Malavita (6 page)

He nodded and took her hand, squeezing it lightly. “You are right.
You
have never hurt me. But I have hurt you. Twice now.” He gave her a wry smile. “Give me a third chance?”

She returned his smile. “This
is
your last one. I mean it.”

“I won’t need another,” he said and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, the brush of his lips making her belly flutter.

Judging by the smile on Antonella’s face, kissing her hand had worked. Enrico turned back to the menu. What if she
was
right? Was Toni truly more than her last name?

She
hadn’t been the one to order their deaths. She hadn’t been involved at all. But if she’d been telling the truth, she had lobbied for their marriage. Which made her the one keeping him away from Veronica and Nico.

He’d called Veronica that morning from a pay phone in Cernobbio. She’d been glad to hear from him, but had soon dissolved into tears when he’d told her he wouldn’t be coming back, at least not for a month, maybe more. Nico had been crying in the background, and the urge to hold his son, to fly to him that minute, had been so hard to resist he’d punched the frame of the telephone booth. He couldn’t go to them, not now, not until Carlo Andretti was dead, if he ever was. He couldn’t risk his son, not after losing so much.

But this separation—it was hell. Flat-out hell.

He reminded himself to smile at Antonella and fingered the wallet in his pocket, picturing the photo of Veronica and Nico inside. He ought to hide it. It was too dangerous to carry around with him, especially now, when he was forcing himself to court Antonella Andretti. Whatever he might think of her looks—and she did look quite lovely today—she was a very smart and perceptive girl. He’d been underestimating her, hoping that a dose or two of the Lucchesi charm would keep her snowed.

But he’d hardly managed a lick of charm, had he? He’d make a lousy actor. He led with his heart, always.

And that was not what he needed to do right now. He had to muster up another persona, one who could embrace the Andrettis until he could stab them in the back.

Antonella didn’t deserve what was coming, no more than her brother had deserved to lose a finger. But then again, Enrico hadn’t deserved to lose his mother and his two brothers either. The only one who was going to get what he deserved—a bullet—was Carlo Andretti, and that was all that mattered.

That and making sure Nico was safe.

“What’s good here?” Antonella asked, shaking him out of his thoughts.

“I’ve always enjoyed the linguine with clams. The black truffle risotto is excellent as well.”

She ordered an antipasto plate to start, then the risotto. After he ordered the linguine, he cast about for some subject of conversation that wouldn’t get him into trouble. He came up blank.

Fortunately, she saved him. “What’s England like?”

“Very, very green. And wet.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

He nodded. “The food is mostly terrible, but the people are friendly and the countryside is beautiful.” He glanced outside. “Almost as nice as here.”

“Do you miss it?”

Best not answer truthfully
. “My heart belongs here.”

“And the girls? What did you think of them?”

His stomach tightened. Why was she asking him about that? “They’re very pale.”

“That’s all?”

“If you’re asking something, say so.” Not exactly laying on the charm, was he?

“Did you date any?” she asked, fiddling with her place setting.

“I was engaged before I left. Remember?” He tacked on a grin, hoping to hide his anger.

“I was just checking whether
you’d
remembered.”

“And if I hadn’t?” he asked as casually as he could muster.

“I’d forgive you. Of course.”

“Of course.”
Tell me another one
.

“I’m serious.”

“I doubt you’ve ever forgiven anything anyone’s ever done to you,” he said, and she colored. He’d hit a nerve.

“Let’s talk about something else.”

He took a sip of his cappuccino. “What, then?”

“Are you planning to attend university?”

As soon as I kill your father
. “Yes. Economics and finance.”

“Interesting.”

“And you?”

“That’s up to you, isn’t it?” she asked.

Anxiety made his stomach churn. He’d forgotten the archaic ways of the ’Ndrangheta. England had made him forget many things he’d rather not think about. Like all the responsibilities he’d someday have as
capo
. “I have no objection if you wish to attend.”

“Most men in the business don’t want their wives to be any smarter than they are.”

He grinned at the saucy way she said it, and when she waggled her black brows at him, he burst into laughter. “My ego isn’t so weak.”

“The Lucchesis are known for their arrogance.”

He bit back what he wanted to say.
And the Andrettis are known for their greed
. “With good reason.” He somehow managed to wink.

It was her turn to laugh. “You’re right; your ego definitely isn’t suffering. You think you can charm me with this?”

“I already am,” he said, then kissed her hand again.

She truly was pretty when she smiled. And her nose wasn’t so bad. Maybe someday she could get it fixed—

Where had
that
come from? He didn’t care about her nose or how pretty she was. Antonella was irrelevant. They’d never be married. All he had to do was string her along and make her think they were. To make her father think so.

“You
are
full of yourself,” she said, but she was still amused.

Maybe later he should kiss her. Yes, he should. It would throw her off. But he had to make it believable.

And he knew just the perfect place.

After making a brief phone call from the restaurant to confirm that they’d be welcome, Enrico escorted Antonella back to the boat, careful this time to treat her like a date.

He found it surprisingly easy, once he stopped thinking of her as an Andretti. She was just Antonella, a witty, intelligent girl who was alternately warm and wary. Just as he was.

The trip to Villa del Balbianello didn’t take long from Bellagio. As they motored toward the magnificent villa with the terraced gardens—truly the crown jewel of the lake—Antonella sighed. “What I wouldn’t give to live there,” she said, raising her voice over the engine.

He cut the motor back and idled up to the stone stairway that served as a dock. “Well, we can’t live here, but we can visit.”

Her eyes widened. “You know the owner?”

Enrico shrugged. “I’ve met him. My father knows him.”

“And he’s letting us visit?”

He chuckled. “He’s away, off on another expedition. I think the staff are bored. The caretaker said it would be no problem.”

She gave him a sidelong glance. “You
do
know how to charm a girl, Enrico Lucchesi.”

“I swear to you, I’ve never taken a girl here. This is only my second visit,” he said as he helped her out of the boat.

The stairway passed under a high stone arch and then proceeded up the rocky promontory the villa perched upon. After a short climb, they reached the first level of terraced gardens and were met there by a gray-haired man with a cigarette stuck in the corner of his mouth. “Signor Lucchesi,” the man said, sticking out his hand.

Enrico took it, then made the introductions. “This is Antonella Andretti. Antonella, this is Alberto Sporelli, the caretaker.”

“
Mille
grazie
,” she said. “I’ve always wanted to see these gardens.”

Sporelli gestured around them. “Feel free to roam wherever you please. When you’re finished, come up to the house for a drink.”

“You are very kind,
signore
,” Antonella said. She lightly squeezed Enrico’s hand, communicating her excitement.

Following the winding footpath, their shoes crunching on pea gravel the color of ripe wheat, they soon left Signor Sporelli behind. The grounds were immaculate, every tree, every bush, every blade of grass groomed and in its place. The whole effect almost put the lovely gardens of the Lucchesi villa to shame.

The path traveled along the perimeter of the rocky outcropping, giving them breathtaking vistas of the lake as they passed beneath old shade trees and strolled by weathered statues artfully placed at intervals. Antonella stopped to admire some beautiful pink flowers on a low shrub, and on impulse, Enrico plucked one off for her.

“You shouldn’t!”

“No one will notice.” He held it out to her, the intricate ruffles of the petals catching the light.

“I don’t want them to get angry with us,” she said as she took the flower. She held it up to her nose and inhaled with her eyes closed, a smile blooming across her face.

“Don’t worry. What are they going to do?”

She opened her eyes and raised them to his, fixing him with a somber look. “Just because we are who we are, that doesn’t mean we should throw our weight about.”

Heat rushed to his face. “I never expected to hear that sentiment from an Andretti.”

“Intimidating people doesn’t make you more powerful. Just more despised.” She twirled the flower in her fingers. “My father thinks fear is stronger than respect. But he’s wrong.”

If someone had told Enrico he’d ever hear such words from a member of the Andretti family, he’d have laughed. “You’re serious.”

Her gaze turned icy. “I’m not an animal.” She tossed the bloom to the ground and stomped off, leaving him gaping like a fish. So much for his resolution to forget who she was. He hurried after her and caught her by the arm.

“Antonella,
mi dispiace
. Truly.”

She looked down at his hand on her bicep. “I’m surprised you can even bring yourself to touch me. Haven’t you heard? I have Andretti disease. It’s incurable.”

Her dryness only highlighted the absurdity of their situation, and a laugh boiled up in his chest, a laugh he couldn’t suppress. She watched him for a moment, her arms crossed, her gaze cautious, until he got hold of himself. “I
am
sorry, Antonella.”

Her lips parted, but she said nothing for a moment. Then her mouth curved into a slow smile that lit up his chest with warmth. “Call me Toni when you apologize.”

“Only if you’ll call me Rico when you chastise me.”

They stared at each other a few moments more, then she flashed him a devilish grin and pointed to where the walkway terminated in a terrace shaded by trees. “I bet I can beat you there,” she said, her tone light and teasing.

So she wanted to challenge him? Fine. “I’ll even give you a head start.”

“You shouldn’t.” Her grin widened. “And I don’t want one.”

He pointed to her sandals. “Those aren’t good for running.”

“Doesn’t matter.” She crouched down, readying herself.

Amused by her confidence, he shook his head. She was going to get beaten—badly. But it was her choice.

“Go!” she called, then started off, fast as the flicker of a bird’s wing, her lithe form moving with a grace and ease he hadn’t seen before. He’d been so focused on who she was related to he’d hardly taken notice of Toni. The
real
Toni. The girl behind the name.

He loped after her, having to put some effort into it. Toni was a tall girl, and she ran with all the economy of a long-distance runner—bounding lightly on the balls of her feet, her strides long and elegant. He wanted to just stop and watch. He wanted to catch her. He wanted to—

Kiss her? That
had
been the goal, yes? But that had been to fool her. Now it seemed he’d somehow come to actually want it.

The gap between them lengthened. She was going to beat him. But he didn’t care. He was enjoying the swing of her tanned limbs, the luscious sight of her curved hips and ass bouncing beneath the blue fabric of her dress. Her black hair gleamed in the sun, and he wanted to see it down, flowing around her shoulders.

Toni reached the terrace before he did and plopped herself onto a bench in the shade below a large tree. She grinned up at him in triumph. “Told you I’d beat you,” she said when he arrived.

He leaned over her and gripped the lacy metalwork that supported her back, caging her in while he caught his breath. “You were distracting me.”

“How?”

“I couldn’t take my eyes off you,” he murmured. Leaning closer, he made his request. “Let down your hair,” he whispered in her ear, letting his breath wash over her skin, making her shiver.

She hesitated, then reached up to the base of her neck and loosened the tie holding everything in place, lightly shaking her head to let the thick waves fall free. When they tumbled around her shoulders, he smiled. This close, he could see every lash that fringed her large liquid eyes, eyes that looked away from his with sudden shyness. He gently took hold of her chin and made her look at him.

He studied her face, every bit of it—the flawless olive skin, the high cheekbones, the lush tremble of her lips, the long slope of her nose, the slight bump in it—and he realized something. Antonella Andretti was beautiful. Not in some fairytale princess way. But in a real way. Although her cheeks grew pink under his scrutiny, she didn’t break eye contact this time.