28. Antonio
28
ANTONIO
T he next week is quiet. Sandro Rizzi continues to recover, and the doctors are optimistic that he’ll be well enough to be discharged in a few days. Nobody else gets beaten up, and nobody gets killed. We find two more containers filled with guns, and I have them crushed, but Gafur doesn’t retaliate, something that I’m both grateful for and uneasy about.
Thursday evening, I’m meeting with Tomas to go over the plans he’s developed for financially ruining Yuri Kozlov when Dante walks into my office. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” he says. “Tomas, can you give me a moment alone with the padrino?”
My senses go on high alert. Dante wouldn’t interrupt unless it was important. When the door closes behind us, I ask, “Is it Kozlov? What happened?”
He shakes his head. “No, it’s something else.”
I give him an inquiring look, and he hesitates, something else that isn’t like him. “Spit it out, Dante.”
“Today is Thursday. Valentina just walked into Casanova.”
“Ah.”
Dante and Valentina have a complicated relationship. On the surface, they’re unfailingly polite to each other and generally work well as a team. But there are undercurrents between them. Roberto, the father of Valentina’s child, was Dante’s brother. Dante had no idea that Roberto was abusing her, and when he found out, he lost it. He went over to confront his brother, and in the ensuing tussle, Roberto’s gun went off.
His death was ruled an accident. Was it really? I don’t know; it doesn’t matter. I’ve certainly never asked Dante about it.
It’s been many years since Roberto died. Dante’s always been in love with Valentina, but he’s never allowed himself to make a move. He’s still beating himself up about his brother’s abuse and blames himself for not spotting the signs.
Instead, he silently watches Valentina visit Casanova and tortures himself by imagining what she does there.
“You want a drink?”
His head snaps up, and his eyes narrow, my sympathy clearly unwelcome. “I’m not here to drown my sorrows,” he says, biting off each word with precision. “I’m here because Valentina didn’t walk into Casanova alone. Lucia Petrucci was with her.”
He starts to say something else, but I don’t hear him. I’m already moving toward the exit.
* * *
Liam Callahan, Casanova’s manager, intercepts me as soon as I walk into the club. “Signor Moretti,” he says politely. “May I have a word with you, please?”
Only a small handful of people know I own Casanova. I keep it secret for obvious reasons; people will hardly visit if they find out that I’m privy to their innermost desires. And so when I opened it, I put Liam in charge.
He takes his job seriously. In the three years he’s been the manager, Casanova’s developed a reputation for being the best and safest club in Italy, maybe even all of Europe.
“Of course.”
We go to his office. “Why are you here, Antonio?” he asks me when we’re alone. “You haven’t been to the club in over a year. What brings you here tonight?”
Liam’s office overlooks the club floor. I stand by his floor-to-ceiling window, searching the crowds for Lucia’s dark hair. “I’m interested in a woman that’s here tonight. Lucia Petrucci.”
What is she doing? Why is she here? Is she looking to slake her desire for me with another man? I go hot and cold at the thought of Lucia with somebody else.
“I heard she was here and. . .”
And I wasn’t thinking straight. I just ran down here like a lovesick, jealous, possessive fool.
Liam takes in my expression, and an amused smile fills his face. “I never thought I’d see the day when Antonio Moretti lost his head over a woman,” he says. “She’s at the bar. Far left side.”
I look, and sure enough, there she is. She’s wearing a black dress that hugs her curves, and even from this distance, she looks radiantly beautiful.
And the men around her are closing in like sharks.
Liam takes in the tension in my shoulders. “Do I have to remind you about the club rules?”
“Don’t worry, Liam. I’m not going to linger where I’m unwelcome.”
“Good.” He steps out of my way, and I start to leave. I’m almost out the door when he adds, “She didn’t apply for membership; she’s just here as Valentina Linari’s guest. Oh, and she hasn’t talked to anyone since she got here.”
Lucia has moved away from the bar by the time I go downstairs. She’s sitting at a booth with Valentina, sipping a glass of wine.
But the women aren’t alone. Enzo Peron is with them, and Lucia is laughing at something he’s saying.
I swear under my breath. Enzo is the chief of police, but more importantly, we grew up on the streets together, and he is like family to me.
Is he interested in Lucia?
A cold dread settles between my shoulders. I’m too on edge, and I need to calm down before I approach Lucia. I detour to the bar and order a glass of sparkling water. A floor show starts, and a woman straps her submissive to a Saint Andrew’s Cross. She warms him up with a couple of spanks, and then she starts to crop him.
I don’t watch them. Instead, I watch Lucia’s reaction.
She’s not shocked. She’s not freaking out. She leans forward imperceptibly, her tongue swiping over her lower lip.
She’s turned on.
Okay, that’s it. Fuck Enzo. I can’t stay away any longer. I walk over to them. “Hello, Lucia.”