Chapter Ten
Dominic removed a pair of slender black gloves and slipped one on his left hand then the other on the right. A perfect fit. His gaze lifted to the mirror. He didn’t possess the features of the Battaglia men, namely Lorenzo and Giovanni. Both were giants in personality and height. Dominic barely stood over six-feet. His hair, unlike theirs, was curly, his skin a richer shade of olive and his irises a deep chocolate brown. Still he loved them both like brothers. Papa Tomosino had been the only father he’d ever known. Giovanni told him they shared the same blood within omerta and that was enough. It was Dominic’s brain, quick decisive actions, and carefully laid plans that always bore results and earned him his respect. Tonight he would keep a cool head. Get the information his Don needed and return to Napoli before the sun rose.
The whimpering drew his attention from the mirror. Maria Bottego, daughter of Sal ‘il sarto’ Bottego and Fish’s whore, sat on the edge of the bed sniffing. She was a beautiful young thing. Her dark hair cascaded down her shoulders and shielded the tears streaming down her face. He could understand why Angelo and Fish constantly fought over her.
Dominic walked out of the bathroom into the bedroom. He’d arrived to find her in a skimpy negligee, satin and pink. He told her to cover up before he signaled for Carlo to enter. Dominic was a gentleman; Carlo on the other hand didn’t have such grace. It was evident from the smells from the kitchen she was expecting Fish for dinner and dessert.
He stared at her. The woman found it hard to make eye contact. Her mascara ran dark tears down her cheeks. A few black tears dropped to her lap. He removed the gun from the back of his pants and screwed on the silencer.
“Why the fuck is she crying? No one has touched her.” Carlo sneered. He glared at the woman from the corner he leaned in, a toothpick swirled on his tongue between his pressed lips.
Carlo was mean. It was the only word to describe him. He was another giant among men. Stood as tall as Giovanni and Lorenzo, and chose to dress like a businessman instead of the thug his reputation proclaimed him to be. He hated to have him on a mission of discretion, although Carlo’s thirst for respect and blood could prove handy if Fish didn’t cooperate.
“We do this clean.” Dominic approached Maria. He curled his index finger under the young woman’s chin. “Tutto a posto.”
She sniffed and blinked up at him. Her hands trembled in her lap. The corner of his mouth lifted into a small smile.
“Be a good girl for me. Stay in here and stay quiet. Carlo will behave unless you give him a reason not to.” Dominic glanced up to Carlo to emphasize the order.
She nodded that she would obey. On cue the door to the front of the small cottage opened and slammed shut. “Maria! Get your ass out here. I’ve been calling you.”
Dominic winked. He brushed his index finger along the side of her cheek affectionately. He shot Carlo a look and the enforcer removed his toothpick flicking it to the floor. His hooded gaze narrowed in on Maria and the woman pleaded with Dominic with her eyes to not be left alone with him. Dominic waited a beat and Carlo nodded his obedience. Satisfied Dominic walked out of the bedroom. He could hear Fish in the kitchen, possibly sampling the dinner his woman had prepared for him. He chose to go left to remain in the shadows toward the enclave that separated the family room from the bedrooms.
“Maria? You here?”
Dominic watched and waited for Fish to leave the kitchen for the bedroom. He did. Fish was only five-foot six, but not chubby like the Calderone men. He had a slender frame and a nasty scar under his neck that stretched from ear to ear. He dealt in knives after having one used on him as a preteen. Everyone knew no man could survive a one on one knife fight with Fish.
And that wasn’t the best of his talents. Fish was best in explosives, which was why Dominic kept the gun steady and ready. The Calderone’s and the Ndrangheta were best known for firebombing and blowing up their adversary.
Careful, Dominic slipped behind Fish once he passed. Unfortunately, his shadow gave his presence away, and Fish was ready. He swung with a blade in his hand. Where it came from Dominic wasn’t sure but he countered by leaning out of the strike reach just as it swung up to run through his throat. He hit Fish hard and fast in the gut and then shoved his fist into his throat. The deft move brought Fish to his knees. “Salve.”
Fish gagged.
“Surprised to see me?”
The hacking man with watery eyes looked up to his attacker and the light of recognition drained blood from his face. Fish’s eyes stretched once his mind made the recognition.
“It’s been awhile. I’m disappointed. You don’t write, you don’t call.”
“I… why are you here? What have I done?” Fish dropped the blade and rubbed his sore throat.
Dominic smiled. “My Don deserves answers, and you are going to give them to me.”
“I won’t tell you shit!”
Dominic nodded. “Then that’s a shame. I left a present in the room with your puttana. Shall I tell you who it is?”
Fish looked back over his shoulder. “Is Carlo here? With Maria! Maria!” Fish staggered to rise to run to her rescue. Dominic forced him down with a hard grip to his shoulder. Fish returned to his knees, his eyes wide with panic. He placed the silencer between Fish’s brows. “Let’s have that talk.”
****
“Couldn’t we have stayed the night?” Mira asked. She really wished they had more time to talk and share with each other. But a stranger appeared at the door, and Giovanni left their warm bath. Curious, she stood in the tub and leaned over to the windowsill, dripping wet. She stood on her toes and held to the sill; afraid she’d slip and break her neck in the claw foot tub. She couldn’t see Giovanni but the visitor stood off from the step. He appeared to be a young kid of sixteen who had arrived on his bike. He gave Giovanni a phone from the front basket on his bike.
Mira left the tub and wrapped a towel around her damp body. She crept downstairs just as the conversation ended, and Giovanni reentered the living area. She watched him plug the phone into the wall. As soon as he did the phone began to ring. Giovanni took a call and paced. He spotted her, and she bolted back up the stairs, her heart racing. Later he found her. Neither mentioned what she witnessed. Instead they shared a lovely dinner. They made love with her pressed down on the table where they had dined and his long hard cock ramming into her from behind. Again Giovanni sank his teeth into her shoulder, back, and when he flipped her over and he laid her out on the table to ravish her more, he bit into her breast. Sweet merciful God, she loved every minute of it. Until it ended. He told her to dress and they were on his motorbike racing along the roadways at a very dangerous speed back to the airport. Once they landed in Napoli he whisked her away in a car to Sorrento.
“It could not be helped.”
She realized she was pouting and corrected the action. It was crazy to be so needy of his time. Even with Kei, the attraction between them wasn’t this strong. The cold hard reality was that eventually she and her Don would have to return to their separate lives. She dreaded the day. However, it was best to accept the truth of what they were and weren’t now rather than later. To her disappointment they drove up the winding road directly to the Battaglia gates and the truth waited.
“I had a lovely time today. Thank you,” she said. He cast those jeweled eyes at her and gave her a sweet smile. She leaned forward and kissed him. “And thank you Giovanni, for sharing your story with me.”
“Prego.”
She opened the door and hopped out of the jeep. They left the picnic basket and wine in the back. As soon as they crossed the threshold, the sounds of a young woman’s wails filled the foyer.
In a flash Catalina rushed through the hall into her brother’s arms, weeping. Mira stood frozen watching the scene. A petite woman in a long skirt with a messy grey bun to the back of her head hurried down the hall after Catalina. Giovanni wrapped his arms around his sister as one would do with a terrified child and comforted her. He kissed the top of her head, trying to understand what had her so distressed. “What is it?”
“It’s awful, just awful!!”
Giovanni gave Mira a desperate plea with his eyes to free him from the entire matter. So she addressed the older woman who appeared to be at the center of the drama. “Can I be of any help?”
The woman looked Mira up and down. She then glanced to Giovanni and spoke in English to be clearly heard. “Donatella is unable to make the dress exactly as requested; the one she sent is all wrong. We have a week before the wedding.”
“A week?” Mira looked to Giovanni surprised. She knew there would be a wedding, but in a week? Catalina let go of her brother shaking her head. “It’s ugly, I hate it! I will look like a fool Giovanni. And she didn’t even send the second dress. We paid for two dresses. All I got is one horrible thing!”
“Do you mind showing me the dress? Maybe I can help?” Mira offered.
“Can you?” Catalina asked wiping her eyes.
“Of course, it’s what I do, remember?”
Catalina smiled. “Grazie.” She looked to her brother for approval. “Is it okay Giovanni? Can she help me?”
“Thank you, Bella,” he mouthed.
Catalina took her hand and pulled her toward the stairs. She glanced back once more and Giovanni winked at her. She returned the wink. Together they ascended the stairs and met Fabiana at the top. Her friend looked at them both curiously. “What’s the hurry?”
“My dress! She will design a new one.” Catalina beamed.
“Wait, I only offered to—.”
“I’m so excited.”
“What dress?” Fabiana asked.
“This way!” Catalina announced. The woman who had to be an event planner shoved her way past Mira and Fabiana heading down the hall after her client. Fabiana gave Mira a puzzled look. “Please don’t tell me you agreed to do a dress for her?”
“How could I say no?” Mira whispered. They both started walking.
“Just say no.” Fabiana whispered back.
Mira chuckled. “It can’t be that bad. She said Donatella sent it.”
“Wait.” Fabiana grabbed her arm before she entered the room after Catalina. “You can’t work on another designer’s dress. Are you insane? You know better.”
Mira sighed. “Let’s look at it. Okay?”
As her business manager, Fabiana never let her do personal designs without going through her. Everything she touched was viewed as a business deal. Reworking another designer’s piece was a complete insult and a definite no-no in the industry.
Giovanni was in no mood for his sister’s hysterics. He walked through his home and out the back doors. In Sorrento he kept his family safe and contained, but the times business called it would always take place in the Villa Rosso. It was the cottage his father ran his business from and the place he took the oath of silence and accepted his role in the family. Necessary matters were only conducted behind those doors. The women knew to never venture in when he and the boys were meeting.
He glanced back over his shoulder. On the third floor of the villa he could see the lights to Catalina’s room flicker on. He hoped the dress matter would be resolved soon and Mira waiting for him in his room when he returned. A wishful thought.
The inside of his two-story cottage was dark and silent. His men patrolled the grounds, but no one had entered before him. He smelled the deep ingrained aroma of his favorite cigars and frequently consumed malt embedded in the walls and floors. It was indeed a meeting place of men. Giovanni flicked the light switch and closed the door. He crossed the gathering room and headed to his office in the back. Above him was a single bedroom and shower. Many nights he chose that room over his own bed.
Not long after he entered his office and sat behind his desk, he heard the outer door open. He lowered as his visitor crossed his threshold. “Did you leave him alive?” he asked.
“Barely.”
Giovanni dropped back in his large swivel chair and gazed up at Dominic. “Will he name you?”
Dominic chuckled. “We made sure he has amnesia when it comes to our visit. This is hard for me to say boss. I chose to question Fish away from Carlo, because I feared. I… I haven’t shared this with any of the men.”
“Speak.”
“I believe Lorenzo killed Giuseppe.”
“And you believe this why?”
“No one, not even the Nigerians would have done away with Giuseppe this way. You know how this works. Sure they would have wanted to send a message, and maybe even teach the old Don a lesson, but Giuseppe played against his father’s best interest. We all know what he was trying to move through the triangle. It just. It doesn’t feel right. And Fish confirmed it. He said Giuseppe and Lorenzo met frequently in Como and often in Genoa.”
Giovanni sighed. “Where’s Lorenzo?”
Why would Lorenzo betray the family this way? For drugs? Did he want to force his hand, force him to make an example of him?
“Fish can be useful.” Dominic’s voice rose above his thoughts. “He can throw the Calderone’s off the scent. He wants to deal. He knows when the old man’s grief takes him down after the body is discovered, the family will disintegrate. Revenge will overwhelm them.”
Giovanni closed his eyes and remembered how revenge almost destroyed his family as well. It was Lorenzo who found the Russians who put the hit on his father. His cousin helped him channel his angry grief into the final act that made him the boss of all bosses. Their Don. He refused to believe that Lorenzo would betray him now or ever. There still wasn’t any proof. His cousin loved his Bellagio home, and he frequented the pussy holes, where men gathered. Calderone’s gambling house in Genoa was one of them.
“Go on,” Giovanni sighed.
“Fish will work with me, only me. Provide me updates and do your bidding. He’ll even put a bullet in Don Calderone if you want it.”
“Now why would he do that? He has no allegiance to the Cammora.”
“Angelo.” Dominic answered. “He hates the fucker. Doesn’t want to work under his command. There is a long standing feud between the men over his woman Maria. We have her and Fish will do anything to get her back.” Dominic’s grin was half sneer, half humor.
Giovanni sat forward. He clasped his hands together on top of his desk. It always came down to pussy for men. Pussy and greed was every man’s Achilles’ heel. That’s why he fucked nameless faceless women. Except for her. Now he too had a weakness. He’d welcomed a woman into his home and bed that he’d barely known a week.
“Boss?”
“Sounds like we can use him.” Giovanni answered.
“If it’s going to be war boss, we need an inside man,” Dominic said. “Whether Lo did the crime, we both know what Fish has seen others have as well. It won’t take long before Angelo and the Calderone’s drag us into this shit.”
****
Mira sat on the bed waiting for Catalina to come out of the bathroom in the wedding dress. She soon became distracted with the way Fabiana lingered near the window. She figured she was holding her tongue for what she was about to do, but honestly a wedding a week away left her no real choice.
“What’s wrong?”
“Huh?” Fabiana asked.
“You don’t want me to fix this dress?”
Fabiana smiled. “Oh no, it’s not that. We can do something with it. The girl has a wedding in a week.”
“How was your day with Lorenzo?”
Fabiana’s smile wasn’t as bright as it was before. Still she was lovelier when she let her inner charm come forth. “We went horseback riding, had sex, went to lunch at this little pizza spot in Napoli, had sex again at an apartment he has there, went for gelato and came here for more sex.”
“Sounds like fun.”
Fabiana shrugged. Catalina walked out of the bathroom with the woman from earlier following closely. Both Fabiana and Mira looked at the dress that was definitely a size too big and sloppily cut. The short puffy sleeves and too wide of a waistline was too low for her tiny frame. The front of the dress was raised too high and the train fell awkwardly behind. The entire dress had woven white beading on top of heavy satin material that would make re-cutting the fabric a nightmare. All in all Mira got a headache from one look at the monstrosity.
Mira sucked in her breath and then cleared her throat, “Donatella Versace sent this over for you?” she asked in complete disbelief.
The lady next to Catalina flashed Mira an irritated smile, “It was from her private line, not her brother’s. She’s starting to do more designing for him.” Catalina nodded.
“Her private line of shit,” Fabiana said aghast at the way the dress looked.
Catalina burst into tears again. “Oh sweetie, I’m so sorry. I run my mouth sometimes. Forgive me.”
Mira walked over to her. “We can make this into the dress of your dreams please don’t cry.”
The woman started speaking to Catalina in Italian to soothe her, and Mira wondered who she was. Catalina saw the curious look on her face and explained.
“Forgive me. Fabiana and Mira this is Signora Clara my Masciata.”
Mira glanced to her friend for translation.
“She’s her matchmaker.”
“Matchmaker?” Mira looked at the woman and then Catalina. The young girl was in an arranged marriage? Really? Mira extended her hand. “Nice to meet you Clara.”
“She’s also my wedding planner. You know the one that makes sure the wedding follows our traditions.”
Fabiana extended her hand and greeted Clara as well. “Nice to meet you.”
Mira addressed Fabiana. “Can you go get my kit that you packed away with your things? It’s obvious that we’ll need to go to our office tomorrow and get some fabric and other things I need.”
Fabiana nodded and walked out. Catalina let go a sigh of relief, “Thank you so much Mira. I really appreciate this.”
“It’s no trouble. I’m excited for you. Tell me about your guy.” Mira smiled.
“Franco?”
“Is that his name?” Mira accepted her hand and led her to the bed in the room where they both sat. Clara stood off, observing them silently.
“Yes his name is Franco Minetti,” Catalina beamed.
“Where did you meet him?”
“The first time I met him was at my christening, Giovanni said he put me in the crib with Franco and even though we were babies we held hands,” she grinned. Mira tried to keep the smile to her face. Catalina placed both hands in her lap and continued with her tale. “Then we met again my graduating year in school at my cousin Aurora’s wedding. It was a year ago. Giovanni said it was okay if I wrote him, so we wrote quite often until I graduated. That’s when Giovanni let Franco come here for a week. We swam, rode horses, and did things.”
“What kind of things?” Mira asked.
“You know, date and things. All of it supervised by Domi of course,” she blushed and looked away.
Mira smiled. “Okay so you fell in love with him?”
“Si. Amore. Giovanni sent me to Palermo, and I got to spend a week with his family. Domi came too. He was right by my side. I hate Palermo. Have you been?”
“No sweetie I haven’t.” Mira glanced over to Clara who continued to watch over them with a critical squint.
“Catalina are you saying this marriage is arranged?”
Catalina frowned at the term.
“I mean was it setup by Giovanni and Franco’s family?”
“Of course. That’s what I’m saying. Signora Clara knew Mama. She has governed our lives always. She is here to make sure we follow the traditions,” Catalina smiled.
“This is something you want?”
“Giovanni said—”
“I’m not talking about your brother. I’m talking about you, sweetie. You are the one getting married. Is this something you want? Marriage is serious and something you should do with a person you love. You do know that don’t you?” Mira asked, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze.
Catalina looked down at Mira’s hand and then to her eyes. “Why did you ask me that? Of course I know this. Of course I want my marriage! Don’t you dare tell Giovanni I don’t!” Catalina snatched her hand away and rose.
“I didn’t mean to insult you.”
“You think I’m young and stupid and can’t handle getting married?”
“No, of course not.”
“I’m the donna of this house. Not you! I take good care of Giovanni and Lorenzo, and I will be a good wife to Franco. I’ve done nothing wrong!”
“Sweetie calm down. I just asked you what you want. If Franco is who you love, then I’m happy for you.”
Catalina folded her arms and glared. “Franco is what I want, it is what God wants. Don’t you dare say anything different.”
Fabiana walked in with Mira’s sewing kit. “Found it!” she said smiling. Looking at the women she frowned, “Something wrong?”
****
“I took the liberty of ordering. Not big on wine like you and these Italians.”
Lorenzo locked eyes with the large Nigerian seated at the table. The man had skin as dark as coal and a shaved head and face. He wore a stark white shirt that appeared brighter against his skin. Lorenzo found him dining alone in a hotel suite crowded with heavily armed men. He felt no fear. He’d shoot every motherfucker in sight if he had to and walk away from this meeting. It was his false bravado that time and time again proved to be his weakness.
“Why did you ask to meet?” Lorenzo asked.
“We haven’t been properly introduced. Name is Enu.”
Lorenzo glared as the African wiped his mouth and extended his large palm in greeting. After a moment Enu slumped back in his chair. “I will admit this is awkward. I have a lot of respect for your family. Actually the Cammora in general. Unlike the mafioso you men understand there can be alliances outside of Sicilian blood ties. You’re much more progressive.”
“We aren’t that tolerant.” Lorenzo scoffed.
“Giuseppe was. In fact he was quite accepting of new ways. Of change.” A beautiful black woman in a traditional wrap of green and gold brought a fresh drink for the Nigerian. She blinked her large brown eyes up at Lorenzo and then shied away. Lorenzo refused to touch his glass of wine. “Giuseppe’s missing, and this presents a problem.”
“Not for me,” Lorenzo sneered.
Enu chuckled, his dark eyes gleamed like those of a cobra with prey in sight. “I hear your boss is expanding the family business.”
“That’s none of your concern.”
“You sure about that? Not only does Giovanni Battaglia own the coast of the Amalfi but now he strives to extend his reach along northern Italy?” Enu raised his glass in a mock toast. “He does have balls.”
Lorenzo glanced at his watch. On the verge of dismissing the bastard he summoned restraint.
“He does understand that his interests have now become my own?”
“Fuck no.”
“Then you should help him with this understanding. Considering Giuseppe’s disappearance has many pointing a finger your way. In a time of war we can be quite useful.”
“The Nigerian Mafia? An alliance because that runt Giuseppe missed dinner?” Lorenzo spat out a burst of laughter. The humor drained from Enu’s face and his features hardened like stone.
“Are you fucking kidding me Eboo?”
“The name is Enu and I never kid. Yes, I propose an alliance because Giuseppe Calderone didn’t just miss dinner. He’s dead. You killed him.”
Lorenzo’s jaw went tight. He narrowed his eyes on the man before him.
“Giuseppe ran his mouth. The stupid fuck never knew when to shut up. He talked of you often. How you were his bitch.” Enu chuckled. “Didn’t like you much.”
“Feeling was mutual.”
“He also had a nasty habit of taping men.” Enu’s gaze flickered up and latched on to Lorenzo. “I hear he has tapes, very interesting tapes, of conversations he’s had with you.”
Lorenzo felt his hand tighten to a fist, but sat rigidly still. Was he bluffing? Did Giuseppe tape him the fateful night he spoke words that brought about his beloved uncle’s death. No. If Giuseppe had a tape of their conversation he would have leveraged it by now. It had to be a bluff. If this African knew of his part in Tomosino’s hit he would have played that card by now. At this point the bastard was simply feeling him out. “Giuseppe’s not my problem. But you have one. The same tall tales he told of me and my family he spread about you and yours. Said the Nigerians sucked his dick to pass their women and drugs through the triangle. He said you moolignons were under his command. And now Don Calderone knows of your deals. The war isn’t with the Battaglia’s. It’ll be at your door.”
The Nigerian broke the whiskey glass in his hand. He didn’t flinch at the glass slicing his palm or the blood splatter on the linen of the table. His dark irises went darker than coal. He snarled when he spoke. “You made a big mistake dismissing my offer of friendship.”
Lorenzo drank from the wine and set the glass back on the table. “Enjoy the raglione.” He said rising and walked out. He didn’t bother to look back. He needed to get home. Things were falling apart. And Giovanni would be on to him soon.
****
Catalina stood with her arms out as Mira measured and stuck pins in the dress before going back to her pad to write down her measurements for cutting the fabric. Clara paced nervously in front of the women, not sure what to make of all the pins and tape she saw covering the dress. Wringing her hands she finally spoke. “No cleavage must show and the hem must touch the floor.”
Mira looked over at her and smiled. “I’ll take care of her.”
Catalina stuck out her bottom lip. “I want some cleavage to show. It’s my dress!”
“Hush you silly girl!” Clara clapped her hands together to silence Catalina.
Fabiana frowned at the older woman. She and Mira exchanged a look. Fabiana rubbed her hands together, and tossed her long hair before approaching. “Clara, how many weddings have you been the masciata over?” Fabiana asked. She draped her arm around the woman’s shoulder.
“I’ve placed Italian brides with their chosen mates for over 50 years.”
“Fifty years huh? Impressive. And in fifty years how many dresses have you made for these brides?”
“I beg your pardon?” Clara snipped disgusted. “I may not be a dressmaker like Signora Mira but I know what’s proper for Catalina, and what’s expected of her from Don Battaglia.” She announced.
“Of course you do. I wouldn’t dare suggest you didn’t.” Fabiana put her arm around her. She guided the old woman’s steps toward the door.
“Signora Mira as you called her, is more than a dressmaker. Just as you find yourself qualified to orchestrate this wedding from your fifty years of experience, Mira finds herself qualified to dress a bride from her many years of experience. Experience that I might add produced a multimillion dollar company on dress making alone. Now why don’t we let her get to it?” Before Clara could counter the argument Fabiana opened the door and pushed her out. “We’ll let you know when we’re done!” she said smiling nicely and closing the door.
Catalina laughed. “Thank you! She is such a pain in the ass!”
Fabiana turned with her hands to her hips. “Tell me about it. Don’t you have any aunts or cousins that could help you with your wedding?”
“Yes, but they don’t really like me and Giovanni.” she said softly.
Mira glanced up and then made eye contact with Fabiana. She knew of the relationship Catalina’s parents shared. Tradition with the Sicilians must have made them outcasts within their own family. “It’s okay sweetie, because you got us.” Mira winked.
Catalina nodded, eagerly. “Grazie Mira. I’m sorry for being a brat. It was weird seeing Giovanni with someone.”
Fabiana went back to the bed, sitting down. “Giovanni and Lorenzo never bring women home?” she asked.
Catalina shook her head. “Lorenzo had a sweetheart once, and everyone thought they would get married, but she broke up with him. She married someone from another family. This was before Papa died, but I remember it of course. Lorenzo was very upset.”
Mira lifted her eyes while working to see Fabiana’s face. She noted how tense her friend was and wondered again what had her on edge. “You okay?”
Fabiana nodded “I’m fine.”
Mira rose. “That’s it. Let’s get you out of this, tomorrow we will go to my store and get the things I need to redo the dress.”
“I feel like a porcupine.” Catalina laughed. “Can you get rid of the puffy sleeves too?”
Mira smiled. “That’s the first thing I plan to do.”
Fabiana shook her head. “There is no way in hell Donatella Versace designed that dress. I think Signora Clara is full of shit.”
“Fabiana!” Mira warned.
Catalina looked over to her, “Why do you say that?”
Mira began to work down her zipper. “Ignore Fabiana, she doesn’t know anything.” She reassured her. “Now go take this off.”
Catalina agreed. “Grazie,” she said rushing to the bathroom.
Mira turned on Fabiana as soon as the door closed. “Would you cut the wise ass remarks?”
Fabiana shrugged. “Please. You know that dress didn’t come out of the house of Versace. That woman is just controlling that child. She probably took one look at the dress Donatella sent over and the rest of her hair turned white. She replaced it with that tacky mess.”
It was what Mira felt as well. She could see where the inside label had been cut out. “I checked the inseam and material. It’s a store bought dress alright, which explains why it doesn’t fit. I think you’re right. Clara got rid of Donatella's dress and fitted her with that one.”
“Why the hell would Giovanni and Lorenzo allow the manipulating shrew near that girl?” Fabiana asked.
Mira shook her head, “She isn’t the only one controlling her.”
“What does that mean?”
“You heard her. She’s been given over to a matchmaker. Do they still arrange marriages in Italy? It’s almost 1990. They can’t be serious.”
“I think with certain families it’s a tradition. It’s none of our business. Catalina seems very excited about it. To suggest it’s barbaric or anything other than tradition is an insult to them. You remember that.” Fabiana cautioned.
“Catalina doesn’t want to disappoint her brother. You should have seen her reaction when I questioned her, and she couldn’t say she loved this Franco person, which to me….”
Catalina came out of the bathroom with the dress. “Okay here you go,” she said smiling, bringing it over. Mira accepted the dress. “Thanks sweetie, I will start on this first thing tomorrow.
****
Lorenzo handled the narrow, curving roadway in his car like a daredevil. The coastal villages zipped by as the speedometer climbed to the point of dipping into the red zone. Still he drove faster.
He also had a nasty habit of taping men. I hear he has tapes, very interesting tapes, of conversations he’s had with you.
Anger gripped him so tight he could barely suck down a breath. It was a lie. There was no tape. He remembered sitting in the bar drinking, bemoaning his existence and Giuseppe feeding his ego. When did the slug have a chance to tape him? Which conversation did he record? The one where he joked that Don Tomosino’s death was the only way he’d have his birthright? “No dammit! No!” he hit the steering wheel. There was no tape. The fucker was lying.
What he’d done because of his pride and jealousy of his cousin could destroy everything they’ve built. He could feel time and plausible excuses slipping away from him. His life was spiraling out of control, and he was powerless to prevent it. Making a sharp turn the car engine revved then sputtered. Lorenzo frowned, checking the gauges. He rarely drove the car and had it tuned regularly.
Soon he arrived at the Battaglia gates, avoiding a roadside stall in his favorite spots car. The men opened the gates and granted him entrance. No one came or went without a face to face. He drove up the drive and parked behind an American made motorcycle. He wondered which of the boys had bought the toy. Outside of the car with the door slamming shut behind him, he approached it.
“Nice, isn’t it?”
He glanced to his left. Carlo flicked his hand rolled cigarillo and smirked. “Been waiting.”
“Need you to have someone come pick up my car to have it tuned. The engine sounds funny.” He was in no mood for questioning from his friend or anyone. He just needed to get somewhere and cool off to think of his next move.
“What the fuck I look like, your errand boy?” Carlo asked, catching the keys tossed to him mid-air.
Lorenzo didn’t break his stride. He entered the house and beat a hard path to the lower rooms. He heard the soft sounds of laughter. He slowed and looked to the left. It was a woman’s laugh.
Smoothing out his hair he sucked in a deep breath and walked into a sunroom that led out to the open terrace. Seated around a table was Mira, Catalina, and Fabiana eating and drinking wine. Fabiana’s eyes lifted and locked on him. She rose from her seat and came to him immediately. “I was wondering when you’d come back.” Lorenzo pulled her in his arms grateful to feel her. She kissed him sweetly on the lips then offered him more. Amazing how calm he felt after one kiss from her. Fabiana withdrew. She turned and grinned at the women while holding his hand. “Mira and Giovanni brought back some wine from the vineyard. Do you want some? Have you eaten?”
Lorenzo looked at the ladies staring at him and then back at Fabiana, “Where’s my cousin?”
“Villa Rosso probably.” Catalina said.
The night dragged on without him. Laughter, wine, and the excited chatter of the pending nuptials from Catalina filled the evening. Several times she caught Lorenzo checking his watch. She wondered about this place called ‘Villa Rosso’ and why Lorenzo didn’t go there to summon Giovanni. He never did. Eventually he and Fabiana retired for the evening, and she was left alone with Catalina.
“Where is this Villa Rosso place?” Mira asked.
Catalina lowered her wine glass, her nose wrinkling. “Outside. It’s the cottage Papa built at the end of the garden trails. Giovanni lives there mostly. Sometimes for days.” Catalina gave an eye-roll. “I try to keep it nice, for him and the men, but he won’t allow me in there without his permission, and they make it messy always. The staff is never allowed there. It smells of whiskey and his stinky cigars.” She shrugged her shoulders. “He’s like Papa, likes to be there alone, no matter the state. Mama had a kitchen and bedroom made up in there so he's fine.”
“Days? You said he lives there? Not here?”
“When he wants.” Catalina smiled. “Don’t worry, he’ll come back. He always does.”
She felt a presence behind her, the deep blush to Catalina’s cheeks made Mira turn to see who had entered. The one Giovanni called Dominic stood in the doorway. He wore a look that Mira recognized. A mixture of love, lust, and shame. She saw that look in Giovanni’s eyes after he ravished her in the bed and caused the bite to her shoulder. Mira's gaze swiveled between Dominic and Catalina, and her brows lowered with concern. Dominic was staring at the young bride to be.
“Good night Mira. I have to talk to Domi.”
Catalina was out of her chair sashaying toward the door. Her dark curly hair swayed across her shoulders. Then she was gone.
“Stop Mira. Mind your own business. The man is too old for Catalina.” She reasoned, dismissing what she thought passed between the two. She sighed. What was she doing there? It felt ridiculous to be held up in this massive estate to only spend evenings in this man's bed. She understood he had work to do, but so did she. Maybe she’d talk to Fabiana about cutting this visit short. It didn’t mean that their affair had to end. She just needed her life back. Working on Catalina’s dress had sparked the urge to do more. She rose and walked out. As she approached the stairs she considered what Catalina said. The man wouldn’t disappear on her if it wasn’t serious. What if he needed someone to talk to? Uncanny as it was, she felt such a tie to him now. She couldn’t dismiss it.
Mira turned left instead of right, lost in her thoughts. Passing through two open rooms she stopped and looked around confused. The stairs had to be in the front of the house, so she tried to double back.
She heard a woman’s sigh. Mira stopped. It could have been the wind. The longer hallways carried drafts from all the open windows to the front of the villa. She listened and heard nothing. Glancing back over her shoulder the sound drifted to her ears again. A sweet mixture of soft sighs and moans that sounded feminine in nature. She stood alone in the hall. Curiosity seized her sensibility, and she began to trace her steps back the way she came. She stopped at a door drawn partially shut. She heard a crash and a giggle. It was Catalina. Silent and careful she positioned her left eye to the crack in the door and peered in.
Dominic advanced on Catalina who stepped back with a sly teasing smile. Mira pressed closer to the door to see, and it eased open a sliver. Dominic drew Catalina to him in a gentle manner with his hand to her hip. It seemed innocent enough if it weren’t for the glazed look of awe and desire on Catalina’s face. Mira held her breath. What was unfolding? Dominic said something. He had a deep timber to his voice that reminded her of a rhythm and blues singer—husky and sultry. Mira wished she knew the translation. Soon she needed none. Catalina threw her arms around Dominic’s neck and giggled. He spun her in his arms, and she hugged his neck tightly. What seemed like simple flirty play soon changed to an embrace of lovers. In one deft move Catalina was pressed up against the wall bookshelf. The couple kissed and clawed at each other’s clothing. The front of Catalina’s dress was yanked down and Dominic’s face was buried in her cleavage. Catalina responded by working on his zipper. Soon Dominic’s pants were riding at his hips, belt undone. Catalina’s right leg draped over the crook of his arm opening her for his thrusting cock. Catalina gasped clenching his shoulders, her head rolling back in pleasure. The bookshelf shook, a few books dropped to the floor. Dominic fucked her with slow measured thrusts. Mira covered her mouth. Dominic stopped his thrusts and lowered, sucking her nipple then going down between Catalina’s thighs. She dropped her leg over his shoulder and gripped the top of his curly hair to grind her sex against his plundering mouth.
Mira couldn’t tear away from the scene.
Catalina moaned in ecstasy. Her eyes opened and her head turned. She locked eyes on Mira who had inadvertently pushed the door ajar a bit to reveal the scene. Embarrassed Mira fled for the stairs.
Giovanni rose from his chair. He walked over to the bar and picked up a bottle. No matter how he digested the news of his cousin’s involvement with Giuseppe Calderone he couldn’t accept it. They’d taken an oath. And it meant more than words and blood, it was who they were. They believed in family and loyalty above all else. Lorenzo would not jeopardize it all to be some drug pusher. There had to be another reason for his lapse in judgment. But what?
He turned up the bottle and took a long swallow until his throat felt torched and his chest aflame. He wiped the scotch from his lips. His eyes fell upon his gun. He remembered when he first used it. How he felt. What he’d done. Could he use it again? On the man he called brother?
February 16, 1983
Napoli, Italy
“Count minchione!” Lorenzo shoved the nozzle of the gun so deep into the man’s mouth he gagged. Others stood around watching, waiting. “Figlio di puttana!”
Two Russians lie dead in the freezer, both with their throats cut and bullets to their backs. Giovanni still had blood on his hands, pants, and shoes. His chest bulked. He wanted a confession. He needed a confession. And though he should be nowhere near this bloodbath, he intended to see it through. Lorenzo knew this. Felt his need for revenge that ate away at his soul like a cancer. His cousin had found the bastards and tied them down in the bakery. He summoned him without the men. Fed the monster in him that made him Don Tomosino’s son.
Lorenzo glanced back to him. “He’s the one Giovanni, the one who pulled the trigger. He’s the one who took Papa from us.”
“He’s mine!” Giovanni said.
“No.” Flavio entered the freezer with Dominic and Carlo behind him. Giovanni was in such a murderous daze he didn’t hear the old man speak. He gripped the gun tighter. “Don’t do it, Gio.”
Lorenzo removed the gun from the man’s mouth. He glanced back at the men then to Giovanni. All of this unfolded as the Russian dropped his head, gagging and gasping for breath.
“Gio?” Flavio said, he walked over, stood before him. “Listen to me. Your word is law. You do not have to do this. Let the boys finish him off. Bring you his head, his hands, and his feet. But you must remain clean.”
“He deserves vengeance!” Lorenzo shouted.
“We all do.” Carlo spoke out of turn.
Giovanni breathed through his nose. He tracked the Russian with his eyes as the coward backed away on his knees.
“And he shall have it! That is why you are number two! It is your job to do this for your Don! Do you hear me!” Flavio snapped. He eased the gun from Giovanni’s hand. “Lead these men, Gio, don’t become one of them to do it.”
Giovanni remembered the gunshots. How his father fell and blood pooled like a river of red draining from his body and running streams down the streets. He remembered the suffering of his poor mother, how confused and desperate she and his sister had become. Together they wept at his father’s bedside. Eventually his mama had to be medicated in order to be taken out of the room. He remembered Catalina crawling in bed with him shivering, begging him to make Papa well again. And he remembered the day they lowered his father into the ground. All of it boiled up into a storm that strangled his heart. He shoved Flavio from in front of him. He grabbed the two ice picks on the steel freezer and charged the man. The Russian didn’t scream, he didn’t beg for mercy. In fact Giovanni could have sworn as he charged him the man knew his fate and smiled. Without delay he shoved both ice picks into his eyes and pinned the murderer to the ground. Men converged on him and he managed to throw them off in time to get his gun, the one given to him by his grandfather. The one called ‘Danny-boy’. He unloaded the clip into the dead man.
Silence fell over those in the freezer. Giovanni stumbled back, rising from the darkness that had engulfed him. He saw the carnage, the one he’d committed and suppressed the gag in his throat. He’d killed men. He’d done it with his own hands. He’d become what his mother always feared. When he glanced up he could see the dark approval gleaming in Lorenzo’s eyes. He could see the satisfaction in Carlo’s smile. And he could see the profound disappointment in Flavio’s scowl. Unable to stomach it he turned and walked out.
Giovanni sucked down a deep breath. Lorenzo wouldn’t betray him. There had to be an explanation for all of this. His cousin was loyal. They all were. They had to be. He stared at Danny-boy. Otherwise he’d have the final word.