Chapter 4
After three deep dives of pleasure, Camille had not wanted Luigi to leave, but there was no way the breaking of dawn could find him there. He’d insisted on leaving and then offered her an invitation to his home, which she turned down in anger.
Now that he was home, he was uncertain if he should have stayed instead. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice his driver had come around to open his door.
“Thank you, Dante,” he said and got down.
He went up the porch and into the house to find Lucia, his housekeeper, waiting on one of the cushioned benches in the foyer. The poor woman was nodding off, reclining against the wall.
“Lucia,” Luigi hurried over to where she sat and gently shook her awake. “How long have you been here?”
She stirred. “Mr. Frazetta, you’re back!”
Luigi’s heart skipped a beat, and he steeled himself. Something very bad had most likely happened while he was with Camille. The fact that he had not received any phone calls about it only made it worse.
“What’s happened?” he asked.
“I’d have told you in the morning,” she said, “But it can’t wait.”
Had Weinberg already carried out his raid? Were Edouardo and his caporegimes now in jail? Was that why none of them was here to tell him?
Where was Donald Silva?
Luigi sat down next to Lucia. “What is it?”
“First, you must promise me that you’ll not get mad,” she said, sternly, like a mother addressing an obstinate child.
Luigi frowned in confusion. A moment later, he exhaled in relief.
Whatever it was that Lucia wanted to tell him, it had to be a minor irritation, easily forgotten.
It was only on such a premise that she’d presume to set a condition before talking.
Nothing terrible had happened. He’d gotten all worked up for nothing.
“Do you promise?” Lucia pressed.
Luigi shook his head. “You must tell me first.”
“No,” she shook her head, as if to cancel out his own shaking. “You must promise first. I need you to.”
Her years of service in the Frazetta household, first in the employ of the senior Frazetta and now the son, had earned her a place where she could make such overreaching demands without fear of repercussions.
Still, Luigi could not make such promises. “I can’t make promises about something I know nothing about, Lucia,” he said. “Did you break something?”
Lucia shook her head impatiently. “Whether you promise or not, you can’t get angry,” she said firmly, like she possessed any degree of control over his temper.
“Well, tell me. What’s happened?”
“It’s Paulo.”
Luigi frowned. Different possibilities flashed before him, each replete with images of the disgruntled women from his son’s past. Had one of them come back to haunt him? “What about him?”
“He’s gone and engaged his girlfriend,” Lucia said. “The Brooke girl.”
Luigi cocked his head, unsure he’d heard right. “What?”
“He engaged his girlfriend,” she said again. “Said they did this party somewhere in town with their friends where he gave her a ring. He came home early this night with her and some of his friends.”
“That little brat.” Luigi shot to his feet and made for the stairwell on the left side of the foyer.
“You promised not to get mad,” Lucia said, rising ponderously to her feet.
“He didn’t tell me about it,” Luigi complained. “He didn’t even bring the girl to me to let me know he was serious about her. He didn’t… whatever on earth was he thinking, making such a decision without coming to me first?”
Lucia walked over to where he stood and took his left hand in both of hers. Her hands felt like his mother’s, soothing and calming. His mother had perished in the same auto crash that had taken his wife from him, long before he expected to lose her.
“Paulo is just a child,” Lucia cooed, “Young and foolish like many boys his age.”
“He’s 22 already,” Luigi pointed out.
“And yet to learn certain things about life, I know.”
“What does he know about this girl?” Luigi asked. “This American girl and her family… what does he know about them? Nothing!” He glared at the western stairwell as if in silent chastisement of his son, who probably lied asleep right now in that wing of the house.
Yet in that same moment, a quiet voice in his mind chastised him: How much do you know about Camille?
“Perhaps you can help him learn what he needs to learn about the girl now,” Lucia said. She freed his hand.
“In my days, sons used to go to their father for advice when they met a girl they liked,” Luigi grumbled. “They asked their parents what they thought about her.”
“They aren’t married yet,” Lucia noted.
“And?”
“You have the time to vet the girl’s family before they do anything further.”
“How?”
“Bring them closer. Invite them over for dinner, starting with the girl and then her parents and her siblings.”
A better idea stole into Luigi’s head at that moment. “A party,” he said. “I’ll throw a party and have them come… something to celebrate the engagement.”
“Yes, yes,” Lucia said.
She had no way of knowing that this party would not be just about the engagement. Luigi now had the perfect avenue to put in motion the second part of his plan to catch the tattler in his ranks.
“That is smarter,” Lucia continued. “You’ll get to know the girl and the family together… maybe have them stay a weekend, too.”
“I’ll consider that.”