by Dana Delamar
“I’m just trying to save you some heartbreak.”
Her friend leaned over the table, tapping the wood with her manicured nails, each one painted fuchsia to match her blouse. “You invited Antonio to your birthday party, yes?”
Delfina nodded as she chewed a forkful of lake trout. “That’s the whole reason I’m having it at your place, remember? My father would never let Antonio set foot in our house.”
Giovanna’s face suddenly lit up. “Oh my God, I completely forgot! There’s something I have to tell you. You’ll never believe it.”
“Out with it.”
Gio scanned the other diners as if suddenly worried that they’d be overheard. “My dad says your uncle Enrico has a grown son. An illegitimate son.”
The news struck Delfina like a bullet to the chest, the wound sharp and deep. Her uncle had cheated on Aunt Toni? “That can’t be true.”
“It is. Your dad and your grandfather knew about it. I guess it happened while he was engaged to your aunt.”
Delfina swallowed hard, trying to mask her hurt, but it must have showed, because Gio raised a hand to her mouth. “Oh Delfi, I’m sorry. I didn’t think. It was just good gossip to me. But it’s about your family. I’m such an idiot.”
Delfina set down her fork and pushed her plate away. “It’s all right. It’s just a shock.” How could he?
Gio pursed her lips. “Good thing you didn’t end up married to him, yes?”
She nodded without thinking. Her father knew? How? And why hadn’t he told her? “Do you know anything more?”
“I wasn’t supposed to know even that much. I overheard him discussing it with Leandro.”
“And you didn’t ask Leandro for details?”
Gio rolled her eyes. “Of course I did. But he told me it was ‘business’ and that I should stay out of it. He thinks he’s so far above me now that Papà’s made him capo di società.”
“Yeah, Cristoforo’s acting the same way. Just two weeks ago he was my little brother. Now he thinks he’s king of the mountain.”
Gio pushed her salad around her plate, as usual not really eating it. She hated her tendency to be curvy, but Delfina envied her the generous breasts that captured every man’s attention. “Leandro acts like he’s joined some exclusive club. A boys-only club. It galls me.”
“I second that.” Delfina flashed back to the traitorous thoughts that had engulfed her that morning. “I wish I’d never heard of the ‘Ndrangheta.”
Gio wriggled her wrists, her many bracelets jingling and her rings flashing. “Well, it does have its benefits.”
“I hate it. I loathe it.”
“You’re still upset with your dad.”
“Of course. He’s going to do it again. Just wait—I bet he springs someone else on me in a week or two. Once he thinks I’ve forgotten about it.”
“Well, I want to get married. The sooner the better. I have needs.” Gio took a sip of her pinot grigio. “It’s too bad Cris is only nineteen. Do you think he’d like a slightly older bride? One with experience?”
Delfina laughed. “Your ‘experience’ is not much more than mine. Unless there’s something you haven’t told me?”
“Not yet.” Gio tugged her blouse open a little more. “But maybe after tonight, if I can get your blond Adonis to do me right…”
Delfina broke into a fit of giggling. “You think Antonio would mess around with Gianluca d’Imperio’s daughter? He’s no fool, Gio. No man in the business will ever touch you until he’s married to you.”
“A girl can dream.”
She can. I can. “But nothing’s going to come of it.”
“Speaking of Adonis,” Gio said with a sigh, “how about we go to Greece this summer? We haven’t got much more freedom left, you know. I’d rather not be a virgin on my wedding night.”
For the right man, I would. “If I’m not married off by then, yes, definitely.”
Giovanna patted Delfina’s hand. “You look like you’re attending your own funeral. He said he’d let you pick, right?”
“I’ll have as much choice as a cow going to the slaughter.”
“Sweetie, chin up. He won’t force you to marry some horrid old man.”
“Don’t be so sure.” She finished off her espresso. “If I could, I’d run off to Paris or London. I could design clothes and live my own life, make my own choices.”
“There are worse lives than ours. Think about all those poor starving kids in Africa.”
“At least they’re free.”
“I’m sure they feel very sorry for you, Delfina Andretti, in your fancy clothes. Those Ferragamos I’m sure cost as much as most of those people make in a year. Maybe two.”
Delfina reddened and studied her gorgeous black patent heels. Gio was right. “Okay. It could be a lot worse.”
“I hate to point this out, but your whole life revolves around money. Which one of us wants to be a designer? You’re not exactly signing up to be Mother Teresa.”
“True.” She laughed. “You love giving me a good kick.”
Gio grinned. “Sweetie, you’re young, gorgeous, thin, and have more money than you deserve. Embrace it. Love it. Someday you’ll be old, fat, and wrinkled.” She winked. “If there’s any justice.”
If there was any justice, someday she’d be free. That was the only thing that mattered.
Nick wished he’d never heard of Edmund Tyrell. The rubbish that had come out of that man’s mouth… All of it was untrue. It had to be. Well, what had he expected? The truth from a bloody lawyer?
He slammed out of Tyrell’s office and stalked to the Tube station, taking the first train that arrived. Nick got off at Trafalgar Square, the mid-October wind whipping his open jacket about his body as he left the station. At least it wasn’t raining.
Wandering the square, Nick angrily kicked at bits of trash in his path. He heard giggles and whispers to his left. The source of the noise was a couple of young girls, who were watching him and laughing. “Oughtn’t you be in school?” he said to them. One of the girls imitated his scowl, then stuck her tongue out. The two girls laughed harder. He turned away, his face growing hot.
Yeah, he was acting like a child, down to the petulant expression that was no doubt on his face. He stopped walking and took a deep breath, staring up at Nelson’s Column. Lord Nelson had probably never acted this way. At least not as an adult. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he get a hold of himself when his father was involved? Why did he always lose all control?
It wasn’t rational. It wasn’t logical. And it wasn’t who he wanted to be. He prided himself on his analytical powers, on his ability to spot patterns where others saw random behavior. That ability, that very essence of reason and rationality, had served him well on the job. It had led to this posting with Interpol. But he was anything but rational now.
He’d been working in the new cyber-crime unit at Scotland Yard when he heard about the Criminal Intelligence Officer opportunity within the UK National Central Bureau at SOCA. Working at the NCB meant working for Interpol, and Interpol was the big-time, where Nick would have a chance to make a worldwide difference. And a chance perhaps to investigate his father, to find out who he really was. And if he could, to make him pay for his crimes.
He checked his watch. Twelve forty-five. Fifteen more minutes to fret before Delacourt arrived.
That bloody arsehole Tyrell… He wished he hadn’t gone to see him. He’d thought he’d catch Tyrell out, surprise the man with what he knew, yet Tyrell had hardly blinked at Nick’s revelations. He shouldn’t have been surprised, but the man’s unflappability could drive a nun to drink.
Though the topper was one particularly infuriating thing Tyrell had said, about the only thing of substance. After Tyrell had refused to answer Nick’s questions, Nick had muttered to himself, “Why do I care anyway?” Tyrell had perked up then, after ignoring everything else.
“You care, young man, because he is your father. I assure you that he cares about
you very much. Much more than you appreciate.”
“He has another family. That’s how much he cares about me.”
“True. But you are his only son. In fact, his only child at the moment.”
The news had struck him with wonder, a wonder he still couldn’t shake. Prior to seeing the file on Enrico Lucchesi, he’d never really considered that his father could have another family, other children. A wife. For some reason, he’d always pictured his father alone. Much like himself. And yet, what did he really expect? That his father had missed him all this time? That he thought of his son with the same intensity, the same longing, that Nick had felt for him?
It was foolish to think that way. Not a single thing about his father’s actions suggested that he’d loved Nick, not really. He may not have forgotten him financially, but that could be nothing more than the nagging of a guilty conscience.
And yet… Nick remembered, still remembered, the tears in his father’s eyes that last time he’d seen him, the pain on his face, the way he’d held Nick’s chin and told him that he had to go. “I can’t keep doing this to any of us,” he’d said to Nick. “I know you don’t understand now, but someday you’ll see that this is the best thing for all of us.” His father had wiped the tears off Nick’s face, had crushed him close in a tight hug, had planted a soft kiss on his forehead. And then he’d said, “Someday you’ll forget me, someday you’ll have another father. But I will never forget you, Nico. Never.” And then he was gone.
Nick swallowed hard, hot tears stinging his eyes at the memory. He breathed in deep through his nose, fighting for calm, for control. His father had been wrong on every count. His leaving had been horrible, the worst thing to ever happen. Nick had never had another father. And he’d never forgotten the one he’d been supposed to have.
If his father had truly loved him, he would have come back for him. Tyrell had spouted nothing but a complete and utter load of bollocks.
He swung away from Nelson’s Column, gazing unseeing across the square when a movement caught his attention. Delacourt at last. Now he’d get some answers about his mysterious assignment—and hopefully permission to meet with Andretti.
Delacourt approached with his customary loping stride, his white hair lofting up in the breeze. Nick smiled and waved in greeting, but his hand dropped to his side when he saw how his boss’s gray trench coat hung off him; he’d lost a lot of weight. As the man drew near, Nick took in the dark circles and the sunken cast to Delacourt’s eyes. He appeared not to have slept in weeks. Nick dashed forward. “Émile, what’s wrong?”
Delacourt’s bushy white brows popped up, his watery blue eyes troubled. “Is it so obvious, Nicolas?”
“You don’t look good.”
The old man swiped a hand across his forehead. “Let’s walk.”
“Why are we meeting here instead of the office?” Nick asked as they set off across the square.
“I wanted fresh air.”
Nick let out a groan. “Quit toying with me. You’re avoiding having this discussion where SOCA or Interpol might hear us. What do you need to say that you don’t want them to know?”
Delacourt stopped walking and pinched the bridge of his prominent nose. “Tell me first why you were reading the files on Enrico Lucchesi and the Andretti family.”
A punch of surprise hit Nick in the chest. “You’ve been tracking my searches?”
Delacourt pressed his lips together. “I had to know what you know.”
“What the fuck is going on?” Nick planted his fists on his hips and rocked back on his heels.
“I might ask you the same thing. But with less swearing.” Delacourt’s lips curved up. He was forever chastising Nick over his foul mouth.
“I’ve bloody had it, Émile. Tell me.”
Delacourt studied his shoes. “Do you know who Enrico Lucchesi is?”
“Besides a mobster?”
Delacourt turned back to him. “He’s your father.”
Nick’s gut lurched and rolled. Delacourt was going to fire him. “How did you know?”
Jamming his hands in his coat pockets, Delacourt strode away and Nick followed. “You must swear to never tell anyone.” He gave Nick a pointed look. “No one. Or both of us are out. Tu comprends?”
Adrenaline danced down Nick’s spine. “Not a word.”
“About three weeks ago, a man named Tyrell telephoned me. He said he worked for your father, a very powerful man. A man who could help me with a problem of mine, if I helped him with a problem of his.”
“What problem of yours?”
Delacourt stopped and scuffed a shoe over the blocks of stone beneath their feet. “My wife has late-stage pancreatic cancer.”
“Jesus.” Nick touched Delacourt’s arm. “I’m so sorry, Émile. Why didn’t you say?”
He met Nick’s gaze. “And suffer the excess of kindness I see on your face?”
“What’s wrong with other people caring about you?”
Delacourt turned away. “My wife’s only treatment options were in the United States, but of course, we have no health coverage there, and we could not afford the cost. Time was running out. And this man, Tyrell, said his employer would pay for her treatment indefinitely. If I did one thing for him.”
“Which was?”
“Keep his son out of harm’s way for several weeks. Send him on an assignment put together by Tyrell.”
Nick laughed. “So it was all rubbish.” Jaw tight, Delacourt dipped his head. “Why did you trust him?”
“He told me I could verify it myself. He sent me surveillance video of a man watching your flat and the SOCA building. Face recognition confirmed the story. The man worked for the Andretti family.”
“How did you know Tyrell wasn’t working for the Andrettis?”
“He told me the whole story, who Enrico Franchetti was. He knew every detail about you, including items that aren’t public record, things you’d told me. I verified that he’d paid for your tuition at Cambridge. I also double-checked with your grandfather, to make sure he knew who Tyrell was. It all checked out.”
“Why didn’t you fire me? I’m compromised.”
Delacourt shook his head. “You don’t know your father. There’s been no contact, no taint from the association. As far as I’m concerned, he’s not your father.” He paused. “And in case you haven’t noticed, I can’t very well point a finger at you without pointing one at myself.”
“True.” It was a bitter pill to swallow. “I never thought, in a million years, that anyone could get to you.”
Delacourt’s eyes watered. “Neither did I. But I love her.” He swallowed. “And if I had a son, I’d want him to be like you.”
A lump rose in Nick’s throat. “I wish you hadn’t done it.”
“I’d do it again,” Delacourt said with a defiant jut of his chin. “She’s getting better. And you’re still alive.”
“If you think I’m going to thank you—”
“I don’t.”
“So what happens now?”
Delacourt ignored Nick’s question and asked one of his own. “Why were you accessing those files?”
Nick recounted the letter he’d received and his discussion with Dario Andretti. “I want to go to Italy and meet with him. I’m thinking of posing as a dirty agent. One who can be bought.”
Delacourt let out a whistle. “That’s a dangerous game. Too dangerous. No one’s ever got inside the ‘Ndrangheta.”
“Because no one has an ‘in’ like I do. Think about it.”
“There’s a reason for that. Family ties have a way of twisting one’s priorities.”
“No worries there. I want my father in prison.”
“I cannot let you do it, Nicolas. It’s far too dangerous.”
Nick smiled. “You can’t very well stop me, can you? Now that I know what I know.”
Delacourt frowned. “You’ll get yourself killed.”
“I think I’m smart enough to manage.”
“Yo
u haven’t trained for undercover work.”
“I’m not exactly going undercover, am I? All I have to do is pretend to be dirty. It can’t be that hard. And if I need tips, I know who to ask.”
Delacourt’s face took on a red tinge. “Enough of your tongue. I have revealed nothing to your father, nor have I compromised the agency or any investigations.”
Nick crossed his arms. “You no longer get to tell me what to do.”
“I am sad to hear you speak that way.”
When would he ever get a handle on his temper? “I’m sorry. I’m just… upset.”
“Will you at least take some advice, then?” When Nick didn’t object, Delacourt continued. “I want you to check in with me once a week. And I want you to work with the local anti-Mafia contact. The man’s name is Fuente; he works for the carabinieri. I’ll get his details to you.”
“Agreed.”
“Remember, you are not to mention a word of this to anyone. I don’t care who it is or how much you trust them. I don’t trust anyone.”
“Because everyone has a price.” Damn, he’d done it again.
The old man’s lips compressed into a hard line, but he didn’t respond to the jab. “When do you leave?”
“Tonight. I’ve already bought the ticket.”
Delacourt started to reach out, as if to touch Nick’s shoulder, but he pulled his hand back. “I wish you luck.”
“I’ll need it.”
After a sharp nod, Delacourt left without another word. Nick watched him walk away, regret eating at him. Why had he been such a bastard to the man? He’d probably saved his life, after all. So Delacourt had been bought. At least his price was saving the lives of two people he loved.
What was Nick’s? What would cause him to abandon his principles, to make a deal with the enemy? The answer was instantaneous: his grandparents. He’d sacrifice anything for them. He sighed. Love was a merciless bitch, always had you by the short hairs.
When Nick could no longer see Delacourt, he headed to the nearest Tube station. He had a lot to do before the plane left.
