Malavita (19 page)

She picked at the food at first, but it was too good to waste, so she finally dug in, though Enrico finished well before she did. He grabbed a second meal and she laughed. “I’m a growing boy,” he said.

“You’re no boy, Rico.”

“I suppose not.” He was silent for a moment, then he said, “I guess I haven’t been a boy for a while now.”

“What do you mean?”

“This life forces you to grow up fast.”

She set down her plastic fork. She knew what he really meant—losing his family had ended his boyhood. “You’ve taken the vows, yes?”

He nodded. “Right after their funerals.”

“Your father should have given you some time—”

“Someone had to take Primo’s place.”

“That’s all you are, then? A substitute for your older brother?” Her words came out sharper than she’d intended.

“And a poor one at that.”

She hated the self-pity in his voice. “Stop underestimating yourself.”

“It’s how my father feels.”

“He’s said so?”

“No. But I can tell.” He took a drink from the bottle and wiped his mouth. “He was always closest to Primo and then to Mario. I was the one he didn’t understand.”

“Why?”

“I never wanted any part of this. I just wanted a normal life.”

She said nothing for a few moments, rolling that idea around in her mind, savoring it. “I’m not sure either of us knows what that is.”

“Well, it’s not this. For the rest of our lives, we’ll be wondering when the axe will fall, and how bad it will be when it does.” He set the rest of his meal aside.

“It may not be that way. Once we marry, we should have peace.”

He chuckled. “With
your
father? Seriously?”

She smiled. “Maybe that’s a stretch. But at least the killing should stop.”

“That would be something worth having.”

When he handed her the bottle, she banged her hand into his, and he let out a little hiss of pain. “Sorry,” she said and took his hand in hers to kiss it.

“Don’t,” he said and pulled it from her grasp, but not before she noticed that the skin was torn.

“What happened?” she asked and reached for his hand again. He resisted giving it to her at first, then he surrendered.

“A dog bit me.”

“Why would it do that?”

“How should I know?”

He seemed defensive. Why? “Tell me how it happened.”

“I was taking a walk. A man passed by with his dog, and it lunged at me and bit me.”

“That’s odd.”

He shrugged. “Maybe it thought I was a threat.”

“Dogs are good at reading people. They don’t often attack for no reason.”

“Maybe I was thinking about your father at the time.”

She shouldn’t find that funny, but she did. If she couldn’t laugh, she’d have to cry. “You’re ridiculously impossible.”

He laughed and nodded. “I know. I have no idea how you’ll ever put up with me.” He reached over and brushed a few strands of hair from her face, then he leaned in and kissed her.

He tasted of the tomatoes and peppers in the chicken cacciatore he’d eaten. His familiar scent enveloped her, and she wound her arms around his neck and breathed him in. Rico. He pulled her close. How safe she felt in his embrace. How accepted.

Her heart swelled with emotion. Was this what love felt like? Not the painful longing she’d harbored for years, but this new one, this yearning to be in his arms, to be by his side, to hear him say her name and kiss her and hold her close. This desire to tell him everything, to have him know her more deeply than anyone else did.

Was love what she was feeling? He broke off the kiss and rested his forehead against hers, his breath washing against her face in warm puffs.

“Toni, I know I’ve been difficult. Even awful to you at times. I wish I could take it all back. I wish I could have treated you properly from the beginning.” He paused and stroked her cheek. “I wish I hadn’t been blind.”

Her eyes welled up. “You’re going to spoil me.”

He laughed and kissed her. “I am. I’m going to spoil you rotten.”

“Sounds like fun,” she said. “In fact, I could use a little spoiling right now.” She maneuvered herself onto his lap, gratified to feel that he was hard again. For her.

She rocked against him, and his breath caught. “I thought we shouldn’t do this,” he said.

“I’m not in the mood to care.” Maybe it was the wine talking, but she couldn’t give a damn what her father thought. What the church thought. What anyone thought. All that mattered was what
she
thought.

And she thought it was high time she was spoiled rotten.

Toni felt so light, so delicate, in Enrico’s arms, yet so alive, so vibrant. How had this scrap of a girl come to mean so much to him? She was who he wanted to be with tonight, here in the park. She was the one he wanted to pour his heart out to. Not Dom. Not his father. Not Livio.

Her. Toni.

He brushed the hair away from her neck and kissed the soft skin he’d revealed, drinking in her scent. She smelled like apricots and vanilla, a sweet medley he could almost taste on his tongue.

She shivered in his arms, twisting in his lap as he licked and nipped at the creamy column of her neck, his mouth traveling to the base of her throat where he nuzzled her, then licked her skin and blew across the moisture he left behind. She gasped and giggled and tried to pull away, but he held her in place.

“You can touch me,” she whispered.

A thrill ran through him at the husky undertone in her voice. “Where?” he asked, his mouth going dry all at once.

“Anywhere.”

He couldn’t have been more surprised if she’d slapped him. What had happened to the girl who’d told him no the other night?

Her father had happened, that’s what. She wasn’t reacting out of love or lust. But out of anger.

And he couldn’t let her. The boy he’d been two years ago might not have cared, but the man he was now did. “I think we’d better stick to the boundaries you already set.”

Her brows came down. “You don’t want to?”

“Oh, I want to. But you don’t. Not really. Not yet.”

“Don’t tell me what I want.”

He kissed her cheek. “Toni, you’re angry.”

“I am not.”

“You’re angry with
him
. And you’re trying to use me to punish him.”

Her mouth dropped open. “I’m not… using you.”

“Be honest. With the both of us.”

“I—I’m not—” Her voice cut off with a choking sound and she buried her head in his neck, breathing hard and sniffing loudly.

He said nothing, just stroked her back, her hair. Finally she mumbled something. “I couldn’t hear that,” he said.

She lifted her head and looked at him. “I guess you’re not the only one who’s difficult.”

“We’re a matched set.” He reached for lightness, but the words came out weighted with emotion anyway. Something had changed between them, had been changing between them during the last two weeks, and the change was accelerating.

She’d become important to him. Someone who mattered. Someone he didn’t want to hurt.

Someone he didn’t want to lose.

She shifted off him and settled at his side again. “
Grazie
,” she said.

“For what?”

“For knowing what I
really
want.” Her voice grew tight. “For caring.”

“I
do
care, Toni. Very much.” He kissed her lightly, wanting more, but that was unwise. Not with how both of them were feeling.

“Rico, there’s something I need to tell you.”

Her tone put him on alert. “What?”

“That man at the car park. He was at our house when you dropped me off. Meeting with my father.”

His gut tightened and his heart sped up. “Do you know why?”

“Papà wouldn’t tell me.” She twisted her hands together. “He said the man was helping him with a plan to make us richer.”

Heat boiled up into Enrico’s chest. He
knew
it. Carlo was planning something. He’d never intended for the wedding to come off. He’d never intended to let Enrico and his father live.

Enrico had to kill Gennaro. He couldn’t fail.

And neither could their plan with Romano Marchesi. The banker had better live up to his end of the bargain. If he didn’t, an ocean of blood would be spilled.

An ocean in which he and Toni would drown.

Since Toni had liked it so much, Enrico had prevailed upon his father to throw the engagement party at the Villa del Balbianello instead of at their home. Besides, having the party there allowed Dario to attend without losing face and rubbed Carlo’s nose in a harsh truth at the same time—he could never pull off the same coup. Carlo didn’t have friends the way Rinaldo did. Carlo was all alone up here, in the north. Quite alone.

Signor Sporelli and the staff had worked well with the outside caterers; the loggia, where Enrico intended to present the ring, had been garlanded with white and pink flowers, and the interior of the house was likewise in bloom.

The whole affair was costing a fortune, Rinaldo reminded him. But money didn’t matter when it came to Toni. She deserved the best, she deserved a perfect day, and Enrico was going to give it to her.

The guests—Carlo’s family, including his father Lorenzo and his brother Benedetto, a few of Carlo’s top men, the remnants of the Lucchesis, and Enrico’s and Dom’s godfather, Don Vittorio Battista—were now assembled in the loggia, looking at Enrico and Antonella expectantly, holding their glasses of prosecco in anticipation of the toast.

Enrico fiddled with the ring in his pocket and looked around at the mostly familiar faces. Most were smiling. Even so, more than one of these men would be happy to see him dead.

But he wasn’t going to give them that satisfaction.

Toni stood beside him, radiant in a light, flowing sundress. She’d pulled her hair back off her face, and she couldn’t stop smiling. He was so glad he’d chosen this place, that he’d insisted on having the party here. For her.

“When are we eating? I’m hungry!” a little boy said, and Enrico turned and saw that it was Taddeo, standing next to his grandfather.

Toni laughed. “In a minute,
caro
.” She turned her attention to Enrico and raised a brow as if to say, “Well?”

His belly filled with butterflies, Enrico pulled out the ring and got down on one knee. “Antonella Andretti, will you be my wife?”

It wasn’t the most romantic thing he could have said, judging by the look on her face, but he’d blurted out the first words he could think of. He should have rehearsed it, should have asked Dom for advice.

After what seemed like an eternity, Toni spoke. “Yes,” she said, but the light had gone from her eyes. Why? He took her hand and slipped the ring on it. She smiled, but it was tremulous, as if she were about to burst into tears. Had his proposal been that bad?

“Happy wishes for the young couple!” Rinaldo called, raising his glass.

“
Salute
!” came the response from the attendees, and glasses clinked around them. A waiter pressed glasses into their hands and Enrico toasted her. That false smile stayed glued to her face like a mask as she tapped her glass against his, the crystal ringing with a beautiful chime.

They should be happy.
She
should be happy. But something wasn’t right.

“You seem upset,” he said in an undertone.

“It’s nothing.” But she couldn’t look at him.

“You’re not telling the truth.”

“I’m fine, Rico. Just nervous.”

Maybe that was it. But the lump sitting heavy in his gut wouldn’t go away.

“Let’s eat!” Taddeo piped up amid the outbreak of talk, and Enrico took her hand and led the way into the house.

An exquisitely decorated table awaited them in the villa’s immense dining room. Light from the windows that faced out onto the gardens bathed the space and made the glasses and china sparkle. “You like it?” Enrico asked Toni.

“It’s beautiful,” she said. But her voice sounded flat. Damn it, he needed to talk to her and find out what the problem was. But it could be hours before he’d get a chance.

The meal passed in a blur of talk, Enrico’s Zio Poldi, Dom, and Don Battista providing much of the light banter and joking that should mark such an occasion.

For once, Carlo wasn’t gloating. In fact, he seemed to be stewing. He sullenly drew on a cigar and stared at Enrico. Or rather, at Enrico’s injured left hand. Did he know?

As soon as the meal was over and the guests had pushed away from the table, patting their groaning bellies and pouring glasses of various cordials to sip as they wandered the property, Carlo approached Enrico and pulled him to one side.

“You think you’re so clever,” Carlo said. He motioned to Enrico’s injured hand. “But you know nothing about dogs.”

Merda
! His heart racing, Enrico fought to keep his thoughts off his face. “What do you mean?”

“Dogs are loyal to their owners. You expected it to do nothing?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Carlo practically shoved his tumbler of whiskey in Enrico’s face. “Don’t insult us both. You killed Borelli. Like you killed Valentino and Ripoli.”