by Dana Delamar
“Such as?”
“You know how Papà and Nonno Carlo always used to talk down anything Zio Enrico did? How he’s not a real Mafioso?” He continued before she could nod. “Well, they’re right. Zio Enrico is a businessman in a way they’re not.” He set the book on the windowsill. “I think he sees more than they do. He’s not a true ‘Ndranghetista.”
“You think he’s clever.”
Cris smiled. “In some ways. Not in others. He’s too reluctant to fight.”
“And some are too ready.” She sat on the edge of the bed and tried to draw a full breath, but her chest was so tight. Cris wasn’t going to like this turn in the conversation. “Do you know what Papà made Nick do?”
“Warehouse job.”
“Fedele Lucchesi died in that fire.”
Cris’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “He didn’t tell me that.”
Delfina let out a breath. Grazie a Dio. He hadn’t known. But that meant he didn’t know Papà’s plans either. And that wasn’t good.
Shaking his head, Cris murmured, as if to himself, “What’s he up to?”
“I have no idea. The engagement party is in three days.”
“Does Nick know who he killed?” Cris asked, focusing on her again.
“He does now.”
“I don’t like this.”
The tightness on her brother’s face was a kick in the gut. I don’t like it either. “Imagine how Nick feels.”
Cris glanced away, his gaze settling on the book. He’d probably rather be reading it than hearing that Papà had kept the full truth from him. She waited, balling her hands into fists in her lap as the muscles in Cris’s jaw jumped. Finally he said, “I shouldn’t tell you this, but the initiation ceremony is today.”
Delfina’s stomach flipped over. “When?”
Cris checked his watch. “One hour. Flavio should be getting Nick right now.”
“Where is it happening?”
“I can’t tell you that.” Then why had he told her anything? Because he’s angry.
“Are you going?”
“Of course. I’m going to be his sponsor. I have to coach him. I’ll be doing that during the drive.” Someone knocked on the door. “That’ll be Flavio.” He started to rise from the chair.
“Cris.” His eyes snapped to hers, the look in them as sharp as her voice. “Nick can’t do this.”
“He has to. You know Papà won’t trust him without it.”
“He’ll never trust Nick, regardless. If he did, he would have told him what he was going to do last night.”
Cris shrugged. “Papà doesn’t have to explain his every move to subordinates.”
“And what about you? You’re his second. Shouldn’t you know what he’s thinking?”
The knock on the door was louder this time. Flavio’s voice rumbled through the door. “Don Cristoforo, we have to leave.”
“Coming!” Cris called, his irritation plain. He rose from the chair without answering her and headed toward the door.
Delfina caught his sleeve as he passed her. “Well?”
“I’m sure he’ll tell me when he’s ready.”
“That wouldn’t be good enough for me if I was in your position.”
He roughly disengaged her hand from his arm. “It’s not your problem.” He bit off the words, as if each one pained him.
“This is my family too.”
“Delfi, this is a cosca matter.”
He turned away again, and she grabbed his wrist, digging her fingers in this time. Could she still get through to him? “Don’t let the ‘Ndrangheta strip away everything I love about you.”
He stayed rigid for a second, the muscles of his arm tight beneath her hand, then he sighed, his shoulders relaxing. “I’m still me. Nothing’s changed.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek.
She stared up into his soft brown eyes as he straightened, hating what she had to say. “The brother I love isn’t heartless. Or a blind follower.”
Cris’s face darkened, and for a second, she glimpsed the man behind the boy. “I am neither of those things. There is blindness and there is obedience. I know the difference.” He turned and left the room, not stopping even when she apologized.
She’d been right; Cris planned to walk with their father. No matter what path they took. No matter how cruel the means of their passage.
Cris wouldn’t help Nick, but that didn’t mean she could do nothing. She jumped up and hurried down the hall, grabbing her handbag and keys. Nick was not going through with the ceremony. She’d make certain of it.
Nick’s stomach splatted on the tiles when someone pounded on the door as he was turning on the mobile Ruggero had given him. He stuffed the phone back in its hiding place, then answered the door, his insides not feeling any better when he saw Flavio. It took him a moment to recognize that Flavio’s lopsided grimace was an attempt at a smile, and that his heavily accented words meant that Nick was going to be inducted into the ‘Ndrangheta instead of introduced to a six-foot-deep hole in the ground.
Unless Flavio was a master prankster. But having a laugh didn’t seem to be part of Flavio’s repertoire of personality traits.
Nick grabbed a suit jacket and followed Flavio to the main house and waited in a Mercedes limousine while the big man retrieved “Don Cristoforo.” He still couldn’t imagine Cris as capo di società. Cris, with his easy smile, his wavy brown curls, and the traces of baby fat lingering on his cheeks.
Had Cris known that Nick was being sent to that warehouse to kill his cousin?
Nick’s hands formed into fists when Cris climbed in the back of the car and sat next to Nick. Flavio took the seat beside the driver.
With a meaningful glare at the two up front, Nick said, “Can we talk privately?”
As the car pulled away from the house, Cris gave him a questioning look and pressed a button to raise the partition between the front and the back. “What is it?”
“Did you know what was going to happen last night?” A frown creased Cris’s face, then he shook his head. “That surprises me.”
One corner of Cris’s mouth turned up. “It surprises me too.”
“When did you find out?”
“Just now. My sister is a fount of information. As well as a nuisance.” Cris said the words affectionately, but with a hint of genuine frustration.
Nick knew exactly how he felt. “So you don’t know what your father is up to?”
“I’m sure he’ll tell me.” Cris patted Nick’s shoulder. “I’m sorry about your cousin.”
“What the hell do I say to my father the next time I see him?”
Cris’s eyes narrowed, turned to lasers. “Not a damn thing. You know that.”
Nick sighed. “This is fucking impossible, you know.”
“I know no such thing. This is how things are. So far you’ve been sheltered from some of the less pleasant realities of life, but you’re getting an education now. Bottom line—this is a business, and we are always ready to protect it. By all means necessary.”
“But this doesn’t make sense! Why kill the nephew of the man you’re trying to ally with?”
“There must be a good reason. Papà never orders a death without one. Deaths attract attention.”
“My father isn’t stupid. He’ll know who did this.”
Cris raised a brow. “Will he?” His tone was crisp.
For a second, Nick didn’t catch Cris’s implication. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to tell him.” That much was true, for now. Most likely, Delfina would beat him to it.
Cris relaxed, the challenge ebbing from his face. He pulled a paracetamol bottle from his pocket and tapped a pill into his palm. Then he took it along with a swig from a bottle of water in the bar fridge. He tipped his head back against the leather seat and closed his eyes.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine. It’s just a headache. The doctor said I might have them for a bit.”
“Why didn’t you stay home? Su
rely you don’t need to be at the ceremony.”
Cris turned his head on the seat and looked at Nick. “I’m your sponsor. And I wanted to make you an offer. Something special to acknowledge the debt I owe you.”
“An offer I can’t refuse?” Nick joked.
“You can refuse it. But I hope you won’t.”
A herd of elephants stampeded through Nick’s stomach. Thank God he hadn’t eaten. “What is it?”
“I’d like us to become fratelli di sangue. Blood brothers.”
“You mean like when kids cut their thumbs and swear to be best mates forever?”
A smile flitted across Cris’s face. “It is much more than that. The blood bond is the most sacred vow two men of honor can make to each other. A man cannot betray a blood brother. Such a thing is unthinkable. It is worse than betraying your kin.”
“Why?” Nick’s voice was hoarse.
“Because you have chosen this brother. A man who would betray a blood brother has no honor and cannot be trusted.”
Fuck, fuck, and hell-fucking-no. Nick searched Cris’s face for any trace of guile or ulterior motives. All he saw there was earnest friendship.
It was one thing to betray the ‘Ndrangheta. Another to betray Cris so completely. He’d never understand or forgive it. But what other choice did Nick have?
He could refuse. But what reason could he give that wouldn’t point to his intention to deceive? He pasted a smile on his face. “I’m utterly gobsmacked that you’d do this for me.”
“So that’s a yes?”
He was going to hell for sure. “Of course.” In a flaming fucking handbasket. Why the bloody hell had he ever thought he could do this?
Sometimes having a conscience was a damned liability. A handicap. What he wouldn’t give right now to not give a shit about anyone.
Except Delfina. God help him. Why, of all the women on the planet, did he have to fall in love with her? Why, why, why did she have to be part of a family he had to destroy?
Cris grinned and gave Nick’s hand a hard squeeze. “You are a true friend.”
Nick forced himself to return the squeeze, the open grin. A true friend he was not. But he swore to God he’d do what he could for Cris, though it would never be enough.
Next to killing his cousin, betraying Cris would be the worst sin he’d ever committed.
CHAPTER 17
Delfina followed the Mercedes at a discreet distance, careful to keep a car or two between them. So far, so good as they wound around the lake and headed into Cernobbio. The only problem would be if the Mercedes entered the hills above Lake Como, where traffic was much sparser. In that case, she’d have to stay back and pray she didn’t lose them.
She reached into her bag, her fingers easily finding her phone. She flicked through her list of contacts, looking for Antonio. She was under no illusions; her father was probably tapping her phone, especially after the whole incident with Cris getting shot. No other choice.
Antonio answered after a couple rings as she clicked her fingernails on the steering wheel. “Delfi, my goddess.”
She almost laughed from nerves. “I don’t have a lot of time to explain. Nick is being inducted into the cosca. I need Zio Enrico to stop it.”
Antonio swore. “Tell me you’re joking.”
“I wish I was.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. I’m following the car he’s in, but they’ve just turned up into the hills above Cernobbio. It’s going to get harder to follow them without being spotted.”
“Which direction?”
“They’re headed northeast on Via Bisbino.”
“Does your family own any property around there?”
“Not that I know of.”
Antonio swore again. “Let me get Don Enrico.”
She looked for the Mercedes. Porca miseria, she’d lost sight of them! She pressed the accelerator, her pulse racing along with the car. She hated driving so fast on these twisting mountain roads, but she didn’t have much choice. How long could she follow them before they caught on? Grazie a Dio that she’d asked Papa for a silver Alfa Romeo instead of a red one.
She rounded a curve and caught a glimpse of the black Mercedes as it started into the bend ahead. Her breathing eased, but she didn’t know how much longer she could pull this off.
Antonio came back. “I’m putting him on the line.”
“You’re still headed northeast?” Her uncle’s deep voice made her feel better.
“No. We’ve curved around southwest.”
“There’s an old Roman ruin off Via Bisbino. You’ll come to two forks; take the southern one each time. The turnoff is a dirt road that doesn’t have a name. That may be where they’re going.”
She brightened. “I remember Cris said his ceremony was done outdoors.”
“Then that’s probably it. I’m on my way. Be careful.”
“You too.” She hesitated, then said, “I heard about the fire. I’m sorry.”
“Grazie.”
“Zio?” Blood rushed in her ears.
“Sì?”
“Nick did it.”
“What are you saying?”
“My father forced him to set the fire.”
Silence filled the line. Finally he spoke again. “I’m going to strangle him.”
“Nick?”
“Your father.”
Her heart seized up. “I shouldn’t have told you.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure your father would have told me sooner or later.”
“He still means to go through with the wedding. I think.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“He told me about the engagement party this morning.”
Her uncle sighed. “All theater, I’m sure.”
She’d already said it, but it bore repeating. Her throat tightened on the words. “Be careful, Zio.”
“I always am.” The line went dead.
She dropped the phone in her bag, concentrating on the road. The Mercedes was still ahead of her, carrying the two people she loved most in the world.
Had she done the right thing? Or had she just killed them all?
The limousine turned onto a dirt road nearly hidden by trees. Nick’s heart sped up as they bounced along the pothole-filled road. Everything he’d been told, right down to Cris’s offer, might be all an elaborate misdirection, a way of keeping him calm and cooperative until the trap was sprung.
After a quarter mile or so, they rounded a bend and slowed, picking their way between cars parked along both sides of the road. He counted at least a couple dozen vehicles. His heartbeat slowed. This was going to be a gathering, not an execution.
Unless it was going to be like that scene in the “The Untouchables” where Al Capone uses a baseball bat to kill a guy during the meeting of the bosses.
But that was just fiction. Wasn’t it?
Eventually they reached a point where the trees thinned out and the road ended at a small clearing. As they exited the car, Nick gulped down a lungful of crisp air scented by the cypress and umbrella pines in the surrounding forest. If this were going to be his last day, it was a damn nice one. Not a cloud in the blue sky above, though there was a slight chill in the air and fallen leaves crunched underfoot as they headed toward the clearing and the remnants of an old stone temple. A base, a few crumbling stairs, and some chipped columns were all that remained.
At the top of those stairs stood Dario. A table in front of him held a large white ceramic bowl surrounded by lit candles, a stack of thick pasteboard cards beside it. When they drew closer, Nick saw the picture on the top card; it was a reproduction of an old painting. He didn’t recognize the woman depicted, but the halo made clear she was a holy figure.
Dario was dressed in a black suit with a white shirt. Perhaps it was the setting, but he reminded Nick of a preacher from a traveling outdoor church. He followed Nick with his eyes, and Nick again felt a stir of unease. The man’s stare was relentless. “
Are you ready?” Dario asked, but directed his gaze and the question to Cris.
Cris leaned over and whispered in Nick’s ear. “You remember everything we went over in the car?”
“I think so.”
“I’ll prompt you if you forget. But don’t forget.” At Nick’s raised brows, Cris elbowed him in the ribs. “Calm down.”
Cris ascended the steps until he stood by Dario. He turned and motioned for Nick to follow, but gestured for him to stop when he was on the second stair from the top. The men of the cosca encircled them.
Dario began to speak, raising his voice to be heard. “I have called you here today to witness the baptism of a new member. My son, Cristoforo, has chosen to be his sponsor. I present to you Niccolò Rinaldo Lucchesi.” A ripple of comment swept through the assembled men. Adrenaline spiked Nick’s blood, making him dizzy and sending his heart into a gallop. He swallowed hard and tried not to meet anyone’s eyes. Damn Dario for using that name, the name Nick had never agreed to. He was Nicholas Reginald Clarkston. Not Lucchesi. Never Lucchesi. But he should have known his wishes didn’t matter to Dario Andretti.
A man in the group below stepped forward. “What is the meaning of this? A Lucchesi? In the Andretti cosca?”
“Our families are blending again,” Dario said. “Soon Niccolò will wed my daughter.”
The man crossed his arms. “So this is what, extra insurance?”
“Something like that.”
The man raised his brows, glanced at his comrades, then stepped back with a shrug. “My apologies for the interruption, Don Andretti.”
Dario smiled. “Perhaps I should have been less theatrical and informed you all beforehand.” The men chuckled and relaxed.
The boss man was a real funny guy, all right. Nick itched to tear into Dario as soon as they were alone.
“My son will conduct the initiation. Cris?”
Nick turned at Dario’s words and met his eyes briefly, trying to bore a hole in the man, before turning his attention to Cris.
“Before all assembled here,” Cris’s voice rang out, “I shall help prove your worth to this society.” Cris motioned Nick to join him, and the two of them stood face to face, less than two feet separating them. Cris put his left hand on Nick’s right shoulder. “Niccolò Rinaldo Lucchesi, you have come before this society on this day, seeking entry into our ranks. Tell me, what are you looking for?”
