Revenge (36 page)

Enrico only made the ache worse in the
morning. He woke her early. She looked up to see him standing next
to the bed, his hand still on her shoulder. There was a look on his
face she couldn’t read. “What is it?”

He sat down on the bed beside her and took
her hand. “I want you to know,” he started, then stopped. “Thank
you,” he said. “I did not thank you for last night, with my
father.”

“Rico, I didn’t do anything—”

“Yes, you did.”

She started to object again, then stopped.
“I’m glad I could help.”

“I love you, Kate. Even if you do leave me, I
love you.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead.

Kate caught herself before she said the words
that rose up in her heart:
I love you too
. Instead she
squeezed his hand. It was best to say nothing.

After breakfast, Enrico took her on a quick
spree through several shops in Capri so she’d have enough clothes
for the trip up the coast. Kate took little pleasure in the
shopping, even though Enrico urged her to get whatever she liked.
In the last two stores, Enrico was the one who picked out most of
what she bought. When she remarked on it, saying, “I’m surprised
you care about this,” he smiled at her for the first time since
their fight.

“It is genetic, I suppose. All Italians have
it, the idea of
la bella figura
—always presenting your best
face to the world. Looking the best you can afford, preferably
better.” He gave her a meaningful look. “But it is more than that.
I want you to have the best. I want to give you that. Always.”

She looked down at her feet, now clad in the
softest, most buttery heels she’d ever worn. Heels that cost a
fortune. “Bribing me won’t change my mind.”

His face darkened. “I speak from the heart,
and you accuse me of bribing you.” He took a deep breath, his hands
on his hips. “I’m trying to love you, Kate, but you make it damn
hard.”

And I’m trying
not
to love you
,
she almost said.
But you make it damn hard.
She swallowed
down the words. “I’m sorry. Thanks for everything. You’re very
generous.”

“That is not the point. That is not why I am
upset.”

She looked up at him. “I can’t give you what
you want.”

He shook his head, then waved a hand around
them, taking in the whole store. “Are we done? Ready to go?”

She nodded, wishing that she could take it
all back, that she could make him smile again. But she couldn’t
string either of them along any further. Getting through the next
two days was already going to be murder.

Enrico clearly enjoyed driving the silver
Maserati convertible. He zoomed along the narrow switchbacks of the
highway that wound along the Amalfi coast, a smile touching his
lips, and seemed to have forgotten about her sitting next to him.
Antonio and Ruggero followed in a black Mercedes.

They spoke little the first day of the trip,
though after a time Enrico pointed out various spots and told her
some of the history of the region. Kate could see why he’d wanted
to make the drive. The rugged coastline and the towns they passed
were all quite picturesque. The throaty purr of the car, the wind
in her hair, and the salty tang of the Mediterranean almost made
her forget why they were hardly speaking.

Still she wondered at his persistence in
taking her with him. He could have sent her back on the jet or had
her ride with Antonio and Ruggero. But, other than the extended
silences between them, he seemed to be acting as if everything were
normal.

When they stopped in Spoleto for the night,
he’d even insisted on one room for the two of them, but he’d caved
at her look and had gotten a suite instead. After dinner, Kate
waited for him to knock on the door adjoining their rooms, but he
never did until morning, and then it was only to make sure she was
ready to leave.

His behavior unsettled her. She’d expected
more anger, or more sadness. Not this curious cheerfulness among
the silences. Twice she nearly demanded an explanation, but she
didn’t want to fight with him. She found herself missing his touch,
missing his attentiveness. Missing him. Even though he was right
beside her.

The second day, they left the coast in the
early afternoon. Enrico soon fell silent, and she sensed a tension
in him that grew as they climbed into the foothills of the Alps,
drawing closer to the lake. Finally, he turned to her.

“There is something we need to discuss.”

Here it comes
. Something she was sure
she wasn’t going to want to hear. “Enrico, there’s nothing to
discuss. I’ll go to Florence and wait until Fuente gives my
passport back. Then I’ll go somewhere else Carlo won’t expect. My
parents have money. I can lay low for a while.”

“I do not think that will be necessary.”

“Well, I can’t stay with you forever. Not
now.”

“About that,” he said, glancing at her. “I
know why you do not trust me. Why you are afraid to admit you love
me.”

She stared at him, then recovered enough to
say, “I don’t know why you think I love you.”

“I think so because it is true. You need
something from me so you can admit it, and it is time I gave it to
you.”

“I don’t need anything from you. I—” Kate
cried out as a searing pain stabbed her below her right collarbone.
She looked down, seeing a dark red blotch spreading over her
blouse. She touched it, then looked at Enrico shouting her name as
he wheeled to the side of the road. Holding her hand up to show him
the blood on her fingers, she was unable to voice the questions in
her mind: What was going on? Had she been shot?

Antonio and Ruggero saw the Maserati swerve
onto the shoulder, the
signora
holding up a hand stained
red, their
capo
speaking to her urgently. Ruggero pulled
over in front of them, doing his best to shield the convertible
with the big black Mercedes. Antonio jumped out and Ruggero ran
around the back of the car, then crouched down beside Antonio next
to the front passenger fender with his gun drawn. Antonio saw a
muzzle flash from the hills above, then heard the report of a rifle
echoing around them. “Fucking Andrettis,” Ruggero muttered.

Antonio turned to look at the Maserati, to
see what was happening inside. Don Lucchesi was leaning over the
signora
, pressing a hand to her chest. A bullet sliced
through the windshield, hitting him in the ribs below his left arm.
Antonio watched in horror as his
capo
arched in pain, losing
his hold on the
signora.

Antonio bolted for the car, panic flooding
him despite his training. “Don Lucchesi!” he shouted, opening the
driver’s side door. He threw his body over his
capo’
s,
protecting him as he inspected the wound. “Can you breathe?”

“I’ll be okay.” Don Lucchesi turned to him,
his face taut with pain, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. “Get us
out of the car. Kate first.”

Antonio pushed his
capo
down on the
seat, flattening him over the
signora
, then he ran around
the back of the car and opened her door. He dragged her out of the
car and laid her on the ground beside it, sheltering her from the
shooters. Don Lucchesi crawled out after them, kneeling on the
ground next to her. He placed his hand over her wound again,
pressing down. “What about you?” she asked, looking up at him.

“It is you I worry about.”

“Why?” she asked.

But Antonio already knew. The patch of blood
on her chest had expanded enormously in the short time it had taken
to move her. The don tore off his shirt and wadded it up, pressing
the ball of it into her chest. He looked at Antonio, who’d crouched
down beside him. “Your jacket. She needs to stay warm.”

“
Sì
.” Antonio ripped off his jacket
and covered the
signora
with it. He pulled his mobile phone
out, calling Don Domenico for help. Don Domenico said he’d send the
polizia
; it would take too long for enough of their own men
to arrive.

Antonio ended the call and cursed. They were
on their own, for God knew how long. Blood welled down his
capo’
s side, so he shrugged out of his shoulder holster and
pulled off his shirt, urging Don Lucchesi to hold it against his
own wound. Then he took a deep breath and rejoined Ruggero at the
Mercedes. He needed to focus, needed to help Ruggero defend
them.

There were two shooters above them,
positioned on each side where the highway cut through the
mountains, the perfect spot for an ambush. Bullets rained down
around them, mostly hitting the Mercedes and the Maserati, but some
whizzed into the dirt right beside them. Ruggero’s shoulder was
grazed when he popped up to get a better angle on the shooters, but
their handguns were poor threats against the rifles. Ruggero nudged
Antonio, and the two of them scrambled to the back of the Mercedes.
The more serious hardware was in the boot. Ruggero pulled out two
mini Uzis and a large black duffle bag. He tossed an Uzi to
Antonio, just as he took a bullet in the left calf. Cursing,
Ruggero looked at the wound, then tested out the leg as they
scrambled back to better cover.

“How bad?” Antonio shouted at him.

Ruggero grinned and shook his head. “A
scratch.” He turned his attention back to the shooters above them,
switching the Uzi to full automatic, and spraying the left hillside
above. Antonio followed suit and took the right side, willing his
bullets to find their targets. He wanted these men dead.
Per
favore
,
Dio
,
let Don Lucchesi and the signora
live.

They kept up a steady barrage of gunfire,
pausing only to slam in new clips. Antonio was thankful Ruggero had
done the packing; there was enough ammunition in the bag for an
army. He made a mental note to never under-pack when it came to
firepower.

The sing-song wail of sirens finally reached
their ears, and Antonio and Ruggero ceased their fire and waited.
There were one or two more shots from above, then no more. The men
in the hills apparently wanted to avoid the
polizia
more
than they wanted to finish the job. Antonio cursed again; he wanted
those cowards dead.

Ruggero jerked the gun out of his hand and
stashed the Uzis in the boot right before the ambulance and police
cars pulled up. Antonio kicked their sidearms under the Mercedes.
Then the two of them held their hands up in the air, waiting for
the officers and medics to approach. It wouldn’t do to get killed
now. Who would protect Don Lucchesi then?

The eruption of gunfire from Antonio and
Ruggero sounded like World War III to Kate. Enrico crouched down
over her, molding his body to hers. She jerked at the roar of the
guns, the noise thundering in her chest, then she wrapped her free
arm around him, pressing her fingers against his wound. The
pressure made him flinch, but he didn’t cry out. He looked down at
her. “We will survive this.”

“I know.” She fought to keep her voice
steady. She looked up at him, her shock at learning his identity
still in her mind. Don Lucchesi. That’s what Antonio had called
him. Vince hadn’t been lying. But Enrico had, and yes, it was a
doozy. Had he kept anything else from her?

The gunfire abruptly stopped, then she heard
the sound of emergency sirens, then men approaching, their voices
hard and demanding as they spoke to Antonio and Ruggero. Moments
later, a confusing swirl of people descended on them, and Kate
panicked, her heart rate surging when Enrico’s weight was lifted
from her. When the medics tried to separate them, she clutched at
Enrico’s hand, a weak protest leaving her mouth. She was shocked at
how frail she sounded, at how difficult it was to close her fingers
around his hand. He squeezed her fingers before turning to the
medics and firing off a string of rapid Italian. She couldn’t
follow every word, but she knew he’d said she’d lost a lot of
blood. And he insisted they treat her first.