It could be catastrophic for them, and for whoever handed over the information.
“I don’t believe in coincidences,” Edna said. “Whoever called is feeling the same thing we are—a shift in power. Luca has been released from jail, but Lothario is the son who has something he thought he never would. Pure power. Lothario is not going to relinquish it so easily. Believe me, there is a power struggle going on among them as we speak, and whoever called is going to try to use it to his advantage.”
“What makes you so sure the caller is ahe?”
“Women usually want to make babies with them, not war.”
“Touché, my well-seasoned mentor.”
She gave me a small grin. “Mark my words. Coming soon, in Venice—the City of Masks—we’re going to get another charity banquet held by Luca Fausti.”
“His coronation.”
She nodded. “And if Lothario does not relinquish control…”
I met her eyes, and the same thought seemed to pass between us.
The blood on the bottom of my shoes would seem like nothing compared to the river of it that would be spilled.
FOUR
NAZZARENO
The wheelsof my Boeing 737 touched down on the private runway with next to zero bounce. The bird landed as smoothly as it flew in the air. Even a king would have to send his regards to the captain. My father was the equivalent of an acting king on this flight, but the most I’d get out of him was a nod in acknowledgement.
After we shut everything down, Beniamino turned to me and smiled, his teeth bright white in the dark cockpit. “You are a smooth operator,cugino.”
Beniamino was mycousin. His grandfather was my grandfather’s brother. We were close in age, and we had both served in the Italian Air Force together. After we stepped away, we invested in a fleet of planes and worked for the private sector. Mostly for our family. I flew my father the most.
He’d had a bad experience years back and would only fly with me afterward. He accused the pilot of attempting to kill him, but after I investigated it, it turned out it was due to severe bad weather.
Beni was known to say that most men in our family had a bad case of paranoia. Rightfully so. We all had targets on our backs, whether we were in the forefront of the family or not. And with my father acting as the current leader of the Faustifamiglia, he had more cause to feel paranoid than ever before.
“What do you say?” Beni removed his cap, ran a hand through his hair, then stood and stretched. “We grab our bikes and race to Aroma?”
Aroma was a rooftop bar in Rome we frequented. Its views of the Colosseum were unparalleled. But even though Beni enjoyed racing to wherever we were going, he enjoyed lounging once we arrived. Our night wouldn’t end at Aroma. We’d find a place with good music—Beni was an American music aficionado—and beautiful women to help us forget the time.
I checked my watch. “Not tonight,cugino.” I stood and fixed my cap, then grabbed my bag. “I am meeting Elettra and her family.”
“La regina della pasta?”
I barked out a laugh, squeezing his shoulder. “Sì.Except she is a princess of pasta. Not queen yet.”
Elettra Buratti was the heiress to a pasta fortune. Her family’s roots were deep in Italy, down to the flour, but their product made it into America. It was one of the most well-known and trusted pasta brands in the world. Elettra was taking the company into modern times. She’d gone to school in America to learn marketing.
I hadn’t even met her yet. I was going to marry her.
Our marriage was arranged by our families. For generations, my family had married into prominent families to become who they are, and after, continued to do the same to keep safe the status quo.
Even my father’s marriage was arranged. My mamma was an heiress to a garlic fortune.
Beni pulled his phone out and squinted against its light. He typed something in, and then his eyes widened. He showed me his phone. He’d searched for her on the internet.
Elettra Buratti was a beautiful woman. More than that…I had been told how smart she was. I wanted to get intimate with her mind. Find out what kept her up at night.
Was she passionate about pasta? Or did she have aspirations that went higher than semolina and shapes? Would we be able to have long conversations about deeper meanings? Could we ramble on about insignificant things that were just enjoyable to talk about? Would our silence be comfortable when one of us found it?
I love the shape of a woman’s body.
