Malavita (17 page)

Dom leaned forward. “You’ve made your point with Carlo. You don’t have to do the rest.”

But Carlo could still do the job with three killers. Carlo could still have targets on Dom and Zio Poldi. Carlo could be planning anything.

Carlo needed a reminder that he wasn’t invincible.

“I have to do this.”

“Look, this shouldn’t all fall on you. I can do the rest.”

“If I’m to be
capo
,
I
need to do this. I need to prove to the men that I can lead them. That I’m not afraid.”

Cradling his tumbler in his hands, Dom shook his head. “One is enough.”

“It’s not.” Enrico took another drink, then set the whiskey on the table and raked his hands through his hair. His father wouldn’t like him telling Dom, but he was going to do it anyway. “Carlo has you and your father in his sights.”

“What?”

“He sent pictures to Papà. Surveillance photos of the two of you.”

“That fucker,” Dom said, his brows drawing down over his eyes.

“It gets worse.” Enrico picked up the tumbler again and drained it, then held it out for Dom to refill.

Dom took it and rose, going over to the sideboard. “Worse how?” He refilled Enrico’s glass and brought it back along with the decanter.

“Ripoli was following me last week.”

“
Porca vacca
, Rico. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Does your father know?”

“Of course not. He’d skin me if he knew what I was doing. And he’d put a stop to it.”

Dom gave him a sly look. “So what’s the problem? I thought you wanted to quit.”

Enrico stared at his whiskey, but no answers came from that quarter. “I do.” He took a swallow. “And I don’t.” He rolled the tumbler back and forth in his hands, then set it down with a thunk. “I swore I would avenge them. I swore I would finish this.”

“No one has to know it wasn’t you.”

“
I’ll
know.
You’ll
know.” He took a deep breath. “This is my task to finish.”

“
Cristo
and his cross.”

Enrico gave him a hard stare. “I hope you don’t think that was funny.”

“I hope
you
don’t think you have to be a martyr.”

“I don’t intend to die for this.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear.” Dom held out his glass and inclined his head. “
Salute
.”

Leaning forward, Enrico tapped his glass against Dom’s. “
Salute
.” He took a sip then set the glass aside. “Let’s walk through the plan for tomorrow one more time.”

“I still don’t like you doing this on your own,” Dom said. “It’s too risky.”

They were sitting in a borrowed car outside Cristiano Borelli’s home in Milan. It was early evening, around six-thirty. Enrico would have preferred darkness, but Borelli liked to walk his dog around then, and he almost always took it into a nearby park, which would be the perfect place to hit him.

Enrico ignored Dom and screwed a silencer onto the Beretta. Yet another throwaway gun with the serial numbers filed off. He had no idea who’d done that work—maybe some young boy trying to impress his father and get into the society early. Or perhaps some new initiate. It couldn’t be easy work.

Stop drifting
, he chided himself.

“Rico,” Dom said. “Look at me.” He turned to Dom. “At least let me back you up.”

“And have the men say one day that I needed a nursemaid when I avenged my brothers?”

“This is a difficult job. You have only twenty minutes—”

“I know.”

“If you don’t finish him by then, Ripoli will be in for the evening. And you can’t wait until tomorrow.”

“I
know
.” And on top of that, he had a date with Toni tonight. In two and a half hours. It was nearly an hour back to Blevio. He was cutting it far too close.

But what choice did he have?

“Rico, if something happens to you—”

“Stop it, Dom.
Now
.”

“Your father would never forgive me.”

“
I
will never forgive you if you don’t shut up.” He exhaled slowly. “
I
need to do this. Not you.”

“But I’d be acting on your orders.”

“Not good enough. They see
my
face last.”

“I’m a Lucchesi too.”

“
Basta
!” Enrico snapped and sliced a hand under his own chin. A movement on the walkway across from them snagged his attention.

It was Cristiano Borelli, being towed down the walk by a large white bulldog. The dog was just out of the puppy stage and full of vigor, its knotty muscles straining under its short white coat as it yanked against its leash.

Borelli made a clicking noise at the dog, and it checked itself, settling into a bowlegged trot by its master’s side.

Enrico let them get halfway down the block before he eased out of the car. He didn’t quite close the door behind him. He held the gun down by his leg, the long silencer brushing against the outside of his right thigh.

Heart pulsing in his throat, Enrico followed Borelli, stopping whenever he stopped to let the dog piss on a bush or a clump of grass, each time making Enrico’s adrenaline spike. As soon as the dog defecated, the walk would be over, and Enrico didn’t want to shoot the man on this street. It was too public.

The man and dog stopped several more times before turning into the small, well-treed park, and although Enrico was relieved, his pulse sped up. He had to act now.

The dog sniffed at a bush, then squatted down. Borelli pulled out a cigarette and lighter.

Enrico advanced quickly. “Signor Borelli?” he said, feigning astonishment. “It’s me, Giuseppe Riccardi’s boy.”

The man’s brow wrinkled in confusion as he studied Enrico’s face, missing the movement as Enrico raised the gun.

This is for them
. Enrico squeezed the trigger, shooting Borelli in the chest, the muffled shot seeming loud in the silence.

The man fell to the dirt path, his hands clutched over the wound bubbling blood. The dog, finished with its business, growled, and Enrico stepped away from it, instead aiming his gun at the man’s face. “
Scusi
. I misspoke. My father is Rinaldo Lucchesi.” He waited for recognition to spread across Borelli’s features. Then he pulled the trigger again.

The dog lunged and caught Enrico’s left hand in its teeth. Pain lanced up his arm, and he brought down the gun butt across the dog’s sensitive black nose. It let out a sharp whine and released his hand.

He’d seen Carlo discipline one of his Rottweilers that way. Who’d have known such knowledge would ever be so useful?

The dog sniffed at its owner’s head and whined again before licking the man’s cheek.

His hand throbbing, Enrico hurried back to the park’s entrance, unscrewing the silencer and wiping down the gun with a handkerchief as he walked. He tossed the weapon deep into the bushes as he left the park, but retained the suppressor. He had one more job to do that night.

When he got back to the car, Dom looked pointedly at his injured left hand. “The dog?” he asked as he put the car in gear and headed to their next destination.

“
Sì
.” Enrico wiped the blood on his black trousers and inspected the wound. He’d probably need a tetanus shot, but he was able to flex his fingers. “Nothing serious.”

“I should have been with you.”

“You are.”

“You sure you can—”

“
Sì
.” Enrico cut him off with a glare. “It’s barely a scratch. Just drive.”

“Whatever you say,
il mio principe
.”

Enrico’s gut burned. Dom didn’t have to like that Enrico would be
capo
someday, but he didn’t have to be so free with the reminders. “You want to be more than an underboss?” Enrico asked.

“Of course.”

“Then listen to me now. I’ll make you
capo di società
if you stop complaining. This minute. And never call me that again.”

Dom said nothing, and Enrico took his silence as acceptance. He stared out the window as they traveled through a rough neighborhood, graffiti freely evident on the facades of buildings long since boarded up. A stone sat in his stomach, heavy and hard, and he inhaled and exhaled, trying to dispel it. But the weight remained.

Twice now he’d sinned. Twice now he’d killed.

And he would do it at least twice more before the end of the next day.

They sped down several streets, Dom silent beside him. Finally he said something. “I admire you, Rico.”

Startled, Enrico turned to his cousin. “You do?”

“Our fathers, and I too, haven’t done what we should have from the start. And here you are, still half a boy, and you’re taking care of it.”

“You’re not that much older.” Enrico took another throwaway gun from the glove box and attached the suppressor.

“At this point, three years is a world of difference.”

“Well, if I finish it unscathed, it will be because of your help and
Dio
’s benevolence.” Enrico paused. “I know I’m being foolish, taking this risk, but I cannot stand letting Carlo Andretti think he has bested us.”

“Neither can I.”

They pulled onto a quiet residential street, and Enrico’s heart quickened. He really ought to have Dom’s direct assistance with this one, but he had to do this alone, to atone for his two years of inaction. Two years they’d lain underground, unavenged. Two years they’d awaited justice.

Two years Carlo Andretti had gloated, had circled the Lucchesis like a shark.

No more. After tonight, Carlo would know that the game had changed.

Dom had observed Ripoli for about a week and a half. The man lived alone, but visited his ailing grandparents every day, arriving home at seven PM without fail. As long as Ripoli was sticking to his routine, all would be well. If Enrico failed to get him today, the odds of success plunged. And the odds of Enrico getting killed skyrocketed.

It was 6:56 as they glided down Ripoli’s street. “He drives a silver Alfa 90,” Dom said. “He usually parks it on your side.”

Enrico scanned the parked cars, but didn’t see a silver Alfa. A car pulled onto the road behind them, and Enrico strained to see what make it was in his side mirror. He didn’t want to turn around and alert the driver. Finally he was sure. “He’s behind us.”

“I’ll stop around the next corner. You’ll have to approach on foot.”

“Not a problem.” He was squeezing the gun so hard he could feel his pulse in his fingers. He adjusted his grip and exhaled slowly.

Maybe he should have accepted Dom’s help, but it was too late now. They were pulling to the curb out of Ripoli’s sight, and it was either act now, or the moment would be lost.

Enrico slipped out of the car almost before it stopped moving, gun by his side, walking rapidly toward the silver Alfa that Ripoli was parallel parking.

While Ripoli was still distracted, his attention on not backing into the Fiat behind him, Enrico charged up to the driver’s window and let loose a shot.

The glass shattered, but Ripoli seemed unhurt. He reacted instantly, reaching out and grabbing the long barrel of Enrico’s gun. His vehicle rolled back into the Fiat, setting off the car’s alarm.

“Lucchesi,” the man grunted as he tried to wrest the gun from Enrico. Enrico’s heart thrashed against his ribs, his breathing so fast and shallow his vision started to narrow. He was on the verge of panic. Any moment now he would be discovered, or Ripoli could gain control of the weapon.

They struggled, both grunting with the effort, when Enrico realized he had an advantage. He whipped his bent elbow forward, connecting with Ripoli’s jaw and cheekbone.

It was enough to loosen the man’s grip, and Enrico was able to twist the gun into Ripoli’s face and pump two shots into him.

The man jerked as he died, the wound in his neck spraying Enrico with blood. But he’d done it. He’d killed three now.

One to go. If he managed to escape capture.

Doors to the surrounding apartment buildings were opening, people shouting about the alarm’s racket, but no one seemed to have noticed yet what had happened between Enrico and Ripoli.

Enrico stuffed the gun in his jacket pocket and wiped his face on his sleeve and shoulder as he walked away, thankful that Dom had counseled him to wear dark clothes. He hurried to the corner where he’d left Dom.

No
.

The car was gone. All he saw was an empty hole by the curb where Dom had been waiting.

Enrico’s lungs spasmed, and he couldn’t seem to catch his breath. He was just about to start running when he heard a car pull up beside him. It was Dom. He yanked the door open and scrambled into the vehicle as his cousin smoothly pulled away. “Where the hell were you?” Enrico shouted.

“
Polizia
passed by and were looking at me a little too much, so I pretended to drive off.”

“We’d better ditch this car.”

“And you’d better ditch those clothes. You stink of blood.”

“I was too close. He grabbed the gun.”