Malavita (22 page)

The plan was relatively simple—Marchesi needed to get Carlo on tape discussing the money laundering. Once the tape was made, Carlo would learn the truth—along with how the situation had changed.

Marchesi must have downed half a bottle of whiskey before they’d arrived. The man was still a little keyed up, but at the same time in that reckless mood alcohol could induce—the sort of false bravado that could ruin everything.

“You think he can keep it together?” Enrico whispered.

Rinaldo shrugged. “If he doesn’t, we’ll have to go with plan B.”

“Which is?”

He patted the gun in the holster under his left armpit. “I shoot Carlo and take the consequences.”

“No.
I’ll
shoot Carlo.”

“
You’ve
done enough.”

Enrico didn’t argue, but only because the outer door to Marchesi’s office opened and they heard Carlo greeting the banker. As usual, Carlo got straight to the point. “I need another two hundred fifty thousand by close of business tomorrow.”

Marchesi’s chair scraped the tiles as he rose. “Two fifty? You think I’m made of money.”

The scent of Carlo’s cigar seeped into the bathroom. “Close to it.”

“We have to discuss our arrangement,” Marchesi said.

“There’s nothing to discuss.”

“I cannot continue to clean money for you, nor can I continue to give you money whenever you choose. The authorities—”

“Can suck my
cazzo
,” Carlo said. “Everyone important is in my pocket already.”

“The investment customers are getting suspicious. I’m posting loss after loss, but the market’s on a tear, and they don’t understand why they’re losing money.”

“Because you made mistakes.”

“I can’t say that for long and have them continue with me. Some of them have been saying they’re going to move their accounts.”

“Juggle the money.”

“I can’t do that forever. This bank isn’t some slush fund you can raid when it suits you.”

Carlo said nothing for a moment. Then: “Do you wish your private indiscretions to become very, very public?” After a pause, he added, “I know the editor of the
Corriere della Sera
. If it’s not on the front page, it’ll be on the second one.”

“Don Andretti, I beg you. A bullet would be preferable.”

Enrico looked at his father. What was Marchesi up to?

Rinaldo rose and drew his gun, motioning Enrico to do the same. Enrico turned the knob slowly and eased the door open a crack. He scanned the room from his vantage point—Carlo had come alone. No guard waited in the room with him, though that didn’t mean there weren’t guards outside.

At a nudge from his father, Enrico stepped out, and Carlo focused on him, then Rinaldo, Marchesi seemingly forgotten.

“What is this?” Carlo asked, his eyes flashing.

“Your comeuppance,” Rinaldo said.

“You can’t touch me.”

Rinaldo gave Carlo a broad grin full of triumph. “I own this bank now. All its assets are under Lucchesi control.”

Enrico had never seen Carlo Andretti at a loss for words. Until now. The man’s hands flexed and his face reddened. He turned on Marchesi. “How is this possible?”

“They made me an offer.”

“I will destroy you. I still have the photos.”

Marchesi smiled, a private, bitter smile. He opened the top drawer of his desk and withdrew a gun. What was he doing? “You can’t humiliate a dead man,” the banker said and raised the gun to his temple.

“No!” Rinaldo shouted, and Enrico leapt forward, his left hand outstretched, but Marchesi pulled the trigger and the bullet did its job. The banker fell to the floor, his body twitching.

“Fuck,” Rinaldo said.

“Your little plan is ruined.” Carlo smirked at them.

Enrico shook his head. “Marchesi transferred ownership to us earlier today. And we have this.” He picked up a handheld tape recorder that had been hidden behind a plant on Marchesi’s desk and pressed the button to turn it off. “There’s enough on this to land you in jail.”

“You have nothing.”

“Extortion, money laundering, bribery of public officials—it’s all there.”

“Marchesi was suicidal, babbling. It won’t hold up in court.”

“The extortion charges would.”

Carlo shrugged. “So? It’s a short sentence. And I have good lawyers.”

“And how will you pay for them?” Rinaldo asked.

“With my money.”

“It’s our money now. Marchesi transferred all of his accounts to us.”

“
Vaffanculo
!” Carlo shouted. “You’re bluffing.”

Rinaldo reached inside his jacket and tossed a copy of the contract on Marchesi’s desk. “Signed this afternoon.”

“You will return my money. Every last cent.”

“What money? It was all in Signor Marchesi’s name.”

Carlo’s face went from red to purple. “You won’t live long before you regret this.” He whipped around and stalked out of the office, slamming the door so hard the frosted glass rattled in its frame.

Enrico looked at his father, his heart pounding. Had they truly done it?

A genuine smile cracked Rinaldo’s face. “That was almost as good as shooting him.”

“Maybe better.”

“Perhaps.” Rinaldo holstered his gun and collected the contract from the desk. “We need to wipe down the things we’ve touched this evening and leave before Carlo takes it into his head to notify the
polizia
.”

“Only a coward would do that.”

“Or a snake, which Carlo certainly is.”

They worked quickly, careful not to disturb Signor Marchesi’s body. Enrico focused his efforts on Marchesi’s private bath. There was no reason for either of them to have been in there. The rest of the office they didn’t touch. They’d conducted business with the man—public and above-board business—earlier that afternoon. They were bound to have touched a few things. It would seem odd if they hadn’t.

When they were in the car, Livio driving them back up to the lake, Enrico started asking the questions on his mind. “How did you pay Marchesi?”

“Pasquale d’Imperio agreed to invest in the bank. A loan to be repaid in five years’ time. We will manage his fortune and wash his money, free of charge, until the debt is repaid, and give him a preferential rate after that.”

“How did you arrange that? And how do you know you can trust this man?”

“He owes your
padrino
his life. Vittorio assures me that Pasquale can be trusted.”

Enrico sat back. How quickly their fortunes had changed. “How are we going to run the bank without Marchesi?”

“You always said this was what you wanted to do.”

“But I need the proper education—”

“You’ll get it. And Franco will help. He can oversee that mouse Marchesi had as his right hand.”

Enrico’s stomach rolled. He wasn’t ready for any of this. “Even after I finish school, I don’t see—”

“I do. You are smart, Rico. Capable and clever. I have faith in you. If you can keep your temper in check.”

“I don’t know.”

Rinaldo rested a hand on Enrico’s shoulder, the first time he’d touched him not in anger since the funeral. “You managed somehow to get to Carlo’s men and survive. How hard can
this
be?”

Enrico’s chest warmed at the words, and his stomach unknotted. It felt good to hear Rinaldo’s simple declaration of faith. But he had one more worry on his mind. The biggest of all. “Carlo will be out for our blood.”

“He must abide by the contract.”

“Perhaps we should offer him a concession? A bit of the money back?”

Rinaldo shook his head. “Too dangerous.”

No doubt that was true. “Would you really have shot him?”

Rinaldo held his gaze. “With pleasure.”

They’d secured their future. They’d won. They’d outsmarted Carlo.

So why did Enrico feel they were in more danger than ever?

Antonella had never seen her father so furious. He’d stormed into the house, slammed the door to his study, and spent the next hour barking commands into the phone. Something was brewing. Something bad.

When the furor had quieted, she knocked on his office door. “Papà?”

“Come in, Toni.”

She found him seated at his desk, a full glass of scotch with the bottle beside it. He never drank that much.

“Is everything all right?” she asked.

He laughed and gestured to the bottle. “What do you think,
dolcezza
?”

“Can I help?”

“Not unless you can rid me of the Lucchesis.”

This can’t be good
. “What do you mean?”

He took a healthy swallow from the glass; his hand was a little unsteady. “I hope you’re not too attached to the boy.”

Her blood turned to ice. “You can’t be planning to kill them. The contract—”

“What do you know about it?”

“I know that neither side can shed blood. Or break the betrothal.”

“The Lucchesi boy told you?”

She nodded. “And I know, Papà, what you were planning to do. With that man who was here from Milan.”

He sat back in the chair, cradling the glass. “You know so much,
dolcezza
. And understand so little.”

“Papà, you must stop this. Whatever you’re thinking of doing, don’t.”

“Why? To spare that boy?”

“To spare
us
.” Any pleas she made for Enrico would fall on deaf ears. “If you kill them, you kill us.”

“My father won’t kill another son.”

“You’re so sure?” She held his gaze. “Nonno Lorenzo didn’t hesitate with Remo.”

“He’s already hesitated with me. That’s why we’re here. He could have killed me, but he exiled me instead.”

“He’s not the only one you have to worry about.”

Her father shrugged. “The rest of the
capi
don’t matter.”

“Your father is but one man. And they are many.”

“He’s got enough of them under his thumb to make a difference. And when they learn what the Lucchesis have done, how they slithered around the contract, they’ll side with me.”

“What did they do?”

He eyed her for a moment before taking another swallow from his glass. “They stole from me, Toni. All of it. Everything we have.”

Madonna
. Had she told Enrico too much? “Enrico is involved?”

“He was there, at his father’s side.”

“How did they do it?”

“They found out about the bank somehow. Made a deal with Marchesi.”

“Who’s Marchesi?”

“Doesn’t matter now. He’s dead. The fucker sold me out.”

She’d had nothing to do with it—they’d figured a way out on their own. But that didn’t quiet her fears. “Do you think they have something more planned?”

“How the fuck should I know?” He rubbed a hand across his brow. “
Mi dispiace, dolcezza
. I shouldn’t have spoken so harshly to you.”

“It’s all right. I know you’re upset.”

He took another swallow from his glass, and then he said, “The Lucchesi boy broke the contract.”

Her belly cramped. “How?”

“He killed four of my men.”

“How do you know?”

“The man who killed them was injured—twice. Whoever did it was bitten by a dog the day before the engagement party and was cut several times yesterday.” He held her gaze. “The Lucchesi boy has wounds that match.”

And Enrico had acted so strangely about the dog bite. “Why would he do this? Who were these men?”

“Who do you think?”

Her father’s hit men. She swallowed hard. Enrico had recognized the man at the car park. And now she knew why. He’d been stalking the man, trying to figure out how to kill him.

“He’s broken the contract,” she whispered, unable to meet her father’s eyes.

“So you see how he truly feels.”

When he’d said he loved her, had Enrico lied? Had he looked in her eyes and kissed her and lied?

Or was her father trying to turn her against Enrico? He certainly had his reasons. “I don’t believe you.”

He fixed her with a level gaze. “Believe what you wish,
dolcezza
. The truth won’t change.”

When Enrico picked Antonella up for their date the following day, she noticed a scrape on his cheek, and her father’s words came back to her.
The man who killed them was injured—twice
. First Enrico had been bitten by a dog, and now this scrape?

She got in the car, her stomach unsettled, queasy. Could it just be a coincidence?

“You seem tired,” Enrico said as he drove.

“What happened to your cheek?”

“Cut myself shaving.”

“That’s quite a cut.”

“I slipped.”

Her eyes fell to his hands on the wheel. Both were scraped and bandaged. “Did you hurt your hands at the same time?”

“Why the interrogation? I went for a hike and stepped on some loose stones and fell.”

“You’ve become awfully clumsy all of a sudden.” All she could think of now was how graceful he’d been, hopping in and out of the boat on their first date.

He pulled onto a side street and cut the engine. “Are you accusing me of something?”

“Should I?”

“Just say what’s on your mind.”

“My father’s men. You killed them, didn’t you?”