Revenge Read Free

filmed
over. A black cord cut into its neck, strangling the bird. The
raptor’s open beak suggested it was giving a last angry cry at the
injustice of its death.
    He looked up at Ruggero, their eyes locking.
A falcon was featured on the Lucchesi coat of arms. The message was
obvious.
    As he lowered the lid, Enrico’s fingers
lingered over the etched surface. A pattern of vines and flowers
danced around the edge, and a boar-hunting scene occupied the
center. Where had he seen this box before?
    And then it came to him. It was the box Carlo
Andretti stored his cigars in, the one he’d offered to Enrico on
several occasions when he’d been in Carlo’s study. And if he had
any doubt about who was sending this message, the timing of it
couldn’t be ignored.
    “It’s from Andretti,” he said to Ruggero. He
drew in then let out a deep breath, seeking calm. Andretti wanted
him dead. That was nothing new.
    “You aren’t surprised.”
    “Do you remember what day it is? What
happened exactly a year ago?” Enrico fought to keep his voice
steady, yet still he detected a catch.
    Ruggero thought for a moment, then
understanding dawned on his face. “Your wife. I’m sorry, I
forgot.”
    “Carlo didn’t forget. He still blames
me.”
    “He thinks you can cure cancer?”
    “I don’t know what he thinks. Only that I
didn’t do enough.” And maybe I didn’t .
    Ruggero motioned to the box. “What do we do
about this?”
    “For now, nothing.”
    The guard’s brow creased. “You are virtually
undefended with only me and Antonio. We should call in more men
before leaving the city.”
    “We leave today, as planned. Just us three.”
He’d be damned if he’d let Carlo pick the tune he danced to. He’d
seen what fear had done to his father, what mistakes it had caused
him to make. What a bleak future it led to.
    “Don Lucchesi, that’s suicide,” Antonio
said.
    A muscle in Ruggero’s jaw jumped and he
pinned the boy with his eyes, not looking back to Enrico until
Antonio lowered his eyes and mumbled, “Forgive me, signore. ”
    Ruggero took a breath then said, “With
respect, capo , Andretti knows where you are. He could have
men waiting for us outside.”
    Enrico shook his head. “Carlo likes to play
with his food before he eats it.”
    “So, you are the mouse?” Ruggero asked.
    Enrico scrubbed a hand through his hair. “He
thinks he’ll see me cower and run. But I am no mouse.”
    “At least let me call in reinforcements for
when we arrive in Milan.”
    Enrico nodded. “There’s no sense being
completely foolish.” As he watched his guard make the call, he
rubbed his stomach, a queasy feeling growing, like he’d just eaten
a pound of pancetta. He hoped he wasn’t leading them into a trap. A
giant, man-sized mousetrap.

    “Carlo is a dead man,” Enrico muttered to
himself as he strode through the crowd in the hotel lobby hours
later, his empty stomach knotted, drawn up tight under his chest.
His eyes swept the area, noting the details of his surroundings,
the placement of people and weapons—at least those he knew about.
His guards were good; in fact, Ruggero was one of the best. But no
one was perfect.
    “What did you say, Don Lucchesi?” Antonio
asked as he matched Enrico’s pace.
    “Andretti is dead.”
    “So you’ve decided then?” asked Ruggero, on
his right.
    Enrico heard the anticipation in Ruggero’s
voice and wondered again if there wasn’t a touch of the sociopath
to him. Enrico hated killing, though it was sometimes necessary.
But Ruggero seemed perfectly suited to his line of work.
    “Don’t get excited yet. I decided the moment
I saw what was in the box. Now all that remains is the when.”
    “Soon, I hope,” Ruggero said.
    Enrico gave him a tight smile. “Soon enough.”
If only Antonella hadn’t made him promise not to harm her father,
he’d have given the order long ago. He owed his mother and Primo
and Mario justice. But he’d promised his wife that he’d keep