CHAPTER 3
At the sight of the dark purple bruise on her cheek, a lump formed in Kate’s throat. She was such an idiot. Tears rolled down her face, and she turned away from the bathroom mirror.
Wiping her eyes, she sucked in a lungful of air. She wasn’t an idiot. She’d just been too quick to trust. Too impulsive for her own good. The next man she thought about marrying would have to prove himself to her—in spades—before he ever put a ring on her finger. She wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice.
If she ever decided to marry again.
Swallowing down the tightness in her throat, Kate grabbed an overnight bag and filled it with clothes, toiletries, a few photos, and some keepsakes she didn’t want to leave behind. Nothing Vince would miss in case he came home early. Her passport went in her purse.
Then it struck her: Just where exactly was she going? She couldn’t go to her parents. Or Terri. Vince knew where they lived. And he knew her friends in New York. Not that she felt close enough to any of them to ask for help.
Fuck! What was she going to do?
The exact opposite of what he would expect. Vince would automatically go to New York looking for her. He wouldn’t think she’d stay in Italy. All she needed to decide was where.
The next big problem was money. She needed cash he couldn’t trace. All her credit cards were in his name; her own credit was atrocious. If only she’d known back then what her poor choices were going to cost her now. But what was done was done.
Damn it. She had to call her parents. Kate picked up her cell phone, then put it back down. She’d better get out of the apartment first. That call was bound to be a long one, and it would be just like Vince to march back in and demand to talk to her. And if he saw the bag, he wouldn’t let her leave.
Not if he was in the Mafia.
She rubbed her aching cheek again, then her eyes flew open. What was she thinking? She couldn’t go out in public with a big bruise on her face. Jesus, her mind was careening all over, like she’d turned into a kid with a monster case of attention deficit disorder. Kate took a deep breath. She needed to get a grip.
In the bathroom, she rummaged through her makeup kit, applying concealer and powder to little effect. She was just too damn fair; every little freckle stood out, much less a bruise. Kate cursed her genes. Why couldn’t she have nice olive skin like everyone else here?
After repacking her makeup, Kate picked up her bag and gave the little apartment one last sweeping look. It wasn’t much, but she’d had a lot of hope for the future when she and Vince had moved in.
So much for that.
Breathing in deep, Kate tried to shove down the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. Vince had been the guy she’d hoped for—a man’s man who wanted a family, who loved and cherished her, who wanted a long and happy future with her, not just a night or a weekend in the Hamptons. He wasn’t like all the rich, slick men she’d dated before him; Vince wanted to settle down. He wasn’t afraid of commitment.
On their second date, he’d told her that one day they’d marry, that he, Vince Andretti, would be her husband. She’d known him just two months when he’d proposed, and she’d thought it the happiest day of her life.
But he’d just proved that their courtship, their marriage, was all illusion, a fairy tale. Her prince was a villain in disguise. If she’d learned anything useful from her mother, it was that you never forgave a man who hit you. Constance had been quite vehement on that point. She’d never explained why, and Kate hadn’t asked. She’d just trusted the look in her mother’s eyes when she’d said it.
It was the only advice she’d ever taken from her mother. Maybe she should have taken more.
Well, it wasn’t too late for that. But first she had to get out of harm’s way.
Kate hurried out of the apartment and hopped on the nearest autobus that headed toward the orphanage. Dottor Laurio owed her a month’s pay.
She just hoped the director didn’t ask too many questions about Vince’s handiwork. Kate smirked as she thought about the word. Handiwork—pun fully intended. At least she could still laugh.
As the tiny bus lumbered through Cernobbio and then up into the hills above the town, she thought about where to go. What about Florence? She hadn’t seen it yet, and it was big enough that she wouldn’t stand out. She’d be just another tourist.
A little bubble of hope warmed her chest. She could manage this. All she had to do was get her check and get out of the Lake District without running into Vince.
If I’m lucky, he won’t pry, Kate thought as she headed straight for Dottor Laurio’s office. Hopefully he’d be in early—never a certainty with Italians—and could cut her a check right away.
She knocked on his door, her heart fluttering. No answer. Time to try his secretary. She knocked on the door next to the director’s. A throaty voice bid her to enter.
Gina, a fading beauty in her late fifties, gave Kate a soft smile when she walked in. That smile immediately turned to concern. “Caterina, la tua faccia!” she said, gesturing to Kate’s face.
Kate’s hand flew up to cover the mark and she flushed. “It’s nothing. I ran into a door, that’s all.”
The secretary clucked her tongue. Cocking her head to the side, she studied Kate. “Caterina, that is not what happened to you.”
She took a deep breath. “Do you mind if we don’t talk about it?”
Gina pursed her lips and sat back in her chair. “If you insist. How can I help you?”
“I need to see Dottor Laurio. Do you know when he’ll be in?”
“He is ill. He will not be here today.”
Damn. Now what? “I need my paycheck.”
Gina glanced at Kate’s cheek again. “Sì. If you can wait, Signor Lucchesi will be here this afternoon. He can issue your check.”
Kate nodded. The wait was risky; then again, it would be that much less money she’d have to ask her parents for.
Hopefully Enrico wouldn’t inquire about the bruise, although he seemed like the kind of man who would. Even if she’d spoken to him only a handful of times, he felt like a friend. He’d definitely tried to make her feel welcome and to help her fit in. He’d even advised her to teach the children English in order to learn Italian, and it had worked. She still had a lot to learn before she’d be fluent, but her Italian was much improved.
She said goodbye to Gina and headed to her office. Nothing to do now but wait. And write a letter of resignation to Dottor Laurio.
Kate sat at her desk and looked around her cramped little office. It wasn’t much, but it was hers. She’d personally gone through at least a quarter of the papers in the still overflowing metal file cabinets behind her, had read the histories of the children as she’d converted their information to the new electronic system.
Oh God. She’d have to say goodbye to the children. Tears filled her eyes again—could she do nothing today but cry?
At least she had one thing to thank Vince for; he’d inadvertently led her to her calling. After she’d gotten her degree in social work, she’d worked with homeless people, trying to find them permanent housing, but her days had filled her with hopelessness. Even when she’d succeeded in securing all-too-scarce low-income housing for her clients, many had ended up back on the street due to substance abuse or mental health issues.
She’d been frustrated, adrift, when she met Vince. Maybe that was why she’d been so attracted to him—he was so sure of himself, so confident. And he had a future mapped out for them right away. A future that had brought her here to the orphanage, to a place where she finally felt she could make a difference.
Maybe she could find work at another orphanage—no, that would be the first place Vince would look for her. Damn it, how could she work anywhere or rent an apartment with a false name?
Jesus. This plan was getting more and more complicated. But she’d figure it out. Vince was not going to get the best of her.
Kate Andretti was no man’s punching bag.
How should he respond to Carlo’s threat?
Enrico sat on the sofa in his study, while Ruggero stood by the window, waiting for his boss to speak. Various strategies tumbled through Enrico’s mind, as they had during the entire forty-five minute drive from Milan to his home on Lake Como. Should he strike out at Andretti’s holdings, put him off-guard? Should he respond at all? Dom urged him to make peace, but Carlo might see that as weakness. And that could be fatal.
In the meantime, he’d have Dom organize thorough yet discreet surveillance of Carlo and his men. They needed to know everything about the Andrettis, every base of operation, every safe house, every official who was on the Andretti payroll. If he had to strike at Andretti, Enrico wanted to be able to hit him hard. Perhaps if he could make Carlo feel enough pain upfront, he’d be able to stop more bloodshed later.
Perhaps.
Carlo had killed Enrico’s mother and brothers, despite the risk to Dario, who’d been a Lucchesi hostage at the time. If the man didn’t care about his own son, what would he care if he lost some men?
Money. That was the key. Cut off the money, and Carlo would howl.
His thoughts were interrupted by Antonio coming into the room. He was carrying the carved box, now empty. “What should I do with this, signore?”
“Put it behind my desk.” He pointed to the shelves built into the far wall, which were filled floor to ceiling with books and pieces of art placed here and there by Antonella to break up the monotony. He’d give Carlo a cigar out of that box. Right before he pulled the trigger and ended Carlo’s life.
He’d have vengeance for his family at last.
But like so many things he wanted to do, it wasn’t possible. Sighing, he rubbed a hand across his eyes. He’d promised Toni.
Carlo had to make the first irrevocable move. And most likely, it would be Ruggero pulling the trigger, not Enrico himself. Revenge, as they said, was a dish best served cold. And best not served by the chef.
Enrico watched Antonio leave the room, then looked over at Ruggero, who as always, was watching him intently. There were few men he counted on as much as his guard. Ruggero’s lapse in the hotel lobby this morning was puzzling. And more than a little worrisome. Was it possible, as Dom had suggested, that there was a traitor close to him?
Ruggero waited, hands clasped behind his back, his dark eyes expectant. Waiting for Enrico to say something. Perhaps waiting for the order to kill Carlo. Such a task would be difficult, possibly even suicidal, and yet Ruggero would accept it. Perhaps he’d even relish the idea. The man was ruthless, amoral, and cold to the bone. Could Ruggero have any genuine honor, any real loyalty? Could he truly be trusted?
Enrico cleared his throat. He fingered a handsomely bound book lying on the coffee table in front of him. Niccolò Machiavelli’s The Prince. It was a gift from his godfather, and his bible for navigating the underworld he found himself in. But it didn’t necessarily have the answers to this situation.
He looked up at Ruggero. “As you know, this will be a difficult time. I will call upon you at some point.” He held the man’s eyes with his. “You will not fail me.” Ruggero nodded. “However, you are to do nothing now but keep your eyes open.” He paused, trying to read the bodyguard’s face, but as usual, the man gave him nothing. If Ruggero was surprised, it didn’t show. “Do you have any questions?”
“You have your reasons for waiting. I don’t need to know them.”
Enrico rose, walked over to his desk, and picked up the phone.
“Shall I go?” Ruggero asked.
“No, I’m having Pino bring the car around.” He started to dial, then looked up at Ruggero. “I want you with me today.” On a routine local trip, like the one he was about to take, Antonio was usually the only accompaniment. At Ruggero’s look, he added, “Both of you. I’m adding Claudio and Santino as well.”
Ruggero nodded. Although taking four guards was highly unusual, Ruggero didn’t comment further, perhaps thinking the circumstances warranted the extra manpower. But that wasn’t the full reason for Enrico’s caution.
Enrico set the receiver back in the cradle without completing the call. He should have told Ruggero about Kate some time ago, but it had seemed of little importance before. That was all changed now. “One of the employees at the orphanage, Kate Andretti, is married to Vincenzo Andretti, Carlo’s nephew.”
Ruggero absorbed that information without blinking. “Do you think they’ve planned something?”
“I don’t believe she’s involved. But I can’t take any more chances.” He picked up the phone again and punched in the number for his driver. He asked Pino to bring the car around and told him to have Santino and Claudio travel ahead and report on whether Vincenzo Andretti was at the orphanage. If Carlo heard about the four guards, he’d laugh with glee. But better to live with his pride wounded than die with his bravado intact. Carlo had already called his bluff once today. The next time might be for real.
He hung up the phone. “One more thing. I’m a businessman to Kate. Do you understand me?”
Ruggero nodded. “I’ll make sure the others are aware as well.”
“Va bene. You may go.”
Ruggero hesitated. “What is it?” Enrico asked.
“My punishment.”
Enrico sat back in the chair and looked up at Ruggero. “There is nothing I can do that will hurt you as much as the knowledge that you’ve failed me.” He allowed a small smile to touch his lips. “But don’t tell Antonio that.”
“I would feel better if you punished me.”
“That is why I won’t.” Enrico caressed the wood top of his desk. “Just make sure Antonio learns from this.”
Ruggero nodded, then left.
The paramount lesson Enrico had absorbed from The Prince, the one upon which his very life hung, was this: it was best to be both loved and feared. Walking that line often proved a struggle, however. Too much leniency, and he risked mutiny. Too little, and he risked being hated.
He turned to the window that looked out from his study over the broad expanse of lawn and gardens leading down to the lake. Enrico smiled involuntarily at the deep blue water glittering with sunlight, the lush green of the gardens, the gentle sway of the trees in the wind. He loved living in Cernobbio, near the tip of the southwest leg of Lake Como. Enrico had been born here, had grown up here. He loved many parts of Italy, but he couldn’t imagine making his home anywhere else.
But the villa had felt empty since Toni’s death. Even though they’d never had children, the house had been more alive when she was in it. Her laughter, her singing, her humming, the way she talked to herself, the cheerful chatter of her voice, the huskiness that entered it when they were alone—he was haunted by her voice, and the absence of it whenever he returned home still struck him at odd times. Today most of all.
He’d been fortunate in falling in love with his wife. True, her nose was too aquiline for anyone to call her beautiful, but Toni had large kind eyes, glossy black hair, and a grace that surprised him during their obligatory first dance at the wedding. Enrico remembered Carlo openly weeping when he’d embraced his daughter after the wedding ceremony. And then Carlo turning to him with naked menace on his face, his voice a low hiss as he said, “If you ever hurt my Toni or let harm come to her, I will make you suffer. And then I will strangle you until the light leaves your eyes.”
Was that why Carlo blamed him now? He’d made it clear Enrico wasn’t good enough for his daughter. Never mind that Enrico had treated Toni like a rare and precious gift, even when she couldn’t give him the family he wanted, the family he needed.
Carlo thought he’d stayed with her because he didn’t want to reopen the feud between their families. But he would have endured any hardship for Toni. She’d been worth any sacrifice.
He twisted the wedding band around his finger. It was the last connection he had left to her. His throat closed up, and a piercing ache rose in his chest. He’d never thought he’d outlive his wife, had never imagined a future without the woman he’d given his heart.
She’d told him she wanted him to remarry, that it was the best thing for him, even though he hadn’t wanted to hear it. But when hadn’t Toni been right?
Still, it seemed an impossible thing to do.
Delfina was the right choice. The choice he had to make.
If I can’t have Kate. He shook his head.
Delfina it was. Delfina it had to be. What he wanted didn’t matter. He’d sworn it: the ’Ndrangheta, first and last.