Revenge (53 page)

Ruggero pulled up shortly after Enrico placed
the call. They drove in silence for a while, then Ruggero said, “I
did my best to remove all traces of the
signora’
s blood.
Dario says he will burn the house.”

“
Bene
.” Enrico tapped a thumbnail
against his lower lip, debating whether to make his request. He
could feel Ruggero looking at him, waiting.

It was Ruggero who broke the silence. “This
will be hard. There’s been much love between you.”

“And apparently much hate. Don Battista
warned me.”

“You’ve made your decision?”

Enrico looked out the window at the darkness
surrounding them. “I am weak.”

Ruggero huffed. “You are a man of principle.
Like your father.”

“I haven’t been a good
capo
lately. I
haven’t been the
capo
this
cosca
needs.” He looked at
his hands in his lap. “I should have ceded to Dom when we first
quarreled over Kate. All of this could have been avoided.”

Ruggero snorted. “Carlo’s been spoiling for
your blood for years. And Don Domenico….” He trailed off. “Maybe
that could’ve been avoided. But he made his choice.”

“He has a point though. I was
willing—
am
willing—to give up everything for this woman. The
‘Ndrangheta is supposed to be first for me.”

Ruggero said nothing for a while, then he
sighed. “Don Lucchesi, you’re good man. I’d rather follow you than
many others. Outside my blood family, there’s no one I trust more.”
He looked over and met Enrico’s eyes. “There’s a flaw in Don
Domenico. He might have made a good
capo
, but he’s a failure
as a man. Money isn’t everything in this life. Sometimes I think
it’s very little.”

“You’re quite philosophical tonight,” Enrico
said, rather astonished by this speech.

“I’m not finished.” He grinned at Enrico. “A
man’s riches are this: his friends, his woman, his children, and
any relatives who don’t wish to stab him in the back. After that
come his health and then his money. That is something Don Domenico
doesn’t understand. But you do.”

Enrico smiled. “When you put it like that, I
don’t feel like such a fool.”

“If you’ve ever been a fool, Don Lucchesi, it
was always for the right reasons.”

“I never expected such a sentiment from
you.”

Ruggero shrugged. “The man who does my job is
not always me.”

So that’s how he did it. There were two
Ruggeros. Enrico sighed. He was going to need to follow suit,
wasn’t he? The man he needed to be in the future had better be a
lot more ruthless. Or Kate and their children would suffer.

He had to rebuild the
cosca
, and he
had to keep it strong by whatever means necessary. If he wanted to
be a man of principle, he was going to have to pick his battles. If
he could win the biggest one, the battle over the codes—that was
the battle that mattered, the one that would do the most good in
the world. Beyond his children, it would be his legacy.

They pulled up to the safe house where Franco
Trucco had met his end. They got out of the car, the doors slamming
behind them, fallen leaves and gravel crunching underfoot as they
walked to the door. Enrico hunched his shoulders against the chilly
edge in the air. Winter was coming.

Inside, Antonio was reading a book—one on
economics that Enrico had recommended to him—and sitting in front
of Dom, who was tied to a chair in the little kitchen. He looked
sweaty and disheveled. Perspiration ringed his neck and under his
arms. A large bruise blackened the skin below his right eye. The
dread on his face made Enrico look away. “Rico, I beg you—”

“Stop.” Enrico’s hand chopped the air. He
turned to Antonio and Ruggero. “Please give us some privacy.”

They both nodded, then went into the other
room where there was a threadbare sofa and a small TV. Ruggero put
the TV on, and Antonio picked up his book. Enrico wasn’t fooled. He
was sure they’d hear everything he and Dom said. He just didn’t
want them to see the anguish on his face. He ought to be the other
Enrico now, the impassive Mafia don, but killing his best friend,
his cousin, his second in command—that should mean something. And
he should feel it.

Enrico straddled the hardback chair Antonio
had been using. He didn’t look at Dom directly; instead he took a
moment to compose himself. When he met Dom’s eyes, he wasn’t
prepared for the remorse he saw there.

“Rico, you came. I wasn’t sure you
would.”

“Do you think me such a coward?”

Dom shook his head hastily. “I know this must
pain you. That’s what I meant.”

“You think this
pains
me?” His voice
was a stiletto. “You have torn out my heart.”

Dom broke Enrico’s gaze. “I am sorry.” He
looked down at the cracked linoleum. “I don’t know what came over
me. How I could have betrayed you—”

“Greed is what came over you. Even though you
have more than enough. Even though I would’ve given you whatever
you asked of me.”

Dom’s face twisted with anguish. “I wish I
could take it all back.”

“You nearly got me killed. You allowed Carlo
to torture and kill my father—your uncle. Do you know what Carlo
did to him?” When Dom shook his head, Enrico continued, his voice
falling as he struggled for control. “He crushed his fingers, then
cut them off, every one. Then his hands.” Dom moaned, and Enrico’s
face grew hot.
The nerve of him
,
acting like he
cares.
“On top of that, you put Kate and my child in the hands
of that monster. Thank God he was intent on having her instead of
killing her.”

“I’m so very sorry.” Dom bowed his head,
tears streaming down his face. “I beg you for mercy. I beg you for
exile.”

“What mercy was there for my father? Your
uncle? Your
blood
?” Enrico slammed his fist on the table.
“God
damn
you! How dare you ask me for mercy!”

“I beg you.” Dom choked on the words. “Do you
want to be the murderer of your godchildren’s father?”

Enrico burned. Dom was using the one card
left to him: guilt. And it was working. Francesca and the children
trusted him to watch over them if anything happened to Dom. Dom’s
sons would someday run the
cosca
, if Enrico failed to have
sons of his own. How could he ever look them in the eyes again?

“Please, I
beg
you. I was only looking
out for the
cosca
. I was only thinking of the future.”

Enrico heard a light step behind them and
looked up. Antonio stood next to him, his gun held loosely at his
side. “I’m tired of hearing this.” He raised the gun and pointed it
at Dom’s face. “May I?”

Enrico touched Antonio’s other arm and shook
his head. “No.”

Antonio’s eyes turned to him but he didn’t
lower the gun. “Look at him, Don Lucchesi. The only thing he’s
sorry for is getting caught.”

Enrico’s eyes slipped from Antonio’s to
Dom’s.

“Rico, please, you don’t have to do this.
Send me away. Strip me of my fortune. Just let me take Francesca
and the children.”

Enrico closed his eyes. Dom’s suggestion
appealed to the part of him that didn’t want to believe Dom had
betrayed him for greed. And yet—Antonio was right. Dom didn’t
understand what he’d done. He didn’t feel the horror of it, the
enormity of it. He didn’t feel the loss of Enrico the way Enrico
felt the loss of Dom. He didn’t care the way Enrico did.

Had Dom always had this hole where his heart
should’ve been? Had Dom always been able to hide this part himself?
Or had Enrico just been blind?

Enrico remembered the difficult days in the
wake of his mother’s and brothers’ deaths. The confrontation with
his father over Dario. The hasty promise to his father, the
confusing rush of taking his vows to the ‘Ndrangheta. Dom had been
at his side then, supporting him. Had he been blind to who Dom was
then? No.

But shortly thereafter Dom’s first wife and
child died. He’d been heartbroken at the loss of his beloved bride
and son during childbirth.

Enrico looked at Dom. “You weren’t always
this way. Losing Vanda and Angelo changed you.” Dom evaded his
eyes. “Is that when you hardened against everyone you loved? Is
that when it happened?” Enrico’s voice was soft, but the stiletto’s
tip danced along his words.

Dom’s face crumpled and he looked down. When
he spoke, his voice was thick with tears. “Love is a terrible
thing. All it does is hurt you in the end.”

A lump formed in Enrico’s throat. Hadn’t he
said something similar to Ruggero just a few hours ago? He got up
and walked into the other room, then went outside. He closed the
door behind him, swallowing great lungfuls of the crisp night
air.

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t. Dom was
already living in a horrible hell, and he, Dom’s best friend,
hadn’t recognized it. All these years, Dom had been alone with his
grief, his isolation. And Enrico, like everyone else, had assumed
he’d recovered because he’d taken another wife and had other
children. He’d assumed that Dom’s grief was nothing but a buried
memory. But grief, that most human of emotions, had warped him, had
destroyed his very humanity. It had left him a shell of a man.

He heard the door open and recognized the
sound of Antonio’s step. He looked over his shoulder, saw the grim
expression on Antonio’s face. “What is it?”

“It has to be done, Don Lucchesi. Can’t you
see he’s only sorry for himself?”

“I know that. But still... he is my
brother.”

“Would Primo or Mario have done this to
you?”

The vehemence in Antonio’s voice surprised
him. “You seem more angered by this than I am.”

“My feelings are not as mixed.” Antonio’s
voice softened. “If you cannot be angry on your own behalf, think
of the
signora
and your child. Think of your father.”

“Enough.” He didn’t need Antonio’s
reminders.

“I’ve said my piece.” Antonio went
inside.

Enrico took a deep breath, then slowly let it
out in a visible cloud on the night air. Antonio was right. But
could he pull the trigger?

He had to. He was the
capo
of the
Lucchesi family. It was his duty.

He spun around and strode inside. Ruggero was
still on the couch watching TV. “I need a gun,” Enrico said to
him.

Ruggero pulled out a pair of gloves matching
his own and handed them to Enrico, who put them on. Then he took a
snub-nosed revolver from his pocket. A cheap throwaway gun, perfect
for a job like this.

Gun in hand, Enrico walked into the kitchen.
Tears rolled down Dom’s face. “I beg you. Please don’t do
this.”

Enrico raised the revolver, his sight
blurring at the edges from unshed tears. “You were my brother, as
much as Primo, as much as Mario. I hate you for making me do
this.”

“Then don’t. Let me leave. I will never
bother you again.” Dom paused, his eyes holding Enrico’s. His voice
hoarsened. “I swear it on Vanda and Angelo. I swear it.”

Damn him. Damn Domenico Lucchesi to
Hell
. Tears threatened to stream down Enrico’s face. He willed
his voice to stay steady. “I’ve already learned my lesson about
traitors. Mercy doesn’t beget mercy.” His finger tightened on the
trigger.

“Before you do it, may I ask something of
you?” Dom’s voice was surprisingly steady.

Enrico nodded. Dom held his eyes. “I beg you
to take the vow of
comparaggio
with my sons.”

The lump in Enrico’s throat nearly strangled
him. Dom was asking him to be their father in his stead, to take
them as his sons and never betray them. He didn’t know what to
say.

“Please Rico.”

“Why?”

“Because you are the most honorable man I
know. The only one I would entrust them to.” He paused. “Will you
do it?”

“I swear it.” He couldn’t stop a few tears
from falling.
Damn you
,
Dom. Damn you.
Enrico took a
steadying breath, then he squeezed the trigger.

Dom’s body jerked, crimson blooming across
his chest. Enrico took a step forward and put another bullet in
him. He swallowed hard, looking at the body. Antonio stepped around
him and felt for the pulse under Dom’s jaw. Dom’s open eyes stared
at Enrico. “He’s dead,” Antonio said.

Enrico nodded dumbly, his throat too
constricted to speak. He turned and breathed deeply. When Antonio
touched him on the forearm, Enrico jerked away. “Leave me.” He was
damned. Would God ever forgive him for this?

He stood alone in the kitchen for a few
moments, then set the gun on the table beside Dom. It was done,
this most horrible thing, and there was no use grieving it. What
other choice had he had? Dom knew the rules, he knew the price he’d
pay for treason. They all did.

And still it cut Enrico to the bone to
enforce that price.

He wiped his eyes, staring up at the ceiling,
wondering why God had cursed him this way. “I must deserve it,” he
whispered to himself. He waited for an answer, some sign, but he
heard nothing other than the inane laugh track from the show
Ruggero was watching on TV.
Maybe that is a sign in
itself
.

Quickly crossing himself, he swore to do
penance. He’d look after Dom’s family, he’d make sure they wanted
for nothing. He’d take the vow of
comparaggio
. And he’d take
Dom’s sons into the
cosca
, if that’s what they wanted.

Which reminded him—he had a job to do. He was
the
capo
, and he needed to attend to business. He walked out
to the living room. The men looked up at him. “Ruggero, please
accompany me outside.”

Ruggero followed him out the door. “What is
it, Don Lucchesi?”

Enrico clasped his hands behind his back.
He’d thought about this earlier, almost mentioned it in the car,
but he’d decided to wait until it was official. But now it was
time. “I need a new
capo di società
. One I can trust without
reservation. You are such a man.”