CHAPTER 2
No one spoke. When Enrico and the guards boarded the private jet, he took a seat at a table by a window, and Antonio and Ruggero sat across the aisle. They’d learned by now it was best to say nothing when he was angry, to not speak until spoken to.
Crossing his arms, Enrico stared out the window as they taxied down the runway. He kicked the table leg in front of him and swore. Of course it didn’t give. The table was bolted down. Curling his toes experimentally, he was fairly certain none were broken.
Antonio looked at him questioningly, maybe hoping to be sent to the galley for some ice. Enrico looked away from him, dismissing his silent entreaty. If he was suffering, so would they.
The plane picked up speed as they lifted off. Soon they were soaring above the chaos that was Rome. The Eternal City teemed with the beautiful and the ugly at the same time. Making a slow circle above the dense jumble of buildings below, the plane eventually headed north, to Milan.
Foolish. So damned foolish. His father would never forgive him for being so reckless. And he couldn’t forgive himself. He was not the sort of man who believed a Mafioso had to prove himself every minute of the day. All he had to do was prove himself prudent. Prudent would keep him safe. Prudent wouldn’t get him or his men killed.
Enrico noticed Antonio peering at something in the back. Following the direction of his gaze, Enrico’s eyes lit upon the pretty flight attendant. Of course it was a woman.
He opened his mouth to chide Antonio, then closed it. The attendant had dyed her hair a deep auburn, and now she reminded him of someone he couldn’t ignore.
Kate Andretti. The married woman he couldn’t get out of his mind. The woman he’d be seeing later today. The woman he could not have, could not allow himself to have, even if she were agreeable. And yet she’d plagued his thoughts since their first meeting.
Enrico had been upset when the director of the Lucchesi Home for Children, Dottor Laurio, had hired an Andretti three months ago. But short of informing the director that he’d inadvertently hired the wife of an enemy, there was nothing Enrico could do. He’d carefully maintained the fiction with Laurio that he was just a businessman, and he wasn’t about to tell the man otherwise.
But once Enrico met Kate, his concerns evaporated. Her exotic looks—auburn hair, striking green eyes, alabaster skin—piqued his interest, but her manner was the thing that bowled him over. Competent, intelligent, kind: all qualities that reminded him very much of Antonella.
He’d spoken to Kate a half-dozen times, making several unscheduled trips to the orphanage to do so. Not that that was far out of the ordinary. Providing handsomely for the children made him feel, at least in some small way, that he was balancing the scales with God, with the universe. Bringing some measure of happiness to the world instead of more misery.
But today’s trip to the orphanage, though regularly scheduled, wasn’t about the children. He hoped to see Kate. And after Carlo’s threat, seeing her seemed more important than ever. He wanted to stop wasting the days of his life. To stop quietly longing after Kate and to do something about it. But it was impossible, this desire. Simply impossible.
He almost hated that she’d invaded his thoughts. He should be focused on Toni, should be mourning her loss, on this day of all days. But he couldn’t. Not without reopening the raw aching hole that had been in his chest since her death. He’d tamped down his grief, but still it lingered, dark and murky, waiting to suck him under. Thinking about Toni was dangerous; he might break down in front of his men.
The time for tears is over. Toni had told him he had to remarry. But how could he just forget twenty-five years with the woman he loved?
He scrubbed his hands over his cheeks and chin and summoned up Kate’s face in his mind, needing the distraction. He had no idea what Kate thought of him. He had to assume she loved her husband and the Andretti family. Just because she was newly arrived from America, just because she seemed to enjoy his company, that didn’t make her any different from the rest of the Andretti clan.
He studied his reflection in the plane window, in the voids between clouds. He looked tired. His hair was tousled, his beard starting to shadow his cheeks and chin already, even though he’d shaved just a few hours ago. He adjusted his tie and smoothed down his dark blue suit jacket, pulling at his white shirt cuffs. In just a few hours, he’d be seeing Kate. He swallowed against the adrenaline that jolted through him. He finger-combed his hair, then stopped. He was a grown man, not a nervous schoolboy. And she couldn’t be his anyway. Or could she? What if she could be?
The crotch of his trousers tightened in a most embarrassing way. He shifted in his seat. Cristo, he was a pig. He was still Antonella’s husband. Hers. Even though their vows had ended with her death, he still felt the weight of her presence, still wore his wedding ring.
“Signore?” Enrico turned toward Antonio. Seeing that he had his boss’s attention, Antonio continued. “Shall I call Don Domenico?”
Enrico shook his head. “I’ll call him myself.” Antonio looked like he had something more to say. He’d punished them enough with silence. “What is it?”
Antonio colored and hung his head. “I beg your forgiveness, Don Lucchesi, for not seeing Veltroni in the lobby. I was closest. I should’ve spotted him.” He looked up at Enrico, meeting his gaze. “If you wish to demote me, I won’t argue.”
Ruggero cut in. “If anyone should be punished, it should be me.”
“Perhaps both of you are right. But it was my decision to leave without backup. It was my foolishness that nearly got us killed. Not your inattentiveness.”
“But—” Ruggero started.
Enrico cut him off with an angry wave of his hand. “Enough. Just do your jobs. And I’ll do mine.”
“I have failed you, signore.”
He met Ruggero’s intense gaze. “Agreed.” When the guard didn’t flinch, Enrico continued. “We’ll discuss this when we return home.”
Ruggero nodded, saying nothing.
“I’ve failed you too,” Antonio said.
“You’re learning. Ruggero is responsible for you.”
Antonio reddened again, his fair cheeks becoming mottled. “He can’t take the blame for my mistakes.”
“He can and he will.” Enrico studied Antonio for a moment. “You will not make this mistake again, yes?”
“Of course, Don Lucchesi.”
“Then you have learned an important lesson at no cost to you.” When Antonio opened his mouth again, Enrico waved him off. “Ruggero will take your punishment. Think on that.”
Silence descended on the cabin. A silence big enough to think in. But a silence that gave him no peace. He had to call Dom. And he had to figure out some solution to this mess with Andretti. But there was no dissuading a man of honor bent on a faida—a blood feud.
Enrico picked up the satellite phone kept on board and punched in Dom’s number. He answered on the second ring. “Ciao, Rico, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
Enrico took a deep breath before answering. “Carlo sent me a present today. A dead falcon.”
“At your hotel room?” Dom’s voice was tinged with alarm. “How did he know where you were?”
“Either he has someone watching me, or there’s a traitor in our midst.”
Dom said nothing for a moment, then he ventured, “If there’s a traitor, it’s the boy.”
Enrico snorted. “You’re not serious.”
“Aside from Ruggero and me, he’s the only one who knows where you are at all times.” Dom let that sink in, then he added, “And he is an outsider. I told you not to take him into the family.”
“I remember.” Enrico risked a glance at Antonio, the boy’s straight blond hair, blue eyes, and pale skin clearly marking him as other. Not one of them, not Calabrian. But he just couldn’t picture it. Of all his people, Antonio was the one whose loyalty he was most sure of. The boy loved him. He would stake his life on it. He was staking his life on it. He’d sooner suspect Ruggero, but he had no reason to doubt him either; the Velas had long been tied to the Lucchesis. And when it came to Dom, there was no question. Dom was his first cousin and his best friend. He took a breath. “It’s someone else.”
“I’d still keep an eye on him. He came to you looking for a job, remember?”
They’d had this argument before. Such caution was a good quality in a capo di società, a second in command, but it was wearing at times. And unwarranted in this case. “Let it go.” Dom sighed, but said nothing. “There’s something else,” Enrico said. “I’ve been thinking.”
“That’s never good,” Dom teased.
Enrico smiled, then sobered. Dom wasn’t going to like what he had to say. “We have to stop doing business with the Andrettis. And the other families who don’t abide by the code.”
Silence, then he heard Dom clearing his throat. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I do. We’re not men of honor if we don’t live by the code.”
“The fucking code!” Enrico could practically see Dom’s eyes rolling. “The code is antiquated. How do you expect us to compete with the Sicilians and the Russians if we don’t change our ways?” Dom was careful not to mention the drugs or prostitution forbidden by the code, in case the phones weren’t secure. One never knew.
“There are plenty of other ways for the families to make money. Look at ours.”
“Hmm. Yes, every family has an investment banker at the top.”
“I’m hardly an investment banker.”
“You’re far too modest. You’re a banker and an excellent shot.”
Enrico laughed. “If you say so.”
“You and I both know most of the families haven’t the brains to do what we do. Hell, I don’t have the brains to do what you do. I know that. That’s why you run the banks and take care of the wash.” The wash was their code for money laundering. Most of the families used the Lucchesis to clean their money—by running it through legitimate businesses or through a byzantine series of dummy corporations—and to manage it.
He heard Dom exhale before he continued. “You can’t really mean to cut ties with Andretti. If you think he wants to kill you now, just wait. And we can’t cut off the others. It’ll be suicide.”
“I do mean to cut Carlo off. At least him. Preferably all of them. I know it’ll hurt our profits, but I can’t stomach it anymore.”
“You and your father. Such men of principle. Principles are the excuse people use when they don’t want to be practical.”
“I am practical.”
“Of the two of us, when have you ever been described as the practical one?”
Enrico heard a hint of humor in Dom’s voice. But what he said was true. “You’re right. As usual. My head’s in the clouds looking at lofty goals, not at the situation on the ground.”
“So will you listen to me? We already charge Carlo and the others more to deal with their dirt. We cannot cut off all the families. If we’re to deal with Carlo, we’ll need all the friends we can get—or at least no more enemies.” Dom paused for a second. “You do agree, yes?” When Enrico gave his assent, Dom continued. “You ought to be smoothing things over with Carlo. I’ve been thinking about it, and since your marriage to Antonella kept the peace for so long, what about marrying Delfina?”
A bolt of surprise hit Enrico in the chest. “Dario’s Delfina? She’s far too young. And she’s my niece.”
“She’ll be twenty-two next month. And she’s blossomed this last year. I saw her recently, and it’s been on my mind ever since to propose the match.”
Enrico turned the idea over. Kate was an impossibility. And, if Carlo would agree to it, marrying his granddaughter would solve Enrico’s problems—it would end Carlo’s threats to his life and his business, and it would provide him with the heir he needed. What was there not to like?
Nothing. Except that Delfina wasn’t Kate.
“Rico, are you there?”
“I’m thinking.”
“So it’s not an automatic no?”
Enrico didn’t miss Dom’s hopeful tone. “It’s not a yes, either.”
“Fine. But in the meantime, let’s not upset Carlo further. Or any of the other families. We have enough trouble as it is.”
“All right, all right. I’m listening to you. As usual.”
“As you should. I didn’t get to be your right hand based solely on my good looks.”
Enrico laughed. He and Dom looked so much alike people often mistook them for brothers. “Remember, I’m the good-looking one.”
Dom sighed in mock sorrow. “Don’t I know it.” He paused, then continued, his tone serious. “Please do consider Delfina. It’s the perfect solution.”
“I know.” Enrico sighed. “I’m just not sure I’m ready.”
“Antonella’s been gone a year. You know she wanted you to remarry. And to keep the peace with her father. I’m sure she’d approve of the match.”
Dom had him there. After all, Antonella had been the one who’d proposed their marriage to Carlo, all those years ago. The fact that Carlo had taken her counsel, even though she’d been only fourteen, spoke more for her wisdom than anything else Enrico could think of. Could he find a similarly developed mind in Delfina or another young girl? Unlikely. But Kate… Kate had shown him glimmers of her mind, how she thought, who she was. And he was hopeful.
But he shouldn’t be. Not if he wanted peace with Andretti.
“Rico?”
“You’re right, Antonella would approve.”
“So, should I speak to Dario and Carlo about it?”
“Give me a little more time.” He needed to get used to the idea. “I need to talk to her first.”
“I’ll arrange it.”
Enrico chuckled at Dom’s eagerness. “I never realized you were such a matchmaker.”
“I want you to be happy. And I don’t want to see you shot down in the street like a dog.”
Enrico’s mouth twisted at the image. It reminded him of the crime-scene photos from when his mother and his brothers were killed. Primo’s body pocked with bullets, lying in a pool of blood beside their car, Mario slumped halfway out the open door to the back seat. It was an image that haunted his dreams. “I don’t want that either.”
“Good. I’m glad you’re seeing sense about this.”
“One of us has to be the practical one.” They both laughed and then said their goodbyes.
After he ended the call, Enrico felt a niggling uneasiness. Delfina. Could he seriously contemplate taking her as his wife? Then again, how could he not?
He looked at Antonio and Ruggero. He owed it to his men to at least consider the possibility. Ignoring it could get them all killed, could destroy the Lucchesi family, could destroy the lives of the hundreds of people who depended on him. Dom or his sons could carry on without him, but only as long as the men followed them.
The death of a capo di famiglia often brought challengers into the open. Unless there was a clear successor, preferably a direct heir. And even then, nothing could be assumed.
If he didn’t marry soon and produce an heir, he was going to have to openly declare Dom his successor. Making that clear to the men would help Dom if the time ever came.
If Enrico didn’t marry Delfina, that time might be imminent.