by Dana Delamar
Nick’s throat clamped shut. Jesus. Had he come all this way just to hear those words? It sure felt like it. He tried to speak, but he had to cough first. “Mille grazie.”
His father clasped his shoulder. “That is what a father does. You do not have to thank me for it.”
“I’ve been such an idiot—”
His father’s hand squeezed harder. “Enough. We have both made mistakes. We will do better in the future, yes?”
If they had a future. “Yes.”
“Now go talk to that lovely woman of yours.”
A school of leaping fish took up residence in Nick’s belly. He fingered the ring in his pocket. What the hell could he possibly say to her? He’d been up all night, going over and over what he could say to prove himself to her, but all of it seemed inadequate. He had made some decisions, however. And the most important one was that if he lived, he’d give up all hope of justice or atonement for what he’d done. Making her happy, making sure she’d get to live the life she wanted, would be enough for him. If he managed that, he’d have done something worthwhile.
He scanned the room. The party was just close family. The fewer witnesses to what happened today, the better.
The gifts table was stacked to overflowing. Oddly, the majority of the presents had the same lavish wrapping. Who’d been the big spender? Probably his dad. Nick wasn’t the only one with a guilt complex.
He walked over to the table and picked up one of the smaller boxes. The weight surprised him. What the hell was in there? He shifted the package and heard the clink of metal on metal. Gold bars? He looked up at his father, who was watching him. When their eyes met, his father nodded, a short, sharp bob of the head. A frisson rolled down Nick’s back. Not gold bars.
Guns.
Benedetto pulled Flavio aside, and gave him the prearranged signal. “I have a special gift for the happy couple. The delivery people need to come in through the side gate.” Flavio nodded and gave him the new access code. So easy. Dario would never know what had happened. All Benedetto had to do was make sure Flavio died in the confusion, and Eusebio had his orders to take care of that.
With a smile, Benedetto patted Flavio on the back, then went outside and dialed a number he knew by rote. A number he couldn’t store in his contacts.
When Ilya answered, Benedetto gave him the code. He glanced back inside, saw everyone gathering around the Lucchesi boy and Delfina, glasses of prosecco in their hands. “Wait five minutes. The boy is about to propose. Everyone will be distracted.”
Ilya chuckled. “You are cold bastard, Andretti. I like you, almost.”
The feeling wasn’t mutual. But no matter. “Five minutes, capisci?”
Cris opened the outer door. “You’re going to miss everything, Prozio.”
Something about the boy’s tone made Benedetto take another look at him, but Cris gave him an open grin. “Hurry.”
Benedetto put the phone away and followed his grandnephew, pasting a smile on his face. He was getting paranoid. No one suspected a damn thing.
As usual.
CHAPTER 24
Why, why, why was Nick actually proposing to her in front of everyone? Delfina knew he was supposed to give her the ring, but here he was down on one knee in front of her, with everyone gathered around, ready to toast “the happy couple.” What a farce!
But he looked so nervous and earnest. Why hadn’t she trusted him? Why hadn’t she asked him about the recordings first? Since she’d screwed everything else up, she’d at least give him the courtesy of her full attention and focus.
He held a ring box in his hand and gazed up at her. “Delfina, I’ve thought all night about what to say to you today. No doubt it shows,” he said, gesturing to the dark circles under his eyes. He gave a nervous laugh that she echoed.
Nick reached for her left hand, and she squeezed his fingers. He smiled up at her and blew out quickly. “The thing is, I realize that maybe I wasn’t your first choice. I want you to know that no matter what, you are my first choice.”
A lump filled her throat and she raised her right hand to touch it. Did he truly mean it?
He let go of her hand for a moment and popped the ring box open and held it up for everyone to see. At the first glimpse of the marquise-cut solitaire, her eyes flew to her uncle Enrico. Gio was right—it was the famous Lucchesi ring. Nick’s grandmother’s ring, the one with the five-carat pink diamond and the scrollwork “L’s” engraved on the sides of the platinum setting. Tears blurred her vision as she watched her uncle, looking for any regret on his face. “Are you sure?” she blurted.
Everyone’s attention shifted to Enrico, the room utterly still. “I want you to have it, Delfina.”
The tears started then, and she wiped them away as she glanced at her father and Cris, who both seemed stunned. Obviously Cris hadn’t really looked at the ring yesterday, or hadn’t absorbed its importance then. Her father was staring at Enrico open-mouthed, and her mother was crying into a handkerchief. And Nick—Nick was watching her, seemingly oblivious to what else was happening around them. “Will you do me the honor of being my wife, Delfina?” His voice wavered with emotion, or perhaps nerves.
He took her hand again, ready to put the ring on her finger, waiting for her consent. She opened her mouth, but a blast of gunfire outside seized her attention. She turned toward the sound, saw a huge blond man crash through the glazed double doors, and then something slammed into her.
Nick lunged forward, grabbing Delfina and almost knocking her off her feet, adrenaline and desperation making him clumsy. He thrust himself between her and the four Russians invading the room. What the hell? “Where the fuck are your guards?” he barked at Cris.
All of them were gone. The only ones in the room were his father’s men, who were scrambling for the gifts table and tipping the lids off the wrapped boxes. Ruggero threw a large gun to Antonio and then armed himself.
Nick needed a weapon too. He pulled Delfina to the floor, trying to keep the furniture between them and the Russians, and scrambled over to the table, knocking discarded champagne flutes out of their way. She reached up past him and tipped over the bouquet of pink and white roses. A Beretta lay beneath it. “Take it!” she screamed. He grabbed it and whirled around to cover them, firing at the first Russian he saw.
The man went down with a wound in the right thigh, but raised his gun again, taking a bead on Nick. Nick fired and hit the man in the chest, but he barely grunted. Fucking hell, he’s wearing a vest. “Here,” Delfina said and shoved a mini Uzi into his hands.
The gun was set to full automatic, but there was nothing “mini” about it. He’d never fired anything so powerful; the bucking of the weapon made his first shots go wild. Grabbing on with both hands, he sighted at the man’s head, which ripped apart like a melon as Nick held down the trigger. Bile rose in his throat, but this was no time to be sick. Scrambling forward, he upended a coffee table and dragged it back to Delfina. She picked up the Beretta he’d discarded and started firing, her shots deafening in his ear, nearly drowning out the general cacophony of gunfire, shouts, and breaking glass.
They weren’t the only ones by the gifts table. His father and Kate had taken shelter behind a sideboard that someone had pushed out from the wall. His father’s wife was a revelation, coolly aiming her Glock at their attackers. She took one down with a shot to the head, as if she did this all the time. Where had she learned to shoot like that? The rest of his father’s men had spread out behind clumps of furniture and fired furiously as a half dozen more Russians breached the broken windows. How many men had Ilya brought? And where the fuck were the damned guards?
Cris dove down beside him, a Beretta in hand. “Cris, what’s going on?”
“Don’t know. All the guards are gone.”
Nick scanned the room. “Where are Benedetto and Lorenzo?”
Cris shook his head. “Papà is searching for them. And Flavio.”
A spray of automatic fire ripped up the center of the tab
le they were hiding behind. Nick grabbed Delfina from her crouch and shoved her flat to the floor, gritting his teeth as bullets tore into the wood with solid thunks. Cris plastered himself to the floor beside them. Somehow the table held. Thank Christ the Andrettis didn’t shop at IKEA.
“We have to get out of here,” Nick said, twisting his head to look at Cris and raising his voice. There were too many windows in the room. Not to mention the broken double doors.
“There’s a panic room off my father’s study,” Delfina said.
“Good. You take the women and barricade yourselves. Call the police,” Nick said.
“No polizia,” Cris said.
“We’re fucking outnumbered here!”
“None of them live, hear me?” Cris said. “We don’t call the polizia until this is settled.”
Nick popped his head up and fired the Uzi at another man trying to crawl through a window. “I disagree.”
Cris turned to Delfina. “Take Kate, Mamma, and Gio with you.”
“Okay.” She reached over, grabbing Kate’s arm and shouting their destination over the din. The two women scurried over to Ilaria and Gio, who were huddled in the corner behind a large chair being defended by Antonio. He helped them up and took off with the women down the hall. With Delfina out of the line of fire, the tension in Nick’s chest eased slightly.
“Do you have anyone outside?” Nick yelled to his father.
He nodded. “They should be helping us. I’ve tried calling Tommaso, but he’s not answering.”
Nick’s gut compacted into a stone. Something must have gone horribly wrong. Someone had betrayed them. And it wasn’t just Benedetto. He scanned the room. Why wasn’t Dario back?
Gunfire erupted from the direction the women and Antonio had gone, and a fresh burst of adrenaline showered Nick in ice. Had the Russians infiltrated the entire house?
Delfina screamed. Antonio was hit, blood streaming down his side. His right arm hung useless. He shoved them all into the library and slumped down against the door. Just a few more meters, that’s all it would have taken to get them to her father’s study and its door to the panic room. But they hadn’t made it. “Behind the furniture!” he shouted.
“Tonio, get away from the door,” Kate hissed. “They’ll kill you.”
Antonio’s blood, pouring bright crimson down his white shirt, made Delfina’s stomach lurch. Her heart thudded in her chest and she gulped down air, trying to keep calm. But she couldn’t. Benedetto and a massive Russian with a mane of steel-gray hair and a full beard were outside that door. The man who’d shot Antonio must be Ilya Vilanovich.
Bullets shredded the top half of the door, showering splinters of wood over Antonio. He ducked, but didn’t abandon his post. Something—probably a foot—pounded against the bottom of the door. “Open now, or we will blast in.” Ilya, to judge by the accent.
Muffled gunfire came from the sitting room where Nick and Cris were. Porca miseria, Cris had her phone. She had to call the polizia, no matter what Cris said. They needed help.
She scrambled over to Gio. “You have your phone?”
“It’s up in your room. Who was I going to call?”
“Kate?” Delfina asked.
Kate searched her bag, her mouth set in a thin line. “Got it,” she finally said. She tossed the phone to Delfina, who dropped her gun to take it. Delfina pressed 112 and prayed someone would answer before Benedetto and Ilya broke in.
A fist thundered on the door. “You make me angry,” Ilya bellowed. “Not good choice.”
Silence for a moment as Delfina listened to the long-short chirp-chirp of the phone ringing. Answer, per favore!
Another blast of gunfire tore into the wood door, and more chunks of wood fell onto Antonio. She hunkered down behind a large overstuffed chair. Answer, damn you!
The ringing stopped and a woman’s voice came on the line. “Carabinieri. You have an emergency?”
“Yes. Send someone to—”
Delfina’s world went white as an explosion detonated in the middle of the room. Her head spun; she couldn’t hear, couldn’t see. She shouted at the carabinieri officer through the ringing in her ears, but couldn’t make out the reply. After a few terrifying seconds, her vision came back, and she glanced toward the door, which rattled as Ilya and Benedetto battered against it. They must have tossed a flashbang grenade through the hole they’d made in the top panel.
Antonio rose and tried to hold them off by pressing his back to the failing door, but it was useless. The door splintered in half behind him and Ilya plowed through, knocking him down before kicking him in the head. “Tonio!” Kate and Gio both shrieked as he fell.
“Can you hear me?” Delfina screamed into the phone. “We’re under attack!”
A muffled voice, as if Delfina were underwater. “Address, signorina?”
The phone flew from her hands as an arm jerked her up in the air. Ilya.
From her spot by the sofa, Kate fired at Benedetto but missed, and her gun stuck open, empty. She fumbled beneath her dress and pulled out a second gun, this one much smaller. Benedetto lunged forward and grabbed her wrist, pointing the weapon at the ceiling as she squeezed the trigger. Kate swung at him with a closed fist, but he blocked the blow and wrenched the gun from her and stuck it in his pocket. Then he took Kate by the arm.
Mamma and Gio cowered next to a bookcase, both of them crying. Benedetto pointed his gun at them. “Stay here, or you’re dead.” When they nodded, he turned away, and he and Ilya wrestled Kate and Delfina toward the doorway. Antonio staggered to his feet and blocked their path, his right eye swollen shut from Ilya’s kick.
Delfina heard the rasp of metal clearing leather as Ilya pulled out a wicked-looking hunting knife and shoved it under her chin, pricking her skin. Her heart rate skyrocketed.
“Let them go,” Antonio said. He sounded exhausted, his words a little slurred. Did he have a concussion?
“Move,” Ilya yelled. He shoved her forward and she stumbled. “You want I should cut her, this beautiful girl?”
Antonio didn’t move. Ilya pricked her skin again, and a second warm trickle started down her neck. She’d heard only horrible things about the Russians. Who knew what he’d do? “Tonio, per favore,” she whispered.
“Get down on the floor!” Benedetto shouted.
Antonio moved slowly and in obvious pain, but he obeyed and lay on his belly. Ilya pushed her toward him, then pulled a handgun and aimed at Antonio.
“No!” Delfina yelled and threw herself against Ilya’s outstretched arm. The shot hit Antonio in the upper back, and she screamed in anguish. He lay still, too still. Ilya grabbed the back of Delfina’s neck and forced her to look at Antonio. “Behave, or this happen to you.”
Tonio must be dead. Delfina couldn’t help her tears. He didn’t deserve it; He was the kindest person she knew, kinder even than Nick. If only she hadn’t abandoned her gun in favor of the phone.
Taking as deep a breath as she could manage, she stopped crying. She had to be strong, she had to keep thinking. She had to find a way to kill Benedetto and Ilya. Ilya yanked on her arm. She had only moments before it would be too late.
Turning to her mother and Gio in the corner, she said, “Gio, if I don’t make it, please take care of Zeta.” She hoped Gio got her message and had the courage to act on it.
Ilya propelled Delfina toward the door, Benedetto following with Kate. Only cowards would use women as shields. But it took a special kind of coward to turn against his family. Benedetto Andretti deserved to die.
For the first time, Delfina understood the burning hatred that fueled revenge.
CHAPTER 25
Multiple times Nick had tried to make his way out of the sitting room, but the onslaught from the Russians hadn’t let up. Ruggero had been hit and so had Cris, but their wounds seemed superficial. Antonio and Dario hadn’t come back—Nick could only assume they were dead or too badly hurt to move. He hadn’t seen Benedetto or Lorenzo since the shooting had sta
rted, but that wasn’t a surprise.
Based on the noises he’d heard coming from the main hall, the women were barricaded somewhere, but the splintering sound of wood breaking led him to believe the door to their refuge was about to fail. Please let them be in the safe room. That room would have a metal door. But what if they hadn’t made it?
He and the men holding the sitting room were running out of fresh guns, which meant they’d soon have no ammunition. It was now or never.
An explosion from the main hall jacked his pulse into the stratosphere. Delfina!
Tossing his empty Glock, Nick grabbed a Beretta lying half under an empty gift box, and popped the clip. About a third full. Sod it, there was no time to find another. Yelling “Cover me!” at Cris, he belly crawled on his elbows and knees toward the doorway to the main hall. He was halfway there when he saw something that threatened to stop his heart: Delfina stepping through the entry, a knife at her throat, twin streams of blood running down her neck, a massive gray-haired Russian at the other end of the knife. Ilya Vilanovich.
Nick’s lungs compressed up into his throat. He froze, flat on his belly. Fucking hell. Bloody Ilya Vilanovich had a knife to Delfina’s throat, and here Nick was, in the worst possible position to save her. He looked up to his right at his father, who was firing across the room. “Nico?” his father asked, then followed Nick’s gaze, letting out a curse when he saw Kate in Benedetto’s grip, a gun to her temple.
Ilya bellowed a series of commands in Russian as he entered the sitting room. His men ceased firing, and soon the room was still, but no one lowered their guns. The acrid smell of gunpowder overlay everything. Smashed vases, scattered flowers, splinters of wood, and chunks of plaster littered the room, along with the bodies of a dozen Russians and two of his father’s guards.
At least three Russians were still standing outside. He had no idea if Ilya and Benedetto had other men under their command. But all that was moot. With Kate and Delfina as hostages, Benedetto and Ilya had the upper hand.
