The Italian's Passionate Revenge

But there was still something missing, a grief in her heart that must be put to rest before her happiness could be complete. With all his soul he longed to make her that gift in return for what she had given him, but who knew if or when it would happen?

The phone beside the bed rang and he answered it.

‘It’s me,’ said Razzini’s voice. ‘I’ve got what you wanted.’

Vincente and Elise met at breakfast the next morning but, in Mamma’s presence, neither of them gave any hint of what had happened the night before.

Watching Elise’s slightly alarming self possession, Vincente wondered if he might actually be delusional, but the relaxed feeling that had infused his body when he’d awoken told its own story.

Then he pulled himself together. What he had to do today was vital, and might transform their whole lives. He left before breakfast was over.

He didn’t return that evening and there was still no sign of him when Elise went to bed. Lying awake in the early hours, she heard him creep into his room, making only the careful noises of a man who didn’t want to awaken anyone.

Fine, she thought angrily. If that was how he wanted to play it-fine! She turned over and fell into a furious sleep.

But the next morning he said to her, ‘I want to take you somewhere.’

‘Where?’

Vincente hesitated. ‘Trust me.’

When they were in the car she said, ‘Isn’t this the way to the church?’

‘Yes. There’s someone I want you to meet.’

When they arrived he led her into the churchyard, but not into the building. Instead, he turned aside and headed for Angelo’s grave. To her surprise, Elise saw two men there-one weedy and middle-aged, the other youngish and dishevelled. He was sitting down, leaning back against the headstone, his face unshaven, his hair untidy, his clothes slovenly. As they approached he took a long drag on something that he was smoking. He seemed oblivious to the outside world.

‘What’s he doing there?’ Elise demanded indignantly. ‘Who is he, and who’s that horrid little man?’

‘The horrid little man is Razzini, and he’s the best private investigator in the business.’

‘Private investigator?’ She stopped. ‘Is he the one you hired to find me?’

‘Yes, I told you he’s the best. No!’ He gripped her as she tried to turn away. ‘You mustn’t go.’

‘If you think I want-what are you playing at? How dare you do this?’

‘Elise, please-please don’t leave. This is important. It matters more than anything ever has before. You must talk to him.’

‘Tell me why.’

‘I can’t. You have to hear it from that young man. Elise, I beg you to trust me.’

She would have protested, but something in his eyes refused to be denied. This was the crossroads she had sensed approaching, and there were so many directions to take. But he was still holding her, drawing her along his chosen path, which might or might not be the right one.

‘I swear I would die before hurting you again,’ he said urgently. ‘Trust me!’

‘All right,’ she whispered. ‘I will trust you. I do.’

Not releasing her, he drew her along the path, talking gently. ‘I’d hoped for this to happen earlier, but it’s taken Razzini months to track that lad down.’

‘And you told him to?’

‘I had to. I wanted to know how Angelo died. Because we don’t know. Not really. We know he drove off and was found dead, and we’ve all made our assumptions, but there didn’t seem to be any witnesses. I told Razzini to move heaven and earth to find someone who could tell us more. That young man is Franco Danzi, and he knows everything.’

As he drew her closer, Razzini turned to them. ‘At last.’

They all looked at the young man, sprawled against the stone.

‘Get up,’ Vincente said, hauling him to his feet. ‘There’s no need to insult the dead.’

‘I do the best I can,’ was the strange reply. ‘I’d much rather insult Angelo alive. He ruined my life, and I can’t even pay him back as he deserves.’ He gave Vincente a bleary gaze. ‘We’ve met before, haven’t we? You came to see me in prison.’

‘Yesterday. We had a long talk.’

‘Ah, yes, I remember now. You’re Angelo’s cousin and I’m-’

‘Your name is Franco Danzi,’ Vincente reminded him with a touch of pity.

‘That’s right. Not that it matters. I barely have a name these days. Why should you remember it? Why should anyone? The prison authorities know it. They let me out this morning and said don’t come back. But I expect I will. I’ve nowhere else to go, and it’s his fault.’

He jabbed at the headstone.

‘I thought we were friends,’ Franco said in a whining voice. ‘But he was the one who got me started on these.’ He waved the thing he was smoking which, from its smell, was far more than an ordinary cigarette.

‘That’s not true,’ Elise said fiercely. ‘Angelo never touched drugs.’

‘That’s right, he didn’t,’ Franco agreed. ‘He was worse than that. He stayed clean himself, but he lured other people in so that he could make money. His family had money, but he said he wanted to get his own and be his own master.’

‘You’re lying,’ Elise said bitterly.

When Vincente said nothing she looked at him with indignation.

‘You don’t mean you believe all this?’ she demanded.

‘I didn’t when he first told me. Like you, I couldn’t square it with my picture of Angelo. But I’ve been thinking, and now I do believe. It explains some things that puzzled me at the time. Suddenly he’d be flush with money that he couldn’t account for, except to say that he’d won it gambling. But it happened too often.

‘Briefly he worked for me in the firm, but he was idle and self-indulgent, and he left just before I was going to fire him. I think it left him bitter.’

‘Bitter? He was furious,’ Franco said. ‘Then he started dealing, and he said it was the first thing he’d been a real success at. Oh, he was a success all right. He got his friends hooked. He thought it was all going to be easy, but Gianni didn’t like it.’

‘Gianni?’ Elise queried.

‘That’s how everyone knew him. He didn’t need a surname. You just had to say “Gianni” and people trembled. He was the big dealer in this area, and he warned Angelo off his patch, but Angelo wouldn’t take any notice. So Gianni killed him.’

Elise tensed. ‘But surely-he killed himself?’

Franco gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve been fooled by that story too. How he saw his girlfriend in the arms of another man, and was so heartbroken that he ended it all? Oh, he saw her all right. I know. I was there. And I’m not saying he wasn’t upset, because he was. But he wasn’t suicidal. He just wanted to get drunk.

‘He stormed off to his car, cursing his head off, and I had to run to keep up with him. I only just managed it and got in as he started up. I saw the other car pull out and follow us. Even in the dark I knew it was Gianni. He had this fancy car that you could spot anywhere. He came chasing after us. Angelo went faster and faster, trying to outrun him, but he couldn’t.

‘I could see how it was going to end, so I jumped out. Luckily we were out in the country by then and I landed on grass. I rolled down a bank, got knocked out and didn’t wake up for hours. Next thing I heard, Angelo was dead. They found his car smashed up and it took hours to free him. He didn’t do it himself. Gianni drove him off the road as a warning to others. He’d done it before to people who got in his way. We all knew.’

‘And you never told anyone?’ Elise asked, pale.

‘And have Gianni come after me? Are you crazy? I’ve never been so scared in my life. I went into hiding and for weeks I just took every drug I could lay my hands on. I don’t know how long I was out of it, but when I finally came round I knew my last hope of getting clean was gone.’