Best Laid Plans (13 page)

Dafne Falco stroked the tips of her fingers over the marbled tiles of the Caristos’ new bathroom. People had told her that Luca was back. Actually La Madama had told her he was back in Naples, but she was to stay away from him, or at least, he should stay away from her. Dafne would admit she was hurt that he hadn’t contacted her once in the last two years. It gave her shudders to think of how much money Luca had thrown at his family to establish their home as something suitable for his sick father. Money that could be and should be hers. Why should he be swimming in cash after the work she’d put into their relationship, building up his reputation, making sure people knew who he was? He should have been feared, and yet he was hiding in the shadows, at the bottom of the rung. Dafne wanted more for him, for them, but he didn’t want to do it anymore. His decision went against her dreams, her desires. To think of what he could have bought them, where they could have lived! Instead he wanted them to live modestly, with as little attention as possible.

She’d known Luca was different from all the other La Madama slaves that the unlucky family churned out. He was obviously smart and extremely capable. There was no reason why he couldn’t move further toward the top tier of the ranks. Like always, he’d covered his tracks very well. She hadn’t been able to get an address on him in years. Even where he worked seemed to be privileged information. She could only attribute the block of information to his connections, because there was no way he’d give up his surname.

“It’s beautiful.” She turned to Luca’s mother, red hair sweeping over her bare shoulders. “How did he get this done so fast?”

Edrige shrugged. “No idea. Flashing money, I think.”

Dafne’s eye fell on the stainless steel support bars in the glass shower, the stone seat and the mosaic-tiled steps into the large bathtub. “I suppose he’s given you enough to survive.”

Pink tinged Edrige’s cheeks and Dafne failed to suppress her dislike of the woman. Money made the world go around—it was Dafne’s mantra—but Signora Edrige Caristo was just trash. Mean, rat mentality, get everything she could without an ounce of class, trash.

“I shouldn’t really say, Dafne.”

She widened her eyes, turning doll-like in innocence. “I understand. I’m just concerned that he’s looking after you properly. After everything that happened between us...”

Edrige winced and pressed her hands together, like a pilgrim begging for alms. “I am sorry, you know that, don’t you? I didn’t raise him to be like that.”

“I understood you left him to his own devices,” Dafne snapped. She changed tactics when Edrige’s face became fearful.
Softly, softly...
“He’s going back soon?”

Edrige snorted. “As fast as he can. He’s just making sure that the carer has everything possible, and then he’s going. He really doesn’t care.”

“But you haven’t made that easy for him.”

Edrige gave a frown that warned Dafne to be careful. “You’re defending him? After what he did?”

Dafne shrugged. “You do that for love, don’t you. Forgive. If not forget.”

The older woman became uncomfortable. “Dafne, maybe you should go. I don’t feel right with you here, and I don’t know if Gianluca will come back soon.”

Dafne lost patience and pressed Edrige’s face against the tiled wall. “I don’t care what you think. Your son owes me. Do you think that this,” she gestured to her lean body, “doesn’t come with a price? Tell me where he lives and I’ll talk to him myself.”

“He’s staying with his friend Angelo...”

“Not here. In London.”

Edrige looked afraid. “Why? Dafne, let La Madama take care of this. It’s been two years. I thought you’ve moved on.”

Dafne rolled her eyes, before she fastened her hand on Edrige’s wrist and wrenched it behind the older woman’s back. “Didn’t you hear me the first time? I said he owes me. Police or no police, he’s spent how many thousands of Euros making your pigsty a palace? I want what’s due.” Edrige was crying out in pain. Dafne pulled harder. “I’ll break it. Then I’ll shave your head like I shaved your son’s. Do you want to look like a chemo patient?”

“Please...stop!”

Dafne pulled again, the arm socket beginning to loosen. In a minute, Edrige would have a dislocated shoulder over a son she didn’t give a shit about. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough from him? Isn’t it time to share?”

“All right, all right! Please! Stop, you’re hurting me.”

Dafne touched her lips to Edrige’s ear. “But I like hurting you. Think of me as a distributor of peace and justice.”

She released the older woman, who slid to the floor in a tearful huddle, gripping her shoulder. “Address?”

“You know he’s only given it to the carer, we just had his mobile number. Nothing else!”

Which the bastard blocked her from. She’d changed numbers and even when she did, there was nothing but an automated voice telling her the number could not be connected. “Go and get it,” Dafne commanded. Edrige didn’t move from the floor. She leaned down. “You’ve got your nice home and your regular income. You’ve had it for long enough. It needs to come to me.
I
deserve it. It was a full-time job and I just want my bonus for the work I did. Don’t you think that’s fair?”

“I’m sorry for what he did to you...”

Dafne straightened, rolling her eyes. “You’re missing the point. It’s not about him, it’s about me. You do a job, you get paid for it. There’s this really pretty five-bedroom villa in Positano which would be a fantastic start to Luca making things up to me.”

“What about us?” Edrige sobbed. “We’re his family.”

Dafne laughed. “You’re not family, you’re parasites. He knows that. I know that. Deep down, you know that too. So, go and get his address and we’ll make things nice and even.” Her eyes flashed with intent to do more harm if she was not obeyed. “Now.”

Edrige, clutching her arm, quickly moved downstairs. That was the thing with rats. Self-preservation was everything.

Frankie carried in the shopping and kicked the door closed behind her. Luca’s flat was looking the smallest bit feminine now. Amazing what two house plants and some scented candles could do. She placed the bags on the kitchen counter and had a glance at the view from the windows. The sun was turning orange over the Thames. Shame it was utterly impractical to live here with a baby, otherwise she’d give Luca the deposit and stay put.

He knew she was living there, because it was the last sort of surprise he needed, not when she was going to give him a doozy of a surprise when he got back. Moving into his home seemed minor compared to the fact she was carrying his baby.

“I’m glad you are,” Luca promised, beaming into the webcam. “Stay as long as you like. At least let me come home and enjoy the pleasure of you being around all the time.”

“You may change your mind when you see your fridge,” she warned.

Luca’s face dropped. “What have you done?”

She picked up the laptop and walked to the kitchen. “I’m not like you, I can’t be cooking all the time, it’s tiring and because I’m ill I’m limited as to what I can eat.”

Luca sounded like he was retching. “What is in my fridge? Is that an open tin?”

“Yeah, but I only like the plum tomatoes in the tin. You take them out and they make me feel icky.”

“That’s a ready meal. No. It must go. Throw it away.”

She turned the laptop back around so he was looking at her. “Lucky, is this your OCD? I like ready meals.”

“They are full of salt and preservatives.”

“Snob.”

“Sweetheart, I promise I will always ensure there is food for you, ready to reheat, if you promise to never buy another ready meal again.”

She teased him, reaching into the fridge and displaying the carton package, dancing with it suggestively. “Only three minutes at 800 watts!”

“Francesca...you...my God.”

“What?”

“Do that again while you take your clothes off and I will never say another word about ready meals.”

The man was so easy to tempt. And weirdly enough, she enjoyed wandering around the flat without any clothes on. They could try it together when he came back. Before the brown stuff hit that rotating thing. Reaching into her bag, she hunted for her phone. She was supposed to call the Italian and find out when his flight landed. Excitement aside, her memory wasn’t half giving her jip. A glance at the screen told her that he would be back tomorrow evening and he was never letting her out of his sight again. Her face ached with a grin so wide, it could have been seen from space. “Then he finds out...” she muttered to herself.

What felt like a ton of bricks suddenly collided into her back. Frankie saw a brief flash of silver and felt the cold tip of a knife against her neck.

“Who are you?” a soft, accented voice asked.

“I live here!” Frankie yelled. “Who the fuck are you?”

Knife Bitch laughed. “That’s interesting. I was given to believe this is Gianluca Caristo’s apartment.”

“Get off me!” The blade pressed against Frankie’s neck and she stilled. Her skin stung and she knew that bitch had cut her.

“Afraid not. You’re a big girl, aren’t you? We used to climb things like you at school.”

When I get out of this, you are going to be so fucking sorry,
Frankie swore. “What do you want?”

“Like I said, Gianluca Caristo. Doesn’t he live here? I’ve seen post, so he must do.”

“
I
live here. You’ve got the wrong place.”

Knife Bitch laughed again, lifting the knife a few millimetres away. “I don’t think so. I like to think Luca and I have a stronger connection than that. I’ll introduce myself so at least you know who to beg to. I’m his girlfriend. Dafne.”

Red spots danced in front of Frankie’s eyes. People underestimated her before, thinking she was just a timid, fat girl who wouldn’t hurt a fly. The same people would always end up regretting that assumption.

Frankie threw her head back and heard a satisfying crack as her skull connected with Dafne’s bones. Hopefully her spiteful fucking nose. She spun around and slammed Dafne’s back into the corner of the counter. The other woman sucked in a breath from collapsed lungs, and she released Frankie instantly. Frankie grabbed a knife from the wooden block, caught Dafne by the neckline of her shirt and dragged her to the middle of the wooden floor. With a knee on her chest, her leg on her arm, Frankie caught Dafne’s right arm, pressed her wrist to the floor and hovered the knife over the girl’s palm. She got a good look at her and was at once shocked and disappointed by how different they were. Dafne was a sprite, all delicate woodland features, framed by orange-red waves of hair matched to a slim body that was absent a pair of fairy wings. No matter how sweet she looked, bitch was trouble.

“What are you doing here?” Frankie demanded.

“That’s hostile,” Dafne wheezed. “Christ, my back!”

“You’ve got three seconds to explain yourself before I nail you to this floor.”

“I’m just paying a visit.”

“One...”

“He’s my boyfriend...”

“Two...”

“I don’t mean any harm, I just want to know if he lives here.”

Frankie rammed the knife through Dafne’s hand, until the steel met wood, to the woman’s ear-piercing scream. She got to her feet as Dafne paled. Frankie felt her head swim with the movement. Not good for baby Lucesca, but bitch needed to be told. With another knife in her hand, Frankie watched Dafne struggle to remove the one embedded in her palm. “That little girl lost act may have worked with his family and the police, but I know what you did to him.”

Dafne started to cry, but Frankie had spent a lot of time with abused women and Dafne was not one of them, not by any stretch of the imagination. “You fucking bitch, look what you’ve done to me!”

Frankie calmly blinked at her. “I’ll do your other hand in a minute. What do you want?”

“I wanted to see Luca. He’s my...”

“He’s
nothing
to you except a cash machine. Your access to that has been revoked, so what the fuck do you want?”

“Who are you?” Dafne spat, adrenaline giving her fire.

“That doesn’t concern you. And I’m asking the questions. What do you want?”

“That bastard owes me!”

“You gave him a scar and a haircut, I think you’re even. How you leave is up to you. You can either go through those windows, you’ll notice we’re on the eighth floor, or you can bleed to death or you can leave on your own steam. I’m liking option two.”

“You cut me!”

“And if you put a knife to a pregnant woman’s throat, she
will
cut you for that.” Frankie turned to the kitchen to pour herself some ginger ale. “Do you need another time limit?”

Dafne started to laugh. Frankie finished her glass of ginger ale. “What’s amusing you?”

“You are.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because you thought I’d come here alone.” Dafne’s laugh tinkered out as the front door opened, the sound ripping through Frankie’s stomach lining in fear. Someone bigger than Dafne and Frankie put together took one look at the woman on the floor, then Frankie, blood on her right hand, and charged toward her.