Angelo could feel the fear in his stomach, a tight, burning knot of pure terror.
They had been standing by the grave when they heard the explosion. Instinctively he dropped to the ground, burying his head in his hands.
Jesus, what a fucking noise! What was he doing here anyway, in this maniac city, when he should be safely in London?
Nick dragged him up. ‘Stay easy,’ he warned. ‘Don’t panic. Act like a man, for crissake.’
Enzio was already sending people to find out what was going on.
Within minutes they were back with the bad news. A bomb.
Immediately Enzio took command. ‘Go to the cars. Keep alert. Stay in groups. Golli, Segal, hold on to Frank. Nick, look after Angelo.’
Frank appeared to be unaffected by the explosion. He had started the day drunk, and with the help of a flask in his back pocket, he planned to finish the day drunk.
‘Go straight to the airport,’ Enzio instructed. ‘Don’t stop by Frank’s house or the hotel.’
No one argued. With bombs going off around them a weekend in Miami seemed like a good idea.
‘I’ll take Frank with me,’ Nick said.
‘No, you stay with Angelo,’ Enzio insisted, noticing how white-faced and shaken his younger son was. ‘Golli an’ Segal will take care of Frank.’
Nick didn’t argue. All he wanted was to get the fuck out of there before the cops arrived. Let Enzio deal with the police—he was the one with enough connections to wire a building.
They bundled into the cars. Angelo slumped back on his seat. ‘Those guys,’ he mumbled. ‘Those poor goddamn guys…’
‘Why don’t you thank your skinny balls it wasn’t you?’ Nick said grimly. ‘It was probably meant to be.’
‘Me?’ Angelo was incredulous. ‘Why me?’
‘You, me, Frank. What difference? We’re all Bassalinos.’
Angelo nodded helplessly. Yes, they were all Bassalinos, and that meant anyone warring with Enzio automatically included his three sons.
‘Who do you think did—’
‘Listen kid, I don’t want to talk,’ Nick interrupted. ‘Sit back and relax, turn on or something, but leave me alone. I’ve got some thinkin’ to do.’ He closed his eyes. All day long he’d been trying to get his thoughts straight, and it wasn’t easy. For someone who didn’t drink he had one bitch of a hangover. The business with Lara had really turned him over. Jesus, she’d planned it, wanted him to find her in bed with that Italian piece of shit.
She was a prize bitch.
And yet…
He hoped he’d damaged the guy.
He wished he’d damaged her.
And as for April Crawford—she and Sammy Albert would soon be yesterday’s news. If he really thought about it, they deserved each other.
Lara Crichton was something else. When the trouble was over and he could concentrate, he was going to have to do something about her. She was too special to let go.
‘I don’t know why I couldn’t have stayed in London,’ Angelo complained, interrupting his brother’s thoughts.
Before Nick could reply they both heard the explosion. It came from behind.
The car with Frank in it was behind.