Malavita Read Free

Something—someone—who was his choice. At least for a while. But it had all been a horrible mistake. Except for Nico.
    Reaching up, he brushed away the blonde strands that had fallen across Veronica’s green eyes. Eyes flooded with tears, all because of him. “I am sorry, cara . I must.”
    Her face crumpled. “You can’t leave us. What about Nico?”
    His fingers drifted across her cheek. Leaving them was going to kill him. “He has you. And I will be back. To visit.”
    She shook her head, her voice low, urgent. “You can’t marry her. Not when you love me.”
    The lump in his throat grew. “I told you, cara . I have no choice.”
    “I don’t understand. How can your father make you marry this girl? You’re eighteen. You’re a man. You can make your own choices.”
    He shook his head. She’d never understand. Even if he explained who he really was—that the Enrico Franchetti she knew was a fiction—she’d never understand the life he led, the rules he lived under. The rules of the ’Ndrangheta, the Honored Society. The Calabrian Mafia. They’d considered him a man for two years now. Ever since he’d taken the vows and become the one thing he’d sworn he’d never become: a man of honor. One of them . A Mafioso.
    But with Primo and Mario dead, he’d had no choice. His father needed him.
    And if Enrico didn’t marry Antonella Andretti in four weeks, he and his father would be dead shortly after. Carlo Andretti would ensure it.
    Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to Veronica’s forehead, then both of her cheeks. “I’ll be back as often as I can.”
    She grabbed his collar with her free hand and rose up on her tiptoes, pressing her mouth to his, the kiss desperate, urgent. He didn’t return it. Instead, he gently tugged her hand from his shirt. “Veronica, that is over between us.”
    Anger erupted over her face, and she punched him in the chest. “Go then! Go back to Italy and leave me. Leave your son .” She held Nico up so he could take one last look.
    Nico was fourteen months old now, his green eyes bright, his chestnut hair curling around his plump cheeks. He waved a chubby fist at Enrico. “Papà,” Nico burbled, and tears pricked Enrico’s eyes. He kissed his son’s fist, kissed his cheeks, and let him go.
    Veronica snatched their son to her chest and glared at him, her pale cheeks flooding with color. “You go, Enrico Franchetti. You go, and don’t darken my door again.”
    “I will be back, Veronica.” He said the words wearily. At first he’d loved her volatility, her fire. But there was a frantic, histrionic edge to it that had worn thin over time. She’d changed so much from when they’d first met. Had he really known her at all, or had he been too young to see her clearly? Maybe with him gone for a while, she’d calm down, relax. Find someone new.
    Though the thought of another man raising his son made his gut twist. Nico was his. His son. His child.
    But Nico was safe here. He’d grow up far away from the ’Ndrangheta. And if Enrico was careful, Nico would never know that world, would never have to fear for his life. Would never know a man like Carlo Andretti.
    Carlo Andretti. The one man Enrico desperately wanted to kill.
    “You can’t leave me like this, Rico,” Veronica sobbed. “You can’t.”
    “I do not want to.” He raised a hand to touch her cheek, to touch Nico again.
    “You have to do something. You have to come back.”
    He hated seeing her like this. Hated the desperate look in her eyes, hated the quaver in her voice. He’d done this to her with his omissions, his wishful thinking. He owed her and Nico something more. “I will try. Perhaps there is a way out of this marriage.”
    Her mouth curved into a grateful smile, and his stomach contracted into a ball. Had he just lied to her again?
    He sincerely hoped not.
    There had to be a way to win his freedom. There had to be a way to keep his son.
     

     
    Two days later
    Blevio, Lake Como,