CHAPTER 29
For the first time in his life, Enrico understood why people committed suicide. If he’d been the one behind the wheel on the drive home, he would have wrecked. And he probably wouldn’t have cared.
His grief when Toni died was but half of this horrible ache, this gnawing despair. Toni’s death had been something of a relief, her loss tempered by the fact that she was out of misery, that they’d had a long happy marriage together. But Kate—she’d rejected him. And she was taking their child with her. Another child he wouldn’t get to love, another child who’d grow up hating him. Another child lost.
What more was Carlo Andretti going to cost him?
When they pulled up to the house, Enrico opened the car door himself, not wanting further contact with the driver or Santino, or any of the guards in the other car pulling up behind them. He hurried into the house, heading straight for the study. He poured himself a full glass of sambuca and took a large gulp, letting the sweet liqueur burn down his throat. He drained the glass and poured another. He paced around the room for a while, idly looking out the windows at the garden’s fading splendor. Autumn crept in more every day. The leaves were turning, drying up, withering. He felt the same way.
A knock at the door startled him. It was Ruggero. Perhaps a distraction would help. “Come in.”
The discomfort on Ruggero’s face said that he knew. No doubt Antonio had told him. The boy meant well, but sometimes he went too far. “What?” Enrico snapped, his voice a blade.
Ruggero paused, obviously weighing his words. Enrico drilled his eyes into the guard, willing him not to mention it. Finally Ruggero said, “We’ve picked up Trucco. We confirmed he’s had contact with Carlo.”
Good man. He can read my mind now. He softened his voice. “Where is he?”
“Milan. At one of the safe houses.”
“What has he told you?”
“Nothing. Yet. He says he’ll speak only to you.”
Cristo. Not now. Maybe he could let Ruggero handle it. But the don who couldn’t deal with unpleasant though necessary realities had no business being in charge. He looked at his watch. The meeting with La Provincia was hours away, and dealing with Trucco meant he didn’t have to think about Kate. “Let’s go then.”
In the car, Enrico tried to steel himself for what was coming. Death was the price for treason to one’s don. Obedience and loyalty to one’s cosca and to the ’Ndrangheta were paramount. Traitors could not be tolerated.
A lingering doubt niggled at Enrico. There was still Dom to consider. Dom, who’d done nothing but argue with him lately. Dom, who’d threatened his job. Dom, who’d tried to poison Don Battista against him. Dom’s reasons were sound, his intentions focused on the good of the cosca, but still…. “Can you tie Trucco to the tracking device?” he asked Ruggero.
Ruggero kept his eyes on the road. “There were no fingerprints.”
Fuck. It was too much to hope for. “Have you pulled the men watching Dom?” Ruggero looked at him. They had to be thinking the same thing. “You’re not convinced it’s Trucco,” Enrico said.
“He’s only part of it.”
“You may be right.”
“I’ll keep the men in place until we’re sure.” Ruggero paused. “And I’ve decided to use the traitor’s own tricks against Don Domenico.”
Enrico stiffened. He almost defended Dom, then let it go. “A GPS tracker?”
Ruggero nodded. “If the men lose him, we’ll still be able to see where he goes.”
They pulled up to the safe house a short while later. It was a nondescript apartment building. The bottom floor, which had been heavily fortified against attack, contained a small soundproofed room. That was where they headed.
Trucco was handcuffed to a chair. Two guards sat opposite him, one smoking and playing solitaire at a small table pushed up against the wall, the other reading a newspaper. “Wait outside,” Enrico said to them.
Franco’s jacket had been removed, and he slumped in the chair, his shirt patched with sweat. His gray hair was tousled into greasy clumps, and there was a scratch on his chin, a large bruise on one cheek. “Why am I here, Don Lucchesi?”
Enrico took a seat a few feet from Trucco. He crossed his legs and leaned back. “You’ve been talking to Andretti.”
Trucco swallowed. His eyes flicked to Ruggero, who stood by the wall, his hands loosely clasped in front of him. He’d donned a pair of black leather gloves, and Trucco couldn’t seem to stop staring at them.
“Franco, we can do this hard, but I prefer easy. Out of respect for who you’ve been to my family, to me.”
Trucco’s eyes shifted back to Enrico. “You killed my Fiammetta,” he hissed.
Enrico averted his eyes, shame and guilt washing through him. “I know I don’t know your pain.”
“You will.”
Enrico looked up. “That’s not going to happen.”
“You don’t know what I’m talking about.”
“I do. You went digging. And you found something.”
Something dark and nasty slid across Trucco’s face. “Did you think you could hide it from me forever? I’m your accountant, Don Lucchesi. I see where all the money goes. It was a mistake making separate payments to Tyrell for Clarkston’s education.”
“Did Carlo tell you what he was going to do with this information?”
Triumph shined in Trucco’s eyes. “He said you and yours would feel his wrath.”
Enrico almost felt sorry for him. “I already knew all this. My son is safe.” Ruggero’s eyes snapped toward him, then darted away, the only sign he’d heard anything.
“That’s not possible,” Trucco said.
“I’m not the only one who’s been betrayed.” He looked to Ruggero and nodded. Ruggero pulled the bag with the tracking device out of his pocket and handed it to Enrico. Enrico held it up for Trucco to see. “What do you know about this?”
Trucco leaned forward, peering at the bag. “What is it?”
“A GPS tracking device.”
“So?” Trucco shrugged.
“It was placed on my car and used to ambush me.”
Trucco’s face registered only surprise. “I know nothing about that.”
Enrico stared at him. “You’re lying.”
“A son for a daughter. That was my revenge. It wouldn’t work if you weren’t alive to suffer through it.”
True. Still, he needed to be sure. He nodded to Ruggero and took a breath. He wouldn’t look away and he wouldn’t flinch.
When Ruggero stepped forward, Trucco shrank back against the chair. “I swear, I had nothing to do with this. Just the boy.”
A foot away from Trucco, Ruggero pulled a knife from his pocket. The switchblade opened with a click. Light gleamed on the sharp steel, drawing Enrico’s and Trucco’s eyes. Ruggero grabbed Trucco’s head in an elbow lock and pressed the blade into the flesh below the accountant’s right eye. “Shall I pluck out your eye with this, or with my fingers?” Ruggero asked, his voice low and menacing.
Trucco shivered. “I swear. I don’t know anything.”
Ruggero pushed the knife into the skin below the eye, drawing blood. Trucco whimpered. When Ruggero looked up at Enrico, Enrico nodded. Pressing the blade in deep, Ruggero drew it in a horizontal line below the eye. Blood welled up from the cut and dripped down Trucco’s face. This time Trucco screamed. “Shall I take the eye now, or later, hmm?” Ruggero asked Trucco.
“I’ve told you what I’ve done. Why wouldn’t I admit to this?” Trucco looked at Enrico, his eyes pleading. “I’m dead either way.”
Enrico stared at him, then he looked at Ruggero, who gave the barest shake of his head. Trucco had told them all he knew. It was disappointing, but perhaps they could still make some use of his death.
He looked at Trucco, the man who had long been a friend to him and his family. “I’m sorry about Fiammetta. I tried to make amends to you.” He stood up. “Dom was right; I shouldn’t have shown such mercy when I knew the depths of your anger.” He straightened his cuffs. “You’ve left me no choice.”
Trucco’s face reddened. “Someone lost the blood-alcohol test for you. Admit it.”
“Going to prison for a mistake wouldn’t have punished me more than my own guilt.” He met Trucco’s eyes. “I am sorry.”
“I wish I could see your face when you hear your son is dead. Carlo will get to him someday.”
Heat boiled up in him, but he forced himself into Trucco’s hell. He forced himself to see the pain beneath the vengefulness. “I wish you to see your daughter again in heaven.” Then he walked across the room to the door and nodded sharply to Ruggero. “Finish it.” He turned away as the knife slashed across Trucco’s throat. It was done. It should have been done many months ago.
He just hoped Nico wouldn’t pay the price for his guilty conscience.
After they returned home from dealing with Trucco, Ruggero needed to change. And Enrico needed another drink. Though he felt bad about Trucco, that wasn’t the reason. He couldn’t stop reliving those last moments with Kate. And he still had the meeting with La Provincia to get through.
Ruggero came for him a few hours later. Enrico had restrained himself to one drink. He needed his wits about him for this meeting. But it had been a fight to stay away from the bottle.
“We must leave now,” Ruggero said. “Ready?”
“Yes,” Enrico said, tightening up the tie he’d loosened earlier. What a liar I am. He was in no shape to appear before La Provincia. Seeing Kate today, of all days, had been a mistake. But he hadn’t been able to stay away.
Enrico failed miserably in his attempts not to think about her during the drive to a house on the outskirts of Milan. Ordinarily, the meeting would have been in Calabria, in San Luca, home of Benedetto Andretti, and the seat of La Provincia. However, because Enrico wasn’t able to fly yet, the meeting had been moved to a home owned by the d’Imperios. That was one thing Enrico had insisted upon. He would not meet in any location controlled by the Andrettis.
In addition to Ruggero, he had a driver and a second guard with him and two more cars of guards, one ahead and one behind. Ruggero sat in back with him instead of his usual seat up front. Enrico hated having to take such precautions, but he would not make himself an easy target.
As they drove, Ruggero was his usual tight-lipped self, probably figuring it was best to say nothing. As irritated as he was with Antonio, Enrico could have used his easy chatter now. Anything to keep his mind off Kate turning him away for good.
In a way, he was almost relieved the waiting was over. He’d been dreading hearing those words from Kate, and he’d been dreading this meeting. If La Provincia was going to punish him or kill him, he wanted it over. And the way he felt right now, he’d welcome whatever they wished to do. He was tired of fighting, he was tired of all of it.
Ruggero must have sensed his mood. As they neared their destination, he leaned toward Enrico. “May I say something?”
Enrico was curious. He nodded.
Ruggero pushed the button that raised a sheet of glass between them and the men up front. Despite the barrier, he kept his voice pitched low.
“Signore, you have two children to fight for. Regardless of the signora. You have them.”
It was the right thing to say, and the wrong thing too. “I don’t really have them. Nico hates me, and God knows if I’ll ever even see the other.”
“Much can happen in a lifetime.”
“Too much has happened already.” He leaned back against the seat.
“Your children need you. Carlo will come at you through them. Will you allow that?”
No. No. He was not going to bloody well allow that. He took a deep breath and sat up. Even if Kate didn’t want him, he needed to look out for his children. And her. No matter how she felt about him, he still loved her. And he’d sworn to protect her.
And damn it, he needed to do something about Carlo. He’d just been sitting back, waiting for Carlo to make the next move, still unconsciously following his vow to Toni. That ended now. “Do you think we can make a move on Carlo here?”
Ruggero’s brows flashed up. Then he smiled. “It’d be dangerous. We haven’t planned it.”
“But he won’t be expecting it. Carlo will feel safe.”
“True.” Ruggero thought for a moment. “If I see an opportunity, I’ll take it. But I won’t throw away our lives on a whim. Do we agree?”
Enrico laughed, but it sounded forced, even to his own ears. “I’m not suicidal.”
“I didn’t think you were.” But the look on Ruggero’s face said the opposite.
Enrico and Carlo were shown into a large dimly lit ballroom. Spotlights illuminated the center, where Benedetto and Don Battista sat side by side. Enrico and Carlo, and their respective guards, Ruggero and Massimo, had been thoroughly searched for weapons at the door.
Once his eyes had adjusted to the lighting, Enrico could see men seated in a circle two deep around them. He knew a few of the men well, but many were bosses who had flown in from Calabria. The strange, humorless faces staring back at him seemed ominous.
Benedetto broke the silence. “Enrico Lucchesi, you have been called here to answer charges brought by Carlo Andretti. How do you plead?”
Enrico felt a calm come over him. He thought of his father, of what would impress these men. A true Mafioso would keep his cool, would swagger his way through this meeting. Carlo would not get to him, no matter what was said. Enrico looked at Benedetto, letting a smirk take over his face. “I cannot say. I am not aware of the charges.”
Benedetto’s lips pursed, and a few of the men around them stifled their laughter. Benedetto coughed to get their attention. “The charges are violating the terms of the truce between your family and Carlo Andretti’s.”
“I plead not guilty.”
Carlo shifted beside him. “You have balls, Lucchesi, I will give you that.”
Enrico shrugged. “I have heard no proof against me.”
“May I?” Carlo asked, nodding to his brother.
“You may.”
Carlo turned to Enrico with relish. “You sired an illegitimate son while engaged to my daughter. You broke the betrothal. The marriage would never have taken place had I known.”
Enrico struggled not to wince. He hadn’t wanted his son to become public knowledge. But it was done. “What actual proof do you have of this, Don Andretti?”
Carlo produced a crisp piece of paper. “The boy’s birth certificate.” He handed it to Enrico.
Enrico took the paper, holding it rigidly to keep his hands from shaking. Where had Carlo gotten it? He scanned the paper, feeling faint. There it was, under “Name and surname of father.” His name. Except that he’d used his alias, grazie a Dio. “This says the father is Enrico Franchetti. Might I suggest you start wearing glasses, Don Andretti?”
Carlo reddened. “Enrico Franchetti is you.”
“Prove it.”
Carlo seemed taken aback for a second, then he said, “Franco Trucco, your contabile, can swear to it.”
“Can he? Is he here?” Enrico made a show of looking around.
“No. But we can summon him.”
“Please do.” Enrico crossed his arms. “I can wait.”
Carlo’s eyes narrowed with sudden knowledge. “You’ve eliminated him.”
“Why would you think that?” Enrico smiled, pleased by the look on Carlo’s face.
“It’s just like with Grantini.” Carlo’s hands clenched into fists. “You got rid of him too.”
Enrico stifled a yawn. “Grantini, again? You’re boring me.”
“You can’t deny you slept with Trucco’s daughter before the year of mourning had ended.”
“Can’t I? Are there any pictures? Video, perhaps?” A slow ripple of laughter traveled around the room, and Enrico smiled again. He was actually enjoying this.
“Everyone knows you fucked that puttana. Everyone.”
“Even if I did, the year of mourning is an outdated custom. Much like the one against having a mistress. Which everyone knows you do, Carlo. You take her everywhere.”
There was a chorus of agreement surrounding them. Carlo’s eyes drilled into him, and he took a step toward Enrico, breathing hard. “You will regret these lies. You will regret what you did to my daughter. You will regret you were ever born.”
“Carlo, the secret to a life well-lived is to have no regrets.”
“Have you no shame?”
“Have you no desire for peace? Must we fight this same fight forever? Will you never forgive my father for making you look like a fool?”
Carlo let out a roar and lunged for Enrico. Before anyone else could react, Ruggero had Carlo in a headlock. Ruggero’s eyes flicked up to Enrico’s, and Enrico could see it on Ruggero’s face. One little twist, and it would all be over. But Enrico was not, after all, suicidal. He gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head, and Ruggero let Carlo go.
Enrico turned to Benedetto. “Are we done?”
“What about my nephew?” Carlo choked out. “You stole his wife, then helped her kill him.”
A hush settled over the room. This was certainly a more serious charge. He had to tread carefully. “Vincenzo had beaten her and was threatening to kill her when I took her under my protection. The night he died, he’d broken into my home and attempted to rape her and then murder us both. She killed him in self-defense.” He paused. “If that is how the Andrettis treat their women, I will stop it every time.” Enrico looked at the faces around them. “Protecting the women and children under our care is one of the oldest rules of the ’Ndrangheta. Keeping them out of disputes is another. And you have failed to do both.”
“So you deny me my right to vendetta, to avenge my nephew?”
“He broke our laws. Not once, but twice. I had the right to help her.” Enrico paused. “I take that back. I was obligated to help her.”
“Did that include getting her pregnant with your child?”
Enrico heard a collective intake of air from the men surrounding them, along with a few whispered curses. “She is no longer married. She is free to choose the man in her bed.”
“Do you deny you gave my nephew the horns?”
Enrico paused. Sleeping with another ’Ndranghetista’s wife was strictly forbidden. “I don’t deny it. But that happened only after he’d forsaken any claim to her. In fact, he told me I could have her.” Enrico turned to Ruggero. “Isn’t that what he said?”
Ruggero nodded. “He said that. But not so nicely.”
Laughter broke out again.
“Silence.” Benedetto’s voice sliced through the air.
After some shifting in the chairs around them, the room grew quiet. “Is there anything else?” Enrico asked.
Benedetto turned to Don Battista, who cast Enrico a somber look. “There is one more thing,” Don Battista said. “Some in your cosca have questioned your recent decisions. The involvement with this woman, for example.”
“As I have explained, I was obligated to help her. If a relationship developed from it, well….” Enrico shrugged. “I am after all, a widower. Not a saint.” He hated putting it that way, but it was the thing these men were most likely to understand.
“You have always acted in the best interests of your cosca?” Don Battista asked.
Enrico’s mouth went dry. This was the toughest question put to him yet. “I have not. I should have remarried sooner. I have been without heirs this entire time. Yes, my cousin is prepared to take over should something happen to me. However, there is some risk because I have no direct heir. I am trying to correct that oversight.”
Carlo’s glare cut into him. “Are you saying you should have left my Toni?”
“I stayed with her for twenty-five years.” He held Carlo’s gaze. “There is your answer.” He hated to make it sound like love didn’t enter into it. But everyone understood their marriage was a business arrangement, more or less.
He turned to Don Battista. “Am I free to go, or must I continue to answer for every woman I have taken to bed?”
Don Battista started to talk, but Carlo cut him off, addressing the men around them. “Are all of you happy, truly happy, with how Lucchesi has run things? He controls your money. He decides how much each of us pays to wash it. If he doesn’t like the business you’re in, you pay more. And more. Tell me, are you satisfied with this arrangement?”
When a chorus of angry voices sounded around them, a frigid blast blew down Enrico’s spine. Merda. He glanced at Don Battista, then gazed around him, trying to look into every face. “All of you have unfettered access to your money. I do not control it. You are free to put it wherever you like, to use any bank you wish. But only I guarantee that outsiders won’t get hold of it, that the government won’t steal it from you. Need I remind you what happened to Cosa Nostra when they used outside banks?” He looked around again. “Any of you are free to start your own banks, to launder your own funds. If you wish to do so, I can do nothing to stop you.”
The men sitting in judgment were silent, but many were nodding. Enrico continued. “As for what I charge, that is also my right. Drugs, pornography, and prostitution are blights on our communities. Our ancestors recognized this; they forbade such dealings over a century ago. The drugs are worst of all; the money is for the taking, yes, but the price that comes with it is enormous. Who among you has not lost someone to drugs or to the violence that accompanies them? If my charges encourage you to pursue other avenues, isn’t that in the best interests of us all?”
“You would make us weak,” Carlo hissed. “We need the money we make from drugs to fight off the others who would take our territory.”
“I’m not preventing you from pursuing many other highly lucrative avenues. And I’m not preventing you from pursuing the ones that are against our codes. Am I not free to determine my rates? Would you put price controls on all of our dealings? What’s next, trade agreements and tariffs? Shall we charge each other VAT as well?”
The crowd broke out in laughter. Benedetto called again for silence. Enrico took a deep breath, then addressed the men surrounding him. “What say you? Am I free to go?”
A chorus of assent greeted him. Benedetto cut in. “We are agreed. You may go.”
Enrico bowed his head to Benedetto and Don Battista, then took in the group. “I thank you for your support.” He paused and looked at Carlo. “Perhaps you should listen to your betters.”
He walked out, Ruggero at his back. Yet he still felt the daggers of Carlo’s eyes piercing him. If they were at war before, it had just escalated to out-and-out nuclear annihilation.
They were in the car, heading back home, when Ruggero spoke. “I could’ve made it look like an accident.”
Enrico laughed. “I doubt anyone would have been convinced.”
“Shall I plan it then?”
“Yes.” There would be no more waiting for Carlo’s next bomb to come hurtling at them. He held Ruggero’s gaze. “Thank you for earlier, in the car. It made all the difference.”
“You reminded me of your father. How he was before.”
Enrico leaned forward, unable to keep a smile off his face. “That’s what I’d hoped for.”
“They were in the palm of your hand.”
Enrico felt energized, light, his body humming. Ready for a fight. It was so alien to how he’d felt an hour ago he could hardly believe it. He thought of Kate with a strange determination. He’d win her back, somehow. Certainty sizzled in the marrow of his bones.
But first he had to crush Carlo. It was past time to give up the high road. If Carlo wanted a street fight, he’d give him one hell of a rumble.