by Dana Delamar
And in that moment, the answer came. It was time to forgive his father. Time to ask his help.
Time to hope for a miracle.
After calling Cris to let him know he was going to visit his father, Nick picked up the mobile Ruggero had given him and placed the call, his hands sweating, his heart running a marathon in his chest. The phone rang three times; Nick wasn’t sure what to say if it went to voice mail. Then his father answered. “Nick.” Not “Nico.” The voice flat, emotionless.
“May we speak?” Nick asked. “In person?”
Silence. Finally: “Come to the house.” His father gave him directions, then hung up without saying goodbye.
Nick stared at the phone, his stomach churning. Maybe this was a bad idea. He tapped the edge of the phone against the steering wheel. What other choice did he have?
He could just keep his mouth shut, keep his head down, and do Dario’s bidding.
But that wasn’t a life worth living. Even if Delfina were his wife. He’d slowly kill himself that way, his self-worth an ever diminishing speck until he shoved a gun in his mouth and made a bullet his last meal.
No, he had to take his lumps. He needed his father’s help, his forgiveness. Nick turned the key in the ignition, smiling at the irony. How many times had he fantasized about his father coming to him groveling, begging Nick to let him back into his life? Never had Nick imagined their roles reversed.
How things had changed.
He reached the villa quickly, his mouth dropping open at the beauty and enormity of the estate. He’d thought Dario’s house grand and Gianluca d’Imperio’s impressive. But this was a true palazzo, a magnificent home fit for a king. For a moment, his nervousness ebbed. Just how had his father made so much money?
A maid showed Nick inside and directed him to wait in the foyer, a grand soaring space over two stories high. The expensive décor—marbles, fine fabrics, paintings that appeared to date back at least a century or two—reminded Nick of Versailles or the Palacio Real in Madrid. His father’s home was a far cry from the ones Nick had grown up in, even farther from his own tiny flat. Did he truly know this man at all?
His heart started skipping again, and the feeling grew worse when Ruggero appeared, his eyes dark and menacing. He frisked Nick, unburdening him of the gun and knife. “Is this really necessary?” Nick asked.
Ruggero stepped close to Nick, giving him a clear view of the nasty scar that cut across the left side of his face. “You are an Andretti now. No matter what Don Lucchesi says, I do not trust Andretti trash.” For a moment, Ruggero looked like he might spit in Nick’s face, then he turned without another word and led Nick out back to a stunning garden.
His father sat on the rear terrace with his beautiful wife, who glared when she saw him. His father’s face was drawn, his gaze trained on the lake shimmering in the distance.
Ruggero withdrew and took a post out of hearing range. His continued presence unsettled Nick. So this wasn’t to be a friendly visit. But he had only himself to blame for that. He was the one who’d decided to join forces with Dario, he was the one who’d insulted his father in front of Andretti and his top men. He was the one who’d killed Fedele, his father’s godson.
Nick stood awkwardly, not sure whether to take a seat at the table. After a long silence, his father rescued him. “Sit,” he said, motioning to an empty chair. “This is my wife, Kate, if you do not remember.”
Nick offered his hand, but she didn’t take it. Instead she turned to her husband. “Tell me again why he’s here.”
His father half smiled. “Cara, your love for me is humbling, and I know you mean well. But we should stay civil, yes?”
She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I’ll do my best.”
His father’s face brightened, and he took Kate’s hand and kissed her knuckles. Then he turned to Nick. “You wished to see me.”
Nick didn’t know where to start. Now that he was here, all he could think about was the horrible, crushed expression on his father’s face when Nick had told him he’d chosen to join the Andretti cosca. To be, more or less, an Andretti. His vision blurred with unshed tears and his throat jammed up.
“Well?” Kate asked, her voice softer than it had been, but still with an edge that threatened to slice him.
“I didn’t mean it,” Nick finally said, his voice choked. “I didn’t mean what I said at the ceremony.” He risked a glance at his father and saw his eyes swimming as well.
“Then why, Nico?” His father’s voice vibrated with anguish.
“I had this stupid idea that I could put Andretti in jail if I got on the inside. But it’s all a mess, and I should’ve listened to Delfina, but I didn’t, and now—”
“Slow down. You are trying to put Dario in jail?”
“I want to, yes. He used me to kill Fedele. He needs to pay.”
His father’s mouth clamped into a grim line. “You cannot do that.”
“Why not?”
“They will kill you. The men of his cosca.” He ran a hand over his face and took a deep breath. “And if they fail, all of us—all of the ‘Ndrangheta—will be given the task of hunting you down.”
“You mean—?”
His father nodded. “Yes. Even me.”
“And if you refused?”
“I would be next.”
“But you’re my father—”
His father leaned forward, placing his hands flat on the table. “You took the vows. You said the words. Betrayal means death. Refusal to carry out orders means death. There are no loopholes, no exceptions.”
Something with sharp teeth tore at Nick’s belly. “So I’m stuck taking orders from Dario Andretti for the rest of my life?”
“You should have given that a little more thought, shouldn’t you?” Kate said.
He deserved her scorn. He’d been such a goddamn fool from the moment he’d received that letter purportedly from Franco Trucco. He’d charged into a situation he didn’t understand, he’d ignored every single person who’d tried to help him. And now he was reaping the fruits of his foolhardiness.
“Kate, he did not know. And now he does. Maybe I should have been more direct with him.”
“No,” Nick cut in. “This is my fault. Not yours.”
His father raised a brow, but didn’t look at Nick. Instead he studied the mosaic on the tabletop. “So, you have stopped blaming me?”
Nick knew what he was really asking. He was asking if Nick still blamed him for her. The image of his mother lying in that tub of crimson flashed through his mind. Knowing what he knew now—could he still hold his father responsible? An internal shuddering started in his chest, and despite the breaths he took to quell it, the tremors grew until he felt sick, as if he needed to vomit up the hard truth he’d held back all these years—she was the one who had abandoned him. His father had tried to set him free.
Nick lurched away from the table, unable to speak, and started toward a rose garden a few dozen yards away. He’d avoided roses for years after her death, their scent always reminding him of that awful time. But now he had to face the truth, face what she’d done. He stumbled along the rows of fading rosebushes; most had given up all their blooms. Only a few blowsy stragglers braved the cooler days of November. Why had his mum done it? Why hadn’t she loved him enough to want to see him grow up?
He’d reached the far end of the rose beds and now stood looking out at the lake gleaming in the sunlight, framed by the high peaks of the Alps. He heard the tread of footsteps behind him, but he didn’t turn. A hand cupped his shoulder. “Nico.”
Nick leaned into that touch. “Papà.” He could barely choke the word out before he released a sob, and then his father’s arm slid around his shoulders. “I’m so sorry,” Nick finally managed.
His father hugged him from behind, pulling Nick against his broad chest. A rush of warmth filled him and dried up his tears. “I am sorry too. I should have taken you with me after the funeral. We missed so many years together.”
“No. You made the right decision.”
His father said nothing for a while, just rested his chin on Nick’s shoulder. When he spoke again, his voice was a whisper. “So many times I wondered if I had been a coward. If I had made the right choice for you.”
“You tried to give me something else, another life.”
“But I failed.”
“This is all my creation. Let me take the responsibility.” Nick stepped out of his father’s embrace and took a deep breath, turning around. “I’m not a schoolboy anymore.”
“I know.” Then his father smiled. “You have turned out well. I owe your grandparents so much.”
“So do I.” Christ. He still hadn’t called them. “Where are they anyway?”
Another smile. “Enjoying my godfather’s hospitality in Capri.”
“You’re sure they’re safe?”
“As houses. No one crosses Vittorio Battista.”
“Fancy that. They had their honeymoon in Capri. Always said they wanted to go back.”
“I am sure it is as lovely as they remember.”
Nick stuck his hands in the back pockets of his jeans, not sure how to say it, but knowing he had to. “I’m so sorry about Fedele. I had no idea—”
A shadow crossed his father’s face. “That was Dario’s doing. Not yours.” When Nick tried to say more, his father held up a hand. “I will not hear another word on the subject.”
His face flamed. He’d been such an idiot, thinking he could outmaneuver Andretti. An awkward silence stretched between them. Finally Nick said, “So now what do I do?”
“You marry Delfina and hope Dario does not ask you for more than information.”
“That’s it? That’s my option?”
“For now.” His father shrugged. “Perhaps another possibility will emerge.”
That shrug and that tone were far too casual. “You have something in mind.”
“Benedetto approached me with an offer. I have not quite accepted it, but if I do, Dario will not be pleased. The mere fact that Benedetto made me this offer tells me that Dario is in trouble.”
“As in he might not be alive much longer?”
Another shrug. “Perhaps.”
It was time to tell him. “I think Benedetto tried to have Cris and me killed.”
“The Russians?”
“Yes. We were supposed to die that night. Delfina thinks Benedetto isn’t finished with us.”
“He is afraid you will tell Lorenzo, or let something slip that gets back to Lorenzo.”
“So what do I do? Let him shoot me in the back?”
“No. Benedetto wants something from me. He will not get it until he swears to leave you alone.”
“Cris too.”
His father raised his brows. “You are certain you want to vouch for Cris?”
“We took an oath to each other. We’re blood brothers now.”
“Madonna.” His father looked heavenward. “There are no half measures with you.”
Nick chuckled. “Especially when I’ve done the wrong thing.”
“I will ensure my agreement with Benedetto covers both of you.”
“Thank you.” Nick tried to swallow down what else he was feeling, but the words spilled out. “I hate being so fucking powerless.”
His father was silent for a moment, then he said, “Nothing in life—especially in our world—is certain. One minute you are on top, the next you are scrambling for your life.” He clapped Nick on the shoulder. “Patience is the most important tool in any war chest. Capisci?”
Nick nodded. He understood, better than he ever had before. It wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear—his store of patience had always run thin. But he’d better learn to cultivate some.
His father turned them back toward the house in an easy meander. “How are things between you and Delfina?”
“Good.”
“But?”
It was Nick’s turn to shrug. “She didn’t want to marry an ‘Ndranghetista. She wanted out.”
“And?”
Nick chuckled at how well his father read him. “She said she forgave me, but I can’t help thinking that she’s settling. Like I’m the least obnoxious choice in front of her.”
His father stopped. “I know the feeling. I went through that with Kate.”
“She certainly got over it. She’s like a tiger when it comes to you.”
His father smiled, his eyes glowing. “I proved myself to her.”
“How?”
“I killed the man holding her prisoner.”
Nick clucked his tongue, impressed. “I can see how that would work. Don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“I do not think you need something so dramatic.”
“You don’t know her.”
His father stopped walking. “I do know her, actually.”
“Yeah, I guess you do. She was your niece.”
“And briefly my fiancée.”
“What?” A blast of heat ripped through him.
His father raised his hands in surrender. “It was not like that. I never even held her hand.”
How could he have forgotten? Nick calmed down. “Don’t know why that took me off-guard.”
“Because you love her.”
Nick kicked at a rock in his path. “I don’t. This marriage is strictly business. I can’t have feelings for her.” He jammed his hands in his pockets. “I wish I could just walk away. She deserves better than this.”
His father studied him for a moment, then he said, “I told myself the same thing when I married Antonella Andretti.” He smiled. “It was impossible for my heart to resist her.” After a pause, he said, “Perhaps you are in a similar situation?”
“Perhaps.” He was such a liar. But what kind of future could they have?
“I have an idea. Have you bought her a ring yet?”
Christ. He was some romantic. He didn’t have a ring. Hell, he hadn’t even proposed. She was going to walk into that party tomorrow with nothing. “No, but I’d better fix that.”
“I think I can help. Follow me.”
A dozen yards from the house, Nick stopped. “May I ask a favor?”
“Anything.”
“If something happens to me, promise you’ll help Delfina get free. I want her to have all the things she’s ever wanted.”
A slight smile creased his father’s face. “You do love her.”
“I just want more for her.” Nick shook his head. “More than this.”
“I will do my best, Nico.” He took Nick back to the terrace and left him with Kate while he headed into the house alone.
“You two patched things up?” she asked.
“Yeah. He’s forgiven me.”
“Good.” She twisted her hands together, the large diamonds on her left hand sparkling in the sunlight. Delfina should have stones like those. “Listen, I know I was hard on you—”
Nick put up a hand. “No need.”
She smiled. “Good. Because I suck at apologies.”
“I’m getting some much-needed practice myself.”
His father came back outside, and handed a small velvet box to Nick. “Open it.”
When he did, an impressive antique ring poked out of the enclosure, sparkling as if it had just been cleaned. He could easily picture it on Delfina’s hand; its classic beauty would suit her, and the diamond solitaire was more than big enough. “It’s perfect. Where did you get this?”
“It belonged to my mother. I had been saving it for my eldest son.” His father touched Kate’s belly lightly and Nick remembered. She was pregnant.
“You should keep it. I’ll find something else.” He held the ring out to his father.
His father refused with a wave of his hand. “This one might be a girl. Besides, you are my eldest son. I want you to have it.”
Throat tight, Nick put the ring box in his pocket. This was how it should be, right? This was how it should have always been.
And even thou
gh he’d made one horrible blunder after another, at least he’d done one thing right today.
Tomorrow at the party—maybe even tonight—he hoped to do another. He was going to propose to Delfina Andretti. He’d never said “I love you” to a woman; he hadn’t been able to say those words for almost twenty years to anyone. Not even his grandparents. Not since Mum.
But even if he couldn’t say how he felt out loud, he’d make sure there was no doubt in Delfina’s heart that he loved her.
Nick had just exited his father’s house, the ring in his pocket, and was opening the door to the car when he heard someone calling his name. He glanced back and saw Antonio descending the steps. The expression on his face was stormy, and Nick’s shoulders drew up in response.
Trying to appear casual, Nick rested one arm on the top of the open car door, which stood between them like a shield. “What do you want?” he asked, when Antonio drew near.
“I just heard the news. About you and Delfina.”
Nick noticed that Antonio didn’t offer his congratulations. “And?”
A scowl darkened Antonio’s features. “I do not know what you have planned, but you had better be good to her, or I will gut you and enjoy every minute.”
“You sound like a scorned lover. Not a friend.”
“She is special to me. Like a sister.” The sincerity in Antonio’s tone surprised him.
“I’ll do right by her.”
“She deserves a husband who loves her.”
“You think I don’t?”
“I think people are useful to you.”
Nick’s face grew hot. The accusation was partly true—he had lied plenty to get to where he was. But he hadn’t done it for personal gain. And he hadn’t used Delfina. He stepped around the car door. Only a couple feet separated them now. “You don’t know me.”
