Malavita Read Free Page B

a chair, but didn’t sit. He was gripping the painted metal so hard his fingers hurt. His emotions must have shown on his face because Carlo’s grin widened. He looked at Rinaldo and said, “So your pup thinks he’s a wolf, yes? He thinks he will challenge me?”
    Enrico looked at his father. “Papà, per favore —”
    “Sit,” Rinaldo said between gritted teeth.
    Holding Carlo’s gaze, Enrico took a seat. Carlo chuckled and leaned across the table. “You’ll live longer if you learn to be more like your father. Accept your losses and move on.”
    Enrico took a deep breath and looked away. Someday, somehow he’d make Carlo Andretti pay. What he didn’t quite understand was why his father was just taking this treatment. Sure, things were bad, but they couldn’t be this bad, could they? Something had happened. Something Papà hadn’t told him.
    Carlo smoothed a hand over his coal-black hair and took another sip of his cappuccino, motioning for a maid to pour espresso for Enrico and Rinaldo. Nodding at Enrico, he said, “You’ve grown. So where has your father kept you stashed these last two years?”
    Enrico looked at his father, who nodded. “England. Boarding school.”
    “Did you enjoy their bland food?”
    “Would you?”
    Carlo laughed. He addressed Rinaldo. “I like your pup.”
    “Does that mean you won’t shoot me too?” Enrico asked.
    Carlo laughed harder and slapped the table. Rinaldo glared at Enrico, but Enrico didn’t apologize. “You could teach my boy a thing or two about balls,” Carlo said.
    The double doors in the back of the house opened, and Enrico turned, his heart speeding up. What did Antonella look like now?
    Dario stepped out first. He’d filled out some since Enrico had seen him last. He was followed by his mother, Romola, who stopped just outside the doorway and spoke to someone still inside. Her voice was pitched low, and he couldn’t hear what she said.
    Was something wrong? Did Antonella not like this idea either? If so, maybe she’d refuse him, and he and his father could make some other arrangement with Carlo to end the feud.
    And Enrico could go back to England and his son.
    Finally Signora Andretti walked toward them, and her daughter stepped outside. Antonella’s head was down, her eyes staring at her feet, her mass of black hair shielding her face. She was wearing a light, flowery sundress with simple sandals. She was quite tan, her legs and arms shapely, her body willowy. Not much in the way of breasts, but that was all right—
    She looked up and straight at him, her eyes locking with his.
    A pang of disappointment hit him. She was plain, so plain. And she had the “Andretti beak.” That overlarge nose that looked fine on the males, but that overwhelmed the faces of the women. Perhaps “plain” was being kind.
    Her step faltered. Merda . She’d seen what he was thinking. He forced a smile, but she looked away and stalked to the other end of the table where she wouldn’t have to talk to him.
    He wanted to crawl under his chair. He was a worm. An insect. He’d just upset this poor girl. She’d been teased plenty at school—the taunts had reached even his ears. He’d been among the popular crowd, but despite their wealth, the Andretti twins had been outcasts. As far as he knew, Antonella had ignored the taunts and Dario had remained silent, speaking to no one but his sister.
    Well, she’d apparently pretended to ignore the insults. Obviously they’d made their mark.
    And here he’d gone and made her feel them all over again.
    The only good thing was that she was sure to reject him now. And then he’d be free.
    Breakfast—an assortment of cold cuts, fruit, and pastries—was served, no one chatting much. Dario kept his right hand in his lap, eating awkwardly with his left. Had Carlo told him to do that, or was the boy ashamed? Enrico’s cheeks heated. Here was another Andretti he’d wronged. He should’ve argued harder with his father. Maybe he