by Dana Delamar
They rolled up to the hospital. Pino put the car in park and left the engine running. He waited for the guards from the other car to surround them, then he got out and opened the door for Enrico. Ruggero joined them, and the four men flanked Enrico as they entered the hospital.
They were soon outside the ICU. Enrico checked on Ottavio Bottura and his wife. The man’s condition was grave, but there was hope he’d recover. He prayed with Ottavio’s wife, handed her a thick envelope of euros, then left. It was all he could do for them at the moment.
He headed down the hall to see the Parinis. Giacomo had been badly beaten; his wife Marietta, while bruised, was well enough to be sitting by her husband’s bedside when Enrico walked in. Patches of gauze and tape covered most of Giacomo’s exposed skin. His left eye was swollen shut and a dark purple bruise spread over most of the left side of his face. “Madonna,” Enrico murmured under his breath. “Come stai?” he asked when he reached Giacomo’s bedside.
Giacomo rolled his head to look at Enrico out of his good eye. “Don Enrico,” he said, his voice raspy. “I’ve been worse.” Before his father had gone into seclusion, Giacomo and Rinaldo had been close friends. Giacomo refused to call Enrico Don Lucchesi as long as Rinaldo was still alive. Enrico didn’t mind. Even after all these years, the title didn’t quite fit. Don Lucchesi was his father. Not him.
Enrico took Giacomo’s hand. The old man’s skin felt like crepe paper, the thick veins beneath it creating hills and valleys on the back of his hand. He glanced at Marietta, shame burning his cheeks. Two more people he’d failed to protect. “I apologize deeply for what has happened.”
“When I chose sides, I knew this could happen one day. But it would have been easier to bear a decade or two ago.” Giacomo smiled, wincing when his split lower lip tore open.
“I am grateful for your support, and sorry it has cost you so much.” Seeing Giacomo like this, feeling how frail he was, made his chest ache.
“I cannot in good conscience support Andretti. He’s a snake.”
“I will put two men in your shop at all times. Send me the bill for any extra help you have to hire while you’re recovering.” He pulled another envelope thick with euros from his jacket pocket and handed it to Marietta. “Let me know if this doesn’t cover your expenses.”
“Grazie, Don Lucchesi,” she said.
Giacomo squeezed his hand. “We will remain loyal to you. You need not fear. However, you must seek peace with Andretti, you must settle this matter soon. Otherwise, there will be defections. I cannot long argue in your favor with the other merchants if they keep suffering.”
“Carlo made an example of you to scare them.”
“It’s working. My mobile phone has been ringing all night. Most are terrified right now.”
“I have men on the streets as we speak. Carlo will suffer for this.”
“Make sure he does.” Giacomo coughed, then let out a gasp of pain, squeezing Enrico’s hand harder than he would have thought possible. “My ribs.”
“Signore, please don’t worry yourself. I have it under control.”
“Do you?” Marietta whispered. When he turned his eyes toward her, she clapped a hand over her mouth and averted her gaze.
“Carlo will not trouble you further.” His tone was firm, but he kept his voice soft.
She finally met his eyes. “We are counting on you, Don Lucchesi.”
“As I am counting on you. I’ll do my utmost to resolve this matter immediately.” He gave the old man’s hand another squeeze. Then he made the sign of the cross and said a quick prayer for Giacomo before he left.
But it was up to him, not God, to make things right. It was his selfishness, his stubbornness, that had gotten them to this point. But he wouldn’t roll over for Carlo; that would be the worst move he could make. He had to play this carefully, or soon he wouldn’t be playing at all.
He met Dom in the hallway. Their guards had split into three groups of two and were posted at the entrances to the ICU.
“Dom,” Enrico said, inclining his head stiffly. He was still angry over what he’d heard from Don Battista. How dare Dom go to La Provincia?
Dom eyed him warily. “How are the Parinis?”
“Marietta is fine. Giacomo is badly hurt, but he will survive.”
“We need to talk. Some place more private.”
They walked outside, heavily flanked by guards, when a group of men on foot rushed at them from the shadows, shots blasting from their guns. Adrenaline flooded Enrico’s body; he struggled to keep his breathing even and his mind clear as he and the guards raced toward the cars. Ruggero’s gun was up and firing before Enrico had his in hand. He was about to pull the trigger when pain seared through his upper left arm. He grabbed at it with his right hand. His fingers and the gun stock came back bloody. He’d been hit.
His step slowed. Keep going. Crouching lower, he ran for the car, trying to make himself a smaller target. Ruggero glanced back at him a couple times, doing his best to keep his body in front of Enrico’s. Another of the guards kept pace with them. Dom headed to his own car. He appeared to be unhurt, but it was hard to tell in the darkness.
They reached the Mercedes and found Pino slumped behind the wheel. Enrico dived into the back seat. “Fuck!” Ruggero exclaimed, wrenching the driver’s door open and shoving Pino’s body over to the passenger side. He motioned with his gun to the other guard, indicating that he should drive. Ruggero jumped in the back next to Enrico and they roared off, the cars with the other guards and Dom’s men right behind them.
Ruggero looked at Enrico, seeing the blood on his jacket. “How bad?”
“I’ll live.” Enrico pulled his mobile phone out and called Dom. “Pino’s gone. Did you lose anyone?”
“My driver, and one of my men is injured. I’m taking him to the field clinic.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
“Perhaps you should return home.”
“No.” His talk with Dom couldn’t wait.
He leaned forward and spoke to the guard behind the wheel. They changed direction and headed for one of their safe command posts in the city. Enrico settled back on the seat, closing his eyes, the wound on his arm throbbing. Dom was hiding something. They’d fought before, certainly. But never had Enrico doubted Dom’s loyalty, his love. But now… Dom had gone over his head to La Provincia, which meant Dom was willing to risk Enrico’s life. La Provincia wouldn’t hesitate to eliminate a capo who wasn’t acting in the best interests of his cosca or the ‘Ndrangheta. And Dom would be ready to take Enrico’s place if they did.
They pulled up to a building owned by the Lucchesi cosca. There were several soundproof, heavily armored apartments on the bottom floor with separate entrances that could be used for meetings or eluding the police. One of the apartments had been set up as a rudimentary clinic. The injured man was taken there so the doctor could attend to him.
Dom and Enrico entered the apartment next door and sat down at the simple wooden table in the kitchen, neither of them saying a word until Dom noticed the blood seeping from the hole in Enrico’s jacket. “Shall I get the doctor?”
“No. It’s nothing.”
Dom frowned. “You’re still bleeding. I’d better bandage it.” He rose and fetched a first aid kit from the bathroom. When he returned, he pulled out bandages, gauze, and antibiotic ointment while Enrico removed his jacket and rolled up his left sleeve. The shallow tear oozed blood, but he’d been lucky.
While Dom was cleaning the wound, Enrico spoke. Business first, the things they couldn’t discuss on the phone. “What’s happened so far?”
“We’ve hit the Vigentino, Quinto Romano, and Crescenzago districts so far. I don’t think they were expecting such an aggressive move. We took several command posts and many weapons.”
“Casualties?”
“Three dead, five wounded on our side, at least a dozen dead on theirs. Carlo has let his men get sloppy. We have men fanning out to Carlo’s other strongholds.”
<
br /> “Bene. Have you heard from Carlo?”
“Dario has asked to speak with you.”
“When?”
“Tonight.” Dom checked his watch. “In an hour.”
“Where?” Enrico did not want to meet with the Andrettis. Not this soon.
“Any place of your choosing.”
Interesting. Why would they be so conciliatory so quickly? He didn’t like it. “Tell him no.”
Dom looked startled. “He feels insulted. Refusing to see him will not help.”
Enrico stared at him hard. “You made this mess. You clean it up.”
“I was trying to help you.”
“I don’t need it.” He watched Dom’s face carefully, but hurt was all he saw. He leaned closer to his friend and lowered his voice. “I don’t understand you. I’ve made my wishes clear, and yet you defy me. I spoke to Don Battista in the car on the way here. Why have you spoken to La Provincia about Kate?”
“I haven’t. I mentioned her to Don Battista, but it was a personal question, not an official one.”
“What was his advice?”
Dom lowered his eyes. “He said I should stay out of it, that he would speak to you.”
“Are you going to listen to him?”
Dom looked up at Enrico. “He is my padrino too, so yes, I will let him handle it. But I would shake you until you saw sense if I could. You nearly got us all killed. Because of your selfishness!”
Enrico blanched. Dom was right. And wasn’t he also right to involve La Provincia if he thought that necessary? “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry won’t save our lives.” Dom smeared the antibiotic ointment over the wound, his touch rough.
“I know.” Killing Vincenzo and turning down Delfina—both were grave insults. Vendettas had been waged over less, and there were many in La Provincia who would sympathize with the Andrettis if the matter came before them for resolution. Giving Dario and Carlo fancy cars or a pile of cash wouldn’t allow the Andrettis to save face. No, a deeper sacrifice was called for.
“I’m thinking about offering them the Bicocca district.” It would strengthen the Andrettis’ hold on the construction business in Milan, giving them more than half of it. “Kate is part of it—she walks away from all this and is let alone. And if she wants to stay with me, she stays.”
Dom frowned as he taped gauze over the cut. “You’re asking a lot.”
“I’ll marry Delfina as well, if necessary. But I keep Kate if she’s willing.”
“What if the Andrettis don’t accept?”
Enrico blew out a breath. He didn’t want to make the offer, but if he had to, to stop the bloodshed, to save Kate, he would. “We give them a discount on the wash.”
Dom stared at him. “You’re willing to sacrifice your precious principles?”
“I am. For her.”
Dom sat back in his chair, his mouth open. “You really do care about her.”
“What did you think? That I’d do all this on a whim?”
“I thought you’d give her up if you had to.”
“That I will not do. Not unless she desires it.”
“You would even marry her?”
“I would.” His answer, so unhesitating, surprised even him. But it was true. He loved her; he could admit that now. It wasn’t lust that drove him. It was love. It was her.
“You’re a fool. She’ll never accept you, she’ll never accept this,” Dom said, gesturing around them.
“That may be.” Enrico returned Dom’s stare. He was tired of all of this. Tired of waiting. Maybe Dario and Carlo were trying to set a trap, but this evening he was through being cautious. “Call them. Let’s get this over with.”
“You’ve changed your mind?” When Enrico nodded, Dom asked, “How deep will you go on the discount?”
“Up to five percent.” It was a significant offer. If they didn’t accept, he’d appeal to La Provincia. No one could fault his generosity.
“You know, this wouldn’t have happened if we were stronger.”
“I will not resort to drugs and prostitution to fill our coffers.”
Dom sighed. “But think of what we could do then. We could hire more men. We could drive the Andrettis out of Milan. Don’t you want that?”
Enrico’s smile was bitter. “More than anything. But not at that cost.”
“So you’ll bend the rules to save her, but not to save the rest of us? You’ll even weaken us over her.” Dom smacked his fist onto his knee. “Don’t you see what you’re doing?”
Dom was right, and at the same time, he was wrong. It wasn’t right to stoop so low to win. How could he look at himself in the mirror if he did? But he was risking them all, he couldn’t debate that. And for a woman he wasn’t even sure he could have. It was risky and foolish, and very unlike the Enrico Lucchesi he knew. But he couldn’t help himself. He wanted her, and he would win her. If it was the last thing he did.
He looked at Dom. “I see everything very clearly. And I will be the victor.”
They met the Andrettis on neutral ground, at a safe house owned by the d’Imperios. Dario and Carlo were already seated on one side of a highly polished mahogany dining table when Dom and Enrico arrived. After everyone had been searched for weapons, the guards retreated outside to wait. Dom and Enrico took seats across from the Andrettis.
Silence prevailed. Enrico ignored Carlo and looked at Dario first, his aquiline nose, generous mouth, and large dark eyes reminding him of Toni. His hair was even the same shade of blue black. Cristo. It hurt to look at him.
Dario flexed his right hand, and the missing little finger drew his gaze. He’d never spoken to Dario about that incident, all those years ago, when both of them had been caught up in the fight between their fathers. Dario was lucky he had a right hand at all, maimed though it was. He nodded in Enrico’s direction, perhaps acknowledging the debt he owed him.
Enrico held his gaze for a moment, then he turned to Carlo. He hadn’t seen him since Toni’s funeral. He looked a bit thinner, but otherwise the same—his thick silver hair combed back off his face, his sharp nose jutting above thin lips, his cream suit finely cut, his attire expensive and ostentatious. The diamond ring on the little finger of his left hand and the gold Rolex at his wrist winked in the light from the chandelier overhead.
Carlo glared at Enrico, his eyes blazing. Enrico was sure his own were hardly more neutral. Dom shifted beside him, no doubt wanting to dispel the mounting tension. But Enrico knew the value of silence. Someone else—preferably Carlo—would be the one to break it.
Carlo pulled a cigar out of his breast pocket, his movements unhurried. He clipped the end off, then lit it, taking several slow puffs until it caught the flame. Smoke curled around his face as he sat back in his chair. He contemplated the burning cigar for a moment, dragging out the wait, then he raised his eyes to Enrico’s. “So, you have the courage to meet my challenge face to face.”
Enrico bristled, but that was what Carlo wanted. He took a breath, then let it out. “That was a challenge, was it? Beating old people, terrorizing my clients. How noble of you. If you wanted to meet with me, you could’ve just asked.”
Dom nudged him, his eyes pleading with him to behave. Not bloody likely. He turned back to Carlo.
Carlo took a long drag on his cigar, then let the smoke out through his nose and mouth. “I could’ve just asked, he says.” He looked at his son. “Do you think Lucchesi would have responded to a polite request?” Dario shrugged. Carlo turned away from him with a grimace.
Enrico looked at Dario, sizing him up as a possible ally. Dom had said Dario was angry, but he didn’t seem upset. He turned his attention back to Carlo. “So what is it that you want—other than my head on a platter.”
Carlo laughed. “Your head on a platter is just the start.” He drew on the cigar, his cheeks hollowing out as he inhaled. Then he sent a stream of smoke across the table, into Enrico’s face. “Aside from that, I want you and your”—he waved his hand to indicate Dom�
�“ilk out of Milan.”
Enrico ignored the smoke. Carlo wouldn’t bait him so easily. “Anything else?”
Carlo’s mouth shifted into a leer. “Now that the American has shed her husband, she’ll need a new man in her bed. I am willing to oblige her.”
A surge of adrenaline sent Enrico’s heart into overdrive. “I would think you’d rather avenge Vincenzo than cuckold his memory.”
Carlo shrugged. “She already gave him the horns. What more damage could I do?” He sucked on the cigar again. “Though what you say has merit. He was my nephew.” He met and held Enrico’s gaze. “Of course, I blame you for what happened. She may have pulled the trigger, but his death was your doing. You couldn’t resist an opportunity to hurt an Andretti by stealing his wife.”
“You think I hate you that much?”
Carlo laughed, then started to cough. His voice rasped when he spoke. “Of course you do. Just as I hate you. That much.” His eyes went flat and cold on the words.
Enrico leaned forward. “Enough with the pleasantries. Why are we really here?”
Carlo set the cigar in a crystal ashtray and clasped his hands together. “As I said, I want the Lucchesi stench out of Milan. Perhaps then I can forgive… certain transgressions.”
“Vincenzo was not my fault. He brought that on himself.”
Carlo’s voice hoarsened. “And what of my Toni? Did she deserve your mistreatment?”
“What mistreatment? I loved her, I treated her like a queen.”
“You know what you did. Your disrespect, taking that little slut into your bed when Toni was barely cold in her grave.” He stared daggers at Enrico.
A flush rose up his neck. “She’d been dead six months.”
“You couldn’t wait to replace her. To get a child by some other woman.” Carlo paused. “Of course, your own weakness thwarted those plans.”
Enrico said nothing. His teeth ground together, the muscles bunching in his jaw as Carlo continued.
“You wanted to replace her all along, didn’t you? You never loved her. All you wanted was an heir. And when she…” Carlo’s voice broke. “When she failed—” He glared at Enrico, then gathered himself. “I wouldn’t put it past you to have poisoned her.”