Best Laid Plans (2 page)

It made him laugh—so much so that the viewer on his cell door was drawn open abruptly. An officer eyed him with suspicion before closing it once more. Not a single moment in Luca’s life, in his whole existence, had ever been as uplifting as that girl’s laugh. Considering his now ex-girlfriend was a red-haired, green-eyed harpy sent to destroy him, he was amazed that he’d envisioned his cinnamon delight with such clarity.

Maybe it was a sign that he’d get out of this place. Out of trouble and especially out of this life. He could do what made him feel like a human being and not a piece of grit in another man’s shoe. What if his dream was a foretelling of his reward if he succeeded at being a good person?

“God,” he prayed, “if you let me escape getting bum fucked by my potential roommates and let me have that girl for real? I swear to you, I will never use a knife in violence again.”

To his endless relief, God listened.

Luca hadn’t travelled by first class before, and it made him feel even more uncomfortable that there wasn’t the time to shower the taint of police station from his body. His lawyer, Rocco Mamione, despite being up for more than forty-eight hours, looked as pressed as a window-dressed shop mannequin. He should hate the guy, but he’d sprung him without a mark on his record.

The immigration official looked Luca up and down with acute suspicion after the plane touched down at Heathrow, and then handed back his passport. Rocco hustled him into a car that made Luca feel even more like a tramp from the street and dropped him outside Tony’s house.

“Here we are, safe and sound. If not mentally so,” Rocco added dryly.

Luca scratched his eyelid. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me. Easiest case ever.” Rocco opened the boot and Luca heaved himself out of the car to collect his suitcase. He waved Rocco off and then knocked on the door. Within a half second the door was thrown open and he was yanked into a one-armed hug. Tony was taller than Luca by a scant inch, but what Luca lacked in a height advantage, Tony made worse with sheer muscle mass. Luca felt half choked, one hand clutching his suitcase.

“You stink,” Tony grumbled, pulling him inside and closing the door.

“Didn’t have time for a ladies’ day at the spa,” he mocked. Despite any unintentional disrespect, Luca left his beanie on. The fewer questions right now, the better.

Tony took the suitcase from him and left it in the hallway. “Drink?”

“If it’s nearing eighty percent proof, give it to me.”

He followed him into the living room, where Tony poured him a large glass of whiskey. “What’s in the case?”

“The bare essentials,” Luca replied, collapsing into the sofa and stretching his long legs.

Tony handed over a huge glass of dark gold liquid. “We’ll get you new stuff.”

Luca caught his concerned gaze and shook his head. “Mate, I know you want to go over what happened, but I am ready to pass out.”

“And you stink.”

“And I smell,” he agreed, knocking back the whiskey.

Tony huffed a laugh. “Shower’s at the top of the stairs, left and at the end. You’re staying in the room next to it. I’m like the fucking Hilton, all ready for you.”

Luca muttered a thank you. He’d been saying it so much it’d lost meaning. The shower was a godsend, and he stood under scalding water for what felt like hours until he felt purged. Spraying half a can of deodorant was also a good idea, after he slapped on a soothing moisturiser which didn’t take the angry red from his skin. He gazed at his clean-shaven face in the mirror. Hair grows back, he reminded himself. Pride, not so much.

Dafne gathered the shorn pieces of hair, thrusting them into a bin bag. “It’s for your own good, Luca. Now people will have a reason to be afraid of you.”

Clemente emptied the razor into the same bag, a cigarette dangling from his lip. “They weren’t when you were walking around looking like Andrea Bocelli.”

Luca nearly snapped the handcuff from the iron rail, trying to jerk loose. “What makes you think I won’t ram that razor in your eye?”

Dafne glanced out of the window. “Because La Madama are here already. This is your big moment.”

Pushing thoughts of his own gullibility aside, he made his way to his new, temporary room where a clean t-shirt and pyjama bottoms were laid on the bed for him. He donned them quickly and climbed between cool, soapy scented sheets. Imagining patterns circled on the ceiling, he was asleep before he knew it.

Eighteen hours later, he woke to the scent of coffee—the Italian’s alarm clock. “Are you awake, bum fluff?” Tony yelled up the stairs.

“Give me fifteen minutes,” Luca yelled back, his voice croaked with underuse. Another shower and a quick change of clothes saw him downstairs, sitting at the kitchen table waiting expectantly for his coffee.

“I’m not Nigella fucking Lawson, mate, you’d better learn to find your way around here sharpish,” Tony admonished, shoving the coffee in front of him. Luca glanced at the piles of fried food and his stomach gave a loud and demanding grumble.

“Eat.”

He snatched a plate and started piling hash browns, sausages, tomatoes and bacon onto his plate. “I don’t usually…”

“Shut up and eat, you snob. Good British fare will see you right.”

Luca looked up and saw his cousin’s narrowed eyes on his hair. “It’ll grow back,” Luca said by way of explanation.

“Not the point.”

Tony sat down opposite him, facial muscles twitching with rage. Couldn’t be good. Caristos tended to be quick to laugh and slow to anger. It was supposed to make them good cops. “It’s all right.”

“Pick. A. Better. Woman. Next. Time.”

Luca ignored him and started shovelling food into his mouth. “This is good.”

Tony watched him for a moment. “Rocco will tell me if he wants to get paid.”

“I paid him already, and actually, because he’s a good lawyer, he won’t tell you anything.”

“You tell me then.”

Luca put his knife and fork down. “Fine. Dafne sold me out, made me look like an abusive thug for extra measure to make sure the police could keep me on lockdown for as long as possible to try and pin whatever they could on me. Domestic violence was more likely to stick, so whoever was coaching Dafne didn’t really school her on forensics. Actually the police came pretty close to something I’d done, but like I said, Rocco’s a good lawyer.”

“And?”

“And there’s nothing to link me to the Da Canavezes. I did my job right.”

“So what the fuck happened to your hair?”

Luca rubbed his fingers over the buzz cut Dafne had given him, with her brother’s knee on his throat while she did the work. “Never invest in a pair of handcuffs unless your girlfriend’s deadly serious about her bondage. For the right reasons. First time I’ve ever been locked up and I couldn’t get a hard-on for love nor money.”

Tony looked like he was struggling not to break someone’s face. “What did the police make of that then?”

“It made them reconsider the domestic violence issue.”

“Dafne fancied giving you a haircut for what?”

“Being the girlfriend of a chef isn’t as lucrative as being the girlfriend of the ‘hired help.’ She wanted more money. I’m not supposed to be able to afford Prada bags, Dolce clothes and Armani jewellery on a chef’s salary. How else could she mark herself as a woman of importance without it? Whatever work I was doing, not that she had details, there was a place the money was going. And she was convinced that she deserved a cut of my hard-earned money. Shaving my hair was bonus for her when I could have and should have bought her several Rolexes. I wish you’d seen what she’d done to herself. She made her brother hit her in the eye, and the mouth and razored half her own hair. It was like something out of
Mad Max 3
. Said I’d done it to punish her.” He had to laugh; until he’d said it out loud, he honestly hadn’t believed just how far she’d gone to get what she wanted. “She looked magnificent. I told her she should have taken up acting. People would be sending her stuff for free by now.” Luca caught the look in Tony’s rather murderous-looking eyes and snapped, “Don’t. La Madama are still watching out for her. Don’t even think about it.”

“I’m not thinking anything.” Tony blinked with innocence.

Luca had taught him that look. “If they could get me in again, they’d do it in a heartbeat. I think one of the officers had worked Dafne over for a while, convinced her that there was money in shopping me. Or at the very least, some notoriety. But if she got to my money first, there wouldn’t be much left over for an investigation.”

Tony braced his head in his hands. “Fucking hell.”

“I know. Messed up, isn’t it?”

His cousin, to his credit, sat back and asked, “What do you need?”

“Just used my regular account to pay Rocco and I’m cleaned out. All I’ve got is what’s in that case.” He nodded upstairs.

“Right. Money, clothes…” Tony eyed his bare feet with distaste. “Shoes, phone, wallet and a job, I suppose. Can’t have you slouching around here like a spotty teenager. Still want to be a chef?”

“Yes,” Luca breathed. “I can’t do anything else anymore.”

“What if your hair grows back?”

“Especially when it grows back.”

Tony nodded. “I’ll have you ready to go by the end of today. In the meantime…” Tony dug around in his pocket and slapped his wallet on the table. He removed a black credit card. “Here. Pin number is 5924.”

Luca thought for a horrible moment he was going to break. “I hate shopping,” he said instead.

“Start with electrical.”

“Even worse.”

“Fine, start with food. There are so many poncy food shops around here. Blow your load.”

Luca laughed. “I’ll get my shoes.” He paused. “Tone?”

“Yes, yes I know I am the centre of all that is right, just and good in this world.”

Luca gave a snort that told his cousin exactly what he thought of that.

“Look what he did to me!” Dafne wept onto the nearest officer as Luca was cuffed.

“I had to pull him off her,” Clemente murmured, shaking his head. “I warned her about what he was like, but she didn’t listen to me.”

Luca glanced at the officer taking notes. “They’re lying. Look at his hand.” He nodded to Clemente’s fist. “He hit her. Not me.”

The officer gave a sceptical snort. “You think that’s all you’re wanted for? We know who you’ve been working for, taking money from. Try lying your way out of that, Caristo.”

Dafne turned a tear-sodden cheek from the officer and sent Luca a wink. He lunged at her and was held back. “Calm down. Air it out at the station.” The officer grinned. “Can’t wait to tell the inspector. He thinks every Caristo is a policing god.”

His phone rang. He’d finished his first late shift at the restaurant. Was his boss ringing him to tell him he’d left the gas on one of the hobs, the restaurant had blown up and he was fired? No, Luca had OCD about gas hobs. He was meticulous about his job, and it was what had made him exceptional at his previous line of employment.

The number was blocked, “unknown” flashing across the screen instead. If need be, Tony could always trace a blocked call. “Hello?”

“Hello, lover,” Dafne’s voice curled through the speaker and around him. It made him sit up abruptly.

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“Well, I thought this was the best time for us to talk.”

There were intermittent beeps on the line. She was recording him. Tony had told him to pick a better girlfriend. That wouldn’t be a stretch. “We haven’t talked since you decided to use me for hairdressing practice.”

Dafne paused, her voice lowering. “You’re still upset. But you understand I had to do what I had to do.”

“I liked my hair the way it was.” Before the shearing, Luca had hair down to his shoulders. He felt oddly naked without it.

“When are you coming back?”

“I’m perfectly happy where I am. How’d you get this number?” He kept his voice neutral. No need to encourage any eager police officers to involve Interpol to get him back to Italy.