Malavita, page 9
“I’ve got to go,” he said and hung up the phone.
The droning of the dial tone unleashed the tears she’d been holding back, and she sobbed aloud.
The wedding hadn’t even taken place, yet her marriage was already a disaster.
Once she’d dried her tears, Antonella had called Ilaria and arranged to meet her in downtown Cernobbio.
The day was beautiful and bright, with a light breeze rustling the leaves of the trees and kicking up waves that slapped the shoreline beside the promenade.
Antonella wore sunglasses to hide her swollen eyes, but Ilaria wasn’t fooled. “Toni, what happened?” she asked as soon as they met.
Putting a hand over her mouth, Antonella shook her head. “It’s Enrico. He’s angry with me.”
Ilaria frowned. “What for?”
“Things I can’t change.” She looked down at her feet, not wanting to meet Ilaria’s eyes.
“What things?”
“My family. My father.” She gestured around her with both hands. “This situation.”
“He’ll get over it.”
Antonella pursed her lips and raised a brow. “That doesn’t seem too likely.”
“He’s a man. They pout and stomp around for a while, then they eventually realize they’re being idiots, and they stop. You just have to let them recognize it in their own time.”
“I don’t know if he’ll ever get over this.” She crossed her arms and stopped walking, gazing out at the rippling lake. “Maybe I’m a fool to hope that he’ll ever look at me and not see the shadow of my father in the background.”
“Toni, stop. Just stop and listen to me. Is Enrico Lucchesi more stubborn than Dario? Than your father?”
Antonella shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Ilaria chuckled. “You do know. It’s not possible to be more stubborn than the men in your family. You’ve told me so a million times.”
Ilaria had a good point. “You’re right. I think.”
“You just have to wait him out. Let him realize certain things. Let him come to you.”
“Maybe I have been pushing too hard. I’d just—” She looked away and chewed at her bottom lip.
“You’d just what?”
Heat flooded her face. Porca vacca, why hadn’t she kept her mouth shut? “I’d just like him to… find me desirable. Regardless.”
“Oh sweetie. He’s kissed you. He wouldn’t have if he didn’t.”
Antonella took a deep breath. “I think that would be a stretch. He’s kissed me three times. That doesn’t mean much.” She shook her head. “Not to a boy like Enrico.”
“Give him some credit. Give yourself some credit, Toni. He kissed you. Not once. Not twice. But three times. Real kisses. If he didn’t think you were attractive, why would he bother? Don’t you think he’d behave like so many of them? Barely give you a glance and find a mistress the moment the marriage license was signed?”
“Maybe he was being polite.”
“Is he being polite to you now?”
“Not at all.”
“Well then. He’s being honest. And that’s better.”
“And how is his yelling at me a good thing?”
“Because he’s not hiding. He might be pushing you away or avoiding you, but he’s not lying.”
Ilaria pulled her inside a gelateria, and Antonella studied the flavors. “Maybe you’re right.”
“Of course I am. I’ve seen you deal with Dario and your father. You always manage to twist them around your fingers, and you have infinite patience with them. How is Enrico any different?”
I hurt him. But she could never tell Ilaria that. “It is different, and you know it. I know they love me; they have to. Enrico doesn’t. And he doesn’t have any reason to ever love me.”
Ilaria hissed. “I really want to slap you right now. I know you’ve had a crush on him for ages, and Dio knows Enrico Lucchesi is something spectacular, but he’s just a man.”
Ilaria placed an order for pistachio gelato and nudged Antonella until she ordered the nocciolato, the combination of chocolate and hazelnuts that she could never resist. They collected their treats and went outside. Antonella took a spoonful, the cold gelato feeling delightful on her tongue. She resumed the conversation, said the thing she’d been reluctant to say in front of the boy at the counter.
“I want to be happy, Ilaria. I want him to be happy. I don’t want the sort of marriage where we don’t speak except about the kids. I don’t want to sit home by myself every night while he’s out… fornicating.”
Ilaria laughed so hard she turned red. “Fornicating? You sound like Sister Maria.”
Antonella blushed. “Well, I don’t know what word to use.”
“Yes, you do. Your father says it often enough.”
“It’s not polite.”
“Or ladylike.”
Antonella met Ilaria’s dancing eyes and started chuckling. “No, it’s not.”
“Do you think,” Ilaria asked, her voice deliberately proper, “that Enrico Lucchesi wants a lady in his bed?”
Antonella giggled. “I have no idea what he wants.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice to a whisper. “But when we kissed the second time, he took my hand and put it on his cazzo. And it was hard.”
Ilaria broke into a grin. “He doesn’t want a lady then.” A moment later, she sobered. “You need to be careful, Toni. Think what your father would do if he knew about that.”
Antonella’s stomach tightened. “You’re right. But…”
“But what?”
“Do you think Rico expects me to know… things?”
“I’m sure he assumes you know the basics.”
“But what if he thinks I should know how to please him?”
“You’re supposed to be a virgin, so don’t worry.”
“Easy for you to say.”
Ilaria shrugged. “I’m sure you’ll learn whatever you need to know.”
“How?” It wasn’t like she could ask Mamma. As far as Antonella could tell, she and Dario had been immaculately conceived. Her parents never showed any sort of physical affection or interest in each other.
“I expect he’ll tell you what he likes.” Ilaria tossed her empty gelato cup in a rubbish bin. She motioned to Antonella’s barely touched cup. “It’s melting.”
Antonella took another spoonful, the taste of hazelnuts and chocolate momentarily distracting her. “He’s a very good kisser.” She lowered her voice into a confidential tone. “I think he’s had a lot of practice.”
“Will you stop worrying?”
Although she dug her spoon into the cup again, Antonella’s stomach was too knotted up to enjoy the treat. Without a word, she handed the cup to Ilaria, who shrugged again and started to finish it. “I don’t want to disappoint him.”
“You won’t,” Ilaria said around a mouthful of gelato.
Antonella stopped and sat on a bench along the promenade. Her throat was so tight she could barely mention what truly frightened her. “I know he’s settling for me. That he’s being forced. I’m afraid he’s going to come to hate me as much as he hates my father.”
Ilaria gently squeezed her shoulder. “It’ll be fine. He’s smart enough to know you’re not to blame.”
But I am, she wanted to say. She felt almost sick with dread. What if Enrico learned of what she’d done? He’d never forgive her. She had to keep it secret. But it would be so hard.
And wouldn’t keeping secrets be a recipe for disaster? How could a marriage founded on lies ever be sound?
Ilaria gave her a little shake. “Cara, you have to stop worrying like this, or you’ll make all your worst fears come true. Attitude is ninety-nine percent of everything. Isn’t that what you always say?”
“I don’t know what I’m talking about half the time.” Though it was something her father had said to her again and again; at least he believed it to be true.
Ilaria laughed. “Who are you and what did you do with my friend? The Toni I know isn’t afraid of anything. And she always gets her way—eventually.”
“Enrico isn’t my dad or my brother. He has this… power over me. It’s hard to explain. I care what he thinks, and I worry about his opinion of me.”
“You just don’t feel secure with him. That’s all.”
That was it. Ilaria had pinpointed the very problem. “You’re a genius,” Antonella said and nudged Ilaria with her shoulder.
Ilaria tossed her dark curls over her shoulders and dusted off her hands. “My work here is done.”
Antonella laughed. “No, it isn’t. You have to help me figure out how I can feel more confident with him.”
“Remember when he kissed you? And he made you touch him?”
“Yes,” Antonella said, unsure of where this was going.
“How did he seem then?”
She thought back to the way he’d looked at her, the way he’d held her. “He was focused, intent.”
“And how did you feel?”
She couldn’t help smiling. “Beautiful.”
“Did he seem false to you in any way?”
“No.”
“Did he seem like he wanted to be anyplace else?”
“Just the opposite.”
“Then trust that. Trust how you made him feel, how he made you feel. You can’t fake that.”
“But what about the rest of the time? He’s shutting me out, and that’s not a good thing. How can I get him to open up to me?”
“How do you get Dario to do that?”
“I wait him out.”
“And now we circle back to what I said before.” Ilaria gestured wide with her open hands. “Problem solved.”
“I wait?”
“You wait.”
“Hmm. Doesn’t seem very… active.”
“You wait for the right moment. Then you nudge. Not push.”
“That is how I handle Dario and Papà.”
“And Enrico Lucchesi is no different.”
Maybe not. But getting to the heart of him, figuring out how he worked, what moved him, would be as tricky as defusing a bomb.
And possibly as dangerous.
Enrico replayed his phone conversation with Antonella over and over in his head as he hiked through the hills of his family’s estate. She’d been trying to be nice to him—to apologize—and he’d been rude. Mean, even. He was little better than those boys at her school. Just because he was in an intolerable situation didn’t mean that he had the right to inflict his anger on her.
The more he reviewed his words, the more he cringed inside. What was wrong with him? He had so little self-control sometimes. He needed to keep his head, keep his cool, if he was going to avenge his family. He needed to play by the rules while circumventing them at the same time.
And one of the rules was that he had to be nice to his fiancée.
Besides that, he didn’t like how he’d behaved. He was better than that. Cristo, did he want to turn out to be Carlo Andretti, a man who thought only of himself and his own selfish desires? A man so focused on hatred he couldn’t think straight anymore? A man willing to hurt others again and again?
No. That was not who the Lucchesis were. That was not who Enrico was.
And Toni deserved his very best.
He owed her yet another apology. A big one.
Winding his way through dusty shrubbery and tall grasses, he headed from the untamed wilds of the hills back to the manicured perfection of the gardens surrounding the villa. It was time to swallow his pride and beg forgiveness.
Sweaty and disheveled, he beelined straight for the phone and dialed the Andrettis without pausing for so much as a glass of water.
When Antonella came to the phone, he plunged into what he wanted to say. “Toni, please forgive me. I was in a terrible mood when you called. I had no right to speak to you like that. I’m sorry.”
She said nothing, and he stumbled on, his heart lurching in his chest. “I know I don’t deserve forgiveness, but please give me another chance.”
Finally she spoke. “You do realize this is the third second chance you’ve asked for?”
Relief trickled over him. She didn’t sound angry. Almost amused. “I do. Believe me, I do. I need to work on my temper. I’m trying.”
“Try harder,” she said with a chuckle.
“I promise.” He blotted his sweaty forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. “Will you let me make it up to you? The passeggiata tonight, and then dinner?” Walking along the promenade together, him showing her off to the town, would make her happy.
“Let me ask Papà first.” The phone clunked down on some surface and he waited for her to return, jingling the coins in his pockets and scuffling his shoe along the tiles in the kitchen. Nonna Drina, their cook and boss of the household staff, bustled away behind him, preparing him a snack. She pressed an icy glass of water into his hand and patted his cheek before going back to her chopping.
His mind whirled as the minutes dragged by. Where was Toni? What was taking so long? Was Carlo saying no? At least Toni didn’t seem furious with him, though she had every right to be. Unfortunately, he couldn’t explain about Nico.
Finally she came back on the line. “He said I could go. But you have to have me back by ten.”
And just for that, he’d keep her until 10:01. “Pick you up at six?”
He could practically hear her smile. “I’ll see you then.”
Now all he had to do was be good to her, keep his cool, and hide any signs of negativity.
Her father was a bastard, but Antonella was a princess.
And Enrico needed to play the role of prince.
Enrico waited for the wrought iron gates of the Andretti estate to open. They slowly yawned apart, and a shudder rippled down his spine as he drove through them. He’d come alone, unaccompanied by guards this time.
Surely Carlo could be trusted to follow through on the wedding at this point, given the terms of the contract. Carlo thought he had the upper hand; he could afford to be generous. Even magnanimous. Yes?
After following the circular drive up to the house, Enrico stopped the car at the base of the steps leading to the front entrance. To his surprise, there stood the man himself in an immaculate cream-colored jacket and linen trousers, smoking a cigar. Carlo descended the stairs, his pace unhurried, as if he were on a leisurely stroll.
Enrico got out of the Ferrari and met him, doing his best to keep a leash on his temper. “Signor Andretti,” he said, deliberately being polite, but not using the “Don” that Carlo would expect. Carlo was no true capo, and Enrico would be damned if he’d treat him like one.
Carlo grinned and tapped ash from his cigar onto the gravel drive. “The pup bares its teeth again.”
The taunt was designed to anger him, and it did its job perfectly. But he wouldn’t give Carlo the satisfaction. “You are not my capo, signore.”
This time Carlo laughed. He stared Enrico down, his gaze unwavering. “You still owe me respect, boy. As a member of our society.”
It was true. And yet… Enrico met Carlo’s gaze square on. “I have not been rude, signore. That is the best you can expect of me.”
Carlo stepped a little closer, and Enrico steeled himself not to give ground, not to react. Not so much as a blink. Carlo’s dark eyes narrowed, scrutinizing Enrico, no doubt studying him for weakness. “Treat my daughter rudely again, and you will owe me much more than politeness.”
Enrico gave him a stiff nod. At least the man loved his daughter. “That won’t happen again.”
“I heard about what happened at the school,” Carlo said. Enrico hid his surprise. “That’s the only reason I’m letting this go. Capisci?” Carlo took a draw on his cigar and let out a stream of smoke, directing it away from Enrico. “I won’t have my little girl hurt. Not by them, and not by you.” Carlo punctuated that statement by jabbing a thick forefinger into Enrico’s sternum.
“Understood.”
“Davvero?” Carlo asked.
“My word is good.”
“Your father’s isn’t.”
A bolt of heat slammed into Enrico’s chest and boiled up into his face. His hands balled into fists, and he dropped back onto his right foot so he could deliver a punch straight to that lying bastard’s jaw.
Except that Andretti was telling the truth.
Enrico’s father had lied to Carlo. He’d broken their deal. He’d double-crossed Andretti.
And didn’t the truth sting?
Carlo’s eyes dropped to Enrico’s fists momentarily before coming back to his face. “Well?”
Antonella saved Enrico from having to respond. Her quick jog down the stairs caught their attention, and the way her eyes darted between them showed she hadn’t missed the tension in the air. “Ciao, Papà,” she said and lightly kissed Carlo on the cheek before closing a hand over Enrico’s right fist and tugging him toward the Ferrari.
His cheeks still burning from having his father’s shame shoved in his face, Enrico was all too glad to escort her to the car.
“Have her back by ten,” Carlo called.
Not a minute before ten-oh-fucking-two. Enrico didn’t acknowledge Carlo’s words as he shut Antonella’s door. He crossed to his own side and looked up just before getting in and caught a grin of triumph on Carlo’s face.
Just you wait, Don Andretti. I will soon have my vengeance.
CHAPTER 7
“What was that all about?” Antonella asked as Enrico forced himself not to stomp the accelerator into the floor. He looked back in the rear view mirror at Carlo receding in the distance.
“Your father being his usual charming self,” Enrico said. “Did you tell him what happened at your school?”
“No. Why?” Before he could answer, she said, “Did he disapprove?”
“He approved. He made quite clear that was the only reason he wasn’t kicking my ass from here to Calabria for the way I spoke to you.”
She clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh no,” she muttered.
“What?”
“Arturo had a huge black eye today and he was all scraped up. He said some guys had mugged him.” She paused. “But that’s not what happened, is it?”
The droning of the dial tone unleashed the tears she’d been holding back, and she sobbed aloud.
The wedding hadn’t even taken place, yet her marriage was already a disaster.
Once she’d dried her tears, Antonella had called Ilaria and arranged to meet her in downtown Cernobbio.
The day was beautiful and bright, with a light breeze rustling the leaves of the trees and kicking up waves that slapped the shoreline beside the promenade.
Antonella wore sunglasses to hide her swollen eyes, but Ilaria wasn’t fooled. “Toni, what happened?” she asked as soon as they met.
Putting a hand over her mouth, Antonella shook her head. “It’s Enrico. He’s angry with me.”
Ilaria frowned. “What for?”
“Things I can’t change.” She looked down at her feet, not wanting to meet Ilaria’s eyes.
“What things?”
“My family. My father.” She gestured around her with both hands. “This situation.”
“He’ll get over it.”
Antonella pursed her lips and raised a brow. “That doesn’t seem too likely.”
“He’s a man. They pout and stomp around for a while, then they eventually realize they’re being idiots, and they stop. You just have to let them recognize it in their own time.”
“I don’t know if he’ll ever get over this.” She crossed her arms and stopped walking, gazing out at the rippling lake. “Maybe I’m a fool to hope that he’ll ever look at me and not see the shadow of my father in the background.”
“Toni, stop. Just stop and listen to me. Is Enrico Lucchesi more stubborn than Dario? Than your father?”
Antonella shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Ilaria chuckled. “You do know. It’s not possible to be more stubborn than the men in your family. You’ve told me so a million times.”
Ilaria had a good point. “You’re right. I think.”
“You just have to wait him out. Let him realize certain things. Let him come to you.”
“Maybe I have been pushing too hard. I’d just—” She looked away and chewed at her bottom lip.
“You’d just what?”
Heat flooded her face. Porca vacca, why hadn’t she kept her mouth shut? “I’d just like him to… find me desirable. Regardless.”
“Oh sweetie. He’s kissed you. He wouldn’t have if he didn’t.”
Antonella took a deep breath. “I think that would be a stretch. He’s kissed me three times. That doesn’t mean much.” She shook her head. “Not to a boy like Enrico.”
“Give him some credit. Give yourself some credit, Toni. He kissed you. Not once. Not twice. But three times. Real kisses. If he didn’t think you were attractive, why would he bother? Don’t you think he’d behave like so many of them? Barely give you a glance and find a mistress the moment the marriage license was signed?”
“Maybe he was being polite.”
“Is he being polite to you now?”
“Not at all.”
“Well then. He’s being honest. And that’s better.”
“And how is his yelling at me a good thing?”
“Because he’s not hiding. He might be pushing you away or avoiding you, but he’s not lying.”
Ilaria pulled her inside a gelateria, and Antonella studied the flavors. “Maybe you’re right.”
“Of course I am. I’ve seen you deal with Dario and your father. You always manage to twist them around your fingers, and you have infinite patience with them. How is Enrico any different?”
I hurt him. But she could never tell Ilaria that. “It is different, and you know it. I know they love me; they have to. Enrico doesn’t. And he doesn’t have any reason to ever love me.”
Ilaria hissed. “I really want to slap you right now. I know you’ve had a crush on him for ages, and Dio knows Enrico Lucchesi is something spectacular, but he’s just a man.”
Ilaria placed an order for pistachio gelato and nudged Antonella until she ordered the nocciolato, the combination of chocolate and hazelnuts that she could never resist. They collected their treats and went outside. Antonella took a spoonful, the cold gelato feeling delightful on her tongue. She resumed the conversation, said the thing she’d been reluctant to say in front of the boy at the counter.
“I want to be happy, Ilaria. I want him to be happy. I don’t want the sort of marriage where we don’t speak except about the kids. I don’t want to sit home by myself every night while he’s out… fornicating.”
Ilaria laughed so hard she turned red. “Fornicating? You sound like Sister Maria.”
Antonella blushed. “Well, I don’t know what word to use.”
“Yes, you do. Your father says it often enough.”
“It’s not polite.”
“Or ladylike.”
Antonella met Ilaria’s dancing eyes and started chuckling. “No, it’s not.”
“Do you think,” Ilaria asked, her voice deliberately proper, “that Enrico Lucchesi wants a lady in his bed?”
Antonella giggled. “I have no idea what he wants.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice to a whisper. “But when we kissed the second time, he took my hand and put it on his cazzo. And it was hard.”
Ilaria broke into a grin. “He doesn’t want a lady then.” A moment later, she sobered. “You need to be careful, Toni. Think what your father would do if he knew about that.”
Antonella’s stomach tightened. “You’re right. But…”
“But what?”
“Do you think Rico expects me to know… things?”
“I’m sure he assumes you know the basics.”
“But what if he thinks I should know how to please him?”
“You’re supposed to be a virgin, so don’t worry.”
“Easy for you to say.”
Ilaria shrugged. “I’m sure you’ll learn whatever you need to know.”
“How?” It wasn’t like she could ask Mamma. As far as Antonella could tell, she and Dario had been immaculately conceived. Her parents never showed any sort of physical affection or interest in each other.
“I expect he’ll tell you what he likes.” Ilaria tossed her empty gelato cup in a rubbish bin. She motioned to Antonella’s barely touched cup. “It’s melting.”
Antonella took another spoonful, the taste of hazelnuts and chocolate momentarily distracting her. “He’s a very good kisser.” She lowered her voice into a confidential tone. “I think he’s had a lot of practice.”
“Will you stop worrying?”
Although she dug her spoon into the cup again, Antonella’s stomach was too knotted up to enjoy the treat. Without a word, she handed the cup to Ilaria, who shrugged again and started to finish it. “I don’t want to disappoint him.”
“You won’t,” Ilaria said around a mouthful of gelato.
Antonella stopped and sat on a bench along the promenade. Her throat was so tight she could barely mention what truly frightened her. “I know he’s settling for me. That he’s being forced. I’m afraid he’s going to come to hate me as much as he hates my father.”
Ilaria gently squeezed her shoulder. “It’ll be fine. He’s smart enough to know you’re not to blame.”
But I am, she wanted to say. She felt almost sick with dread. What if Enrico learned of what she’d done? He’d never forgive her. She had to keep it secret. But it would be so hard.
And wouldn’t keeping secrets be a recipe for disaster? How could a marriage founded on lies ever be sound?
Ilaria gave her a little shake. “Cara, you have to stop worrying like this, or you’ll make all your worst fears come true. Attitude is ninety-nine percent of everything. Isn’t that what you always say?”
“I don’t know what I’m talking about half the time.” Though it was something her father had said to her again and again; at least he believed it to be true.
Ilaria laughed. “Who are you and what did you do with my friend? The Toni I know isn’t afraid of anything. And she always gets her way—eventually.”
“Enrico isn’t my dad or my brother. He has this… power over me. It’s hard to explain. I care what he thinks, and I worry about his opinion of me.”
“You just don’t feel secure with him. That’s all.”
That was it. Ilaria had pinpointed the very problem. “You’re a genius,” Antonella said and nudged Ilaria with her shoulder.
Ilaria tossed her dark curls over her shoulders and dusted off her hands. “My work here is done.”
Antonella laughed. “No, it isn’t. You have to help me figure out how I can feel more confident with him.”
“Remember when he kissed you? And he made you touch him?”
“Yes,” Antonella said, unsure of where this was going.
“How did he seem then?”
She thought back to the way he’d looked at her, the way he’d held her. “He was focused, intent.”
“And how did you feel?”
She couldn’t help smiling. “Beautiful.”
“Did he seem false to you in any way?”
“No.”
“Did he seem like he wanted to be anyplace else?”
“Just the opposite.”
“Then trust that. Trust how you made him feel, how he made you feel. You can’t fake that.”
“But what about the rest of the time? He’s shutting me out, and that’s not a good thing. How can I get him to open up to me?”
“How do you get Dario to do that?”
“I wait him out.”
“And now we circle back to what I said before.” Ilaria gestured wide with her open hands. “Problem solved.”
“I wait?”
“You wait.”
“Hmm. Doesn’t seem very… active.”
“You wait for the right moment. Then you nudge. Not push.”
“That is how I handle Dario and Papà.”
“And Enrico Lucchesi is no different.”
Maybe not. But getting to the heart of him, figuring out how he worked, what moved him, would be as tricky as defusing a bomb.
And possibly as dangerous.
Enrico replayed his phone conversation with Antonella over and over in his head as he hiked through the hills of his family’s estate. She’d been trying to be nice to him—to apologize—and he’d been rude. Mean, even. He was little better than those boys at her school. Just because he was in an intolerable situation didn’t mean that he had the right to inflict his anger on her.
The more he reviewed his words, the more he cringed inside. What was wrong with him? He had so little self-control sometimes. He needed to keep his head, keep his cool, if he was going to avenge his family. He needed to play by the rules while circumventing them at the same time.
And one of the rules was that he had to be nice to his fiancée.
Besides that, he didn’t like how he’d behaved. He was better than that. Cristo, did he want to turn out to be Carlo Andretti, a man who thought only of himself and his own selfish desires? A man so focused on hatred he couldn’t think straight anymore? A man willing to hurt others again and again?
No. That was not who the Lucchesis were. That was not who Enrico was.
And Toni deserved his very best.
He owed her yet another apology. A big one.
Winding his way through dusty shrubbery and tall grasses, he headed from the untamed wilds of the hills back to the manicured perfection of the gardens surrounding the villa. It was time to swallow his pride and beg forgiveness.
Sweaty and disheveled, he beelined straight for the phone and dialed the Andrettis without pausing for so much as a glass of water.
When Antonella came to the phone, he plunged into what he wanted to say. “Toni, please forgive me. I was in a terrible mood when you called. I had no right to speak to you like that. I’m sorry.”
She said nothing, and he stumbled on, his heart lurching in his chest. “I know I don’t deserve forgiveness, but please give me another chance.”
Finally she spoke. “You do realize this is the third second chance you’ve asked for?”
Relief trickled over him. She didn’t sound angry. Almost amused. “I do. Believe me, I do. I need to work on my temper. I’m trying.”
“Try harder,” she said with a chuckle.
“I promise.” He blotted his sweaty forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. “Will you let me make it up to you? The passeggiata tonight, and then dinner?” Walking along the promenade together, him showing her off to the town, would make her happy.
“Let me ask Papà first.” The phone clunked down on some surface and he waited for her to return, jingling the coins in his pockets and scuffling his shoe along the tiles in the kitchen. Nonna Drina, their cook and boss of the household staff, bustled away behind him, preparing him a snack. She pressed an icy glass of water into his hand and patted his cheek before going back to her chopping.
His mind whirled as the minutes dragged by. Where was Toni? What was taking so long? Was Carlo saying no? At least Toni didn’t seem furious with him, though she had every right to be. Unfortunately, he couldn’t explain about Nico.
Finally she came back on the line. “He said I could go. But you have to have me back by ten.”
And just for that, he’d keep her until 10:01. “Pick you up at six?”
He could practically hear her smile. “I’ll see you then.”
Now all he had to do was be good to her, keep his cool, and hide any signs of negativity.
Her father was a bastard, but Antonella was a princess.
And Enrico needed to play the role of prince.
Enrico waited for the wrought iron gates of the Andretti estate to open. They slowly yawned apart, and a shudder rippled down his spine as he drove through them. He’d come alone, unaccompanied by guards this time.
Surely Carlo could be trusted to follow through on the wedding at this point, given the terms of the contract. Carlo thought he had the upper hand; he could afford to be generous. Even magnanimous. Yes?
After following the circular drive up to the house, Enrico stopped the car at the base of the steps leading to the front entrance. To his surprise, there stood the man himself in an immaculate cream-colored jacket and linen trousers, smoking a cigar. Carlo descended the stairs, his pace unhurried, as if he were on a leisurely stroll.
Enrico got out of the Ferrari and met him, doing his best to keep a leash on his temper. “Signor Andretti,” he said, deliberately being polite, but not using the “Don” that Carlo would expect. Carlo was no true capo, and Enrico would be damned if he’d treat him like one.
Carlo grinned and tapped ash from his cigar onto the gravel drive. “The pup bares its teeth again.”
The taunt was designed to anger him, and it did its job perfectly. But he wouldn’t give Carlo the satisfaction. “You are not my capo, signore.”
This time Carlo laughed. He stared Enrico down, his gaze unwavering. “You still owe me respect, boy. As a member of our society.”
It was true. And yet… Enrico met Carlo’s gaze square on. “I have not been rude, signore. That is the best you can expect of me.”
Carlo stepped a little closer, and Enrico steeled himself not to give ground, not to react. Not so much as a blink. Carlo’s dark eyes narrowed, scrutinizing Enrico, no doubt studying him for weakness. “Treat my daughter rudely again, and you will owe me much more than politeness.”
Enrico gave him a stiff nod. At least the man loved his daughter. “That won’t happen again.”
“I heard about what happened at the school,” Carlo said. Enrico hid his surprise. “That’s the only reason I’m letting this go. Capisci?” Carlo took a draw on his cigar and let out a stream of smoke, directing it away from Enrico. “I won’t have my little girl hurt. Not by them, and not by you.” Carlo punctuated that statement by jabbing a thick forefinger into Enrico’s sternum.
“Understood.”
“Davvero?” Carlo asked.
“My word is good.”
“Your father’s isn’t.”
A bolt of heat slammed into Enrico’s chest and boiled up into his face. His hands balled into fists, and he dropped back onto his right foot so he could deliver a punch straight to that lying bastard’s jaw.
Except that Andretti was telling the truth.
Enrico’s father had lied to Carlo. He’d broken their deal. He’d double-crossed Andretti.
And didn’t the truth sting?
Carlo’s eyes dropped to Enrico’s fists momentarily before coming back to his face. “Well?”
Antonella saved Enrico from having to respond. Her quick jog down the stairs caught their attention, and the way her eyes darted between them showed she hadn’t missed the tension in the air. “Ciao, Papà,” she said and lightly kissed Carlo on the cheek before closing a hand over Enrico’s right fist and tugging him toward the Ferrari.
His cheeks still burning from having his father’s shame shoved in his face, Enrico was all too glad to escort her to the car.
“Have her back by ten,” Carlo called.
Not a minute before ten-oh-fucking-two. Enrico didn’t acknowledge Carlo’s words as he shut Antonella’s door. He crossed to his own side and looked up just before getting in and caught a grin of triumph on Carlo’s face.
Just you wait, Don Andretti. I will soon have my vengeance.
CHAPTER 7
“What was that all about?” Antonella asked as Enrico forced himself not to stomp the accelerator into the floor. He looked back in the rear view mirror at Carlo receding in the distance.
“Your father being his usual charming self,” Enrico said. “Did you tell him what happened at your school?”
“No. Why?” Before he could answer, she said, “Did he disapprove?”
“He approved. He made quite clear that was the only reason he wasn’t kicking my ass from here to Calabria for the way I spoke to you.”
She clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh no,” she muttered.
“What?”
“Arturo had a huge black eye today and he was all scraped up. He said some guys had mugged him.” She paused. “But that’s not what happened, is it?”
