Malavita (10 page)

Pushing through the throng of students reminded him of swimming against a strong current, but Enrico eventually made enough progress to get within earshot.

“There’s an elephant who wants his trunk back,” one of the boys said. He had dark brown, curly hair and red cheeks. The other boys laughed appreciatively.

Antonella said nothing, but her eyes glittered and the nose in question was red with impending tears. “Animals,” she hissed.

The boys laughed harder. “Did you steal that thing from an anteater?” the same boy asked.

“
Basta
!” Enrico shouted. The boys’ heads swiveled in his direction. So did Toni’s, but she looked aghast instead of happy to see him.

The apparent ringleader, the boy with the curly hair, strutted toward Enrico. “What are you going to do about it?”

“Whatever I have to.” He smacked his right fist into his left palm. Three against one—those were pretty good odds.

“Ooh,” the boy said, raising his brows and his voice in an imitation of a frightened female. “I’m terrified!”

You should be
. “Do you know who we are? Who she is? Who her father is?”

The boy hesitated, then shrugged. “No one’s given a shit before.”

“You want to bring all that wrath down on yourself?”

One of the other boys started to look uneasy. He grabbed the ringleader’s sleeve. “Arturo, maybe we should go.”

“Fuck this
stronzo
,” Arturo said, motioning to Enrico with his chin.

No doubt the comment was meant to get Enrico upset. But nothing they said to him could make him any angrier than what they’d said to her.

Enrico pushed up the sleeves of his light jacket. “Call me a
stronzo
again.”

The boy looked at what Enrico was doing and the calm way he was doing it, and Enrico heard the first quaver in his voice. “
Stronzo
.”

Enrico almost laughed. “You’re as stupid as you are mean.” With a lunge, he grabbed Arturo’s shirtfront and hauled him close. “You have no idea who I am, yes?”

When the boy shook his head, Enrico gave him a cold smile.

“Rico,
per favore
,” Toni said. “Let him go.”

“Why?”

“Don’t make a scene.”

She didn’t understand the most basic thing about men, and especially boys: the only thing they respected was strength. Mercy, compassion—those didn’t work on thugs like these.

Enrico shifted his gaze to the boy he held. Arturo needed to learn a lesson. When Enrico opened the left side of his jacket to reveal the Beretta in its shoulder holster, the boy’s eyes widened. “You understand now?
I
give a shit.
I
care. Say another word to her or in any way disrespect her, and you’ll find out how much I care.”

“
Mi dispiace
,” Arturo said, stumbling over the words.

“Not to me,
idiota
. To her.” Enrico spun the boy around. “On your knees and apologize.”

The boy fell to his knees in front of Toni, while his friends started to back away. Enrico shook his head and clucked his tongue. “No, no, no.
All
of you. Now.”

The other three boys joined their friend, and they all mumbled apologies to her. Toni stared at them stonily, her lips pressed together. “
Basta
,” she said, but she was looking at Enrico when she spoke.

The boys slinked away, and Enrico stepped forward. “I made the smallest scene I could,” he said. “But it had to be done.”

She shook her head. “You’ve only made it worse.”

“I doubt that, Toni. They don’t want to tangle with me.” He tried to take her arm, but she wouldn’t let him do so as they walked to his car.

“So you’re going to follow me everywhere I go?” she asked. “Act as my bodyguard?”

He sighed. “Trust me.”

“You think you can flash a gun and solve all my problems?” She stopped walking and looked up at him. “What if they tell someone? What if I’m questioned? What if the
polizia
are called in?”

“I didn’t hurt anyone. And they won’t say a word.”

She shook her head again. “You’re so certain.”

“They may be stupid, but they aren’t suicidal.”

“You would kill them over an insult?”

“
They
don’t know what I’m capable of.”

“You’re as bad as my father. Terrifying people to get your way.”

His face flamed. “I am
nothing
like your father.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I did that because I hated seeing you hurt. Not for any other reason.” He touched her cheek. “What hurts you, Toni, hurts me.”

“So this really
was
about you then.” She gave him a wry smile.

He grinned in return. “You’re twisting my words all around, and you know it.”

“I’m not done being mad at you,” she said, but she relaxed her shoulders and blew out a breath.

He brushed her hair back and kissed her. Heat flared through him at the contact, and he slipped his tongue into her mouth, making the kiss possessive, demanding. And making her press both hands into his chest to separate them.
Madonna
. It took all his willpower not to snatch her back against him. “Are you done now?” he asked.

“Am I done what?”

“Being mad at me.”

She shuffled her feet and looked down, then she met his gaze and tapped him on the chest with the top edge of her book. “That wasn’t fair.”

“Who says I have to fight fair?”

“I do.”

He mock-frowned at her. “Now you’re taking all the fun out of it.”

She laughed at his exaggerated expression. “I suppose we wouldn’t want that.”

“Definitely not.”

They were just about to get into Enrico’s car when Dario stepped in front of them. “Are you done making a spectacle of my sister?” he asked.

“Dario, it was nothing,” Toni said.

“Does Papà know he’s here? Does he know that you let Lucchesi kiss you?”

She said nothing, and Enrico jumped to her defense. “That was my doing.”

“I’m sure it was. My sister isn’t some
troia
you can paw in public.”

Enrico boiled inside, but Dario was within his rights. “I won’t do it again.”

“No, you won’t.” Dario took Toni by the elbow and steered her toward his car. She looked over her shoulder at Enrico, but didn’t protest. Was her brother’s hold over her that strong?

Or did she care about Enrico so little?

As Dario pulled out of the school parking lot, Antonella looked once again back at Enrico, this time turning her whole body. She raised a hand, as if to wave, but let it drop. Enrico just stared at her, clearly perplexed.

How could she ever explain the connection that she and Dario shared? He was her brother, her friend, her closest companion during childhood. Beyond that, they were twins. They’d had their own language growing up, a special code only they’d understood. It had driven Papà mad. And because Dario had refused for years to speak normal Italian—even though he understood it—their private language had infuriated their father even more.

No matter how Papà had raged at or threatened him, Dario had remained intransigent. He’d spoken to their parents only through Toni. She’d tried many times to get Dario to cave in to Papà, but he’d never yielded.

When they were around four years old, Dario had finally started to speak Italian. He’d never apologized or explained himself, and when Papà had smirked and said, “I knew you’d stop at last,” Dario had refused to speak altogether for another week.

She’d never met a person as stubborn as her brother. Mules could go to him for lessons.

They drove in silence for some time, then Dario said, “Why didn’t you come get me?”

“They wouldn’t let me leave.”

“How long has this been going on? I thought it had stopped.”

“So did I.”

When she ignored the question, he asked again. “How long?” His voice was gentle, soft.

She shook her head. “It
had
stopped. It started again today. I don’t know why.”

“I do.”

She whirled to face him. “What?”

“I heard some whispers. About you and Lucchesi.”

“What whispers?”

“That he took you to some place in Bellagio. That he kissed you.”

Her cheeks burned.
Ilaria
. She was the only one Antonella had told.

But Ilaria wouldn’t tell anyone; as a child of the ’Ndrangheta, she knew the importance of keeping secrets. Then Antonella realized—she’d told Ilaria in the girls’ bathroom. They’d thought it was clear, but someone must have overheard.

Even so… “Why would that start the teasing again?”

He said nothing for a moment, just concentrated on the road. “Jealousy, I suspect.” He glanced at her. “You know how girls are.”

She did. They wouldn’t necessarily cut you to your face, like the boys, but they could be even more vicious behind your back.

“My guess is it’s Fiorella,” he said. “She’s dating Arturo.”

Antonella shifted in her seat. “What does she have against me?”

“Toni, think about it.”

Then it hit her, and a stone formed in her gut. Fiorella had dated Enrico briefly. But that was over two years ago. Could she seriously be holding a grudge?

Antonella knew the answer. The memory of Enrico’s kiss, the delicious smell of him, the feel of his hard body molded to hers—yes, that was something a girl wouldn’t forget, no matter how many years had passed.

The stone grew bigger. “What should I do about it?”

“Do nothing. And hope it goes away again.” He snorted. “No doubt
that’s
wishful thinking, though. Not after that stunt Lucchesi pulled.”

Dario was right, and she herself had given Enrico grief about it. And yet… “He was just trying to help.”

They were nearly home, but instead of continuing there, Dario took an abrupt turn into the mountains. “He’s
always
trying to help. Big, heroic, Enrico Lucchesi.”

Dario had to be thinking of the time Enrico had intervened when they were kids and a group of boys were taunting them in the schoolyard. And maybe he was also thinking about how he’d lost his finger. “Rico means well. He’s a good person, if you’d let yourself see that.” She said the words softly, rationally, as if she were trying to placate an angry lion. It was no use.

“So he’s
Rico
now?”

Dario whipped the car over onto a gravel turnout and shoved his maimed right hand in her face. “How can you say he’s a ‘good person,’ after what he did to me?”

A great sadness welled up in her chest. Her brother had been damaged—
Enrico
had been damaged—and she was to blame. “It’s all
my
fault. Everything that happened to you.
I
planted the bugs.
I
started this.”

He punched the center of the steering wheel, and the car horn emitted an angry blast. “It’s
Enrico’s
fault I lost my finger.”

“He saved your
hand
.” She paused. “What happened to you was terrible, but it wasn’t Enrico’s fault. It was mine.”

“You didn’t start this. Rinaldo Lucchesi did, when he betrayed Papà.”

She wanted to shake him. “Will you listen to me? Papà never knows when to stop. He’s so focused on how Nonno Lorenzo and Zio Benedetto wronged him, he can’t see anything else. When he decided to sell cocaine, he was breaking ’Ndrangheta law, and Rinaldo was right to try to stop him.”

Dario’s brows rose. “You can’t be serious. The laws are old; everyone sees it. How can we compete against the Russians, and the Albanians, and
Dio
knows who else, if they’re raking in the cash and we’re not?”

“Drugs are bad for everyone concerned. Including us. They ruin the places we live. Rinaldo Lucchesi is right.”

“Only the weak are stupid enough to take them.” He rolled down his window and spat. “Who
are
you? Did your last name already change?”

“I understand his point.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to take his side against Papà. That doesn’t mean you have to marry his son.”

Her vision blurred with tears. “I
need
to do this, Dario. I need to make things right. Before all the Andrettis end up dead. Before
you
end up dead.”

Dario leaned toward her, one elbow on the steering wheel. “We can beat them. And if not, I can make you a young widow. I can get rid of Enrico Lucchesi.”

A chill swept over her at the coldness of his tone. “Dario, no.
No
.” She closed her eyes, tears seeping out onto her cheeks. “I need to do this. If you ever loved me, you’ll respect that.”

“Why do you think I’m saying this?”

He slammed out of the car, making her flinch. After he’d paced for a while, she got out too. She leaned against her door, arms crossed. Dario marched violently back and forth, jaw rigid, shoulders held stiffly back, his whole body reflecting his feelings. She’d seen him like this many times before. There was no reasoning with him when he was in that state. She just had to wait.

After a time, he slowed, then swiveled toward her and didn’t stop until he was close enough to touch her. He cupped her face in his hands and brushed the tears off her cheeks with his thumbs. “You’re my sister, Toni.” She stared into his eyes, so very like her own. He’d literally been beside her almost every step of their lives; she’d always tried to shield him from Papà, from a world Dario was too stubborn to bend for. She’d been his translator, his lifeline—no wonder he didn’t like the thought of her leaving.

She opened her mouth to speak, but he shushed her. “I want you to be happy. You have always wanted that for me; I know this. If this is truly what you want, I’ll respect your wishes.”

“It is.”

His eyes scanned her face. “The truth—is there any doubt in your heart?”

“Of course there is.”

“You shouldn’t marry him then.”

“
No one
knows for certain.”

Letting her go, he stalked over to a misshapen umbrella pine and punched its gnarled trunk.