Читать книгу One Way Out - Wendy Rosnau - Страница 8

At midnight Grace Palazzo suffered her second stroke of the year. Her struggle had been traumatic, but not fatal. It had sent the household into a panic and Rhea, along with Grace’s daughter, into tears. But it wasn’t the most significant drama to unfold on that stormy night on the third of November.

No, the real drama, at least for Rhea Williams, had come hours later when she had returned to her bedroom to find the silver cross glistening on her pillow.

She had scarcely been able to breathe as she backed out the door, then raced down the hall to Nicci’s room. Only, she knew before she swung the door wide that her son was gone—that like a thief in the night, his father had breached the house and taken him.

She had prayed she was wrong, had prayed for mercy—a shred of compassion. But there was no mercy, no compassion, only an open window and an empty bed where her son had slept for the past two years.

A gust of wind lifted the curtain at her bedroom window, and in spite of the heat, Rhea shivered. Key West was warm, but after the sun went down, the wind could become as dangerous and unpredictable as a vengeful witch. Especially during hurricane season.

The smell of rain was heavy in the air, the pounding surf a constant roaring in her ears. The tropical storm the islanders had been preparing for was less than ten hours away. Rhea hated storms, but she would rather meet a hurricane head-on than return to Chicago and face Nicci’s father.

In the beginning, all she had wanted was to go back, and for Joey to know about his son. But then the days had turned into months, the months into years, and slowly Santa Palazzo had become her home.

Oh God…he knew they had created a child—a beautiful black-haired, brown-eyed baby boy.

“What will you do, Rhea?”

The voice was soft behind her, as soft as the touch on her shoulder. Rhea turned from her bedroom window to face Grace’s twenty-four-year-old daughter. Elena stood hugging herself, her eyes red from crying. Tonight had been a nightmare for both of them.

“Rhea, did you hear me? How will you get Nicci back?” When Rhea didn’t answer right away, Elena squeezed her shoulder. “You’re scaring me, Rhea. There’s a way to get him back, isn’t there? You’ll fight, right?”

Fight Joey…

Elena had no idea how ridiculous that statement was. She had no idea what lay hidden behind all the closed doors to the past. She had no idea the complexity of the situation, or the danger. But then, why would she? She’d been carefully sheltered from the secrets by layers of lies—twenty-four years of lies.

“When I called to tell my father about Mom’s stroke, we had no idea that Nicci had been kidnapped. But he’s coming, Rhea. On his way right now. He’ll be here in a few hours. We’ll tell him what happened, and he’ll know what to do. He loves Nicci. You know that.”

Yes, she knew that. Frank thought the world of Nicci. That wasn’t up for debate. What was, however, was how to defuse the time bomb that had started ticking the minute Joey had learned he had a son. And that’s what would be foremost on Frank’s mind when he learned Nicci had been taken by Joey.

But how could she tell Elena any of that, without explaining the rest? Without telling her that her father, Frank Palazzo, resident of Key West, Florida, was also Frank Masado, a member of the famiglia in the Chicago-Italian mafia. And if she went that far to disclose his double identity, she would have to tell Elena all of it. She would have to confess that Frank was Nicci’s grandfather.

Elena believed she was an only child. She had no idea that she was the half sister to Joey and Tomas Masado. She had no idea that her father had been previously married, or that he’d been juggling two separate lives with well-crafted scenarios and tightly woven lies to keep them all safe.

When Frank had brought Rhea to Key West three years ago, he had told Elena that he’d hired a live-in nurse for Grace. And that’s how Rhea had been disguised—how the household at Santa Palazzo had come to accept her.

Grace’s health over the years had gradually gotten worse, and she needed constant care. Rhea had been a nurse in Chicago for seven years. The situation had worked on all levels.

“Talk to me, Rhea. What can I do to help?”

“I don’t want your mother to know what’s happened. She’s too fragile. She needs bed rest and no excitement for at least forty-eight hours. And your father…when he learns what happened tonight he’ll know why I had to…”

“Leave. You are, aren’t you.”

“I can’t wait, Elena. I’ll go crazy waiting for your father to get here.”

Elena reached out and tugged Rhea to the bed. Pulling her down to sit next to her, she said, “Mother would have died tonight if you hadn’t been here to help her. If you leave, she’ll have no one.”

Rhea pushed her long blond bangs out of her eyes. “You’re wonderful with your mother, Elena. You are why your mother has survived all these years. You and your father. She’ll be fine until Frank comes. He’ll order a replacement nurse within twenty-four hours.”

“Why can’t we just call the police and tell them that Nicci’s been kidnapped? Tell them that you know who did it, and—”

“I can’t do that,” Rhea said quickly. “Nicci’s father is a powerful man in Chicago. When I left I didn’t tell him I was pregnant. I didn’t say where I was going, either. I just left. I had my reasons. Good reasons. But…”

“I was always curious about Nicci’s father,” Elena admitted. “Is that where he gets his black hair and dark eyes? Does his father have black hair? You’re so fair, and Nicci’s so dark.”

“Joey’s Sicilian. His family…” Rhea glanced at Elena’s dark hair, then her earthy brown eyes, “they all have black hair and dark eyes.”

“Did you run away because he hurt you, Rhea? Was it Nicci’s father who gave you the scars?”

Rhea saw Elena focus on the thin white line on her lower lip, then on the one that slipped into the corner of her left eye—the scar that had made her wear an eye patch for months. The scar that had nearly blinded her.

“It wasn’t like that. Joey never hurt me.”

Elena frowned. “Then, I don’t understand.”

“I was in an accident.” Rhea shivered, remembering Stud’s angry eyes as he’d picked her up and hurled her through her bedroom window. Her ex-husband had claimed he hadn’t meant to hurt her, just to knock some sense into her. Elena didn’t need to know the sordid details of Rhea’s past, however, or the dangers that threatened her once she returned to Chicago. And likewise, Rhea didn’t want to dwell on her ex-husband…or Joey.

Especially not Joey.

There was no rational explanation for falling in love with him three years ago. It had been one of those crazy chance meetings at a time when she should have been too wary of any man to notice the black-haired Sicilian in the hospital corridor during one of her unscheduled late-night visits.

At the time, she didn’t know what caught her attention first, the meticulous way he dressed or his shockingly deep voice. Later, she came to realize it was neither. What had drawn her to Joey Masado was the hidden tenderness in the depth of his dark eyes despite his poignant tough-guy image—a goodness and a fairness that defied reason, as well as rumor.

“How soon are you leaving?”

The thought of returning to Chicago scared Rhea. But she forced a weak smile. “As soon as I can book a flight. While I pack, will you call the airport? I need to get out of here before the storm hits and they start grounding planes.”

And before Frank comes home and tries to stop me.

“Will you come back?”

“Yes. I’ll be back. With Nicci.” Rhea knew that it was the only way to defuse the time bomb—if she and Nicci returned to Santa Palazzo. How she was going to manage that wasn’t clear just yet, but she would focus on that once she had faced Joey and knew that Nicci was all right.

Elena shoved her long black hair away from her face, and stood. “I’ll call the airport.” She headed for the door, then turned back. “I love you and Nicci. I know I’ve never told you that, Rhea. But it’s true. I can’t imagine either of you not in my life.”

The uncertainty of the situation brought tears to Rhea’s eyes, and she came off the bed quickly. “I love you, too. I’ve always wanted a sister, and you’ve been that to me. Thank you for accepting me into your home, Elena.”

“Oh, Rhea.” Suddenly Elena rushed back and threw herself into Rhea’s arms. “If you need me, I’m here. Don’t forget that. Don’t forget me.”

The drive to the airport was hampered by heavy rain. When Rhea boarded the plane it was in a downpour, the wind so savage that she was glad she had worn jeans and her brown suede jacket.

When the plane was finally airborne, she pulled the silver cross from her pocket and stared down at it. Unbidden, the image of Joey, half naked, wearing the silver cross nestled against the black hair on his chest materialized, and with it a fierce longing that had her feeling anxious as well as frightened.

Three years hadn’t dimmed his powerful image or the emotions that had kept the memories alive. If anything, the years had sharpened the picture in her mind’s eye, and strengthened her belief that for a brief moment in time she had experienced heaven on earth.

It rained throughout the night. All the way through Florida and Georgia. Hours later, Rhea changed flights in Nashville, and as she watched the dawn of a new day from her seat among the clouds, a small private aircraft made its final descent onto a runway at Chicago’s O’Hare International. And like the tough Sicilian heritage Niccolo Joseph Masado had been born into, the black-haired two-year-old boy asleep in his father’s arms never fussed or blinked an eye as his uncle Tomas landed the sleek white Cessna in a rush of speed, tires squealing on black tarmac.

As choices went, this one had been easy. There had been risks involved, but then, Joey Masado was used to taking risks. He was a suit-and-tie businessman, considered the best moneyman in Chicago. But tonight, unshaven, wearing jeans and a sweater, he’d been simply a father on a mission to claim what was rightfully his.

Joey reached out and straightened the blanket that covered his sleeping son. He was smaller than he’d expected. He couldn’t help but worry about that. What if the boy was ill, or had been born sickly?

When he’d learned he had a son—a son he hadn’t known existed until his brother had waltzed into his office three days ago and slapped the proof down on his desk—he hadn’t believed it was possible. But the proof was no longer just a glossy photo, a flat image of a black-haired little boy walking on the beach hand-in-hand with his mother. The boy was flesh and blood.

His flesh and blood.

If the boy’s mother had been anyone other than Rhea Williams, Joey would have refused to believe the child was his. He had always been careful when he’d climbed into a woman’s bed. He’d never lost his head or forgotten himself. That is, not until he’d laid eyes on the sexy blond with the sad blue eyes.

No, Niccolo was definitely his son. He was as certain of that as he was of why Rhea had run away from Chicago three years ago. He had always thought she had vanished out of fear of her ex-husband. But now he knew that wasn’t the case. Pregnant with his child—a Masado child—she had run to escape him and what their son would surely become if she stayed.

As hard as it was to accept, the proof was asleep in front of him—the proof of Rhea’s betrayal.

“He looks just like the pictures of you hanging on the wall in the old house. I remember thinking that, the day I photographed him on the beach with Rhea.”

“That’s what Jacky said, too. The picture, I mean.” Joey turned to his brother, who stood in the doorway leaning heavily into the jamb. “Jacky just left. But for the past hour, he’s been sitting here staring at Niccolo and shaking his head.”

“The likeness is amazing,” Tomas agreed.

Joey studied his brother. Tomas’s eyes were bloodshot, which meant his back pain was giving him hell again, which meant he’d been drinking to compensate. He hated to see his brother drinking so much. He’d survived a serious beating a few months earlier. Hospitalized, he’d lost a kidney in his fight to survive. He had been cheating death since he was fourteen, a streak that had earned Tomas the nickname Nine-Lives-Lucky. Eventually it had been shortened to just Lucky.

Joey glanced back at Niccolo. “I never realized how small a two-year-old is. He looked bigger in the picture.”

Lucky grinned. “He’s going to take some work. You up for that, or do you want to take him back, fratello? Have you changed your mind?”

Joey admitted he didn’t know the first thing about raising his son, but the boy was his. That’s all he’d been thinking about for three days. And all he’d had on his mind when they had slipped into Santa Palazzo under the cover of darkness.

His brother had told him in the plane that he would back him in whatever decision he made concerning Niccolo. He’d said, “I’ll be behind you or in front of you. Walking in the front door, or going in through a window. Two of the guards on the estate are mine. I put them in place before I flew back here. We should be able to enter the grounds without any trouble. Then again, if you want to make trouble, I brought along the lupara. Capiche?”

They hadn’t used the sawed-off Italian shotgun. They’d gone in quietly through an open window off a balcony on the second floor. They were going in after his son, not to start a war. He hadn’t wanted to frighten Niccolo or endanger him by flying bullets.

It had only taken a few minutes to locate his son’s bedroom. Rhea’s room, too, though he hadn’t found her inside. His window of opportunity had been tight. They had ten minutes max to get in and back out. That’s why he had left behind the cross on Rhea’s pillow. If she cared at all about their son, he knew the cross would bring her back to Chicago.

“I need to hire a live-in nanny. Can you help me arrange some interviews tomorrow?”

“I’ll get on it first thing. If we leave him alone, you think he’ll be all right? We need to talk.”

Joey looked down at his son. “He’s finally sleeping, but he keeps asking for his bear.”

“There’s a kids’ store in the lobby, I’ll see what I can find. Are you ready to listen to what I have to say?”

“I was ready three days ago. You’re the one who wanted to wait until after Niccolo was here.”

“I didn’t want what I had to tell you to interfere with what was most important.”

“Meaning my decision to claim my son?”

“He’s yours.” Lucky hung his scarred hand on his jeans-clad hip. “If I had a son, I would want him with me.”

“I’m ready for whatever comes at me,” Joey told him. “I’ll fight the devil, or anyone else who tries to come between me and what is mine.”

“He’s a good-looking boy, fratello. Worth fighting for. Come, let’s talk and make some plans.”

Joey’s gaze went to his son. “I’ll leave the door open and the hall light on. If he wakes up in the dark and starts crying, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“Guess you’ll get your chance to play daddy. Rub his back and tell him a story.”

Joey glanced at Lucky, then scowled when he saw his brother wearing an amused grin. “I don’t know any stories.”

“Sure you do. Remember the one Vina used to tell us? The one about the purple badass dragon who turned out to be a nice guy?”

Lavina Ward was their best friend’s mother. As young boys they’d spent countless hours with Jackson and Lavina Ward. They had adopted Vina as the mother they never had, and Jackson as the once-in-a-lifetime friend who hadn’t cared one bit what their name was, or what their father did for a living.

Twenty-eight years later, nothing had changed. Lavina was still baking her boys apple pies and buying them birthday presents. And Jackson, recently promoted as head of the CPD Special Investigations Unit, was still their best friend.

Joey tucked the blanket under his son’s chin, then followed his brother to the living room. When Lucky made a detour and slipped behind the bar, Joey said, “I thought you were going to give up the booze. Or, at least, back off a little.”

“I’ve rethought that. The way I see it, what’s the difference if I get addicted to painkillers or scotch? You might need a stiff one yourself once you hear what I have to tell you.”

Joey eased himself down on the red damask sofa that snaked around a massive Italian-marble coffee table.

Forty-nine stories up, Joey’s penthouse covered the entire top floor of Masado Towers. The ceilings were eighteen-feet high, and the furniture was plush and oversize in shades of Italian bloodred and gold. The long bar was imported cherry wood. A collection of large mirrors surrounding it and throughout the apartment opened up the already extravagant space, as did the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked Grant Park and Lake Michigan.

Like the living area, the kitchen was a sprawling wonder filled with the latest conveniences and a number of skylights. A breakfast nook to the left of the kitchen offered a view of the city at sunrise, and the elegant dining room that jutted outward like a glass egg to the right, allowed for a breathtaking sunset view and a spectacular skylight panorama after dark.

When Lucky joined his brother, he brought Joey a glass of scotch and placed it on the coffee table. As he made himself comfortable on a gold tapestry chair, he said, “Trust me, you’re going to need that.”

“So, tell me what you know. Santa Palazzo was swarming with guards tonight. Whose place is it, and why so many guards?”

“The estate is never without guards. I’ve learned they’re a permanent, round-the-clock fixture. No less then eight at all times.”

“The electronic gates were high-tech. Some of the guards had dogs.”

“Four dogs. Dobermans with an attitude.” Lucky rubbed his thigh, indicating he’d had a conversation with one of them. “Before I tell you more about Santa Palazzo, I’ll explain how I found the place. It all started with the packages.”

“The packages?”

“For several years I’ve been mailing a package to a post office box in Key West every month. A job assigned to me eleven years ago when I was twenty. Since the packages were from various dress shops, I assumed they were gifts for one of Frank’s lady friends. From time to time I would joke with him about his dedication to one woman, and when I did, Frank would smile and get this strange look on his face. Anyway, when Sunni Blais opened Silks here at Masado Towers, Frank started ordering the packages from her shop. Last month, when I went to Silks to pick up the monthly package, I took a minute to talk to Sunni. She and I had never exchanged more than a few words since she’d opened her shop. But this time was different.”

“Because Jacky was in town.”

Lucky nodded. “He was living in her apartment. Acting as her bodyguard. But like you, I knew there was more between them.”

“So you were checking her out to see if she was right for Jacky.”

“We both know that women who look as good as Sunni does are usually bitches. But as it turned out, she was the exception to the rule. She’s for real in every way.”

“We’re in agreement on that. Tell me more about the packages,” Joey pressed.

“During the conversation, Sunni said something I thought was odd. She said the two gifts inside the package were exactly what Frank had ordered this time. One in each size.”

“One in each size?”

“That’s right. Two gifts. One in each size. For eleven years I thought I was picking up one gift for Frank’s mistress. A mistress he obviously cared a lot about because he never missed a month. But suddenly I learned there were two gifts inside one package. And they were in different sizes.” Lucky took a swallow of scotch. “I thought that was worth checking out, so I decided to fly down to Florida and stake out the post office box.”

“And that led you to Santa Palazzo.”

Lucky nodded. “For two days the same man showed up at the post office to retrieve the mail from the box. On the second day, I followed him. When he entered Santa Palazzo, and it was guarded like a fortress, my curiosity doubled. I decided to buy a camera and hang around for a few days to take some pictures. I wanted to see who came and went. That’s when I discovered Rhea.”

Lucky reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a handful of pictures and tossed them on the coffee table. “I figure you know where this is going. Those are the people who went in and out, the four days I watched the house. There’s only one in there that you’ll recognize other than Rhea.”

Joey reached for the pictures and shuffled through them, looking for confirmation of what he already knew. When he spied the picture, he said, “Frank was there. He’s known where Rhea’s been hiding the entire time.”

“It looks that way. But there’s something else you need to know, fratello. Santa Palazzo belongs to our father. In Key West he goes by the name Frank Palazzo.”

The news was such a shock that for a full minute Joey didn’t speak. Finally, he asked, “You’re absolutely sure? There’s no mistake?”

“None. He’s owned the estate for twenty-four years.”

“And Rhea’s been there since she left town?”

“I’d like to say I’ve confirmed that, but I haven’t. But my gut tells me she’s been there the entire three years. She looked relaxed. Talked to the guards. Smiled. Laughed. What I’m saying is, she’s no prisoner.”

“If that’s true, then Frank helped her run.”

“We both know he was upset when you broke off your engagement to Sophia D’Lano.”

“You’re saying he paid Rhea off?”

“Maybe. When Frank wants something bad enough, money’s no object. Then, neither is using a power play. He could have cut Rhea a deal. He could have told her she could keep the baby if she cooperated with him.”

“You think he knew she was pregnant.”

“Frank’s a cunning son of a bitch. Sure he knew. How, I can’t say, but that’s what motivated him. That’s what my gut tells me.”

“She could have gone to Frank. Maybe she blackmailed him.”

Lucky raised his heavy brows. “That’s an interesting twist. You think she’s capable of that?”

Three years ago Joey would have said no. Today all he could think about was that she had denied him his child.

“I’m not saying it didn’t happen that way,” Lucky stated. “But the Rhea I remember didn’t seem capable of blackmail. She never even bad-mouthed her psychotic ex-husband.”

“That’s because she was too busy surviving Stud’s hell, to spend time thinking of much else,” Joey reasoned, showing more emotion than he would have liked.

“Rhea doesn’t strike me as the manipulative-bitch type. Soft-spoken and kindhearted comes to mind. I can’t pinpoint what made her sexy as hell three years ago. I mean, it wasn’t exactly due to the condition she was in—the bruises and all—but she had something that made a man look twice. We both can’t deny that.”

More than a dozen qualities had made Joey look twice at Rhea Williams. And any one of them could be blamed for why he had ignored his own rules and mixed business with pleasure.

Up to that point he hadn’t wasted his time on married women, or divorced women packing baggage. And Rhea had had one helluva lot of baggage. Her ex-husband had been a cop. And if that hadn’t been enough to make Joey steer clear of her, the fact that Stud Williams was a dirty cop working for Frank should have.

“Remember when Frank offered to spearhead your investigation to find Rhea? Smart move on his part if he was the one hiding her out. My guess is, he put himself in that position to intercept information and to keep you in the dark.”

Joey said, “We never got any good leads. I always thought that was strange.”

Lucky nodded, rested his glass of scotch on his long jeans-clad leg. “I traced his flight itineraries for the past year. It wasn’t easy. Frank covers his tracks better than a snake on stilts.”

“And?”

“I’ve confirmed eight visits to Key West this past year.”

Joey swore, then leapt to his feet. “Why didn’t I suspect he was involved in Rhea’s disappearance?”

“Because he’s good at what he does,” Lucky reasoned. “Hell, for twenty-four years he’s been living a double life without either one of us knowing it. That kind of determination makes me a little nervous. I wonder what else he’s been hiding.”

“If he’s as good as you say, then, by now he’s on his way here to confront me.” Joey pointed to the silver chain tucked inside his brother’s shirt. “I left my cross on Rhea’s pillow.”

The cross that nested in the thatch of black hair on Lucky’s chest was identical to the ones Joey and Jackson wore. Lavina had given her boys the crosses one night when hell had descended on them, and all three boys had survived because they had stuck together. The decision they had made that night had bound them for life.

Lucky arched a brow. “You leave the cross for revenge’s sake, or out of concern for her state of mind once she found Niccolo gone?”

Not willing to analyze his actions, Joey said, “I want her to come to me. Face me. If she cares about the boy, she’ll come.”

“My men tell me Frank arrived at Santa Palazzo a few hours ago. My guess is, he got a call that Niccolo was taken and he flew out there soon after. You’re right. If he knows it was you who took Niccolo, we can expect him back here within twenty-four hours.”

Joey paced to the window, rubbing his jaw. He hadn’t shaved in three days—or slept, for that matter.

“So what do you want to do about Frank?”

“I have my son. That’s what I went there for.”

“The only reason?”

Joey turned slowly. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying Frank’s been lying to us for years. Maybe it’s time we looked into why that is. Maybe we need to find out what he’s hiding at Santa Palazzo besides Rhea Williams.”

“I’ll go along with that.”

“And Rhea? What do you plan to do with her once she shows up?”

Joey wanted it to be all about revenge where Rhea was concerned. It would be easier that way. But when he’d walked into Rhea’s bedroom at Santa Palazzo he had been stopped cold, struck by her familiar scent filling his nostrils. Struck by the sight of her hairbrush on the vanity with blond strands of hair caught in the bristles. To his disgust he’d opened her closet just to look at her clothes.

“Do you think she knows that her ex-husband is in jail for murder?”

“That’s an interesting question.” Joey returned to the sofa. “It’s rather recent news. I suppose it would depend whether Frank thought it was news he could use to his advantage or not. Either way, at the moment, Rhea should be more afraid of me than her ex.”

“Rhea’s been through a lot in her life, fratello.”

“So I’m supposed to go easy on her because years ago she married the wrong man, and his favorite pastime was beating her up?”

“No. I’m saying Frank has more experience in deceiving people than Rhea.”

“The bottom line is, she’s been hiding my son from me like some dirty secret. And if it was Frank’s idea, and she was forced into it, she’s had plenty of time to find a way to get a message to me. But from what you’ve said, it sounds like she’s been living content at Santa Palazzo.”

Joey wasn’t going to accept any excuses. Whatever Rhea’s reason was, it wouldn’t be good enough. And the minute he laid eyes on her, this crazy feeling constricting his chest and tightening his jeans would burn itself out. He couldn’t possibly still care about her, after what she’d done.

“She looks different.”

Joey blinked out of his musing and saw Lucky studying one of the pictures. “She looks different because she’s not wearing a gauze bandage over her eye or a split lip.” He couldn’t disguise the anger and disgust that tainted his deep voice. He still hated the fact that he hadn’t been able to keep Stud from terrorizing her.

His gaze returned to the picture of Rhea walking on the beach. Besides being bruise free, he’d noticed that she’d cut her hair into a straight, carefree style, and it had been bleached almost white from the Florida sun. Her skin no longer made her look as pale as a ghost, and she wasn’t painfully thin. There was a gentle curve to her hips and more definition to her breasts. The only thing he could guarantee looked the same were her beautiful long legs.

Angry that he’d taken the time to dissect the picture, he said, “Not having bruises or gauze bandages doesn’t change the facts.”

“Which are?”

“That she’s a liar and a thief!” Joey swore softly, wishing he hadn’t raised his voice. He didn’t want his son to wake up to the sound of his father shouting like an angry fool. He didn’t want Niccolo ever to be afraid of him. Not in the way he’d been afraid of his own father when he was a boy.

He and Lucky had tiptoed around their father, beginning at an early age, to avoid his lectures on loyalty to the famiglia, but they hadn’t been able to escape the hourly drills Frank had forced on them to make his sons weaponry experts. By age thirteen Joey could nail a target dead center with a six-inch knife from twenty yards away. Lucky, at age ten, could empty a round of ammo into a dummy’s head with a 25-caliber Beretta and a .38 Special.

More softly, but just as angrily, he said, “She kept me from my son, Lucky.”

“Yesterday you had a right to be angry, mio fratello. But today you have the boy. Focus on what you want tomorrow. What you want next month. Next year. What you want for Niccolo’s future.”

“What I want for my son is for him to grow up happy, doing whatever the hell it is he wants to do with his life. I don’t want him to be like us. I don’t want him to feel trapped, or forced into chasing another man’s dream.”

Lucky raised his glass of scotch. “Then, we’ll drink to happiness, and to changing the future for him.”

Joey lifted his glass. “And we’ll drink to you, Lucky. For making a trip to Florida and buying that camera.”

Lucky nodded, his grin softening his dark eyes and the scar on his chin. “To Niccolo. May he grow up to be as wise as his father, and—” he grinned “—as handsome as his uncle.”