by Dana Delamar
“This disagreement with your cousin needs to be resolved, very soon, or it will break the cosca apart.”
“Which disagreement? The one about Kate or the one about the codes?”
“Both. He is hardening his heart against you. I didn’t like what I heard in his voice.”
Enrico bristled. “Dom is not the one in charge.”
“Then make sure that you are.” Don Battista’s voice was firm, his tone final. “Your cousin needs to know that.”
Enrico nodded. “Thank you for the advice, mio padrino.” He quickly kissed Don Battista on both cheeks. He was turning to leave when the don stopped him again. What now?
“I have a surprise for you.”
“You do?”
“Your father is here, in Capri. If you wish to see him, call this number.” Don Battista handed him a slip of paper.
Enrico looked down at it, his stomach flipping over. “Did you arrange this?”
The old don shrugged. “Rinaldo has run from his problems long enough.”
“But they’re my problems now.”
Don Battista shook his head. “Carlo has a long memory.”
“So do I.” Images of his brothers riddled with bullets and bathed in blood flashed through his mind.
“I will call you with the details for the meeting with La Provincia.”
He thanked Don Battista, then left to find Kate, wishing his godfather had thought of some clever solution to his predicament. But of course there was nothing. There never had been. He was in this for life, or he was dead. And if he wanted to live, he had to protect the cosca. There was no other choice. Even if it meant cutting out his own heart. He could still run things without one.
CHAPTER 22
The entire boat ride back to the hotel, Enrico pondered when and how to tell Kate he was the Lucchesi family capo. The best time would be on the trip back to the lake. They’d be trapped in the car together; she wouldn’t be able to run out on him. He’d have plenty of time to explain; she’d have plenty of time to think. And if it went wrong… well, at least he could control the situation. He’d need to talk to Ruggero in advance. He couldn’t pull the trigger himself.
Damn it all, who did he think he was fooling? He couldn’t kill her, and he couldn’t ask Ruggero to do it either. No matter what Don Battista said. No matter if it cost him his own life. He simply could not do it.
He had to send Kate home, didn’t he? But then, if Carlo went after her and killed her, everything he’d done—taking her under his protection, breaking the truce, violating his vows to the family—all of it would have been for nothing. And considering Dom had no doubt informed Carlo of his choice regarding Delfina, it was certain Carlo would want his revenge on Kate.
He had to take the risk, had to tell her, had to make her understand.
It was the only way.
Enrico hardly noticed what Kate said during the boat trip. He didn’t recall when she stopped talking either. He only knew when they were back in the room that it was suddenly quiet. Too quiet. “What is wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Do not try to hide it from me. I know you by now.”
She let out a skeptical sound. “Not as well as you think.”
“What do you mean?” What had he missed?
“I know you were talking to Vittorio about our future together, but I can’t stay.”
His senses all jumped to high alert. “What is this about?”
She looked away. “You don’t love me. You still love her.” Her voice was soft.
“That is not entirely true. I do love you. But there is room in my heart for her as well.”
Kate turned eyes like ice chips on him. “That is hardly a ringing endorsement. Besides, if you loved me, you would trust me. And you would tell me your big secret.”
Damn it—couldn’t she wait a little longer? He couldn’t tell her here; what if she got hysterical? “That has nothing to do with trusting you. There is a lot more at stake.”
“So you say. If you loved me, you would tell me.”
“I will tell you. Very soon. Please trust me.”
She looked at the tiled floor. “There’s no point to this anyway. I don’t love you, Enrico.”
A chill swept him up and down, and his ears filled with white noise. “What?”
“I told you from the start, this was just about fun.” She crossed her arms.
“But it is more than that now.” At least it is for me.
She closed her eyes. “I only slept with you to get revenge on Vince.” He thought he detected a quaver to her voice.
She is lying. She has to be. “That is not true.”
“I’m a vindictive person. You’ve seen how far I would go to hurt Vince. I shot him, for God’s sake!”
What is wrong with her? “If that were true, if that were all of it, then why have you continued sleeping with me?” His voice was too loud; he was almost shouting.
She hunched her shoulders. In the smallest voice, she said, “I was terrified of Carlo.”
“You thought I would not protect you if we were not sleeping together?”
When she nodded, it was a knife to the gut. “You think so very little of me?” His voice shook and he hated the sound of it, wishing he’d said nothing.
She started to nod again, then she shook her head. She looked up at him, her eyes full of tears. He wanted to go to her, but he was about to cry himself, and he didn’t want her to see that. He headed for the bathroom, hearing her break into sobs, the sound piercing him.
Enrico shut the door and took a breath, pressing his palms into his eyes. He had to get control of himself. He couldn’t fall apart the way he had when Toni died. The stakes were too high now; he couldn’t afford to drink himself into oblivion for weeks on end. Yes, Kate had just cut his heart out. But no one else could know. He’d have to bury that sorrow; he’d have to dig its grave deep.
When he thought he could look at her again, he took a box of tissues to her. At the sight of her tears, his eyes grew hot. He wasn’t as strong as he’d thought. “Here,” he said, shoving the box at her in his haste to get away. Fumbling with the sliding door, he stepped onto the terrace. Madonna. How was he going to bear this?
He was staring at the sea when he heard her behind him. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.
“I am sorry too. I wish you had been honest with me.”
“I was. I told you from the beginning how I felt.”
He started to object, but it was true. “Then I wish you had not kissed me the day of the attack. I wish you had not been waiting for me that night in the study.” He couldn’t stand how raw his voice sounded.
She touched him on the forearm. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
How dare she play stupid. He pinned her with his eyes. “You had to know what would happen. You had to know you were encouraging me.” He stopped himself from saying more, wishing that he could be neutral, that he could somehow bear this without letting her know she’d lacerated him to the core.
“I thought…” She let her hand drop away. “I thought for a while maybe things could work between us.”
The tentativeness in her voice gave him hope. He took her by the shoulders. “They still can. If you trust me.”
“I can’t. I just can’t.”
Anger frothed up in him, hot and dark, and he let go of her abruptly. How could she do this to him? How could she make him love her, how could she listen to him pour out his heart? How could she do all that, and then push him away?
She tried to touch him again and he jerked away. It took everything he had not to yell. “Leave me. I need a while to myself.”
He heard her breath catch and then the scuffing of her shoes as she walked away. When the door to their room closed behind her, a strangled sound, halfway between a sob and a moan, forced its way out of his constricted throat. He pressed a fist to his mouth. He would not cry. He would not mourn.
He’d leaned on the edge of the terra
ce for countless minutes, maybe hours, his eyes staring at the water but not seeing it, the late afternoon sun hitting his face, when he saw Kate shuffle by below, wiping her eyes, the damn tissue box still clutched to her chest.
He looked away from the gleam of her auburn hair and the flutter of her flowered dress in the wind, but like a magnet, she drew his eyes back. He watched her for a while, his anger receding. If she didn’t care, she wouldn’t be suffering, would she? Hope flared in his chest, a sun in miniature, warming him from the inside out. She did love him.
He wanted to be angry with her, but this was his fault entirely. He’d told her he loved her, but he hadn’t shown her that love. He’d helped her, yes, but he hadn’t trusted her, not in the way that most mattered. Was it any wonder she was pulling away?
He needed to show her that he loved her more than he loved anyone else, including himself. That he trusted her. He’d have to tell her everything. Everything that could send him to prison.
And he’d have to introduce her to his father, so she’d understand how this life could be her death. If she was going to stay with him, he wanted her to do it with wide open eyes.
He pulled out his mobile phone and the number Don Battista had given him. His hand shook so much he had to punch in the numbers twice.
He hadn’t seen his father in over ten years. Only God knew if he’d find anything other than a ruin.
CHAPTER 23
Kate left Enrico in the room and walked down to the lobby, still carrying the tissue box. She wandered around the hotel grounds, crying on and off, not caring who saw her. It was for the best. She couldn’t let him plan a future with her when she had no intention of staying. That wouldn’t be fair.
So why did she feel like such a bitch? Really, Kate? Let’s make a list: Because you lied when you said you didn’t love him? Because you told him the real reason you first slept with him? Because you just had to imply he’d helped you only because you were in his bed?
There were low blows, and then there were low blows. All Enrico had ever done was help her. And love her.
And this was how she repaid him.
He should throw her to the wolves. Hell, he should dump her on Carlo’s doorstep.
But he’d do no such thing. Because Rico was a kind, decent man. Whatever he was keeping from her, could it be so bad? It must be a doozy, or he’d have told her just now, but he’d said nothing. And maybe that was for the best.
She’d been right to end their relationship before they got any more involved. Before she couldn’t bear to leave him.
But if breaking up was the right thing do, why was she so torn? Why did she want to throw herself in his arms and take it all back, every single ugly word?
She swallowed a sob. Some things couldn’t be unsaid. Some things couldn’t be undone. Some things couldn’t be forgiven.
And that’s what she wanted, right? For him to leave her.
Then why had her chest turned into an empty gnawing pit? Why was her stomach threatening to turn inside out?
Why did she feel so damn horrible?
When Kate returned to the room, Enrico told her they were having dinner with his father.
What the hell was he thinking? “You don’t seriously want to introduce me to him now, do you?”
“I need to see him. You need to eat.”
She laughed. “I can call room service.”
“Please humor me.” He raked a hand through his hair, his face pained. “He will be better if you are there.”
The look on his face tore something in her gut. “What do you mean?”
“You will see.” He glanced at his watch. “We need to leave soon. Are you ready?”
“You’re serious.”
He stared at her for a moment before answering. “Yes. Can we go?”
“Let me wash my face. I’ve cried off all my makeup.”
“You do not need it. You never have.”
She almost rolled her eyes. “Do you never stop flirting?”
“I am not flirting with you.” His eyes held hers, not a trace of mirth in them.
Ouch. “Give me a few minutes.” She hurried into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. She washed her face, then stared at herself in the mirror. She looked like hell. And she didn’t want to do this. She just wanted to go home. To leave.
To forget.
It took them about twenty minutes to walk to the address his father had given him. The house surprised Enrico. It was well-kept, but small and nondescript. Hardly the place one would expect a man of Rinaldo’s fortune to live in. It was nothing like the grand house he’d bought on the shores of Lake Como. How the mighty had fallen. Will this be me someday?
His heart hammering, he knocked on the door and waited. They’d spoken only briefly on the phone; Rinaldo had shown little enthusiasm for seeing Enrico, but he hadn’t said no either. “Fine,” was all the answer he’d given.
The ghost who shambled to the door bore little resemblance to the hearty man of Enrico’s youth, and he ached anew to see the change in his father. His thick hair was shot through with silver, his handsome face gaunt, his dark eyes nearly expressionless. He looks like the walking dead. It was a horrible thing to see.
After a moment of staring into his father’s lifeless eyes, a hot, hard ball of anger started to burn in his chest. Rinaldo hadn’t lost everyone that day. He still had Enrico. Why wasn’t that worth living for? Why am I not enough?
Rinaldo stared at him for a moment, then he looked from Enrico to Kate. “So you are the cause of all this trouble,” he said to her.
Kate looked up at Rinaldo. Then she cast a doubtful look at Enrico. “Rico, maybe we should go,” she whispered.
They stood there, the three of them frozen for a moment, then his father said, “I suppose we should get this over with.” He motioned them inside and led them into a simple kitchen. Enrico and Kate took seats at a rough-hewn wooden table. A delicious aroma filled the tiny kitchen as Rinaldo opened the oven and pulled out a covered baking dish.
“Baked ziti,” Enrico said.
A trace of a smile appeared on Rinaldo’s face. “Just like Nonna Drina’s.” He set the pan down, then dished out generous portions onto plates. “How is she?”
“The same. She will outlive us all.”
Rinaldo huffed with laughter. “Certainly she will outlive me.”
“Do not say that,” Enrico said, surprised by the catch in his voice. He took the plate Rinaldo handed him. His throat felt so tight he didn’t think he could swallow a bite. Kate touched his hand, and he was grateful for it. Someone here cared about him. Even if she pretended not to.
Rinaldo took the seat at the head of the table, on Enrico’s left. “Well, my son, it is true. My heart is no stronger, and I have had three bypasses. The doctors say I have another year or two. But that is all.”
“Papà, I hate to hear you say that.”
“You should never be afraid of the truth.”
Enrico almost smiled. That was his whole problem, wasn’t it? Not owning up to who he was, what he’d done. Hiding.
“So what brings you here?” Rinaldo glanced at Kate, then back at Enrico. “Certainly it is not merely to show off your latest acquisition.”
He took a breath, steadying himself not to take the bait. “I am here because I wanted to see you. How you were.”
“I’m alive. What more is there to say?”
Plenty. And we never say it. Enrico shoved away the plate in front of him and turned so he was fully facing his father. “Why did all the love in you die with them? Did I never occupy any space in your heart?”
Rinaldo looked startled for a moment, then his face closed up. “You have not lost what I have lost.”
“I lost my mother, my brothers. And like you, I have lost a wife.” He paused. “But my heart has not died like yours.” He reached out blindly, finding Kate’s hand and squeezing it, his eyes not leaving his father’s face.
Rinaldo shook his head. “Maybe had I
not suffered it all in one blow, maybe had I not buried two sons….” He looked down at the table, then back at Enrico. “I am sorry, mio figlio. I have nothing left for you. For anyone.”
“Is it because I have disappointed you?” He had to know. “I know I am not Primo, I know I was not your first choice to take over.”
“You avenged them, when I couldn’t. How could I be disappointed in you?” Rinaldo’s eyes watered. “If I had anything left, I would give it to you.”
“You would?”
A tear rolled down his father’s cheek. “How can you doubt it?” He wiped at his face.
Grief welled up in Enrico, and he couldn’t hold back his own tears. “Papà,” he said, choking on the word. Before he could stop himself, he threw his arms around his father, hugging him hard. He was starting to let go, when Rinaldo’s arms encircled him, pulling him close. Warmth spread through his chest, overpowering his grief.
It was as close as his father had ever come to telling him he loved him. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.
After a few moments, Rinaldo released him, patting him on the back. “We should eat. My ziti is getting cold.”
Enrico glanced at Kate and saw the glitter of tears in her eyes. He should be embarrassed she’d seen this, but strangely he wasn’t. He wanted her to know everything about him, including this.
They started to eat. “It’s very good,” Kate said.
Rinaldo chuckled. “It is all I know how to make. I should be good at it by now.” He turned to Enrico. “When will you be married?”
Enrico heard Kate’s fork hit her plate, but he didn’t look at her. “Soon, I hope.” She kicked him under the table. It was true. He wouldn’t take it back.
Rinaldo addressed Kate. “I wish you good fortune. You will need it with my son.” He gave her a half smile, his eyes taking on the barest glint.
“You are right about that.” She smiled.
He gave Enrico a fond look. “We Lucchesis have always found trouble. Even in the stillest pond.”
“That might be because you are the most stubborn, pigheaded, self-righteous men on the planet,” Kate said.