Malavita (5 page)

“
Grazie
.
Mille
grazie
.”

“You can thank me by not getting yourself killed.”

Enrico’s heart was beating fast. “Any advice on how not to do that?”

“Surprise is your best asset in any fight. Learn the men’s routines, learn when they are least alert. And be ready to act. Zero hesitation.”

“I will.”
I hope
.

Enrico’s gut tightened. Was he really going to do this?

With a sharp rap of his knuckles on the table, Livio rose and wished him luck. “
In bocca al lupo
.”
In the mouth of the wolf
.

Enrico gave the traditional response. “
Crepi il lupo
.”
May the wolf die
.

Antonella picked up the phone twice before finally placing the call, her heart skipping like a stone across a pond. Enrico had said yesterday that he wanted a second chance. Would he prove her a fool for giving him one?

The phone rang several times before someone answered. One of the maids. Yes, Enrico was home, please wait.

She wiped a sweaty hand on her skirt. This was stupid. Why open herself up to more ridicule?
But if you’re going to marry him, you should know him first
.

A rustling came on the line, then Enrico’s rich deep voice. He spoke with the beautiful cadences of the north, his diction perfect, less slangy than her father’s own frequent lapses into Calabrian. When she identified herself, he said, “So you
did
forgive me.” A smile filled his voice.

“I said it, yes?” Her tone was a little sharper than she’d intended. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

He chuckled. “I’m supposed to be apologizing to you, remember?”

She relaxed. He was right. “So, how are you going to do that?” she asked, injecting a teasing lilt into her words.

“There’s a beautiful café in Bellagio. Splendore. Have you been?”

“No.” Her heart started acting up again, and her stomach joined in.

“Great. Let’s take the boat. I’ll pull up at your dock in an hour.”

“I can’t wait.” And she meant it. She’d always dreamed of such a day with him. The boy she’d longed for by her side, the wind whipping in their faces as they sped across the lake. It was a dream come true.

Except that her father might ruin everything. She hadn’t liked his lack of hesitation when she’d asked him what he’d do if she didn’t marry Enrico.

This had better work. Enrico had better be able to see who she was; he’d better be able to see the inner beauty rather than the exterior.

If he didn’t, he’d be in trouble. Except this time, she might not be able to save him and his father.

Antonella tore through every outfit in her closet at least three times. None of them would fix her nose. She finally settled on a dark blue sun dress with white sandals. She knotted a white silk scarf at her throat. Maybe it would draw his eyes away from her hideous beak.

At least she could be proud of her hair. It was a glossy, wavy, blue-black, thick and tumbling to mid-back. She’d never suffered a moment’s insecurity over it. Grabbing a hair elastic, she pulled it up into a loose chignon at the nape of her neck to keep it from blowing all over while they were on the boat.

Heart in her throat, she raced down the central staircase and hurried toward the rear terrace. “Toni, where are you going?” her father called from the end of the hall.

She stopped guiltily. Should she tell him? What if he said no? “I’m meeting Ilaria.”

“You’re awfully dressed up.”

“We’re going to Bellagio.”

He came toward her, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his ever-present cigar. He stopped a couple feet from her and scanned her head to toe, his gaze coming to rest on her face. Could he see that she was lying?

“Where in Bellagio?”

“Just shopping. I’m not sure.” She glanced at her watch. Enrico would be down at the dock any minute. If she wasn’t on time, how long would he wait?

Her father pulled out his wallet and peeled off a stack of
lire
and handed it to her. “Get yourself something nice.”

Clutching the money in her hand, she beamed at him and rose up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

“Stay out of trouble,” he added, his eyes twinkling as he smiled at her.

“Always,” she promised with a pang. They were just going to lunch. And Enrico was her fiancé. Technically. He hadn’t given her the ring yet, but he would. Wouldn’t he?

She hurried along the path through the garden and down to their dock, which was hidden by a copse of trees. When she heard the purr of a boat’s motor, her pulse sped up. She quickened her pace, then stopped short just before she came into view. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to wait a moment. Papà’s words echoed in her ears:
Like Cleopatra, you were born to lead armies and rule men
. Would Cleopatra race like a puppy to greet a man? No, she wouldn’t. She’d make him wait, and when he saw her, she’d be as unruffled as the Sphinx.

She heard a bump as the boat pulled up at dockside. That was her cue. Taking another breath, she stepped out onto the dock, her sandals thudding on the boards.

Enrico leapt over the side of the boat. He was wearing a beautiful tan suede jacket, cream-colored trousers, and a white Oxford shirt unbuttoned at the neck. His tanned skin and black hair stood out in sharp contrast to his clothes, and when he looked at her and grinned, a thrill coursed through her. “You look lovely,” he said as he looped a rope around a post, pulling the boat up tight.

“
Grazie
.” She deliberately kept her pace slow, casual, even though she was so excited she felt like her heart would burst through her chest.

He extended a hand toward her and she took it, for some reason surprised when he started helping her into the boat. Had she really expected him to kiss her hand?

Masking her disappointment, she clambered into the boat, never an easy task in a dress. Her foot slipped on the wet gunwale, and he grabbed her awkwardly by the upper thigh to steady her.

“Careful,” he murmured. “Your father would never forgive me if I brought you back in less than one piece.”

True. “He doesn’t know I’m with you.”

His hand tightened on her thigh. “He doesn’t?”

“Don’t worry.”

Once she was safely in the boat, Enrico cast off and swung himself up over the side, landing beside her with a gentle thump, like a cat. A very tall, very handsome cat. He regarded her solemnly. “I’d rather he knew.”

“I’m not a child who needs looking after.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Enrico said. He turned away then and busied himself with idling the boat away from the dock. Once they were clear, he patted the seat beside him up front, behind the windscreen. The motorboat was a sleek Riva Aquarama, its mahogany hull polished to perfection, with plush white leather seating in front and along the sides.

She looked around, a little stunned. Her father had a fine motorboat as well, but it wasn’t a super-expensive Riva. How could the Lucchesis afford such an extravagance?

“Hang on,” he said, motioning to the railing beside her. They took off with a spray of spume.

Wind whipped at her face and she inhaled deeply, her eyes scanning the dark green hillsides and the midnight blue waves of the lake. Was there ever a more enchanting place than Lake Como?

Though the sun was shining fiercely overhead, the wind chilled her bare arms, and she mentally berated herself for forgetting a sweater. When she rubbed at them, Enrico glanced over. “Cold?” he asked, shouting above the roar of the motor.

She nodded, and he cut the motor back to idle while he shrugged out of his jacket and handed it to her. She wished he’d have helped her put it on, or at least have draped the coat over her shoulders himself, but it was still a gallant gesture.

Gallant, but merely friendly. Not at all romantic.

Was this how it would be between them? Civil, polite, but nothing more? On his part, at least.

He started up the boat again and steered them toward Bellagio, at the lake’s northern end. She tamped down her worries. What did she expect? They barely knew each other. And there was the little matter of what Papà had done to Enrico’s family.

She must never forget that.

The rest of their trip passed without comment, but she continued to feel a slight unease. Would Enrico ever
see
her, truly see her? Or would he always think of her as an Andretti?

Her pulse quickened when the Grand Hotel Villa Serbelloni, so iconic a landmark of Bellagio, drew near. Then she reminded herself. Cleopatra. While he helped her out of the boat, she did not dwell on the feel of his large hand wrapped around hers, his other hand at her waist to steady her as she stepped out. No, she did not dwell on it. The moment she had both feet on the dock, he released her hand and turned away, starting toward their destination, not waiting to see if she followed, not taking her hand.

Not treating her as the slightest bit special.

A lump rose in her throat, but she swallowed to disperse it. Cleopatra wouldn’t allow a man to affect her this way.

She hurried after him, then forced herself to slow. How long would it take for him to notice that she wasn’t at his side?

A few moments later, he stopped and looked back for her, waiting until she caught up. It took everything she had to maintain her unhurried pace.

When she reached him, he gave her a sheepish grin. “Sorry,” he offered, but she said nothing. Didn’t even give him a smile. Cleopatra wasn’t pleased.

He tried to take her elbow, and though she stiffened, she didn’t withdraw it. Inwardly, she smiled. So he responded to the silent treatment. Good to know.

When they reached Splendore, he was a perfect gentleman, helping her out of the jacket, pulling out her chair, making sure she was comfortable, and meeting her eyes and smiling, as if they were truly on a date.

The staff greeted Enrico like he was an old friend, chiding him for being away so long. So he’d been there before many times. When the waiter joshed him about his latest date, she realized that he’d brought girls there before. He must have, back in the days before he’d gone to England.

Whatever appetite she’d had was gone. He was humoring her, that’s all. He hadn’t selected a special place.

Oh, Splendore was romantic and had a lovely view. But it wasn’t a place he hadn’t been a million times before. He hadn’t chosen it for
her
.

“What has you frowning?” he asked, as he perused the menu.

She slapped hers shut and set it on the table. “How many girls have you brought here?”
Whoa. Not Cleopatra in the slightest!

“A few. It’s a nice place.”

“I thought you were trying to apologize.”

He gave her his full attention then. “I was.”

“You didn’t put a second’s thought into this.”

“Antonella, I’m not sure what you expect from me.”

“If I have to spell it out—”

“You do.”

That caught her by surprise. “What?”

“I’m obviously failing to meet your expectations. I’d like to know what they are.”

She lowered her voice. “I’m your fiancée. You ought to be reminding me of that.”

He let out a breath, but clenched his menu, bending the edges of it. “Not by my choice,” he said through gritted teeth.

It was the truth, yet still the words hit her like a blow. “Then why are we here?”

“Because I’m not a jerk. I hurt you, and I wanted to apologize.”

“You’re doing a horrible job,” she said, her voice warbling.
Damn it
. She didn’t want him to hear that.

He set his menu on the table. “You expect me to forget everything that’s happened? Everything I’ve lost?” Now his voice was the one warped with emotion. “I’m not some unfeeling robot.”

“And I’m not just Carlo Andretti’s daughter. But that’s all I’ll ever be to you, yes?”

“What do you expect?” he asked, his voice soft. “What do you expect of me?”

She almost said nothing, almost demanded he take her home. But the look in his dark brown eyes—the ache she saw reflected there—made her pause. She let out a sigh. “I am not my last name.”