Malavita (8 page)

Enrico jerked the boat away from the shoreline below the Villa del Balbianello and headed it toward the Andretti estate in Blevio. Antonella perched on the seat beside him, her anxiety palpable. He wanted to say something, to calm her, but the discussion with Sporelli had carried too many reminders of everything that was wrong with this situation.

He was trapped—marrying a girl he liked, but didn’t love, marrying into a family he despised, taking on a role he’d never wanted and never prepared for, and worst of all, giving up his son—and all because of Carlo Andretti.

Bracing his feet, Enrico mashed the throttle down mercilessly, the boat’s motor kicking up spray behind them like a frightened horse. He wanted to punch something so badly that a bitter taste filled his mouth. The images of his mother and his brothers bleeding in the street filled his vision. They were never going to get their justice, unless he came up with a damn good plan.

Antonella’s delicate hand touched his jaw, her fingers smoothing along the muscles that jumped there. He cut the boat back to idle and rounded on her. “You think you can pet me like one of your father’s damn dogs and make everything okay?” he shouted.

When she shrank from him, he instantly regretted his behavior. Then she straightened and crossed her arms. “That’s not what I was doing.”

He inhaled deeply and let it out. “What, then?”

“I’m here for you.”

He placed his hands on his hips and looked at the decking lightly rocking beneath his feet, unable to suppress a snort of disbelief. “You know what I was just thinking about?”

“No.”

He met her eyes. “I was thinking about the crime scene photos. What they looked like, dead and bleeding in the street.”

She blanched, not needing him to clarify. “How did you ever see those?”

“My father paid someone in the
carabinieri
to make copies.”

“Why?”

Emotion clamped his throat shut, and he struggled to say the words. “He said it was so we wouldn’t forget.”

“Rico, he shouldn’t have shown you those.”

He pinned her with a stare. “You think I’m a child?”

She shook her head. “No one should see that.”

“
No one
should have
done
that.” His tone dripped acid.

“Rico—”

He held up a hand. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“Let me finish,” she said. “You’re right. My father did something unforgiveable.”

“He broke our laws. Mario was eleven.
Eleven
.” Enrico clawed at his hair and turned away from her, his hands trying to crush the railing. “He was my brother. It was his birthday. If only Papà and I hadn’t been sick—”

“You’d have died too,” she said.

“We might have saved them.”

She embraced him from behind, her small hands resting flat on his belly, her breasts pressing into his back, and damn him, he wanted to turn and kiss her. He wanted to forget again, he wanted to forget everything. “I am sorry from the bottom of my heart,” she whispered, her voice choked.

He folded his hands over hers. “I know it’s not your fault, Toni. But how can I marry you? How can I bow to your father?”

“You must, Rico. You
must
. Or your family will be destroyed.” Her tone was fervent, and a tingle of alarm raced down his back.

He turned around in her arms. “What do you mean, destroyed?”

“I asked Papà what would happen if I broke the engagement. He said he would finish what he started.”

How calmly she said those words. Enrico wanted to roar at her. “So that’s why you’re giving me another chance? Because you’re so sure your father will win?”

She didn’t blink. “I know he will. The war between our families was costly, but two years have passed. My father hasn’t been idle. He has a plan in place. The thing that scares me is that I don’t know what it is.”

“Why would he tell you?”

She frowned at him. “I told you. He listens to me. He’s often said I could be a
capa
.”

Enrico blew out in amusement. “Toni, you’re smart, I know that. But you know how the ’Ndrangheta is—”

“Yes. Which is why I told Papà he’s being sentimental. The best place for me is at the side of a powerful man.” When he said nothing, she continued. “All of the influence, without the target on my back.”

This time he chuckled. “You expect me to consult you?”

She raised a brow. “You’d be a fool not to. I bet I know a lot more about this business than you do.”

“Prove it.”

“Your father is nearly bankrupt. If it wasn’t for my grandfather, he would be.”

What the hell was she talking about? “My father has plenty of money. And what would your grandfather have to do with anything?”

She crossed her arms again, her eyes boring into his. “You had best ask your father. You need this marriage, Rico, more than you know.”

He wanted to say she was crazy, he wanted to ignore her. But Antonella wasn’t prone to exaggeration or false alarms. In that way, she was the polar opposite of Veronica. Toni’s words held a ring of confidence, of truth, he couldn’t easily dismiss.

And if the roiling in his gut was any indication, she’d just given him a clue to his father’s strange behavior.

How did Antonella know about the state of his family’s finances?

After dropping her off, Enrico cut across the lake to Cernobbio. But instead of going directly home, he went to see his cousin Domenico. Papà was unlikely to tell him the truth unless he had more proof than the say-so of Antonella Andretti.

Perhaps Dom could shed some light. And help Enrico devise a plan to take out his family’s killers. Livio had made clear he wasn’t going to provide any additional assistance beyond those four names. If what Antonella had said was true, Enrico was his family’s only hope for justice, but he had scant time to achieve it.

Leopoldo Lucchesi, Enrico’s uncle and Dom’s father, had set up his family in a lovely, yet far more modest, villa close to his brother Rinaldo’s. Although Leopoldo was the eldest, a heart defect, discovered in his youth, had made him reluctant to take the reins of the Lucchesi
cosca
, and so the title of
capo di famiglia
had fallen to Rinaldo, while Leopoldo acted as his brother’s
capo di società
—his right hand.

Now that Mamma, Primo, and Mario were dead, these Lucchesis were nearly all the relatives Enrico had left. They’d always been a tight-knit group, but Rinaldo’s breakdown after the murders had strained the relationship.
No one likes to be around the ill
, Enrico thought.
It might be catching
.

He tied up at the dock and headed toward the house. As he approached the rear entrance, he heard the murmur of voices, but couldn’t see the speakers through the trees and shrubs of the garden. He recognized the voices though: Dom and his wife, Francesca.

“How about we get started on baby number two?” Dom said, his tone teasing.

Francesca laughed. “We have to wait for number one first.”

“We can practice…”

Enrico coughed loudly as he rounded a hedge and saw Dom kissing his pretty wife. Even though her belly was swollen with pregnancy, she still looked elegant, her light brown hair pulled back off her face, a loose dress showing off the tanned skin of her arms and shoulders. She turned at Enrico’s cough, one of her hands curving over her belly in a protective gesture, and jealousy stabbed Enrico in the gut. Veronica had been the same way—so protective of Nico from the very start. Whatever Veronica’s faults, he could never say she didn’t love their son—the son he should be with right now.

“Rico,” Dom and Francesca said at the same time, then both of them laughed and welcomed him in a flurry of hugs and smiles.

“What brings you here?” Dom asked.

“It’s about Papà,” Enrico said. “I have some questions.”

Dom’s handsome face, so very like Primo’s, turned somber. He gestured to a nearby table. “We should sit.”

Francesca pecked her husband on the cheek. “How about I get you both an espresso?”

“
Grazie
,
cara
.” Dom returned the peck. They took their seats and once Francesca was out of earshot, Dom said, “What would you like to know?”

“Has he been having money trouble?”

Dom rubbed a hand across his mouth. “I think so, yes.” He shrugged. “They don’t tell me much.”

“But you’re an underboss.”

Dom chuckled. “Exactly. Underboss. Means what I don’t need to know, I don’t need to know.”

“But someday—”

“Someday you’ll be the boss and I’ll be your
capo di società
. ” His cousin’s voice was flat. Maybe even bitter?

“I’m not sure I want that.”

Dom snorted. “
Il
principe
doesn’t want to be king? I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“I’m serious.”

Dom’s brows cranked down over narrowed eyes. “Rico, cut the bullshit and stop acting like a damn kid. You’re back. You’re marrying Antonella Andretti. You’re taking your place in this family. End of story.”

“It’s not what I want.”

“To hell with what you want. It’s what you’re going to
do
. You’ve known it since you took the vows.”

The door behind them opened, and Enrico held in his reply while Francesca brought out their espresso. He accepted a tiny cup from the tray with a grateful smile.

“I’ll leave you to your business,” she said and went back inside.

“See?” Dom continued. “Francesca knows her role. So do I. So do you.”

He
did
know. But that didn’t make it any easier. “I’m not sure I’m cut out for this.”

“You’re a Lucchesi, yes?”

Enrico took a sip of his espresso. “Haven’t you sometimes wished for a different life? One where you could be sure you’d come home to your wife every day? Where you didn’t have to look over your shoulder all the time?”

Dom stared at him like he’d wished for a unicorn. “England made you soft.”

Enrico looked away, his throat closing. Maybe it had. Maybe the time with Veronica and Nico had changed him, their quiet domesticity a cocoon he’d wrapped himself in, a way of shutting out the horrors of the life he’d left behind, if only for a little while. “Not entirely.”

“Oh?” Dom raised a brow. “You’re going to come here and whine, and then tell me you’re not soft?”

“I need your help with something Papà’s forbidden me to do.”

With a sharp clink, Dom set his cup on the ceramic tabletop. “You’re going to do it.” A grin spread across his face.

Enrico nodded. “I am.”

Dom clapped his hands together. “I take it back. You did find your balls somewhere along the way.”

“The problem is, how do I do it? I know their names, but I’ve never killed anyone.”

Dom sobered and sipped at his steaming espresso. “I’m not going to ask how you got the names. Your source is reliable?” When Enrico nodded, Dom continued. “Well then, the first job is surveillance. We’ve got to know their habits.”

Enrico laid a hand on Dom’s forearm. “I need your help, but these are
my
kills. My family, my vengeance.”

“They were my family too,” Dom said, his voice low.

“I know. But I want to do this for Papà.” He removed his hand and picked up his cup again. “Besides, the men will never respect me if they don’t think I have it in me.”

Dom smiled. “
Sì, il mio principe
.”

Enrico ignored the ribbing. “So, a big thing I’m having trouble figuring is the timing. I have to finish before the wedding. But these are trained men. When I start picking them off, once two are down, the other two will be on guard, and that’s going to make it difficult to get to them quickly, if at all.”

Dom nodded, thinking. Finally he snapped his fingers. “You need to do them like this,” he said, holding out a hand and using his fingers to illustrate. “One first, then two the next day, then the last one on the day after that.”

“Two in one day?”

“
Four
in
three
days.”

Enrico let out a low whistle and passed a hand over his hair. “Sounds impossible.”

“Sounds crazy, you mean.”

But brilliant. If he could pull it off, the first three would never see it coming. He’d only have the fourth to truly worry about. “I need a gun. And some practice.”

“I’m so proud of you, Rico.” Dom beamed at him like a parent.

“Let’s hope Papà is too.”

“I’d love to see the look on Andretti’s face when he finds out.”

Enrico would too. He knew Toni believed her father would win any upcoming conflict. But that faith in her father didn’t make her right.

Though it also didn’t make her wrong.

He couldn’t put it off any longer. Enrico strode down the front hall of his home and paused respectfully at the door to his father’s study, tapping on it and waiting to be called in. When he heard his father’s voice bidding him to enter, he took a deep breath. It wouldn’t be a good idea to lose his temper. His father might be depressed, but he had no trouble accessing his anger when pushed—he’d proved that yesterday when they’d had breakfast at the Andrettis.