Daniella had been Lucco’s wife.
‘I thought that too.’ He gave a small sigh. ‘But what you just said about Lucco – obviously you think I had a hand in whatever happened to him. Well, Daniella thought the same thing. She couldn’t live with that. It ate at her. She’s a fine, honest woman, Daniella. Not long after he went missing, she returned home. She’s remarried. And she’s a mother.’
‘I didn’t know that.’
‘Another world,’ he said, and gazed off across the graveyard, his eyes wistful.
Annie watched him. Maybe he was seeing the sunlit island of Sicily, his ancestral home – the lemon groves, the hot sun beating down on dusty roads and lush vineyards. And Daniella, dark-haired and lovely, laughing, kissing her husband, playing with her children.
Annie reached out, touched his arm. She didn’t want to see him come to grief.
‘How long…?’ she asked, meaning how long would it be before the Feds picked him up and charged him.
‘Months, I think. Maybe weeks.’
Annie was horrified. ‘You must have contingency plans?’
He shrugged. ‘Aunt Gina’s gone to Sicily. But me… I’d miss New York. I was born here.’
‘Better an open sky and freedom,’ said Annie. ‘Are you winding things up?’
‘Stepmom…’ He turned to her with a smile. ‘Don’t ask. That way you know nothing, and it’ll be safer for both of us.’ His gaze intensified. ‘You know what I wish?’
‘No. Surprise me.’
‘I wish before all that hits the fan, you’d move on. Find a nice guy. I’ll have to approve him, of course.’
Annie shook her head. ‘I don’t want to move on, Alberto. The fact is, I’ve no desire to get serious with anyone, ever again. I have the Times Square club to run, and I have Layla. That’s enough.’
He was staring at her.
‘What?’ she asked.
‘I can’t believe that would ever be enough, not for you.’
‘No? Well, you’re wrong. Come on,’ she said, reaching out to take his arm. ‘Let’s get some coffee, I’m parched.’
‘Coffee? I thought you English only drank tea?’
Annie caught the teasing note in his voice and hugged his arm against her as they walked towards the cars. His foot soldiers followed them.
God, how could she bear to lose him? She couldn’t. It hurt her even to imagine it.
‘I’m becoming Americanized,’ she said.
And maybe she was. Maybe London wasn’t home to her any more. Back in Britain, Margaret Thatcher was in her third term as Prime Minister, and Annie sensed there was big trouble brewing. Soon it might erupt on the streets of London. But… she knew that as long as Layla was there – no matter how cool Layla was towards her – that was where she had to stay.