by Dana Delamar
Gathering the damaged dresses in her arms, she strode out, searching for Jacopo. Angry voices streamed from Signor Morelli’s office, one of them Jacopo’s. She’d almost reached the door when she heard something that made her pause. Ornella’s voice. “You’ve never put a first year’s dress on the runway. You’re just doing it because you think she can help you. It’s not fair to the rest of us who’ve slaved here for years and never got anything in the show.”
Unable to breathe, Delfina clutched the dresses to her chest and waited for Signor Morelli’s reply. Jacopo broke the silence. “The design is daring. It deserves to be in the show.”
“Do you think this is Jean-Paul Gaultier?” Mario’s voice.
“None of this matters,” Signor Morelli said. “The dress is in the show.”
“Why?” Ornella demanded. “Tell me why.”
Signor Morelli sighed, his chair creaking as he shifted. “The dress is good. I’m not embarrassed by it. If putting it in the show makes her father inclined to help us, all the better.”
“Perhaps you’re worried he’ll send one of his apes here if you don’t?” Ornella said. “Oh wait. There’s one out in the shop right now guarding la principessa. Make that the Mafia princess.”
“Get back to work, Ornella. You too, Mario. This matter is closed,” Signor Morelli said.
Delfina turned and tried to hurry away, but Ornella saw her as she left Signor Morelli’s office. She stepped toward Delfina. “Eavesdropping? I hope you heard everything, you little bitch.” The triumph on the girl’s face was too much to bear.
Behind Ornella, Mario snickered, but he stopped when Jacopo came out of the office, his handsome face shifting from anger to dismay when he saw Delfina standing there, blinking fiercely to hold back tears.
Ornella crossed her arms and turned to Jacopo. “She knows. You can stop licking her ass now.”
Delfina’s stomach tightened. Had Jacopo been honest with her at all? “Cara,” he said. “Don’t listen to her.”
She hurled the ruined dresses at him. “It doesn’t matter. I quit.”
Whirling around, she rushed to her desk, grabbing her bag and a few personal items she’d brought. When Jacopo tried to stop her, Orsino lumbered up from his chair. She pointed at the guard. “Stop.” Turning to Jacopo, she said, “You can’t change my mind. None of them want me here. I’m only here because of who my father is. You know it, and I know it. And I can’t stand to be humored.”
“I’m not humoring you. I love your work. We make a great team.”
A hard lump rose in her throat. They made a terrific team. She swallowed it down and patted his arm. “I know. I’ll miss you.”
“You haven’t seen the last of me, Delfina Andretti,” Jacopo said. “We’re friends.”
She nodded, unable to speak. Then she fled from the workshop, Orsino at her side. She’d been an idiot to think her father could help her without the Andretti name ruining everything.
Clutching her handbag, Delfina fled down the street outside Morelli’s, her heels clacking on the pavement. Orsino matched her pace and tried to pat her on the shoulder, but she shrugged him off and stopped. “Get the car,” she snapped, then softened her voice and added, “Per favore.” It wasn’t his fault. He was just doing his job, following her father’s orders.
While she waited for Orsino, tears slid down her cheeks. At least she’d been able to keep them in until she got outside. She wiped at them angrily, her face on fire. What was she going to tell her family? She’d been so proud of herself, so happy.
But it had all been a sham. Signor Morelli hadn’t wanted to hire her, hadn’t thought she had talent, hadn’t seen anything special in her. She was just an inconvenient but necessary pest. A condition of continued funding.
Her throat aching, Delfina closed her eyes. She was never going to see her dress on the runway. She was never going to see Jacopo again.
Inhaling deeply, she expelled the air out slowly and leaned back against the wall of a warehouse. Maybe this was for the best. Someday she was going to have to leave Italy, and this way, it would be less painful.
For a moment, Delfina indulged herself in a fantasy of her and Nick, free of the ‘Ndrangheta, living together in London, her with a design shop of her own. She heard a light tap of a car horn and opened her eyes. Orsino got out and held the door for her, closing it after she got in back. Time to stop fantasizing and face reality. The ‘Ndrangheta had always been her life, and that wasn’t going to change. She was marrying Nick. And he was an ‘Ndranghetista.
All her planning, all her hard work, everything she’d done to escape this life—once again, she’d been outmaneuvered by the master. Her father.
But the battle wasn’t over. She’d find those recordings or she’d find some other way to get free—or relatively close to it. If she and Nick were away from the family, they might have a shot at something next to happiness.
Now that he was an ‘Ndranghetista, several things changed. Nick was moved into the main house and issued a key and the passcode to the front gate. He also received the keys to a red Alfa Romeo Spider and a mobile phone. Lastly, Cris gave him a Beretta and a switchblade, the latter engraved “Fratelli di Sangue, C.A. and N.L.” Blood brothers.
Nick accepted the knife with a rock in his throat. Even though he’d told Delfi he’d keep Cris out of it, there was bound to be blowback and collateral damage. He might not be able to shield Cris from any of it.
And at any rate, if he did manage to take out Dario, Cris would be thrust into the limelight as head of the cosca, a position that would change his life drastically and put Cris square in the sights of law enforcement.
There was just no way that everyone he cared about was going to win. And there was every chance that he would end up the loser. Cris would never forgive him, no matter what he did. Anything Nick did would be a betrayal.
Yet how could he turn his back on everything he believed? How could he let Dario Andretti go free? And letting Cris persist in this life—that wasn’t right either. Not for Cris, and not for the people Cris would eventually hurt in some way.
He was going to have to break his promise to Delfina. Maybe she’d hate him for a while, but eventually she’d see reason. Wouldn’t she? He had to hope so. He had to hope her core of goodness would win against the corruption she’d been raised to tolerate. He had to hope, or else they had no future together.
Since Delacourt was dead to him, Nick had no other choice but to contact Sottotenente Silvio Fuente again. At least the man was clean. Well, as far as he knew. He’d have to risk it.
They agreed to meet in downtown Como at a café Fuente knew. Nick drove halfway there, then stopped at a church. Getting out of the car, he searched the undercarriage, finally spotting what he’d suspected: a GPS tracking device had been attached to the rear passenger wheel well. He removed it from the car and took it and his new mobile and hid them under a shrub outside the church. He’d retrieve them on the way back.
So Dario and Cris trusted him only so far. He shouldn’t be surprised. He’d have thought them naïve if they had granted him their full trust so easily. Still, it stung.
He tried to ignore the worm of unease that tunneled through his belly as he drove to the café where he was meeting Fuente. If they didn’t fully trust him, how else were they keeping tabs on him?
He checked the rearview mirror several times, but was certain he hadn’t been followed. No need really if they thought him too stupid to check for the GPS. Or to carry his mobile with him. Instead, he carried the one his father had given him.
When he stepped inside the café, it took him a minute to spot Fuente. The man was seated in a corner, back to the wall, in an elegant navy suit instead of his carabinieri uniform. His dark hair was carefully slicked back, his full moustache neatly trimmed, every inch of him scrubbed and polished. Military neat. Force of habit, Nick supposed.
Fuente was drinking an espresso. He shook Nick’s hand when he offered it and motioned for him
to sit down. “Thank you for meeting me, Sottotenente.”
“Of course. But tonight let’s stick to Silvio and Niccolò, yes?”
Smart. Nick leaned forward on the heavily scarred wood of the thick table as Fuente signaled a waiter and held up two fingers, motioning to the cup he held and then Nick and himself.
Nick waited for the coffee, watching Fuente pull out a cigarette case and light up, even though he was seated beneath a sign warning that smoking indoors was prohibited by law. Nick glanced up at the sign, then down at Fuente’s lit cigarette. Fuente laughed. “Who’s going to stop me?”
Good point. The waiter brought their espressos and Nick inhaled the rich, heady aroma before taking a sip. He’d rather have tea, a nice Darjeeling or an Earl Grey, but the coffee here was growing on him. None of the wretched instant stuff he encountered so often in England. No, here coffee was taken seriously, brewed fresh and presented with care, as if it were a pint of the finest stout back home.
A wave of homesickness struck him. Were Gran and Grandad all right? Could he visit them now, wherever they were? They probably missed their flat. What had they done with their Yorkie, Biscuit?
So many questions he hadn’t bothered to get answers to. He’d been so consumed with his own problems that he’d barely had time to think beyond the present moment. Somehow his world had collapsed in on itself, shrinking down to his immediate circumstances and his next move.
And it wasn’t over yet.
“So what brings you to me, Nico? I doubt it’s the sparkle of my conversation, though I have been told I have a way with words.”
Nick chuckled. The man was a handful. In different circumstances, he’d like to get to know him better. No doubt Fuente could be endlessly entertaining. When he wished. “I need help with a delicate matter.”
“And you thought of me. I’m flattered.” Fuente took a sip of his espresso. “What can I do for you?”
“My superior at Interpol has been compromised. If I try to launch an investigation through him, I’m afraid he will… stymie my efforts.”
Fuente smiled, flashing even white teeth. They sparkled too, as if he didn’t drink coffee and smoke all day. The dentists in Italy must be amazing. “Tell me they haven’t disowned you.”
“No. But it’s been made clear to me that certain actions won’t be supported.”
“So who owns him?”
“My father.”
“The redoubtable Enrico Lucchesi. My, my, he is a man of many talents. Two men in Interpol, imagine that.” Despite his words, Fuente’s mocking tone made clear that he wasn’t surprised.
“You knew?”
Fuente took a long drag on the cigarette, then blew a stream of smoke away from Nick. “I guessed about Delacourt. But I’ve known about you for some time.”
“You have? How?”
“As I said, your father and I have met.”
Fuck no. “So he owns you too.”
The man shook his head. “No one owns me. I’m a free agent.”
“For sale to the highest bidder?”
Fuente pursed his lips. “Let’s not be crass, yes?”
“How about being honest? How about doing your damn job?” Nick kept his voice low, but he practically spat the words at Fuente. Was everyone in this country on the take?
Leaning forward, Fuente stabbed out the cigarette on his saucer. “I do my job. I do all my jobs. And I do them well. Or at least according to how well they pay.” He tapped a fingernail against the rim of his cup and stared at Nick. “Let me explain something to you. I maintain the balance of power here. I play all sides, but mostly I play for me. Right now, it’s in the best interest of this community, these people, and myself, to keep the Lucchesis and the Andrettis in place.”
“What the fuck are you saying? Are you even listening to yourself?”
The officer’s face went dark and he leaned closer. Nick could smell the cigarettes and espresso on the man’s breath. “There are worse things that could happen to these people than the Lucchesis and Andrettis. Far worse threats. For the most part, they keep the killings to a minimum and the feuding out of sight. And they bring in a lot of wealth and jobs to Milan and the lake. They invest heavily here, and it’s in everyone’s best interests to keep things as they are. Eliminate them, and you create a vacuum that will be filled.”
“What are you afraid of?”
Fuente ran a finger over his moustache. “The Russians, the Albanians. Even the fucking Camorra. They all want a piece of the north, and they have no scruples about what they’d do to it. The North Africans would love to come in and deal drugs and leave Dio knows how many overdoses in their wake. The ‘Ndrangheta keeps them all at bay.”
“Isn’t that supposed to be your job?”
Fuente chuckled. “My boy, you work at Interpol. How are you still so naïve? You’ve seen the figures, you’ve seen the changes. The global economy has gone to shit, and the ‘civilized’ world is losing to the criminal one. Let’s not pretend otherwise.”
Well, didn’t that just put him in his place. “I see we have a fundamental difference of opinion.”
Apparently Nick had become quite the comedian. Fuente barked with laughter, and held his hands out like a scale, palms up. “What we have is experience on the one hand and idealism on the other.” He dropped his hands and finished his espresso, then leaned back in his chair. “Look, if there is someone who needs to be stopped, I will stop them. I took care of Carlo Andretti.”
“From what I’ve heard, my father took care of him.”
“But not without my assistance.” Fuente tapped the table for emphasis. “In fact, had it not been for me, you’d have been face down in a gutter with a bullet in the back of your head.”
The wild goose chase through Sicily—of course. Delacourt had said he’d done it because Nick’s life was in danger from the Andrettis. “Well then, I suppose I’m in your debt.”
“Normally I’d ask for euros, but you can repay me by taking my advice.”
“Which is?”
“Enjoy the favors life has bestowed upon you. If you must fight battles, fight only those that threaten hearth and home.” Fuente’s index finger stabbed the tabletop, rocking the cups in their saucers. “And those battles I will fight alongside you.”
Delfina’s concerns about Benedetto and Lorenzo, and her hint that maybe she could find evidence against them, came back to him. Perhaps Fuente knew something useful. “Okay then. There’s something you may be able to help me with. What do you know about Benedetto and Lorenzo Andretti?”
Fuente sat back in his chair and picked up his espresso again, his face going perfectly still. “I know they’re trouble. Trouble neither of us wants.”
“Benedetto already has me in his sights, I think.”
The officer sighed and drank from his cup, then set it down. “How you’ve managed to survive thus far is a miracle. If Benedetto wants you dead, there’s nothing I can do for you.”
“A man as clever as you must know something.”
With a chuckle, Fuente wagged a finger at Nick. “Your flattery is transparent. But it’s true. I do know something.”
When the man didn’t say more, Nick prompted him. “Which is?”
“I know Carlo had something on Benedetto. He wouldn’t say what exactly, but I can guess. I heard that a casinò owner near Lake Lugano was foolishly complaining about a customer who hadn’t paid his markers. That customer was Benedetto Andretti.”
“What happened?”
“Can’t you guess? The owner with the big mouth was later found floating in the lake. He’d tried to swallow a whole cod. Of course, we had little doubt how an ocean fish found its way into the lake and into the man’s mouth.”
“But of course, no proof.”
Fuente lit another cigarette and shook his head. “There never is.”
Delfina had had plenty of time to think while Orsino drove her back from Milan. Her father had certainly played his part in ruining her chances. But
so had her brother. She’d been blind to it at the time, how cleverly Cris had manipulated both her and Signor Morelli, that day he’d said her dress deserved to be on the runway.
She should have realized what Signor Morelli had meant when he’d met Cris and said he’d seen the resemblance. Not the resemblance to her—to her father. Cris’s praise hadn’t been just praise—it had been a demand. Signor Morelli had understood that, even if she hadn’t. She’d stupidly continued to think of Cris as merely her little brother. He wasn’t, not anymore. Under the skin, he was just like her father, and that incident at the temple yesterday just reinforced it. Well, he wasn’t getting away with it unscathed. She might not have been able to stop him, but she could damn well let him know that she knew.
Orsino stopped to let her off at the front door, his gaze troubled as he helped her out of the back. He continued to hold her hand once she was standing beside the car. “Signorina, I caused you difficulty today, and I am sorry for it. I hate dealing with outsiders—”
“What happened today is not your fault. It had nothing to do with you.”
“They were rude. I wanted to teach them a lesson.”
Her chest tightened. “They deserved one, but they’ll never learn. It’s not our problem anymore.”
“Should I go back there? I could—”
“No. Do nothing. You hear me?” She pinned him with her eyes. “Not one thing.”
He bowed his head. “You’re the boss.”
If only she was, but that was not how the world worked. Squaring her shoulders, she headed into the house and made a rapid circuit of the first floor. When she found her mother in the kitchen conferring with their cook, Delfina asked for Cris. Her mother ignored the question. “You’re home early,” she said. “What’s wrong?”
“I quit. They know who I am, and they don’t want me there.”
“Oh Delfi, I’m so sorry.” Her mother tried to embrace her, but Delfina stepped away. “Delfi?” her mother asked, sounding wounded.
