by Dana Delamar
“He soiled my sister’s honor. Our family name. You’ve seen the proof now; Clarkston is his son, without a doubt.”
Gianluca puffed on his cigar. “La Provincia ruled against your father’s claims.” He turned to Benedetto. “That ruling was final, was it not?”
Benedetto’s lips twitched. As head of the commission, he could reopen the matter. “Yes.” He focused on Dario. “Be thankful Lucchesi didn’t bring a grievance against your father for the unsanctioned murders of his family.”
“I could do the same to him. He didn’t seek permission to go after my father.”
Lorenzo chuckled. “Just like the old days, before we got so civilized.” He gestured to Benedetto. “So, my son, what odds do you think your nephew would have if he were to bring such a grievance before the commission?”
“Poor.” Benedetto brushed a piece of lint off his sleeve. “Many would take Lucchesi’s side.”
“Exactly.” Lorenzo turned to Dario. “Many would. Many, like Gianluca here, would question your judgment. Lucchesi has brought us a security we’d been lacking. The banks were always the weak link. The DIA will never get Lucchesi to cooperate.”
They weren’t going to win so easily. Lucchesi wasn’t going to win. “It’s dangerous to rely on him. We’ve all been lazy. We’ve been sitting back and letting him handle our money because running the banks is complicated. We could learn. We could set up our own banks.”
Benedetto smiled. “And how do you propose we do that?”
“Lucchesi will make me his partner.”
Lorenzo laughed. “You will accomplish that how?”
“I have the boy.” Triumph surged up in him. It was a change of plan, but a clever one. And it didn’t mean he couldn’t kill Lucchesi once he knew how to carry on without him. His vengeance would be delayed, but not denied.
Silence fell between them until Gianluca broke it. He smiled and clapped Dario on the back. “Well-played, my friend.”
Dario looked at his uncle and his grandfather. They remained silent, then exchanged a glance before turning back to him with smiles. “Yes, well-played,” Benedetto said.
But the smiles didn’t reach their eyes. The quivers in his gut returned.
Delfina had been searching everywhere, but Nick was nowhere to be found. Could he have left the party?
She circled back to Antonio, Gio, and Cris, who’d all assisted with the search, but who’d now reconvened by the pool. “Anything?” she asked when she joined them.
A chorus of shaking heads greeted her. “Damn it! Where can he be?” She turned to Gio. “Did you talk to the valets and the drivers? Did he leave with anyone?”
“They haven’t seen him.” Gio stroked Delfina’s forearm. “He’s got to be here somewhere. Maybe he’s wandered off into the hills?”
Delfina cast a despairing glance at the mountains rising up past the front of the house. If he’d gone up there, they’d never find him at night. But it was so damn dark beyond the reach of the party lights, she couldn’t imagine him getting that far.
“He snagged a bottle of whiskey from one of the bartenders,” Antonio said. “So I bet he’s still here.”
“You’re probably right.” She turned to Gio. “If you didn’t want anyone to find you, where would you go?”
Gio thought for a moment, then snapped her fingers. “The garden shed. Or the boathouse.”
“Okay, Antonio and I will take the shed. You and Cris go to the boathouse.”
“We’ll find him, sweetie. We will,” Gio said, giving her arm a sympathetic squeeze. Then she turned to Cris and laced her arm through his. “I don’t want to trip and fall in these heels,” she said.
“Happy to oblige,” Cris murmured as they walked away, a half smile on his face.
He’d never taken much notice of Gio before. Delfina wondered at the change, but Nick was foremost in her thoughts. “Come on,” she said to Antonio.
They set off through the garden, following the stone paths laid down in a circuitous route through a labyrinth of hedges, topiaries, rosebushes, clumps of flowers, statues, urns, and fountains, all strewn picturesquely throughout the garden. Domed lights on posts lit the flagstone paths.
“This has turned out to be one hell of a birthday party,” Antonio said.
She hugged her arms around herself. “I shouldn’t have done it. I knew how Nick felt. I just thought… I don’t know what I thought.”
Antonio slung an arm around her shoulders and kissed her cheek. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know how bad it was.”
“Nick hates him, he really does. And he just doesn’t understand what a mess he’s in. How can I make him understand who my father is?”
Antonio let go of her and was silent for so long she momentarily forgot about Nick. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“Hmm… you’ve gone all silent over nothing.”
He sighed. “Do you think Don Enrico meant what he said about not wanting this life for his children?”
“Yes. I think he was sincere.”
“Then why did he let me join up?”
Her heart squeezed. She put a hand on Antonio’s shoulder. “Oh, Tonio. Don’t take what he said the wrong way.”
“How else should I take it?”
“Well, did he encourage you?”
Antonio hesitated. “No. He tried to talk me out of it. Made me wait until I was twenty to take my vows.”
“And he’s tried to get you to attend university.”
“He’s always bugging me about it. But how can I, now that I’m capo di società?”
“I’m sure something could be arranged.”
“With his godsons breathing down my neck?”
“They’re upset?”
He stopped walking. “If your father passed up Cris for some no-name, low-level, completely unqualified paesano, he’d be furious.”
“I suppose.” She rubbed her arms; she should have picked up her jacket before they left the space heaters by the pool. “Why did he choose you over them anyway—not that I’m saying you’re unqualified.”
He hesitated again. “I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.” Didn’t he realize what a miserable liar he was?
“Delfi, I’m sworn to secrecy.”
She sighed. “Okay then. But what’s really bothering you?”
“Don Enrico plans to take the vow of comparaggio toward his godsons.”
“He does?” Since their father was dead, it was understandable. But still, it was a big step.
Antonio nodded. “They’ll be his sons then, in effect.”
She detected a hint of strain in his voice. “He’s not taken such a vow toward you.”
He turned his face into the shadows. “No.”
“Did you ask?”
His eyes flashed back to hers. “One does not ask someone to be his compare.”
“Between that and Nick’s appearance, you must be feeling left out.”
“Don’t psychoanalyze me.” He started walking again, faster than she could easily manage. She hurried to catch up, her shoes clattering on the flagstones. The heel of her left shoe caught in a gap between the stones, and she went down with a yelp.
“Delfi!” Antonio hurried back to her. “You okay?”
He helped her up, and she dusted herself off. Her ankle was sore, but it would hold her. She couldn’t say the same for the shoe. The heel had snapped off and the ankle strap had torn. “Porca miseria.”
Slipping off the other shoe, Delfina proceeded in her sheer hose. Pebbles and twigs bit into the soles of her feet; she was limping by the time they reached the gravel path that veered off to the garden shed. She paused, nerving herself up for the trip across the sharp stones. “Let me carry you,” Antonio said. “It’s not far. Or you can wait here.”
“If he’s there, I’d better be with you.”
“You think it’ll make a difference?” Antonio said. “He wasn’t too happy with you either.”
“But at least he won’t punch me.”
“Good point.” He swung her up in his arms. She put her hands around the back of his neck, holding herself stiffly away from his chest. She couldn’t help smelling him though, and his light, citrusy cologne reminded her of Nick’s. Now if he was the one holding her…. She pushed that thought away.
Antonio’s shoes crunched on the gravel as he headed toward the shed. An owl hooted nearby, and the night sounds of insects filled her ears.
When they reached the shed—it was nearly a small barn—where the gardening equipment was kept, Antonio pushed the door open with his shoulder. “Nick?” she called. No answer. If he wasn’t here, and if Gio and Cris didn’t find him, what then? Antonio stepped inside the shed, then set her down on the dirt floor.
She heard the slosh of liquid in a bottle, but no other noise. “Nick, I know you’re here.”
A small electric lantern flicked on in response. Nick was sitting next to a mower, leaning back against a broken garden bench, a bottle of Scotch between his knees. “Haven’t done enough damage for one evening?” he asked, his voice slurred.
Her stomach cramped into a ball. “I’m sorry. I should have told you.”
He pointed a finger at her. “No. You should have asked me.”
“You would have said no.”
“Exactly.”
“You cannot manage Andretti alone,” Antonio said.
The finger shifted to Antonio. “Stay out of this. Run back to my fucking father for all I care. You can have him.”
Two bright spots of color appeared on Antonio’s cheeks. “You do not know him.”
“You’re right. I don’t. And whose fault is that?”
“He is a good man.”
“He could be a fucking saint and I’d still want nothing to do with him.” Nick took a swig from the mostly empty bottle. “But he’s not. He’s a goddamn mobster. About as far from a saint as you can get.”
“I will not argue with you, but—”
Nick cut him off. “You’re right. You’re not going to argue with me.” He hurled the bottle at Antonio, clipping him on the shoulder. The bottle bounced off and broke on the wall behind his target, littering the doorway with shards of glass. The smell of whiskey permeated the shed.
Antonio rubbed his arm, his mouth compressed into a thin line. “Basta!” He started toward Nick.
Delfina intercepted him and put her hand on his chest. “Tonio, go, please.
“I will not leave you here with this pig.”
“It’ll be fine. I can leave if I need to.”
“The glass.”
“I’ll manage.” She surveyed the shed and spotted a heavy canvas tarp thrown over some equipment. “I’ll use that,” she said, pointing to it.
Antonio blew out in exasperation. “I do not like this.”
“Who do you think you are—her boyfriend?” Nick asked. “Is that why you carried her in here? Maybe you were hoping for a snog or two, maybe even a quick shag?”
Antonio’s forehead creased. “Snog? Shag? I do not know these words, but I do not like the sound of them.”
“How do ‘kiss’ and ‘fuck’ sound?” Nick asked, enunciating the words so they felt like punches to the gut. Could he possibly be jealous? Of Antonio?
“You should not speak that way in front of her,” Antonio growled.
“So she is your girlfriend.” Nick gazed at Delfina. “That’s why you’re not keen on the fiancé, even though he is a rich prick.”
Before she could answer, Antonio cut in, his voice cold and hard. “I told you. Do not curse around women. And I am not her ragazzo.”
“Yeah, the principessa wouldn’t look at you twice. You’re just a fucking bodyguard.”
The taunting curse lingered in the air. Delfina stared at Antonio, willing him not to take the bait. She hardly dared breathe. For a second, Antonio didn’t reply, then he said, “Not anymore.”
Nick glared at him while Delfina counted her heartbeats, then a sly grin crossed Nick’s face and he shook his head, the movement exaggerated, slow. “You think you’re my replacement. The son that never was. Am I close?” Antonio swore. “Hit a nerve, did I?”
Color rose to Antonio’s cheeks again and his hands formed into fists. Delfina’s pulse spiked. She had to stop this. Nick tried to stand, but lost his balance and fell back against the bench.
“See? He can’t hurt me,” Delfina said to Antonio, switching to Italian. “I can handle him.”
Antonio held her eyes in silent protest, then raised his hands in surrender. “I’ll tell Gio and Cris we found him.” His face wrinkled with disgust when his focus swung back to Nick. “I don’t know why we bothered.”
Delfina didn’t relax until Antonio left. Now that she and Nick were alone, she sucked in a breath, her nerves flaring. Nick was a mess, and it was her fault. But he needed to see sense. Could she get through to him?
Grabbing the tarp, she spread it out on the floor next to Nick, hoping it was clean enough to save her dress. She eased herself down beside him. Neither of them said anything.
Finally he broke the silence. “Why don’t you leave me alone?”
“Because I like you.” She said it without thinking. But it was true.
He rubbed a hand across his face. His voice when it came sounded broken, weak. “Why?” Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes.
“Oh Nick,” she said and rose up on her knees, putting her arms around him. He didn’t respond at first, then his arms closed around her. He was shaking. After a moment she realized he was crying without making a sound. Something in her chest squeezed. What must it have been like for him, growing up without a mother, a father? And she’d been the one to stir up all those bad memories.
She stroked his hair, saying nothing. After a time, his hold slackened, then he pulled away, wiping his cheeks on the sleeve of his suit. She started to sit back on her heels, trying to figure out how to broach the subject of his father, but he took her face in his hands and pressed his lips to hers, stunning her. She started to resist, but he let out a little sound of protest. What could it hurt, really? She relaxed into him. It was just a—what had he called it?—a snog. A silly word for a silly thing. But it did feel good, the brush of his lips on hers, his fingers caressing her cheeks and jaw, the way he tugged her closer until she was sitting on his lap. He kissed her gently for a while, then with a moan, his mouth opened slightly and his tongue sought hers. A thrill ran through her body at the invasion, at his deepening desire for her.
They shouldn’t be doing this, she shouldn’t be letting him kiss her, but she didn’t want to stop. He tasted of Scotch, the liquor dark and smoky. She let him in, parting her lips beneath his, her eyes closing and all her senses concentrating on the touch of his mouth, his tongue. His hands left her face, one of them twining in her hair, the other spreading across her upper back, enclosing her in his warmth.
She’d been kissed before, but only by Teo, and he’d been a boy. Nick was a man—there was nothing tentative about his kiss. Nothing rough about it either, even though he was drunk. He didn’t grind his lips against hers, though their touch was firm, insistent. And his tongue was wicked—light and flickering one moment, demanding the next.
She didn’t know how long they kissed before he broke it off. She raised a hand to her mouth, caressing her lips where they tingled. Still holding her by the back of the neck, he rested his forehead against hers, both of them breathing hard. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“For what?”
“For being an arse.” He paused. “For kissing you.”
“Don’t apologize for kissing me.”
He let her go and shook his head. “I shouldn’t have.”
“I wanted you to.”
“You’re engaged, remember?” He wagged a finger at her, but the movement was slow, almost lazy. “Besides, your father will… skin me and my grandparents alive if he finds out.”
And there it was—the solution to bot
h of their problems, a solution Nick would like far more than asking his father for help. Gio was right. There was a way to get rid of Leandro and save Nick, a way to pursue her dream of a career in fashion. And maybe even, a way to save her father from himself.
“Not necessarily.”
He squinted at her. “Pardon?”
“Never mind.” She’d better handle this on her own. He’d think it too risky, but she knew her father and exactly how to handle him. Nick just had to play a part. And he had to play it well. He had to believe his role in it, or it would never work.
She checked her watch. It was close to midnight. They were supposed to cut the cake then, and everyone would be searching for her. Sooner or later, they’d be found. And it had to appear convincing when they were.
She reached up behind her neck and unzipped her dress. Cool air touched her back, making her shiver.
“What are you doing?” Nick asked. He blinked at her in alarm.
“I’m hot.”
“You… can’t be.” He seemed to be having increasing trouble choosing his words. Good.
“I am.”
He averted his gaze as she let the dress slide down her arms. “Stop it,” he said as she rose up, stepping out of the dress.
She hugged herself, shaking in the cold. “Look at me,” she demanded.
“No.”
“Do it, Nick. You want to.”
He tried to rise again, but couldn’t do it. “Why are you… doing this?”
“It’s for your own good.” She unhooked her bra, letting it fall to her feet, then couldn’t stop herself from cupping her hands over her breasts to shield them from his view. Silly girl. Her face reddened, and she dropped her hands. If she was going to do this, she couldn’t do it halfway.
She peeled off her hose and panties with haste, then stood before him, her hands at her sides. The cold tightened her nipples, turning them into pebbles. “Look at me,” she whispered again, her voice cracking, drying up in her throat. A flock of birds swooped round and round in her belly.
