Malavita by Dana Delamar Page B

don’t know why.”
    “I do.”
    She whirled to face him. “What?”
    “I heard some whispers. About you and Lucchesi.”
    “What whispers?”
    “That he took you to some place in Bellagio. That he kissed you.”
    Her cheeks burned. Ilaria . She was the only one Antonella had told.
    But Ilaria wouldn’t tell anyone; as a child of the ’Ndrangheta, she knew the importance of keeping secrets. Then Antonella realized—she’d told Ilaria in the girls’ bathroom. They’d thought it was clear, but someone must have overheard.
    Even so… “Why would that start the teasing again?”
    He said nothing for a moment, just concentrated on the road. “Jealousy, I suspect.” He glanced at her. “You know how girls are.”
    She did. They wouldn’t necessarily cut you to your face, like the boys, but they could be even more vicious behind your back.
    “My guess is it’s Fiorella,” he said. “She’s dating Arturo.”
    Antonella shifted in her seat. “What does she have against me?”
    “Toni, think about it.”
    Then it hit her, and a stone formed in her gut. Fiorella had dated Enrico briefly. But that was over two years ago. Could she seriously be holding a grudge?
    Antonella knew the answer. The memory of Enrico’s kiss, the delicious smell of him, the feel of his hard body molded to hers—yes, that was something a girl wouldn’t forget, no matter how many years had passed.
    The stone grew bigger. “What should I do about it?”
    “Do nothing. And hope it goes away again.” He snorted. “No doubt that’s wishful thinking, though. Not after that stunt Lucchesi pulled.”
    Dario was right, and she herself had given Enrico grief about it. And yet… “He was just trying to help.”
    They were nearly home, but instead of continuing there, Dario took an abrupt turn into the mountains. “He’s always trying to help. Big, heroic, Enrico Lucchesi.”
    Dario had to be thinking of the time Enrico had intervened when they were kids and a group of boys were taunting them in the schoolyard. And maybe he was also thinking about how he’d lost his finger. “Rico means well. He’s a good person, if you’d let yourself see that.” She said the words softly, rationally, as if she were trying to placate an angry lion. It was no use.
    “So he’s Rico now?”
    Dario whipped the car over onto a gravel turnout and shoved his maimed right hand in her face. “How can you say he’s a ‘good person,’ after what he did to me?”
    A great sadness welled up in her chest. Her brother had been damaged— Enrico had been damaged—and she was to blame. “It’s all my fault. Everything that happened to you. I planted the bugs. I started this.”
    He punched the center of the steering wheel, and the car horn emitted an angry blast. “It’s Enrico’s fault I lost my finger.”
    “He saved your hand .” She paused. “What happened to you was terrible, but it wasn’t Enrico’s fault. It was mine.”
    “You didn’t start this. Rinaldo Lucchesi did, when he betrayed Papà.”
    She wanted to shake him. “Will you listen to me? Papà never knows when to stop. He’s so focused on how Nonno Lorenzo and Zio Benedetto wronged him, he can’t see anything else. When he decided to sell cocaine, he was breaking ’Ndrangheta law, and Rinaldo was right to try to stop him.”
    Dario’s brows rose. “You can’t be serious. The laws are old; everyone sees it. How can we compete against the Russians, and the Albanians, and Dio knows who else, if they’re raking in the cash and we’re not?”
    “Drugs are bad for everyone concerned. Including us. They ruin the places we live. Rinaldo Lucchesi is right.”
    “Only the weak are stupid enough to take them.” He rolled down his window and spat. “Who are you? Did your last name already change?”
    “I understand his point.”
    “That doesn’t mean you have to take his side against Papà. That doesn’t mean you have to marry his son.”
    Her vision blurred with tears. “I