’t matter. She couldn’t marry another man she couldn’t trust. She had to be able to rely on her husband, and she had to be able to respect and admire him. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be a marriage, not in any true sense.
She wished she could leave tomorrow, but the doctor had insisted on at least a full month of recovery time before she could fly, which meant she couldn’t leave for another three weeks. At least it gave her time to think up a plan of sorts.
But who could she trust? Who would help her?
She didn’t have many friends here in Italy. Mostly she and Vince had socialized with members of the Andretti family. Her co-workers at the orphanage all worked for Enrico, and the glowing tones with which they spoke of him meant they were unlikely to go against him. Besides, who among them had the resources or the know-how to get her out of the country without Enrico or Carlo being able to find her?
She looked at Antonio, returned the smile he gave her. He seemed to feel genuine affection for her. He would help her… except he would never cross Enrico. Ruggero she barely knew, and there was no point asking. He, too, would never turn on his boss. And no doubt they were under the same obligation as Enrico—to kill her to keep his secret.
Aside from her co-workers at the orphanage, there were only two other people she knew outside the Lucchesi and Andretti families: Dottor Beltrami and Silvio Fuente. But the doctor was clearly on Enrico’s side—he’d told Enrico about the pregnancy with no hesitation. Besides, would he even know how to keep her safe? She was tempted to trust Fuente since he was in the carabinieri, but as much as Fuente taunted Enrico at times, Enrico had easily bought him at least once. Fuente would probably turn her in to Enrico for a handsome reward.
So who could she go to?
She remembered something Enrico had said. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. She thought back over what Dom had said at the hospital, why he’d said it. If he didn’t want her and Enrico to marry, perhaps she could work with that. Of course, he was under the same obligation as Enrico and the rest of the Lucchesi cosca. But she’d run across something during the course of her work at the orphanage that might help. A secret she was sure Dom wouldn’t want made public. Trusting him was risky, but what other alternative did she have? Between them, Enrico and Carlo had her trapped.
She needed to get hold of Antonio’s cell phone. Once she contacted Dom, he could help her figure out how to leave without Enrico knowing. She had plenty of cash from the sale of her rings, enough to last her through the pregnancy.
The problem was where to go. She didn’t want to be far from her parents now that she was pregnant. But she also didn’t want to bring trouble to their doorstep. Perhaps New York City was big enough to hide her. Still, it might be risky being anywhere in New York state. Carlo would be sure to look hard for her there.
Kate sighed. How was she ever going to outwit Carlo? If Dom refused to help, she was going to have to crawl back to Enrico. Whether she liked it or not. Certainly he’d let her live until the baby was born, which gave her a little more than eight months to come up with an escape plan.
But first she had to try Dom. Unfortunately, Antonio kept his cell phone on him like it was a precious gem. How was she going to get to it?
She needed a distraction.
Maybe faking some morning sickness would work, though the thought of forcing herself to throw up wasn’t high on her list. But it was much better than ending up dead.
She waited until they had lunch. She made herself eat a Caesar salad with anchovies. She’d never liked the salty little fish, and her pregnancy-enhanced sense of smell made them even more revolting. Halfway through the meal, she inhaled too deeply and gagged. Antonio put his hand on her back, leaning toward her. “Signora, are you unwell?”
Kate set down the fork, shaking her head. She wasn’t going to have to fake anything. She looked at the salad again, seeing one of the little chopped up fish staring back at her, and her stomach churned. She pressed the napkin to her mouth, willing herself not to throw up here. That would wreck everything. “Please take me upstairs.”
Antonio jumped out of his chair and offered her a hand. He waved to the waiter and asked him to send up the bill. Then he hurried Kate down the hall to the tiny elevator—little more than a glorified shoe box, she thought—and impatiently pressed the button. The door trundled open, and they stepped inside the heavily ornamented space, Antonio stabbing at the button for their floor. Kate concentrated on looking down. When the elevator jerked, she felt her gorge rise and she took a deep breath through her nose, swallowing convulsively. “Signora, what can I do?”
She clutched his hand, shaking her head. “Just get me to my room. Please.”
He put an arm around her, and she leaned against him as the elevator crawled up to their floor. When it opened, Antonio motioned her outside, then scooped her up in his arms once she’d crossed the threshold. She should object, but she was afraid to open her mouth again. The image of that little fish head came back to her, and for a second she could smell it all over again.
Antonio raced down the hall with her, and she buried her face in his neck, focusing on inhaling and exhaling. He smelled great—a light, citrusy cologne mixed with his own scent. With her eyes closed, she could almost imagine it was Enrico holding her, Enrico carrying her upstairs to their room…. Her eyes snapped open. No good would come of thinking about Enrico. Especially about having sex with him.
When Antonio reached the door to their
suite, he set her down and pulled out the key, unlocking the door in a flash. He followed her inside. She beelined for the bathroom and sank down on her knees in front of the toilet. Antonio hovered in the doorway. “Signora, should I call il dottore?”
“No.” She actually wanted him to leave her alone with her roiling stomach, but her plan wouldn’t work if he left. “Please just stay with me.” She tried to give him a smile. “I’ll be all right. It’s just morning sickness.”
He gave her a puzzled look. “It is afternoon.”
She chuckled weakly. “It’s called morning sickness in English because it’s worst in the morning, but it can happen at any time.”
He crouched down beside her, touching her arm. “You are ill from the baby, sì?”
She nodded too emphatically, and her head felt woozy, her stomach roiling again. She forced herself to picture that chopped-up anchovy again, its dead glassy eye staring up at her, its companions swirling around in her stomach…. That was all it took. She lurched forward, heaving hard, the salad coming up in a flood of gastric acid and bile.
Antonio didn’t flinch. He gathered her hair and held it back for her while she heaved until she felt empty and weak. She reached up and flushed the toilet, then sagged down beside it, Antonio letting go of her hair. He stepped over her and filled a glass with cold water and wet a washcloth to wipe her face. He brought the cloth and the glass over to her, crouching down next to her. She took both items gratefully, feeling herself flush with embarrassment. It had seemed like a good plan. Now, she wasn’t so sure. She felt so exhausted, and after his initial uneasiness, Antonio seemed rather calm, not flustered. How was she going to get his phone?
Playing on her weakness seemed like a good ploy. He’d picked her up once, maybe he’d do it again. “I’d like to lie down, but I’m not sure I can walk to the bed….”
He smiled. “Not to worry, signora. I will take you.” He scooped her up again, lifting her easily. While he was carrying her to the bed, she slipped a hand in his exterior jacket pocket, the one she’d seen him put the phone in that morning. Got it, she thought as her fingers closed over it. She shoved the phone under the pillow as he laid her down.
“More water?” he asked.
“No. Mille grazie.” She smiled up at him. “I’d like to sleep now.”
“Molto bene, signora. I will be in my room.”
As soon as he closed the door, Kate rolled over and grabbed the phone. She scrolled through the contacts, searching for Dom’s number. She jotted it down on the hotel notepad on the nightstand, then ripped off the top sheet and stuffed it in the drawer. She’d just dropped the phone on the floor when she heard a tap on the door between their rooms. “Signora?”
She looked down at the phone and swore softly. The display was still lit up. How long would it take for it go dark?
“Signora?” he repeated, easing the door open a crack.
She looked at the phone. Damn it! Still lit up. She reached down to try to flip it over, but it was too far away. “Just a minute!” she said, raising her voice. She kicked off her shoes and hastily unbuttoned her blouse, staring at the phone the whole time. Finally it went black.
“Signora, are you well?”
“Just a second.” She was rebuttoning the blouse when he poked his head in the door. He blushed and quickly withdrew. “What is it?” she asked, letting an edge into her voice.
“My phone. I cannot find it.”
“Well, come in then.” She sat up on the edge of the bed, her bare feet dangling above the phone.
He walked in, not meeting her eyes. “Scusa,” he said. “I must have it. Don Lucchesi will call soon to check on you.”
She felt a surge of warmth, which was quickly dampened by the thought that Enrico could be checking to make sure she hadn’t run off. Even so, she longed for information about him. “How is he?” she asked, while Antonio checked for the phone in the bathroom.
He walked out and immediately spotted the phone on the floor next to the bed. “There,” he said, his face relaxing into a smile. When he bent down to get it, she swung her legs onto the bed and out of his way. He repocketed the phone, then rose and headed for the door as if he hadn’t heard her question.
“Antonio.” He turned toward her, holding the door half open. “Tell me how he is.”
He faltered, looking away from her, then he closed the door and sat in the overstuffed chair next to the window. “Don Lucchesi is…” He groped for the words. “He is…” Antonio sighed and scrubbed a hand through his blond hair, leaving it sticking up in rooster tails. “He is not well,” he finally said.
A little jolt zinged through her. “Does he have an infection? Is he in the hospital?”
He hastily shook his head. “He is not well here,” he said, tapping his chest. “His heart aches for you.”
“Oh.” Kate sat back against the pillows piled in front of the headboard. She crossed her arms over her stomach, imagining she could feel the barest little bump in her abdomen, even though it was far too early. She caressed the spot, feeling lonely all of a sudden. She missed Enrico, missed the way he smiled whenever he saw her, his face lighting up like the sun had just come out. She missed the feel of his arms around her. When she remembered his wild, infectious happiness after she’d accepted his proposal, her throat closed up until it ached. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been so distressed. Like all the joy had gone out of the world. “What does he ask about when he calls?”
Antonio shrugged. “How are you. Are you eating, is the baby well. If I know where you go when you leave.”
She absently corrected him, feeling deflated that Enrico wanted to know her travel plans. “It’s ‘if I know where you will go when you leave.’”
“Grazie.”
“What do you tell him? About where I’m going, I mean.”
He gave her a blank look and a shrug, his arms spreading apart. “Nothing. I do not know.” He looked at her for a second, then he leaned forward, clasping his hands between his knees. “Signora, he loves you. And the baby too. He is a very good man. I do not understand this”—he waved a hand around in the air, as if searching for the right word—“this separation from him.”
She leaned forward too. “He lied to me. About a lot of things. I cannot trust him.”
“If he lied, it is to protect you.”
Kate shook her head, holding his gaze. “Maybe about some things. But this lie was to protect himself.”
“Signora, there must be a mistake.”
“He killed a judge and his family. A judge who was trying to put him in jail.”
Antonio sat back, his lips compressing together. He crossed his arms. “That is not true.”
“How do you know?”
“I know.”
“Are you sure?”
He paused. “I was not there, signora. But I know him. He is not that kind of man.”
“He’s a Mafioso. He does what he wants.”
He huffed in amusement. “You think every man of honor is a criminal.”
“Aren’t they?”
Antonio uncrossed his arms and leaned toward her again. “Not all crime is bad.”
“Next you’re going to tell me black is white and the sky is red.”
He took a second to process what she said, then he shook his head. “You do not understand me. Some crimes are necessary. For justice.”
“You mean killing in revenge?”
“Yes, that is one. That is a law of God, so it is no crime. Not paying all of the taxes? Also not a crime. The Italian government”—he made a face like he smelled something bad—“is corrupt, greedy, wasteful. Don Lucchesi uses his tax money to build schools, homes for orphans like me, and other worthy causes. The government throws that money in the garbage.”
“That may be true. But it is a crime to kill a judge for doing his job. It’s a crime to kill that man’s innocent family. You cannot tell me any different.”
“I agree, signora. But Don Lucchesi will
not kill a judge. He will never kill women and children.”
“You don’t know that.”
He thumped his chest again. “I know in here. That is all that counts.” He waited a beat, then said, “Don Lucchesi believes in the old ways, the old codes of the ‘Ndrangheta. He does not sell drugs or women. He does not kill women and children. These things are forbidden.”
Kate looked at him with interest, mulling over what he said. It reminded her of Enrico’s slip about Carlo—“he violated our codes.” But she couldn’t be sure. Enrico could be a clever con artist. Like Vince.
She sighed. “I need to sleep.”
He started for the door, then walked over to the bed instead. He sat on the edge, his blue eyes moving up her body. She was suddenly very aware of him, as she’d been when he’d carried her from the elevator. Her breathing quickened. He clasped his hands together in his lap, staring down at them. “I wish my English was perfect,” he said. Then he looked at her. “I want you, signora. Molto, molto. But I love Don Lucchesi, so I will not touch you. I look, but I will not touch.”
She stared up at him, her mouth dry. “What do you mean?”
“If Don Lucchesi was a bad man, I will not work for him. And I will do what I want.” His eyes roamed the length of her body, but his hands stayed clasped together. Then he looked up at her, holding her eyes with his.
“I understand. Your English is good enough. But I do not agree with your opinion of him.”
He frowned and stood up. He hesitated, then said, “Signora, you must go back to Don Lucchesi. If you do not, Don Andretti is waiting.”
Antonio must have seen her shudder, for he said, “I am sorry. I do not mean to scare you, but if I must, I will. Signora, per favore. Consider what I say. È molto importante.”
“I will,” she said, and meant it. She couldn’t afford to forget about Carlo. But that didn’t mean she was going to risk her baby’s life on what she hoped and wanted to be true about Enrico. That Antonio shared her delusion didn’t comfort her. The boy in Antonio longed for a father, and he thought he’d found one.
