Malavita (18 page)

Dom let out a hiss. “You hurt?”

“No. I didn’t have time to dump the gun though.”

They heard the sing-song wail of sirens in the distance behind them. Ripoli’s body had been discovered. No doubt the officer who’d been checking out Dom was putting two and two together. It was only a matter of time before an alert was issued for their car.

“Do we have any safe places nearby?” Enrico asked.

“I think so.”

“You
think
so?”

Dom took a deep breath. “I’m a little lost, to be honest.”

Merda
. This just kept getting better. He should have convinced Livio to help. No one knew where they were, and until they found a safe haven where they could contact some of his father’s men, they were on their own.

“Okay. Concentrate. Where’s the closest location to us? Which direction from where we were?”

“East.”

“Then head east.” Enrico wiped down the gun with the handkerchief. “Pull over in that alley on the right.”

Dom drove between a row of tall buildings, and Enrico tossed the gun into a reeking dumpster behind a restaurant, then dropped the silencer in another. When he got back in the car, he mopped his face and hair with the handkerchief. It came back red, and he stared at it, remembering the ruined mess of Ripoli’s face after he’d pulled the trigger. He gagged, then pulled in air through his nose. He could not be sick, not on top of everything else. When he trusted himself not to vomit, he said, “Anything look familiar?”

“I’m not sure.”

Enrico resisted the impulse to punch the dashboard. They were not going to fail. Not like this.

“What cross streets are we looking for?” he asked.

“Via Sangro and Via Crescenzago. It’s an old warehouse. There should be a car there.”

Enrico read off street names as they drove. When he said “Via Monfalcone,” Dom slowed the car. “That sounds familiar.” He advanced more carefully, studying the signs ahead. “Via Sangro. Got it.”

They turned onto Via Crescenzago, and Enrico said a silent prayer of thanks.
Dio was
smiling on him, on this undertaking.

Within minutes, they’d reached the warehouse, and Dom tapped the horn. An unshaven middle-aged man Enrico didn’t recognize came out and greeted Dom. He peered at Enrico and seemed to realize who he was, for he gave Enrico a deferential nod before motioning them inside.

A large sliding door opened in front of them, being pushed by another man Enrico didn’t know. He’d been gone too long—as his father’s son, as the future
capo
, he ought to know all of these men. Especially the ones at this warehouse, who were about to risk their lives and their freedom for him.

“What are their names?” he asked Dom as they drove inside.

“Tommaso is the one who met us. Filippo is the other.”

Enrico greeted the men by name after he and Dom got out of the car. “We need a different vehicle. The
polizia
are looking for this one. I also need a change of clothes and a shower.”

“Who’d you off?” Tommaso asked.

“Two of those who needed it.”

Understanding animated the man’s face and lit up his smile. “It’s about time,” he said and gave Enrico a quick bow.

Papà would be furious with him, but the men were applauding. The
cosca
had needed him to do this, no matter the cost.

“We don’t have clothes or a shower here, but you can find both at an apartment on Via Mestre.” Tommaso gave them the directions as he handed over a new set of keys to a nondescript Fiat with dirty white paint. “We’ll take care of this one,” he said, jerking his thumb at the car they’d left.

Enrico glanced at his watch. He had an hour and a half before his date with Antonella. He still might make it on time.

A car sped by outside, siren keening. “Third one,” Filippo said.

“They’re looking for us.” Enrico’s stomach knotted.

“They won’t find you, not in that beast,” Tommaso said.

Enrico motioned to the car they were leaving behind. “What will you do with it?”

“Change the plates and repaint it, of course.” Tommaso motioned to several drums of paint and sprayers stacked in the corner. Filippo was already stepping into a special head-to-toe hooded suit that would keep him clean.

“You have my thanks,” Enrico said.

“Remember us when you get back home. We’d like something else to do.”

“I’ll speak to my father about it.”

The white Fiat stank of cigarettes, but Enrico breathed easier for the first time that night. This had been the most difficult test of his life so far, and somehow he’d passed.

But he almost hadn’t. And the biggest challenge remained ahead of him: a trained killer on the alert.

Enrico was late, and he hadn’t called. Antonella fidgeted with her dress and checked her watch again. Was something wrong? Did it have anything to do with that man from the car park?

Had Papà put his plan—whatever it was—in motion?

She paced the length of the ground floor corridor, her heels tapping on the marble, her anxiety rising with every step. She cast another glance at the door to her father’s study, but it remained closed. He’d received several phone calls about an hour ago and had been closed up in there ever since, his voice low and urgent, occasionally rising to a shout.

Something had happened. Something that wasn’t good. She just hoped it didn’t involve Enrico.

Antonella was crossing back to the foyer when headlights flashed across the space and she heard the crunch of gravel under car tires. Rico!

She grabbed her handbag and a light jacket from the chair by the door and dashed outside. Enrico got out and greeted her with a peck on the cheek. He smelled of soap, and his hair looked a little damp.

“I was getting worried,” she blurted.

“Sorry. I didn’t sleep well last night. I took a nap and woke up late. I guess I should have called to let you know.” He opened her door and waited for her to get in before closing it and crossing to his own side.

He’d needed a nap? He did look a bit tired. Perhaps he was falling ill. “You feel all right?” she asked when he got in.

“Of course,” he said and smiled. But something seemed off. Maybe he’d been thinking about his family again.

“We don’t have to do anything tonight, Rico. The party’s tomorrow. I can wait until then to see you, if you need some time to yourself.”

He didn’t answer right away, just gripped the steering wheel without starting the car and stared straight ahead at nothing, as far as she could tell. Finally he shook his head. “I’m fine, Toni. Just a little tired, that’s all.”

“We could skip the movie. Just have dinner?”

“We’ll see.” He started the ignition and put the car into gear. As he drove, she noticed something odd—his jacket didn’t fit. The sleeves rode up too far on his wrists as he turned the wheel, and he seemed to be straining the seams at the shoulders.

“Who cut that jacket for you?” she asked. “It’s too small.”

He gave her a sharp look that quickly turned sheepish. “You caught me.”

“Caught you?”

“It was Primo’s. I know it doesn’t quite fit, but I wanted something of his.”

Why couldn’t she have kept her mouth shut? What on earth did she say to that? “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

He said nothing, and the silence in the car grew, accreting mass bit by bit until she felt she was trying to draw solid matter into her lungs instead of air. “Rico, I thought we’d made progress—”

“We have.” His tone was matter of fact. “But it’s been a hard day.”

She wanted to ask why but didn’t dare. She wished they could start over in a different place and time, one where their families weren’t at war.

But life would never be that easy for the two of them. Neither would marriage. In fact, it would be harder, because they’d have no respite from each other.

They needed to learn to communicate better. Though tonight probably wasn’t the best time to raise that subject.

Or the subject of the man in the car park. But something was happening. She could feel it in her bones. “We need to talk.”

He smacked the steering wheel with the flat of his hand. “Not now, Toni. I told you, it’s been a hard day.”

The bite in his voice made her shrink a little. But this couldn’t wait. “Rico, I know.”

“No, you
don’t
.” He pulled into a space in front of a small café she’d been to many times. He turned off the Ferrari and yanked the key from the ignition, then pounded a fist on his thigh. It landed with a meaty thud.

Her eyes were riveted to his face. He closed his own for a second, then blew out and opened them. “I can’t talk right now. I just
can’t
.”

“It might help.”

He turned to her, his face a study in agony. “They’re dead. Nothing I say or do will ever bring them back.”

“You shouldn’t try to forget them.”

He inhaled deeply. “I haven’t. But maybe I should.”

“Don’t say that.”

His voice rose. “What do you think I see every time I look at your father? I see
them
. I see them dead. And your father, all he wants is to shove that in my face. He doesn’t want me to forget. You know why?”

She shook her head, afraid to say anything for fear he’d stop talking.

“He wants me to do something foolish. He wants me to break the contract.”

“The contract?”

“You haven’t seen it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Rico let out a snort. “Of course not. My father didn’t want me to know either. If one of us breaks the betrothal, our family loses half its holdings. If either side sheds blood, we lose everything.” He stared at her, his breathing accelerated. “You see, don’t you? Why your father keeps provoking us?”

Papà’s words came back to her:
I’m working on a plan to make us rich
.

Was this what he’d meant?

“But he wants this marriage,” she said lamely, realizing the stupidity of her words as she uttered them. He’d told her that so
she
wouldn’t break it off. Papà had been acting strangely for a while now—accepting Enrico’s insults to her, allowing her to go out with Enrico unescorted, even after she’d told him they’d kissed.

Things Papà never would have done before. Things he wouldn’t do now without a good reason.

And that reason was money.

She felt like vomiting. She pressed a fist to her mouth, willing herself not to cry, her whole body going hot with embarrassment.

She meant less to Papà than money did, than power did. He didn’t care if Enrico slept with her. He just cared about winning.

Enrico said nothing for a moment, then he brushed her cheek with his fingers. “Oh, Toni,” he said, his voice so gentle that tears sprung to her eyes. “I shouldn’t have told you.”

She shook her head violently and forced herself to talk. “No,” she said, her voice wavering. “I’m glad you did. I needed to know where I stood.”

“He loves you. I know that much.”

“It goes only so far with Papà.” She closed her eyes while she said the rest. “I thought it was just Dario he didn’t care for. But now I see how he’s used me.” Enrico would think she meant the marriage, but it went so much deeper. The bugs—Papà’s big weapon. The ace up his sleeve. She’d given him that.

And he’d given her this. Second place—if that—in his heart, after the thrill of conquest. After the love of money.

Enrico slipped off his seatbelt and leaned toward her, cupping her cheek in his hand. “I wish I’d never said anything.”

She almost agreed, but it was better to know. No matter how bitter the knowledge. Tears slipped down her cheeks, and it took everything she had not to sob aloud.

Enrico got out and came around to her side and opened the door. Leaning in, he undid her belt and pulled her into his arms. She went, as limp as a puppet whose strings had been cut, and burrowed her face in his shirt, not wanting him to see her. His hands stroked her back, and when some people walked by, he guided her away from the restaurant and onto a nearby bench.

She clung to him, sobbing silently, for she didn’t know how long. Eventually the tears stopped. Papà was Papà. She shouldn’t be surprised.

Enrico’s stomach growled, and she remembered why they’d gone out. “You’re hungry,” she said. “Let’s go in.” She swiped at her face. She must look awful.

“Change of plans. I can get us a takeaway and we can go to the park.”

She gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks.”

He walked her back to the Ferrari, then went inside and came back out a short while later with a large bag that he put in the back seat. The smell of tomatoes and spices filled the car as they drove. “What did you order?”

“A few things. You get first pick. I like them all. I wasn’t sure what you’d want.”

They unloaded their picnic at a table in the park, and Antonella chose the chicken with artichoke hearts and penne. Enrico opened a bottle of wine. “No glasses,” he said. “We’ll have to share.”

He handed the bottle to her and she took a swig, smiling at the novelty of the situation. Here she was in the dark, sitting with Enrico and sharing a meal and a bottle of wine.

And for once they weren’t fighting. He sat beside her eating quietly, saying little, seemingly as lost in his thoughts as she was.