by Dana Delamar
“I know enough not to trust you.”
Nick shrugged. “Your problem, not mine.”
Antonio stepped forward and pushed Nick hard. “You joined the damn Andrettis and broke Don Enrico’s heart. You will break hers too.”
Nick’s hands clenched into fists. “I’ve apologized for that. I made a mistake I can’t undo, and I’m sorry for it. What else do you want me to say?”
“Why did you come here?”
“To apologize to my father.”
“No. I mean, why did you come to Italia?”
“I was curious about him.”
“Then why did you put yourself into Dario Andretti’s hands? Why did you react so violently the night we all met?” He didn’t wait for Nick’s response. “I will tell you why. You hated him. You hated him and you wanted to hurt him. All the rest is a charade.”
“That’s not entirely true.” The words sounded feeble even to his own ears.
“Pack your things and leave. Spare us the rest of the misery you want to inflict on us.”
And there it was—Antonio’s true fear. “You’re afraid of anything good happening between me and my father. Because where does that leave you? With a new baby on the way and my cousins crying for your blood, you must be feeling awfully insecure.” He took a step closer to Antonio, staring him in the eyes. The red spots mottling Antonio’s cheeks told him he’d hit the truth. He lowered his voice. “I’m only going to say this once—I’m no threat to you.”
“Says the Interpol spy who works for the Andrettis.” Antonio spat on the ground before walking away.
Nick took a deep breath, then got in the car. Antonio was right to be suspicious. From the outside, it did look bad. Didn’t look much better from the inside either.
But he’d prove himself in time. Somehow he’d manage to do what Silvio Fuente did. Play both sides. Maintain the balance of power. Fight like hell when the situation warranted such.
And bide his time until he could get out from under Dario’s thumb.
CHAPTER 21
Delfina needed those recordings. If there was any gift she wanted to give Nick after their engagement party, it was the means for him to clear his conscience and save his life and Cris’s. And hopefully give her and Nick the relative autonomy of living in England.
But if Cris and her father didn’t know where the recordings were, how could she ever lay hands on them? She couldn’t believe her grandfather would have died without entrusting anyone with his secret. The only person he’d definitely trusted was Aunt Toni, and she’d been dead more than a year. So who else?
Had he told Nonna Romola? If he had, surely she’d have told Papà, and no doubt Papà had already thought to ask her. Delfina could think of no excuse to ask Nonna herself.
There had to be someone else. Or perhaps her grandfather had written it down?
She paced around her bedroom. She’d searched as much of the house as she’d dared, and so far, she’d found nothing. Her father’s study was the place she most wanted to comb through, but doing so was risky. Besides, Papà had certainly done the same search already.
If only she had access to her grandfather’s private papers, or to Aunt Toni’s… Think, Delfina. Her grandfather would have locked up that kind of information, so he must have hidden a key somewhere. But where?
The answer struck her like a thunderbolt. The necklace!
She rushed to her jewelry box and rummaged through it, pulling out the pendant her aunt had given her before she died. Aunt Toni had said something at the time that took on new significance now. “When your grandfather gave this to me, he said I’d always owned the key to his heart.”
Delfina held the pendant up to the light. It was made of sterling silver, an oval with a tree in the middle. She inspected it carefully. The trunk of the tree bisected the pendant at the bottom. Perhaps the trunk was a separate piece? She picked at it with her fingernail. It didn’t budge.
Setting the pendant on her desk, she rubbed her fingers over its surface. There was something odd about that trunk. It felt a little more raised than the rest of the design.
She scanned the corkboard above her desk. There it was—the needle she’d used to stick up the picture she’d taken of her first official design. The peek-a-boo dress that would probably never see the spotlight. She took the photo down, her stomach doing a funny flip. If she found the recordings, if she and Nick were allowed to go to London—maybe her dress would end up on the runway someday. A smile teased her lips and she pressed the picture to her chest, almost not daring to hope.
With a shake of her head, she reminded herself of her task. If she didn’t find those recordings, she wouldn’t be going anywhere, and her fiancé very well might end up with a bullet in his back. Setting the photo on the desk, she grabbed the pin and ran it around the edge of the trunk. Just where it met the branches, the pin’s tip slipped into a small depression. She tried to pry the trunk up. No luck. Then she pressed down and the trunk gave with a click, flipping down on a cleverly designed hinge at the bottom of the pendant.
She held the “tree trunk” up to the light to see its silhouette. It was definitely a key; small scalloped teeth lined the upper quarter of its length.
Her heart pounded wildly. She had the key. Now where was the lock?
She peered at the underside of the trunk. A symbol appeared to be engraved on it. It resembled a sword. What the hell did that mean?
A sword. Where was there a sword in the house?
She practically slapped herself when the answer came to her. Not in the house—in the temple to Ares. The god’s statue held a sword in one hand and a shield in the other.
Excitement fluttering in her belly, Delfina raced out to the temple. Embedded in the marble beneath the statue in the alcove was a brass fitting with a keyhole in the middle. She stuck the key in the opening and turned. The lock clicked and the marble square that housed it popped forward. When she pulled on the piece of marble, it slid toward her, revealing a tiny drawer. Inside she found a ring with two keys and an address in Como followed by one word: Luperca. The name of the wolf goddess who’d suckled the legendary founders of Rome, the twins Romulus and Remus. Fitting, considering how much her grandfather had loved dogs.
She took the address and the keys, then carefully relocked the marble slab.
When Delfina pulled her Alfa Romeo up to the address on the paper, she was surprised to see a small office building. Was this a front of some sort? She scanned the names on the directory, but there was no “Luperca” among them. Taking a breath, she forced herself to slow down and reread the names. Finally she found it: Canis Enterprises. Dogs again.
One of the keys fit in the locked outer door. She hurried up to the second floor and followed the signs to the suite number. Her pulse racing, she tried the other key. It worked. She opened the door and stepped inside, immediately disappointed. It looked like an ordinary office. Dusty, sure, but ordinary.
She walked past a bank of desks, all of them sporting computers, books, and other knickknacks. Had anyone ever worked here, or were these desks just clever window dressing?
Dead plants languished in the corners and the water cooler was full of some awful greenish slime. No one had been in here for at least a month.
There were two rooms at the end of the suite, both with closed doors. She tried the first one. It wasn’t locked. There was no name on the door, but the pictures on the desk inside suggested it was her grandfather’s—a recent one of her and Cris and several of her father and Aunt Toni as children. The computer was switched off. After she explored the next room, she’d come back to investigate further.
That room was locked. She fit the key in the lock, her heart skipping. This had to be it.
She opened the door to the low hum of computers. The room was dark, except for the blinking of various lights on the machines in front of her. When she flicked on the overhead light, she saw four machines sitting side by side, each with a handwritten label taped along the t
op of its monitor: Guest Cottage, Home Office, Plane, Watch.
Delfina smiled when she saw the last one. Oh, her grandfather had been sly. He’d given his brother a Patek Philippe for Christmas two years ago, and she’d rarely seen Benedetto without it. Dio mio, the things that must be on those recordings!
She sat down in front of the computer that said “Guest Cottage.” First order of business—erasing the recording of her night with Nick. Letting out the breath she’d been holding, she moved the mouse and was greeted with the password prompt. She typed in “Luperca” and found herself at the Windows desktop.
What now? Her grandfather hadn’t been fond of computers, so the setup had to be relatively simple. She’d try the most likely arrangement. After opening Windows Media Player, she scanned for a playlist—and there it was. A list of recordings with dates and times. She found the first one for the day she and Nick had been together and clicked it out of curiosity. Lots of random noises of Nick moving about and occasionally mumbling to himself. At various points he put on music, making her smile when he sang along to it off-key. She flipped forward to the next recording from that day. Pay dirt—she could hear the two of them whispering, but most of what they said was indistinct. Then the music came on again and a thrill ran through her as an image filled her mind: Nick placing her on the bed, the intent, almost predatory fire in his eyes as he’d watched her undress. If she hadn’t been in a hurry, she’d have replayed their entire evening together, but she didn’t have that luxury.
She listened for a few more seconds before stopping the recording and deleting it, then emptying the Recycle Bin. At least she didn’t have that to worry about anymore. Where to start next? She logged in to each machine and checked the playlists. There were so many recordings to choose from—too many.
Her mobile phone buzzed, making her jump. Nick’s name was on the display. “Ciao, bella,” he said when she answered. It felt so good to hear his voice after the day she’d had.
“Where are you?” she asked.
“I’m about to leave my father’s.” He paused, then said, “I just spoke to Cris. He told me what happened at Morelli’s. I’m so sorry.”
The sincerity in his voice made her chest ache. “Grazie. You’re lucky—I already sobbed my heart out on Cris’s shoulder, so you’ll be spared that.”
“I wish I’d been there for you.”
“Actually, it gave us an opportunity to clear the air.”
“Fancy that. I did the same with my father.” After a moment, he said, “Any chance we can get together tonight? I have a surprise for you.”
She grinned. “I like the sound of that. I might have one for you too.” And maybe they could sneak off to the temple again and finish what they’d started. Without any interruptions.
After they hung up, she settled on the machine with “Watch” taped to the monitor. That one had by far the most recordings on the most days, and they were the highest quality and easiest to understand. Of course much of what she heard was banal and sometimes embarrassing: Benedetto and his wife in the bedroom, Benedetto in the bathroom, Benedetto ordering espresso somewhere. Boring, boring, boring. How did the carabinieri do it? She’d go mad if she had to listen to wiretaps all day.
Finally something interesting from a few days ago. Benedetto had taken a call from someone named Ilya. That name alone caught her interest. But what she heard next chilled her to the marrow.
She couldn’t make out Ilya’s side of the conversation. But she heard Benedetto’s loud and clear. He was planning to sacrifice them all—all except her uncle Enrico. For some reason, Benedetto needed him. But Nick, as well as Papà and Cris—his family, his blood—they were expendable. She just didn’t know where or when the attack would take place, but since he’d mentioned Uncle Enrico, it sounded like he was planning it for the engagement party.
She’d found clear proof that Benedetto was a traitor. But she wanted to know why—and she needed more if Nick was going to put him in jail. There were too many recordings to review them all. She needed a strategy.
Perhaps if she went back to the day after Cris was shot, she’d find something useful. No doubt Benedetto had received a call from Ilya then. The second recording of the day did yield a phone call from Ilya; Benedetto spent his time soothing the man, saying that he’d find out what had happened. Afterward, he muttered and cursed to himself, nothing she could make out well, other than “the little shits.” Did that mean Nick and Cris?
She zipped through the next few recordings—all snippets of Benedetto going about his day, boarding his jet, and so on, as he journeyed north to the lake. Then she heard something interesting: Nick’s voice. They were bargaining. Nick was asking Benedetto for several things, including saving his grandparents, breaking her engagement to Leandro, setting her up as a designer, and not letting Dario force her to marry someone else. Her throat constricted. Nick had tried to do so much on her behalf, even if some of it was misguided and insulting. She’d have to tell him what she thought later. Then Benedetto said, “You don’t want her?”
Delfina leaned forward. What was Nick going to say? “I’ve had her. And I don’t do relationships.” She couldn’t have hurt more if Nick had punched her in the gut.
She meant nothing to him. Nothing at all.
Pressing a hand to her trembling lips, Delfina stopped the recording, breathing deep to quell the tears that wanted to fall, the sobs that wanted to tear out of her throat. She was not going to cry over this. There had to be an explanation for what he’d said. And that had been a week ago. Things had changed.
She started the recording again and heard Benedetto asking Nick to be his mole in Interpol. Okay, Nick hadn’t mentioned it, but she wasn’t surprised by the request. She rather expected Benedetto to want that. But what she heard next made her breath catch: Benedetto asked Nick to kill her father. Nick tried to refuse, but in the end, he said he’d do it.
Now she knew why Nick had never mentioned this conversation.
Acid crawled up her esophagus and her gut clenched into a ball. What else wasn’t Nick telling her? What were his true intentions, his true plans? Had everything between them been a lie?
She needed to confront him. Right now. Opening the desk drawers, she rifled through their contents, hoping to find a blank CD. Instead she found a flash drive. Even better.
With the copy in hand, Delfina started to rise, but then she sat back down in the chair. What if Nick did have some other plan in mind? If she confronted him by herself—she hated to think it—could she trust him not to hurt her?
The Nick she’d heard on that recording sounded mercenary, even if his requests of Benedetto were not entirely selfish. Maybe he did have a shred of decency in him. But if that was true, why hadn’t he mentioned the conversation? Why hadn’t he warned her, at least?
It wasn’t safe to be alone with Nick. Her stomach rolled over. Dio mio, she was going to be sick.
When she’d admitted that she loved him, he’d just stared at her; he’d even laughed. And then when he’d said he was happy, that he’d forgiven her, he must have been lying.
Her stomach rebelled again, and she grabbed the rubbish bin under the desk and vomited into it. She heaved and heaved, tears squeezing out from under her closed lids.
Nick never loved me.
She set the bin down and swallowed, trying to clear the bitter taste of bile from her tongue.
He never loved me.
Delfina inhaled through her nose and pressed a fist against her mouth. Papà would know what to do. He’d know how to keep the family safe from Benedetto. And he’d know how to handle Nick. Her own emotions were getting the best of her. She wanted to believe in Nick. And yet, how could she?
A hot tear slipped down her cheek and she wiped it away. How had everything gone so wrong?
She’d hoped finding the recordings would help Nick achieve his type of justice and put Benedetto in jail. But now it was time for a different brand of justice altogether. The only justice recog
nized by the ‘Ndrangheta.
Death.
But would Benedetto be the only one paying that price?
When Nick pulled up to the house, Cris was waiting for him outside, arms crossed, a frown etching deep lines in his normally sunny face.
“What’s wrong?” Nick asked as he came up the front steps, clutching the bouquet of roses he’d bought for Delfina in one hand, the bag of funny gifts he’d run all over Como for in the other.
“Follow me.” Cris turned without another word and headed into the house.
Nick’s stomach flipped over as he followed Cris inside and down the hall. Had they somehow discovered his meeting with Fuente? If they had, they probably didn’t know what was said. Perhaps he could claim he was seeking information or just keeping in touch to reassure his superiors? He’d remind Cris that he did call him about visiting his father and produce the ring as proof. That would assuage them, right?
They entered Dario’s study, and Nick was surprised to see Delfina sitting behind her father’s desk. She was showing Dario something on the computer. When her eyes met Nick’s, they were filled with nothing but hurt. He took a step toward her. “Delfina, what’s wrong?” She looked away from him, toward the door. Flavio was standing beside it. Not a good sign. What was going on?
Dario straightened up and pinned Nick with a hard stare. “Tell me why I shouldn’t shoot you where you stand.”
Fuck. Nick almost started to make an excuse, then realized he ought to be careful. He set the roses and the bag of gifts on a table by the window before answering. “Would one of you please tell me what this is about?”
“Play them,” Dario said to Delfina.
She clicked something on the computer, and voices flowed out of the speakers. It was the discussion he’d had with Benedetto after the Russian deal had gone south. The discussion where Benedetto had asked him to kill Dario. “How did you get that?”
