Stiletto by Harold Robbins Read Free Book Online Page A

business.”
    Matteo took out a cigar and lit it. “Ah, the young, the thoughtless young.” His voice was pleasantly tolerant. “I have an interest in an automobile company recently acquired through some legitimate associates. In several years they plan to go into the American market. If by that time you had a reputation in the racing cars, you could conceivably become the head of the American company. Would you like something like that?”
    “What is there about it not to like?” Cesare answered. “But what am I expected to do in return?”
    Matteo looked at him. “A favor, now and then.”
    “What kind of favor? I want no part of your stupid business, the petty gambling, the dope…”
    Matteo interrupted. “Even if it should bring you undreamed-of wealth?”
    Cesare laughed. “Wealth? Who needs it? All I desire is enough to do what I like to do.”
    Matteo laughed with him. “Good. You are not ambitious then. Another point in your favor. There is no one who need be afraid of you.”
    Cesare picked up his glass again. “You still have not told me what kind of favor you will ask.”
    Matteo stared at him. Their eyes met and locked. “Only to return the favor I will do you when your uncle dies tomorrow night while you are at the fencing match.”
    A long moment passed, then Cesare smiled. “Good. It is done and we are agreed.”
    Matteo’s face was serious. “You will take the oath?”
    “I will swear on it.”
    “Have you a knife?” Matteo asked.
    A stiletto suddenly appeared in Cesare’s hand. Matteo stared at it. Cesare smiled and turned it over in his hand and extended it to him, hilt forward. “This is my brother,” he said. “We are always together.”
    Matteo took it. “Give me your hand,” he said.
    Cesare held out his hand. Matteo placed his left hand flat on Cesare’s palm. With a quick motion he pierced each index finger with the stiletto. The blood from each man’s finger bubbled up and then ran together into their palms.
    Matteo looked at him. “Our blood has mingled and now we are of one family.”
    Cesare nodded.
    “I will die for you,” Matteo said.
    “I will die for you,” Cesare repeated.
    Matteo released his hand and gave him back the stiletto. He looked up into Cesare’s face. He stuck his finger into his mouth and sucked on it to stop the bleeding. “From this time on, my nephew,” he said, “we will not meet except at my wish.”
    Cesare nodded. “Yes, my uncle.”
    “Should you find it necessary to communicate with me, send a message to the postmaster in the village. I will get in touch with you.”
    “I understand, my uncle.”
    ***
    That had been almost twelve years ago. True to Matteo’s word, Raimondi had died the next night while Cesare was at the fencing match. The next five years had gone quickly. The races and the motor cars. The gala balls and romances. Then in 1953, just as Emilio had said, the offer came for him to head up the American agency of the automobile company. Much was made of his appointment in the press. His wild living and dangerous driving had made him an international figure of glamour. Twice he had fought duels over women. To America he was a man from another world.
    Only once in all the twelve years had he seen Matteo. Last year, he had gone in response to a telephone message to a room in a boarding house over a bar in Spanish Harlem where they had merely exchanged good wishes and Matteo had told him of his pleasure in Cesare’s success. He did not stay long as a plane was waiting to take Matteo to Cuba from where he would return to Sicily. They had parted and not until a slip of paper telling him to go at once to the castle was thrust into his hand just before the start of the race did he hear from Matteo again.
    ***
    The chicken cacciatore had been light and delicious, the lobster fra diavolo had been tangy and spicy and he was just putting down his napkin when a car came into the courtyard.
    He could not help but watch for Gio to