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 un
fettered 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.
CHAPTER 30
Carlo and Benedetto were finally alone, heading to the villa for the night. Carlo could barely speak. Enrico had made him look like a fool, more so than Rinaldo ever had. He turned to his brother. “You did not support me.”
Benedetto straightened his tie and shot his shirt cuffs. Even though he was balding and running to fat, he was, as always, immaculately dressed. He spent the GDP of a small third-world country on his wardrobe. “I’m supposed to be impartial.”
“What a fucking farce! I was supposed to bring proof? Since when is my word not enough?”
“Lucchesi had the right to demand it. It was a trial, after all.”
Carlo ground his teeth together. “You could’ve prepared me.”
“I suspect Vittorio coached Lucchesi.”
“And that excuses you? Why didn’t I get the same help from you, my own brother?”
Benedetto smoothed his hair back. “You’ll recall I advised you against such a course.”
“You’d let the Andrettis be laughingstocks just to teach me a lesson?”
His brother looked him full in the face. “The only one who looks like a fool is you. As always, your breathtaking arrogance has gotten you into trouble.”
“My arrogance is exceeded only by yours, dear brother.”
Benedetto chuckled. “I’ve earned mine.”
A great thundering roar invaded Carlo’s head and chest. “Vaffanculo! You haven’t earned a fucking thing. Everything was handed to you. I had to fight for everything I have. And never, not once, did any of you acknowledge what I’ve accomplished.”
Benedetto studied his fingernails. “If this is about our father, you can stop now. Poor, poor, little Carlo. Always overlooked.”
“You will get yours. You’ve raised a nest of vipers. Do you think your sons don’t plot your death daily?” Carlo was gratified to see the tightening in his brother’s shoulders. He’d scored a hit.
Benedetto lowered the glass that separated them from the driver. “I won’t be staying the night. My jet, please.” He raised the glass again. “I pity you.”
“You pity me?”
“You are the smallest man I know.”
His family. How Carlo hated them all. Toni had been the only exception. “I’ll crush you, Benedetto. When I finish with Lucchesi, you’ll be next.”
“I’m trembling.”
“I know how much you’ve lost at the gaming tables. I wonder, is it only my money you’ve borrowed?”
Benedetto’s eyes snapped to his. He was right; Benedetto was in deep. He couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “You’ve stolen from La Provincia, haven’t you?”
Benedetto held Carlo’s eyes. “Try to prove it.”
Triumph flooded through him. “Don’t think I can’t get to you.”
Benedetto shifted in his seat, leaning toward him. “Out of respect, Father and I have allowed you to operate without direction. That can change.”
“Respect? Out of fear.”
“Remember what happened to our dear brother.”
Carlo’s gut tightened. Remo. He could almost hear the echoes of Remo’s screams, almost smell the burning of his brother’s flesh, all these years later. He pushed the memory from his mind. “I remember.”
“See that you do. Father would be happy to remind you about loyalty.”
“No matter how big you think you are, Benedetto, you will always be under Father’s thumb.”
Silence fell between them as Benedetto turned away. Good riddance.
Carlo had just left Benedetto at the airstrip and was headed back to the lake when he got a call from Domenico. “You’d better have good news. Where’s Rinaldo?”
He could hear the smile in Domenico’s voice. “I know where he is. And I’ll soon have the American in my hands. Let me know where and when you want her, and she’s yours.”
Laughter bubbled up in Carlo’s chest. He wanted to shout out loud. Lucchesi would regret every minute of the rest of his short miserable life. “You’ve gone up in my estimation.”
“Will you renegotiate our terms?” Domenico asked.
“After I’ve dealt with Rinaldo and the woman, we’ll see what you’ve earned.”
He listened as Domenico told him where to find Rinaldo. After they hung up, Carlo sat back, considering. Perhaps this Lucchesi might be worth bringing into the organization. Domenico had several sons who needed wives, and there were certainly daughters in the Andretti family who needed husbands.
It would be nice to have someone to help with the dirty work.
Domenico smiled when he hung up with Carlo. As if he’d let the old man dictate everything. Carlo would never see him coming. Neither would Rico.
Fools, the both of them.
A large package, unaddressed but beautifully wrapped in crisp silver paper with a large white bow, arrived at Enrico’s villa three days after the meeting with La Provincia. Maddalena brough
t it inside and set it on the desk in Enrico’s study.
Enrico looked at the box for a few moments, his heart thumping. The package looked eerily familiar. He called Ruggero, who advised him not to touch the box and to leave the room.
He couldn’t stop staring at it, wondering at the contents. When he noticed a trace of red seeping through the wrapping at the bottom-right corner of the box, panic gripped him in its fist and squeezed. Had Carlo gotten to Nico? To Kate?
His stomach churning, Enrico went out to the front hall and called Antonio while he waited for Ruggero. Antonio assured him Kate was resting in her room. He hung up when Ruggero approached. Gesturing toward his study, he said, “It’s from Andretti. I’m sure of it.”
Ruggero looked through the doorway at the box. “It could be a bomb.”
“It seems to be leaking blood. Besides, a bomb isn’t Carlo’s style. He likes his victims to suffer.”
Ruggero rubbed his chin. “You say Maddalena carried it in?”
“Yes. So it’s been jostled.”
“That’s not the same as opening it.” Ruggero pulled out his switchblade and walked into the study. When Enrico followed him in, Ruggero stopped and looked at him. “The hallway, please, Don Lucchesi.”
Enrico crossed his arms and stared at his guard. Ruggero didn’t back down. “Let me do my job, capo,” he finally said.
Throwing up his arms, Enrico walked out of the room. He waited, fingers tapping the seam of his trousers, his heart ratcheting up as he heard the long slit along the paper, a rustling, then silence. And more silence. Finally, Ruggero’s voice. “Don Lucchesi.”
He stepped into the room. The first thing he noticed was the concern in Ruggero’s eyes. The look in them was soft, pitying. Not a look he’d ever seen from Ruggero. He raced to the box, seeing now that it was wood, and ornately carved, reminiscent of the cigar box he’d received from Carlo in Rome. Breathless, he looked inside, and then wished he hadn’t.
Fighting back tears, he looked up at Ruggero. “I want him dead.”
“You shall have your wish.”
Enrico looked into the box again, unable to hold back his tears. His father’s head stared up at him. Surrounding it were bloody lumps Enrico couldn’t identify at first. When he did, bile rushed up into his throat. The two biggest lumps were his father’s hands; the strips of crimson-colored meat surrounding them were his fingers.
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