Malavita (24 page)

Carlo Andretti took a gulp of scotch and let it burn down his throat as he watched his daughter embrace Enrico Lucchesi. “
Dolcezza
, you are breaking my heart,” Carlo murmured.

He’d counted on her going along with his plan. But if she had genuine feelings for the boy—well, he’d have to cut her out. He’d have to use her, unwittingly. He hated to do it. She might never forgive him, but she was a smart girl, and in time she’d see the wisdom of what he was going to do.

What he should have done long ago.

Enrico sought out his father as soon as he arrived home. He found him standing in the solarium, gazing up at the stars through the glass panes.

“Papà, Carlo is planning to kill us at the wedding.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised.”

Enrico explained what had happened with Toni, and how he’d overheard Carlo talking to her. “I trust her; I don’t trust him. He knows we have him by the balls, and an animal like Carlo hates to lose.”

“True.”

“So, what do we do?”

“What do
you
think?” His father’s tone was soft; he expected an actual answer. As if this were a test, and not real life.

He knew what he had to say. “Carlo won’t give us peace.”

Rinaldo nodded, but said nothing.

“We could try to come to an agreement.”

His father still said nothing.

“Or we could kill him.”

“Which do you prefer?”

The two possibilities chased each other through his mind. He didn’t want to cause Toni pain, but there was the matter of avenging his family—and keeping safe those still alive.

If he chose his family, Toni suffered. If he chose her, his family might die.

This is what it meant to be
capo
. Making the hard choices. Deciding who lived and who died. Who cried and who cheered.

He’d never wanted the responsibility. But it would be his someday. And in this case, it was his now. Just as it had been when his father had wanted to cut off Dario’s hand and Enrico had intervened. Though now the stakes were exponentially higher.

He was back to where he’d been in Toni’s garden, just a short time ago. He’d let himself think she could negotiate a peace. What if she couldn’t?

There had to be a third way.

“We set up men in positions around the church, and we go heavily armed. If Carlo draws on us, the decision is clear.”

“You are letting him direct the play.”

He looked away from his father’s hard stare. He’d given the wrong answer. His father had negotiated the truce when he’d been forced to, and now he didn’t have to bargain. He didn’t have to play nice.

His father wanted Carlo dead.

Enrico wanted Carlo dead.

But every time he pictured how devastated Toni would be, his throat clamped shut. “I can’t do that to her.”

“No?”

“Not unless Carlo forces me.”

Rinaldo studied him for a moment. “One day, your soft heart will get you killed.”

“Then don’t put me in charge. Choose Dom, when the time comes.”

“
You
are my son.
You
will lead.” His father stroked his mustache. “And you will learn.”

“Papà, I know as long as Carlo lives, he’s a threat. But I love Toni.”

“A
capo
must always put the good of the
cosca
above everything else.”

“But what about the old codes? You said we must abide by them, even though the others don’t, even though they’ve grown rich while we have not. Following the codes isn’t the best thing for our
cosca
.”

“We have to be smarter, we have to find other ways than dealing in drugs. The bank is one. Those codes are key to the health of the ’Ndrangheta. We are becoming men concerned with greed at the expense of everything else.
That
will be the death of us.”

“I promised Toni I’d trust her. I promised her I’d make peace.”

Rinaldo’s lips formed a thin line. “Then you’ve decided.”

“I made her a vow. An ’Ndranghetista honors his word, you always said.”

“And I still say it.” He gave Enrico a curt nod and started to walk away.

“I know I’m not Primo.”

His father hesitated for a moment, then he spoke without turning. “You will make a fine
capo
someday. When your heart is not so tender.”

His throat squeezed shut. Would this be the closest they’d ever come to discussing their mutual sorrow? He tried to think of something to say, but words failed him. And then his father was gone.

He wished he’d been able to say what was in his heart, but he couldn’t bear to have his father freeze him out again.

Someday they’d talk. But first they had to survive the wedding.

On the morning of her wedding, and for the first time in her life, Antonella felt like a princess. Her ivory dress, with its pearl-encrusted bodice, lacey sleeves, voluminous skirt, and long train, had cost a fortune. Papà had paid the bill without complaint, even though he’d yet to see the result. Now it was time. She descended the staircase to the foyer, trailed by Mamma and Ilaria, who’d helped her do her hair and makeup.

Papà stood at the base of the stairs, looking elegant in a new gray suit he’d had made for the occasion. His face lit up when he saw her. “
Dolcezza
,” he said and swept her into an embrace that ended with a kiss on each cheek. For once he seemed at a loss for words.

“
Mille
grazie
for agreeing to end the
faida
, Papà. You’ve made me so happy.”

A shadow crossed his eyes, and her pulse skittered. Her alarm must have shown on her face, for he smiled and touched her cheek. The shadow was gone. He offered her his arm. “We’d better be going.”

She started to take it, but then she spotted Dario standing in the corner. He wasn’t dressed for the ceremony. He’d been avoiding her since the engagement party, and she’d been so preoccupied, she’d let him stew. But enough was enough. “I need to speak to Dario first.”

Her father frowned. “Fifteen minutes, or we’ll be late.”

Gathering her skirts, she gave Dario a hard look, then motioned with her head for him to follow her upstairs. She started without glancing back at him, and after a moment she heard his tread on the stairs behind her. When they reached his room, she held the door open, then followed him inside. Shutting it behind her, she pointed to his closet. “Change.”

He crossed his arms. “You want me to applaud this marriage?”

“No. I want you to change.”

He looked away, toward the window, as if she weren’t there. “You know what it will be like for me. When you’re gone,” he added.

Her throat tightened. “It doesn’t have to be that way.” She touched him on the shoulder. “You just have to give in a little. That’s all he wants.”

“That is not
all
he wants. He wants me to lie at his feet and bask in his glow. Like the dogs.”

“He wants your respect. And you refuse to give it.”

His eyes met hers. “He’s a tyrant.”

“He’s your father.”

“Some father he is to us. He’s bargained you away in marriage, and as for me, he wishes I didn’t exist.”

“You’re his son. If you just humored him, things would be better.”

Dario strode over to his closet and tore the new suit off its hangers and threw it on the bed. “You want me to change. You want me to put on this suit and smile at your husband and laugh at my father’s jokes and be someone I’m not.”

“I want you to be happy.”

Dario laughed, and the sound was bitter. “I don’t know what that is. I never have.”

Merda
. She searched for a good memory and found one. “Remember when Gioia had her puppies? And Papà let you have first pick?”

“He only did that because I’d fallen out of the tree the day before.”

“And you’d broken your arm. And scared him half to death.”

He looked at her. “He couldn’t have cared less.”

“He loves you, Dario. He just can’t show it. He doesn’t know how.”

“He tells
you
all the time.”

“Because I let him. You just push him away. You always have. He has his pride.”

“And so do I.”

It was her turn to cross her arms. “Is that what you’ll take to your grave? Your pride?”

“Go to your wedding.”

“I am not leaving without you.”

“Go!”

He looked so hurt, so wounded, she opened her arms and folded them around him, even though he didn’t move to embrace her. “I am not leaving you.”

“Yes, you are.” His voice was thick.

“I will always be with you.”

One of his hands crept up and touched the back of her veil. “You will be his.”

“This was always going to happen one day.”

He said nothing for a long while, then finally: “I know.”

“It doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”

“You think he’ll make you happy?”

“I do.” She stepped back and looked at her brother’s face. The anger was gone at least. “I’ll be happier if you can be happy for me.”

He started unbuttoning his shirt and motioned for her to turn around. “I’ll do my best.”

She gave him her back and sighed in relief. “You can manage Papà.”

“I don’t have your patience.”

“Just don’t fight him so much.”

He said nothing for a moment. “Ilaria looks beautiful today.”

She smiled. So her brother
had
noticed. “You think so?”

He chuckled. “I bet you’ve been looking at yourself so much you haven’t given her a glance.”

She’d let him think so. “Guilty.” After a pause, she added, “You should ask her to dance.”

“Maybe I will. You can turn around.”

She did, and gave him an approving smile. The dark blue suit fit his coloring. She helped him finish up his tie and then stepped back. “Perfect.”

He offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

They’d almost reached the foyer when she whispered, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Being my brother.” Tears blurred her vision. She’d miss him so much.

“I will always be with you,” he said, echoing what she’d said upstairs. When they reached the bottom, Papà looked at the two of them and then checked his watch.

“Ten minutes. Did you sedate him?”

She couldn’t help giggling, and when she looked over at Dario, he couldn’t help himself either.

A weight left her chest, a weight she hadn’t realized she’d been carrying. Her brother might just be fine without her after all.

As they drew near to the church, Enrico’s stomach tightened, his heart pounded, his breathing quickened. The next few minutes would determine so much of his future. If he had one at all. If Toni was in it. If Carlo lived or died.

Enrico could see why Carlo had chosen this church over so many others. It was isolated, surrounded on three sides by a large wooded estate, the other side on the fringes of a sleepy residential neighborhood. They should have insisted on the cathedral in the bustling heart of Como, where they’d be surrounded by people. Then again, the Lucchesis hadn’t been planning for anything other than a wedding, not the way Carlo had. Here, early on a Saturday morning, the streets were silent.

A car with four guards preceded the one carrying Enrico, his father, and Livio. Dom, Francesca, Zio Poldi, and Zia Elma rode in the next car, followed by another with four more guards. Rinaldo had sent two sharpshooters ahead of them the evening before, with orders to take positions in the oaks opposite the church.

Yet still it seemed like the thinnest of protection.

Their entourage pulled into the car park surrounding the church. They came to a halt a few meters from the church steps, and the driver got out to open Enrico’s door. As the man reached for the handle, he stiffened, then slumped against the car. Had he been shot?

Enrico pulled his gun, and his father did the same. Livio sprang from the front passenger seat, gun drawn, and crouched down beside the car on the side facing the church, since the shot had come from the opposite direction. “We need to get out,” Rinaldo said.

“I can’t open my door.”