Page 6 of Enemies in Ruin

Friend or stranger, I know if they’re here, they’re part of the Business. The locals know better than to come in here. Occasionally, a stupid tourist stumbles in, drawn by the authenticity and the scent of sourdough and marinara, but the locals have some sense.

A waiter approaches, his smile self-aware and his gaze shifting away from mine before settling on the tray in his hands. He studiously avoids meeting Baccio’s curious gaze, perhaps instinctively aware that to show fear or nervousness would be bad for him.

“Buon giorno, signorina.”

Rubbing a finger tiredly across my brow, I observe the barely discernible tremble in the young man’s hands as he sets down a spread of freshly made bread and an olive oil dip spiced with garlic, rosemary, chives, and thyme.

And so it begins.

“Thank you.”

“Of course. Can I get anything else for you,signorina?“ He clasps his hands in front of him—to hide the shake, I’m sure.

“You can tell me how many people know I’m here.” I pick up a hunk of bread and mop it through a smear of olive oil, then hand it across the table to Baccio, who takes it delicately from my fingers. He’s always careful to avoid nipping me with his large, ‘malligator’ teeth. I tear off another hunk for myself, waiting for the waiter’s response.

He startles visibly before collecting himself. “I am not sure I understand the question,signorina.”

I chew without answering immediately, my gaze steady on him, then grab my napkin from my lap and wipe my mouth with delicate dabs. “Obviously, you’re new to the game, and you one thousand percent need to get better at it. Fast. I watched as you dropped a note at that table”—I indicate with a pointed glance—“and exchanged wordless communication with that one”another tilt of my chin—”before directing your attention to me in a very obvious manner. Discretion, young man.”

His cheeks redden. “I—“

I hold up a hand, cutting him off. “You don’t live at Bastoni e Pietre, after all. You don’t want to find yourself in the position of having someone sent to your home, do you…” I squint to read his name tag, my spectacles sitting on the table beside me. My near vision is a weakness I despise. “Daniel.”

“My apologies,signorina.“ The young man bows jerkily, his eyes rolling in his skull like those of a panicked horse.

I shrug and pull off another hunk of bread before waving him away. I’m not really upset, but I could spot the fool a mile away and recognized that he was about to drown himself in the deep end of the pool. Whether it was he or another employee talking, I had no doubt word had gone out: after five years in Californian exile, Carina Scarpetta was back.

For what purpose remained to be seen.

I’ve just popped the bite of bread into my mouth when my attention is caught by the opening of the door opposite me and the group of five men who walk through its entry. Tension grips me, and across from me, Baccio shifts and whines low in his throat. I relax each muscle deliberately. “I’m fine, baby.”

Four of the men are unknown to me—simple foot soldiers, by their appearance. It’s the man they flank who makes me grip my table knife in a tight fist, a man I had hoped to not see during my visit.

Luca Marzano.

Slinking further into the recesses of the booth until my back is against the wall, I watch him from the corner of my eye.

Luca is a man born, bred, and polished for his role as heir to the Marzanofamiglia. He is the highest-ranking person in the room, yet he does the due diligence of pausing at various tables to pay his respects. Every person he greets rises to return the honor, bowing and scraping as they shake his hand, smiling like they are one of the chosen few.

My lip curls. If only they knew how greatly Luca despises them. How he hated everything about this life when we were kids.

As he moves around the room, glad-handing everyone, my eyes follow him. I keep my expression impassive, but inwardly, the butterflies his presence always set to dancing wake up and begin a jitterbug in my stomach. Everything that made him so tempting once upon a time is still there, mostly unchanged since I last saw him. Brownish-blond hair in a dark, burnished hue, refined features, a hint of something wicked in his green eyes.

Time hasn’t completely ignored him, though.

Even across the distance that separates us, I see a greater hardness in his eyes now. When he smiles at the person he’s talking to, his gaze remains untouched by the gesture. Distant. Cold. His hair is not so tightly cut, but it seems like his suit is; there is a distinct stretch in the material across the breadth of his back when he extends his arm. He is bulkier than before—a man, whereas he once possessed the slender strength of youth.

Idly, I wonder what he looks like beneath that suit.

Down, girl.

Without knowing exactly why Father brought me back, I’m fairly confident it was not to resume a relationship with Luca Marzano.

After all—that’s why he had sent me away.

Everyone knows: Luca Marzano is an Untouchable. He’s above the law, above reprisal by his peers even. Without the permission of the Commission, the Mafia cannot touch him.

As for me? Well, I flew too close to the sun, and I touched an Untouchable.

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