Echo, page 6
“Don’t go there, Principessa,” he warned, low and ominous.
I did not know what he meant or why it would be bad to know his name. The argument was past my lips before I could catch it. “You know my name.”
And he had already been here in Papà’s house at our remote country villa. This man knew where I lived at least part of the time. Papà had allowed him to come here when he never invited anyone to the country estate. Papà had always insisted we keep the villa a secret. He had said it was our private retreat that no one should know about. But despite his warnings over the years, and despite the gun the man on the other end of the call carried, Papà had allowed him and the two other men to come to us.
I trusted my father with my life.
He had trusted this man enough to let him come to the villa.
Papà would not bring anyone dangerous he did not trust into either of our homes. While I was not privy to his day-to-day activities at the bank, I was not unaware either. I knew Papà sometimes dealt with clients that were less than desirable. But he had never brought those sorts of colleagues home. And, yes, Papà had banished me to my room tonight, same as he always did whenever he entertained guests at the estate in Palermo, but it was merely for my own protection.
Papà had told me many times over the years that men liked to take advantage of young women. He said he was only keeping me safe from harm. But so far, this man who had given me the cell phone, he was not hurting me.
The way he was looking at me, I did not think he had it in him to hurt me—not with his gun.
Yet still, I did not know how to navigate what should have been a simple conversation with an exchange of names. But maybe that was the problem.
There was nothing simple about the man currently staring at me with a dark warning in his expression.
Tiger-eyed, hair as black as a starless night, carrying a gun that had seemed heavier than five books combined, he was currently looking at me as if I had made him angry. But only moments ago, he had spoken my name with more meaning than anyone else I had ever heard say it.
Everything about him was both frightening and disarming.
Then his full lips parted, and his voice became a deeply seductive tenor I had not heard before as a lethally dominant command sank into my soul with a new layer of want.
“It’s time for you to get in bed, Principessa.”
Erico
I had to end the call.
Now.
Passing from one dangerous scenario to another, I needed to hang up before I told this innocent Principessa my name or worse. Not knowing how much she knew about the famiglias, or if she knew who her mother had been, I couldn’t risk letting her know who I was. Not before I made a call, handled the shit in New York and got back to Sicily.
No longer looking like she was about to break down in tears, she’d reverted back to the shy, submissive woman I’d met in that damn foyer who’d openly stared at me.
Fuck.
Not a woman, I mentally corrected. Not yet.
I bit out an order. “It’s time for you to get in bed, Principessa.”
She glanced past her shoulder but not before I saw her blush again. “Yes, it is late. Papà will be up in a few hours.” She started to get up.
“I still need to speak with him,” I warned.
She sat back down and stared at me for five seconds. Then she gave me an in. “May I ask what you need to speak to him about?”
“You.”
Her mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “I do not understand.”
Fucking glad she didn’t, I wasn’t going to explain. “I know.”
“That is not an answer.”
I refrained from smirking. “I know.” Woman or not, this Principessa had grit, and I liked it. I more than liked it. Which was heading me straight into hell.
“That also does not reassure me that Papà will not be angry and disappointed in me when I hand him a cell phone, which he has expressly forbidden me to have.”
Picking up on the win, I addressed her fear. “I’ll handle that.”
“What does that mean?”
I made another damn promise. “I’ll take the heat.”
“If you think Papà will hold someone else accountable for another’s actions, you do not know my father.”
“Then I know where his daughter gets it from.”
“Gets what from?” she demanded.
I fucking smiled. “That right there, bella.”
She dropped her voice but not her determination. “I do not know what that means either. You speak in cryptic statements, and I do not know how to interpret them.”
I sobered. “You’re courageous, Sancia Santoro. I’m hoping your father has the same convictions and fortitude. I’ll speak to him tomorrow, one way or another, but I would prefer it to be in a manner that shows him we’re already familiar with each another.” She started to speak, but I cut her off. “That’s all I’m going to explain to you tonight.”
She stared at me for a long beat. Then she slowly nodded. “If Papà is feeling better when he wakes up, I will consider it.”
“That’s all I ask, bella.”
Seemingly subconsciously, she brought the phone closer to her face. “You have now called me that five times.”
“Bella?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“I say what I mean, Principessa.” She was fucking beautiful. Especially now. Vulnerable, showing her true self to me—I should’ve told her it was going to be her downfall.
“I, too, say what I mean.”
The side of my mouth tipped up. “I’m getting that.”
“Good night, Ghost.”
Fuck. Fuck. “You good with keeping secrets, bella?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
I went there. “Erico.”
“Erico,” she repeated, soft and reverent.
Gesù Cristo.
My cock instantly hard, I adjusted myself and tipped my chin at the woman who was going to cut my already cursed life short. “Good night, Principessa.”
“It is almost dawn,” she countered without guile, giving me an open honesty I’d never known with any other woman.
“Get some sleep, Principessa. Let me know when you’re awake.” I hung up.
“On approach,” the pilot called from the cockpit.
“Grazie,” I muttered, scrolling to my contacts and dialing.
Ademaro answered on the fourth ring. “It’s early.”
“It’s late,” I corrected. “What the fuck does Giancarlo have on Santoro?”
Silence.
“Ademaro?”
“Ask him.”
“I’m asking you, and fair warning, you’re the one call I’m making before I take action.”
“I’m staying out of it. I suggest you do the same.”
I paused.
I’d never considered dinner last night was about anything other than Giancarlo inserting himself, but now I was wondering if the fuck was maneuvering to get Ademaro in there. Except I knew shit about Ademaro no one else did. Shit I wasn’t going to bring up, not yet. “You were at the dinner. You’re already in it.”
“Like I said, staying out of it.”
“Fine. I’ll call Vincenzos’ Don.”
Ademaro let loose with an uncharacteristic curse. “You know what will happen if you do that.”
“Do I?”
“Don’t play ignorant, Erico, and don’t step where you don’t know where you’ll land.”
This whole life was a misstep. Your only advantage was staying one pace ahead of the motherfucker behind you. “I know exactly where I’ll land if I make that call.” One thing this life wasn’t was complicated. Omertà, money, vendettas, alliances and violence. Everything fell into at least one of those categories.
“No, you don’t,” Ademaro warned, taking my bait.
“Then tell me.”
Ademaro sighed. “All I’m going to say is, Giancarlo is being Giancarlo, and there isn’t a damn thing either of us can do about it.”
“Disagree.” There were always options.
“If you think that, then you don’t understand his reach or what he’s capable of.”
Not liking being told for the second time tonight that I didn’t know shit, I threw it back on him. “I know Giancarlo a hell of a lot better than you do.” I was out here on the front lines. Ademaro was in a damn office. I knew the exact brand of stupidity Giancarlo was capable of. Fucker wouldn’t live to see his fortieth birthday at the rate he was going.
“Then why are you calling?”
Cristo. “Because if Giancarlo thinks he’s going to start a war to form an alliance with Santoro, he’s going to have to get through me first. No one’s ever gotten through me.” Not yet. “But that isn’t the point of this conversation. There needs to be a force standing behind me.”
“You’re saying this is about war,” he stated, ignoring my last comment.
“Yes.” A war and a Principessa.
“Right,” he said dryly. “So you saw the daughter once? Twice? Now you’re, what? In love?” he mocked. “You’re going to save her? Use Giancarlo as an excuse, declare he’s breaking a decade-long truce, then go in guns blazing and rescue a woman whose fate was cast before she was born?” He let out a rare sound of disgust.
I fucking froze. “I didn’t say I saw anyone.” I’d been careful. More than careful. No one had been in that entry or hall when I’d spoken to her. No one saw me retrieve the charger and hide it in the library.
“You didn’t have to. You looked up at the open window on the second story of the villa both before and after we got out of the SUV, then again when we left. Giancarlo may not have noticed, but I did. I also noticed what you did when you looked up before we left.”
Mother. Fucker. “Tell me Giancarlo’s exact plans or stand the fuck behind me. Otherwise, we’ll each have the blood of another innocent woman on our hands, and we both know what happened to Giancarlo’s first wife.”
Silence.
The plane started to descend.
“Ademaro,” I clipped.
He sighed. Then my brother told me something I didn’t know. “I met her first.” He breathed Giancarlo’s first wife’s name. “Maria.” He cleared his throat. “I met her first, and I mentioned her to Giancarlo.”
“How come you never told me?”
“Same as now, there was nothing either of us could have done.”
“Not fucking true.” I could’ve sunk a bullet into Giancarlo’s skull.
“Then do something before it’s too late for the Principessa.”
“Part of that something involves you stepping up.” And being ruthless enough to take the heat.
Dead air filled the line for three beats.
“No.” Ademaro hung up.
Fuck.
Fuck.
I sat there for a second, thinking. Then I scrolled my contacts again and pulled up a number I’d never used. My thumb hovering over the name I’d threatened to call earlier, I hesitated.
If I made the call, I’d be the one starting the war, not Giancarlo.
“Final approach,” the pilot warned in English.
Swiping out of my contacts, I pulled up the last communication from Giancarlo’s Consigliere. Memorizing the address, committing the three faces in the photos to memory, I deleted the text. Then I shoved my cell into my pocket and checked the magazine on my Glock as the plane landed and taxied to a stop.
Shouldering my bag, I walked up the aisle and gave the pilot orders in English because he didn’t speak Italian. “Refuel and wait. I’ll only be an hour and a half.”
He nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Walking down the airstairs into the cold night, I glanced at my watch.
Midnight local time.
I’d be back on the plane and in the air by eight-thirty in the morning Sicilian time. Seven hours after that, I’d be on the ground in Palermo. An hour after that, if Giancarlo hadn’t come to his fucking senses, I’d be kicking down Santoro’s door.
Ademaro’s words played in my head like a goddamn curse.
So you saw the daughter once? Twice? Now you’re, what? In love?
Love was bullshit. The word wasn’t in my vocabulary for a reason. Nothing good came from it, and the last person I cared about was dead thanks to my piece-of-shit father. He may not have pulled the final trigger—I’d never know—but his brutality drove my mother to an early grave. Enzo Mantovani drove every woman he touched to an early death.
Now Giancarlo was following in his footsteps. One dead wife, two dead mistresses—the fuck was only thirty-seven.
The Mantovanis had the reputation for being the most violent Cosa Nostra famiglia for more than one reason.
I couldn’t deny I was one of them.
But for once in my life, I was glad I knew violence. Because one way or another, I was going to protect that angel of a Principessa.
Even if it cost me my life.
Sancia
I didn’t think I would be able to fall asleep after Erico’s call, but as the first rays of the early morning sun were streaming into my room, I had drifted off for a couple hours.
Now the sun was fully awake, and I found myself rolling over to glance at the cell phone I had recklessly left on the nightstand.
If Papà or Vittorio had walked into my room, I would have been found out and the phone would have been taken from me before I had a chance to decide if I was going to call Erico and hand Papà the phone.
But I had not wanted to miss a call from Erico, so I had taken the risk and left it out.
Erico.
The name almost did not suit him.
The man on the other end of the video call, the man who had stood guard in the foyer with his gun—he was larger than life. Five letters did not seem like enough to contain him.
But somehow, it also fit.
Well over a foot taller than me, impossibly strong, and more than imposing, he was as muscular and as handsome as one of Michelangelo’s famed sculptures. Except he was real and only a call away.
Understanding now why Papà had never wanted me to have one, unable to stop myself, I picked up the cell phone and stared at it like it was my new addiction.
Erico had told me to tell him when I was awake.
I was awake.
Glancing at my closed bedroom door, I listened for a moment.
Not hearing any of the usual sounds of a morning underway downstairs, I looked back at the phone.
Then I made a rash decision before I could change my mind.
Swiping across the screen and tapping on the small square that took me to the texts, I quickly typed.
Me: I hope you had a good flight.
Three little dots appeared, then his reply came through.
Ghost: Is that your way of telling me good morning, Principessa?
Feeling brave, I clicked around on the phone and changed something I probably shouldn’t have but couldn’t stop myself. Then I typed a reply.
Me: No, this is. Good morning, Mr. Erico. I hope you were able to get some sleep.
The three dots showed before both my change and his message appeared.
Erico: No mister and Erico stays between us. Good morning back. How are you?
I frowned as I typed.
Me: You do not seem the type to ask how a person is doing. Should I be concerned?
Nervous that I maybe should not have been quite so honest, I waited for a response.
Erico: Yesterday a shy Principessa gave me a drawing. Later I was on video call with a woman broken by grief. Just wondering who I’m talking to this morning.
Oh.
I typed a reply.
Me: I am still shy, and I have been living with grief for two years. But I am not currently crying. I apologize for last night.
Erico: Don’t apologize to me, Principessa.
I did not know how to respond to that. I did not know how to respond to anything he said to me, so I went with the truth.
Me: I was embarrassed.
Erico: Why?
Short, abrupt—it seemed his personality, what little I knew of it, filtered through to his text messaging.
Me: I do not usually show others my emotions.
Erico: Not judging, Principessa. Just making sure you weren’t upset this morning.
Me: What would you have done if I was?
Erico: You asking or testing me?
I read it twice before typing a reply and hitting send.
Me: Scusassi?
I held my breath.
The three dots appeared right before his reply.
Erico: If you were upset, I would call instead of text.
My heart fluttered, and my hands shook as I typed.
Me: What if I wanted you to call anyway?
Neither the dots nor a reply came. But a second later, the screen lit up with an incoming call.
Answering the call, I held the phone to my ear.
“Principessa.” More rough than last night and carrying a slight rasp, his deep voice came through the line and spread to every nerve ending in my body.
I held the phone tighter. “Hello.”
“Good morning.”
Chill bumps raced across my skin, and I curled into a ball, pulling the covers up to my chin. “I like your voice,” I admitted.
“I like yours.”
A thrill chased the chill bumps, then spread to my stomach and danced. “You sound tired.” He liked my voice.
His laugh was nothing more than a short burst of irony. “Nice to hear you too.”
I quickly backtracked. “I am sorry. I meant no offense.” I wondered if this was what he sounded like every morning when he first woke up.
“None taken. I haven’t slept yet.”
A horrible thought suddenly occurred to me.
Maybe he did not sleep because he was not alone. Maybe I was interrupting him and… oh God. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
“I’m too old for girlfriends, Principessa.”
There was only one reason why I could imagine he would give that answer. “Are you….” My voice caught as my heart sank, and I had to force myself to ask. “Are you married?”
“No.”
