Malavita Read Free Page A

Italy
     
    Since returning home, Enrico had dreaded this moment. He turned to his father as the driver pulled onto the road that led to the Andretti estate. Papà looked drawn, pale. Thin. The sight made Enrico burn. Carlo Andretti had ruined the man Enrico had always admired. “Why are we doing this? All he wants is to rub our noses in shit. Like his damn dogs.”
    “Rico, control yourself. Don’t let him rile you.”
    Enrico’s blood pressure skyrocketed. “Don’t let him rile me? After what he’s done? After Mamma and Primo and Mario? After forcing me to leave—”
    Rinaldo raised a finger for silence. “We are the only ones who know about that.”
    Enrico flicked his eyes at the driver and his father’s bodyguard, Livio, in the front seat.
    “You don’t trust them?” he whispered.
    Rinaldo leaned closer. “I do. But men can’t speak of what they don’t know. Yes?”
    His father was right. The fewer people who knew, the better. If Carlo Andretti ever learned of Nico’s existence, the boy would be dead, and Enrico and Rinaldo along with him.
    “You need to meet the girl. It’s customary,” Rinaldo said.
    “It’s also customary that I can refuse her.” Before his father could speak, Enrico added, “Oh that’s right—I can’t . I marry her, or Carlo hunts us down like rabbits. Frightened fucking rabbits. Have I got that right?”
    Enrico didn’t have time to do more than recoil from the slap to his cheek. “Stop it. Now.” His father’s voice was like iron. “I’m doing this for you . So you’ll have a future. Instead of a grave. You think I like this any more than you do?”
    The car pulled to a stop, and Rinaldo slammed out before Enrico could answer. He rubbed his stinging cheek, shame overwhelming him. His father had always been a proud man who’d never bowed to anyone. And certainly never to Carlo fucking Andretti. But that was before everything that had happened during the last two years. “I’m sorry, Papà,” Enrico whispered to himself as he got out of the car and followed his father and Livio inside. The four guards who’d accompanied them in another car brought up the rear. Their weapons weren’t drawn, but their alertness spoke volumes. They were in enemy territory.
    Carlo’s villa wasn’t nearly as grand as the Lucchesis’ own, but it was well-furnished, as Enrico recalled from the last time he’d visited. Four years ago, before all the trouble had started between his father and Carlo.
    They’d come for a wedding—some cousin of Carlo’s had wanted to be married on the lake. It was the first time Enrico had met Antonella Andretti. He’d been fourteen, she twelve. A gawky slip of a girl, all large dark eyes and a mass of black hair. Nothing special. He’d barely taken notice of her. And there’d been that one time at school when some very stupid boys had been harassing her and her twin brother Dario. Enrico had stepped in and stopped it. She’d tried to thank him, but he’d brushed her off. He couldn’t even remember what her voice sounded like.
    He’d find out soon enough.
    They were shown around back to a large terrace beneath a huge plane tree, its silver-gray bark peeling. Sunlight filtered through the thick green foliage, dappling the figure of Carlo Andretti, who was sitting at a table and sipping from a steaming cappuccino. Breakfast dishes had been set out for six. Carlo’s family, plus Rinaldo and Enrico.
    The guards fanned out and took positions around the table. Carlo watched them, but didn’t comment beyond the amusement in his eyes.
    He rose when Rinaldo and Enrico approached, a smug smile spreading across his face. “ Prego ,” he said, motioning them to take chairs at the table, playing the gracious host. Enrico wanted to strangle him. A bitter taste rose in his mouth and his stomach churned. How could he be expected to just sit there and have breakfast with the man who’d killed his mother, his brothers?
    Enrico placed a hand on the back of