by Dana Delamar
“You would make us weak,” Carlo hissed. “We need the money we make from drugs to fight off the others who would take our territory.”
“I’m not preventing you from pursuing many other highly lucrative avenues. And I’m not preventing you from pursuing the ones that are against our codes. Am I not free to determine my rates? Would you put price controls on all of our dealings? What’s next, trade agreements and tariffs? Shall we charge each other VAT as well?”
The crowd broke out in laughter. Benedetto called again for silence. Enrico took a deep breath, then addressed the men surrounding him. “What say you? Am I free to go?”
A chorus of assent greeted him. Benedetto cut in. “We are agreed. You may go.”
Enrico bowed his head to Benedetto and Don Battista, then took in the group. “I thank you for your support.” He paused and looked at Carlo. “Perhaps you should listen to your betters.”
He walked out, Ruggero at his back. Yet he still felt the daggers of Carlo’s eyes piercing him. If they were at war before, it had just escalated to out-and-out nuclear annihilation.
They were in the car, heading back home, when Ruggero spoke. “I could’ve made it look like an accident.”
Enrico laughed. “I doubt anyone would have been convinced.”
“Shall I plan it then?”
“Yes.” There would be no more waiting for Carlo’s next bomb to come hurtling at them. He held Ruggero’s gaze. “Thank you for earlier, in the car. It made all the difference.”
“You reminded me of your father. How he was before.”
Enrico leaned forward, unable to keep a smile off his face. “That’s what I’d hoped for.”
“They were in the palm of your hand.”
Enrico felt energized, light, his body humming. Ready for a fight. It was so alien to how he’d felt an hour ago he could hardly believe it. He thought of Kate with a strange determination. He’d win her back, somehow. Certainty sizzled in the marrow of his bones.
But first he had to crush Carlo. It was past time to give up the high road. If Carlo wanted a street fight, he’d give him one hell of a rumble.
CHAPTER 30
Carlo and Benedetto were finally alone, heading to the villa for the night. Carlo could barely speak. Enrico had made him look like a fool, more so than Rinaldo ever had. He turned to his brother. “You did not support me.”
Benedetto straightened his tie and shot his shirt cuffs. Even though he was balding and running to fat, he was, as always, immaculately dressed. He spent the GDP of a small third-world country on his wardrobe. “I’m supposed to be impartial.”
“What a fucking farce! I was supposed to bring proof? Since when is my word not enough?”
“Lucchesi had the right to demand it. It was a trial, after all.”
Carlo ground his teeth together. “You could’ve prepared me.”
“I suspect Vittorio coached Lucchesi.”
“And that excuses you? Why didn’t I get the same help from you, my own brother?”
Benedetto smoothed his hair back. “You’ll recall I advised you against such a course.”
“You’d let the Andrettis be laughingstocks just to teach me a lesson?”
His brother looked him full in the face. “The only one who looks like a fool is you. As always, your breathtaking arrogance has gotten you into trouble.”
“My arrogance is exceeded only by yours, dear brother.”
Benedetto chuckled. “I’ve earned mine.”
A great thundering roar invaded Carlo’s head and chest. “Vaffanculo! You haven’t earned a fucking thing. Everything was handed to you. I had to fight for everything I have. And never, not once, did any of you acknowledge what I’ve accomplished.”
Benedetto studied his fingernails. “If this is about our father, you can stop now. Poor, poor, little Carlo. Always overlooked.”
“You will get yours. You’ve raised a nest of vipers. Do you think your sons don’t plot your death daily?” Carlo was gratified to see the tightening in his brother’s shoulders. He’d scored a hit.
Benedetto lowered the glass that separated them from the driver. “I won’t be staying the night. My jet, please.” He raised the glass again. “I pity you.”
“You pity me?”
“You are the smallest man I know.”
His family. How Carlo hated them all. Toni had been the only exception. “I’ll crush you, Benedetto. When I finish with Lucchesi, you’ll be next.”
“I’m trembling.”
“I know how much you’ve lost at the gaming tables. I wonder, is it only my money you’ve borrowed?”
Benedetto’s eyes snapped to his. He was right; Benedetto was in deep. He couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “You’ve stolen from La Provincia, haven’t you?”
Benedetto held Carlo’s eyes. “Try to prove it.”
Triumph flooded through him. “Don’t think I can’t get to you.”
Benedetto shifted in his seat, leaning toward him. “Out of respect, Father and I have allowed you to operate without direction. That can change.”
“Respect? Out of fear.”
“Remember what happened to our dear brother.”
Carlo’s gut tightened. Remo. He could almost hear the echoes of Remo’s screams, almost smell the burning of his brother’s flesh, all these years later. He pushed the memory from his mind. “I remember.”
“See that you do. Father would be happy to remind you about loyalty.”
“No matter how big you think you are, Benedetto, you will always be under Father’s thumb.”
Silence fell between them as Benedetto turned away. Good riddance.
Carlo had just left Benedetto at the airstrip and was headed back to the lake when he got a call from Domenico. “You’d better have good news. Where’s Rinaldo?”
He could hear the smile in Domenico’s voice. “I know where he is. And I’ll soon have the American in my hands. Let me know where and when you want her, and she’s yours.”
Laughter bubbled up in Carlo’s chest. He wanted to shout out loud. Lucchesi would regret every minute of the rest of his short miserable life. “You’ve gone up in my estimation.”
“Will you renegotiate our terms?” Domenico asked.
“After I’ve dealt with Rinaldo and the woman, we’ll see what you’ve earned.”
He listened as Domenico told him where to find Rinaldo. After they hung up, Carlo sat back, considering. Perhaps this Lucchesi might be worth bringing into the organization. Domenico had several sons who needed wives, and there were certainly daughters in the Andretti family who needed husbands.
It would be nice to have someone to help with the dirty work.
Domenico smiled when he hung up with Carlo. As if he’d let the old man dictate everything. Carlo would never see him coming. Neither would Rico.
Fools, the both of them.
A large package, unaddressed but beautifully wrapped in crisp silver paper with a large white bow, arrived at Enrico’s villa three days after the meeting with La Provincia. Maddalena brought it inside and set it on the desk in Enrico’s study.
Enrico looked at the box for a few moments, his heart thumping. The package looked eerily familiar. He called Ruggero, who advised him not to touch the box and to leave the room.
He couldn’t stop staring at it, wondering at the contents. When he noticed a trace of red seeping through the wrapping at the bottom-right corner of the box, panic gripped him in its fist and squeezed. Had Carlo gotten to Nico? To Kate?
His stomach churning, Enrico went out to the front hall and called Antonio while he waited for Ruggero. Antonio assured him Kate was resting in her room. He hung up when Ruggero approached. Gesturing toward his study, he said, “It’s from Andretti. I’m sure of it.”
Ruggero looked through the doorway at the box. “It could be a bomb.”
“It seems to be leaking blood. Besides, a bomb isn’t Carlo’s style. He likes his victims to suffer.”
Ruggero r
ubbed his chin. “You say Maddalena carried it in?”
“Yes. So it’s been jostled.”
“That’s not the same as opening it.” Ruggero pulled out his switchblade and walked into the study. When Enrico followed him in, Ruggero stopped and looked at him. “The hallway, please, Don Lucchesi.”
Enrico crossed his arms and stared at his guard. Ruggero didn’t back down. “Let me do my job, capo,” he finally said.
Throwing up his arms, Enrico walked out of the room. He waited, fingers tapping the seam of his trousers, his heart ratcheting up as he heard the long slit along the paper, a rustling, then silence. And more silence. Finally, Ruggero’s voice. “Don Lucchesi.”
He stepped into the room. The first thing he noticed was the concern in Ruggero’s eyes. The look in them was soft, pitying. Not a look he’d ever seen from Ruggero. He raced to the box, seeing now that it was wood, and ornately carved, reminiscent of the cigar box he’d received from Carlo in Rome. Breathless, he looked inside, and then wished he hadn’t.
Fighting back tears, he looked up at Ruggero. “I want him dead.”
“You shall have your wish.”
Enrico looked into the box again, unable to hold back his tears. His father’s head stared up at him. Surrounding it were bloody lumps Enrico couldn’t identify at first. When he did, bile rushed up into his throat. The two biggest lumps were his father’s hands; the strips of crimson-colored meat surrounding them were his fingers.
All ten.
The digits looked like they’d been crushed before being severed. He stepped away then, struggling not to vomit. Breathing hard, he stared at the floor for a long time, trying to burn the carpet’s design onto his retinas.
When he trusted himself to look up, Ruggero and the box were gone.
Staring at the smear of blood left on his desk, his eyes flooded with tears anew. His father had endured so much heartache in the last three decades, only to meet a vicious, ugly end. Papà, I hope you’re with them again. He crossed himself and whispered aloud, “I will see you avenged.”
Enrico was in the middle of his fourth glass of sambuca when it hit him: how had Carlo found his father? Don Battista certainly hadn’t handed that information to him. So who had Don Battista told?
He’d reached a pleasantly blurry point when he picked up the phone; it was almost enough to allow him to forget what was in the box. Almost. He cleared his throat, willing himself to be steady while he waited for Don Battista to pick up. “Ciao, Rico. Why are you calling so late?”
“Carlo Andretti murdered my father. He sent me his head and his hands.”
Enrico heard a wheezy intake of breath from the old man. “I’m sorry, my son.” There was a pause. When Don Battista spoke again, his voice shook with anger. “It’s your cousin who acts against you.”
“How do you know?”
“Domenico called a few days ago and asked how he could reach Rinaldo. I knew he was angry with you, but I never dreamed he’d crawl in the gutter.”
“It could be a coincidence.”
“In my experience, there’s no such thing.”
Enrico took another sip of sambuca. “I know.” Damn him, he did know, but he had to be certain. Dom, how could you turn against your own blood?
He ended the call with Don Battista, then summoned Ruggero. It was time to see what use they could make of Trucco’s death. Time to prove there were no coincidences after all. Time for the traitor to suffer as his father had.
After all, as Dom had said about Trucco, now was not the time for mercy.
Domenico paced his study, Kate on his mind. How best to get her away from Antonio and the guards. How best to get her to Carlo without being followed. He looked out the front window of his home, sure Ruggero’s spy was still out there somewhere, and sighed in irritation. The men Ruggero had picked to watch him were very good. He hadn’t ever tried to shake them. Best to lull them into complacency.
His mouth pursed. He was going to have to kill the man watching him before he went after Kate. If he eluded him, it would tip off Ruggero and Enrico. But if the man went missing, that was a problem too.
He tapped his fingers against his lips. He was going to have to eliminate them all, if Carlo wasn’t able to. It was the only way. He couldn’t hope to avoid detection. Enrico and Ruggero already suspected him, and Antonio wasn’t dumb.
Dom was still looking out the window when he saw Ruggero’s spy drive off. He looked up and down the street for a replacement, but didn’t see anyone. Perhaps they’d decided to lull him into complacency. But he knew about the GPS tracker they’d placed on the car. It had been the first thing he’d searched for when he’d learned he was being watched.
He smiled. He’d use their own toy against them. Let the tracker lead them right into a trap. And double-cross Carlo in the process.
The phone rang. It was Enrico. “We got the traitor.”
A jolt of adrenaline ran through Dom. That’s why the spy had driven off. “Who was it?”
“Trucco. He gave the master codes for the house alarm to Andretti and he put a GPS tracker on the Maserati.”
Dom’s eyebrows shot up. “He confessed to all this?”
“More or less. He admitted he’d been helping Carlo, feeding him information. He wouldn’t get specific. But there was no reason to press the point.”
Was this a trap? There was something about Enrico’s voice. “Have you been drinking?”
Enrico coughed and cleared his throat. “A bit. It’s been hard.”
“I’m sorry. I know you were close to him.”
Dom heard only silence for a while, then Enrico’s voice again, a bit sharper. “You’d warned me to take care of him, and I didn’t listen.” Enrico paused and cleared his throat again. “I’m sorry, too. I’ve ignored too much of your counsel lately.”
Dom froze, a little hope seeping in. If he could avoid killing Enrico, he would. “You’ll give up the woman and make peace with Carlo then?”
Enrico sighed. “I know it’s the right thing to do. But I can’t.”
Dom exhaled slowly, unhappily. “Then it’s still war with Carlo.”
“Not necessarily. I plan to meet with him and Dario. Perhaps we can come to an agreement.”
“Have you spoken to him?”
“Not yet. I wanted you to make the arrangements.”
Dom’s stomach clenched. This was it. No way out. “I’ll see to it.”
After hanging up with Enrico, Dom placed the call to Carlo, both of them knowing the meeting with Enrico would never take place, but playing the game for anyone who might be listening. Then he picked up another phone, one he was sure was clean, and called Kate and told her his plan to get her away from Antonio that evening.
He was glad he wouldn’t have to kill the tail after all. He wasn’t like Carlo; he didn’t enjoy killing. And he wouldn’t enjoy most of what was to come. But it had to be done.
He planned out the rest of what he had to do, including when he’d render Enrico blind to his whereabouts. It would be a simple matter to discard the tracker once he’d delivered Kate to Carlo. The tracker would lead Enrico straight to the Andrettis. If all went well, Enrico and Carlo would kill each other, and Dom would be free.
CHAPTER 31
Kate focused on her breathing, trying to settle her fluttering stomach as she got ready for dinner. She’d asked Antonio if they could dine at the hotel’s restaurant instead of going out. She and Dom were counting on Antonio and the guards to be lax, since they were staying in the hotel. They had no reason to suspect Kate was going to run off, and she didn’t want to give them one by acting at all out of the ordinary.
She made sure all her cash and her passport were tucked in the money belt she wore under her slacks. She wouldn’t be using that passport for a while, but she’d need it someday, when she could go back to her normal life. Though she had no idea when that might be. Surely Carlo would give up eventually? If she hid for a year or two, that might be enough. Dom had promised
her a loan, but money would eventually be a problem. Hopefully he’d be able to get her good enough documents that she could work.
Her parents would help. But if she could avoid involving them, she would. Her throat tightened; she couldn’t see them, she couldn’t even see her cousin Terri. She had to hold onto the thought that someday she would see them all again. And she’d figure out how to stay safely in touch from a distance.
She heard a tap on her door. “Come in.” She’d chosen a loose, gauzy top in black with matching black pants and low-heeled shoes in case she needed to run.
Antonio was in a suit as usual. The dark blue of the fine cloth brought out his eyes. When he came into the room, he looked her up and down, a slight smile on his lips. “Ready, signora?”
She picked up her purse and crossed the room, leaning into the mirror to check her makeup. Perfect. She smiled at him. “That color suits you.”
A flush poured into his cheeks. “Grazie, signora.”
She took his arm as he escorted her out of the room. The guards fell into step behind them. “You know,” she said to him for probably the hundredth time, “you can call me Kate.”
He shook his head. “No, I cannot.”
“Why not?”
He glanced at her, his expression stern. “Do not tease me.”
Kate bit her lip and looked away. Then she squeezed his arm. “I wasn’t.”
“Perhaps not. But you forget, and you should not.”
She looked at the richly patterned carpet beneath their feet. “I apologize.”
He made a little sound of amusement, and she looked up to see him holding back a smile. Realizing she’d been had, she nudged him with her shoulder and shook her head. “You’re incorrigible, Antonio.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I do not know this word.”
“It means you’re bad beyond reform.”
