Chapter Nine
“Morning.” Catalina chirped. She sashayed into her brother’s office with a tiny cup of espresso. Giovanni glanced up as the cup was set on his desk in front of him. He sat back and fixed his gaze on his sister. He’d left Mira asleep, and planned to return to her before the sun fully rose. Flavio had air-messaged documents for him to sign.
“What are you doing up this early?” Giovanni asked dryly. He closed the binder before him and eased it into the drawer he kept under lock and key.
“I was making sure breakfast was prepared for our guest. Saw the light on and knew you were in here. I am the donna of this house you know.”
Catalina wore a long blush pink robe. Her hair was tied up in a ponytail, causing her long spiral curls to sway past her shoulders. He smiled at how much she looked like their mother when she was younger. Though her skin was a golden tan like her Sicilian ancestors, her face, eyes, and mannerisms were all Eve. She was his mother reincarnate. Softening he gestured for her to sit.
“I have a problem, Giovanni.”
“Do you?”
“Franco wants to move us back to Palermo when we are married. He wants to run his father’s bottling business. I want to stay in Firenze or here in Sorrento in our family home. We have more than enough room. Can’t he work for you?” she asked innocently.
“He will be your husband, so you will stay where he says.” Giovanni reclined back in his chair. “You know this.”
“Well, that’s bullshit!” she shouted.
“Watch your tongue.”
Catalina folded her arms in a full pout. “I have no say in anything. I didn’t complain when you said I had to marry Franco, I didn’t complain when you said I couldn’t have my wedding in Paris, and I didn’t complain when you said that Aurora had to be in the wedding although you know I hate her! I don’t want to live in no damn Palermo!”
Giovanni listened. He granted her liberties to speak to him in ways no one else in the family besides Lorenzo dare try. When he didn’t give his sister the response she wanted she went for his balls.
“Did you know Mira Ellison is engaged to be married to some rich Chinese man in America? It’s in one of my magazines upstairs. I can show you the article.”
“I thought you were going to see to breakfast?” Giovanni asked.
Catalina rose and crossed her arms in front of her. “Promise me you will speak to Franco about Palermo? I don’t want to be away from you and Lorenzo. You are all I have, no mama or papa, just you and Lorenzo.”
“I will talk to him,” he promised. “I want you to be respectful and gracious to our guests. Don’t disappoint me.”
“I won’t,” she smiled sweetly.
Mira woke. He returned very quietly. She listened a moment longer and heard him release a deep sigh. The morning rays were beginning to pour in through the open doors of his balcony. She found the large double mattress bed soft as a cloud, and she usually didn’t like soft beds. After playing, talking, eating and finishing two bottles of wine he made the sweetest love to her under the covers. Slowly she turned her head to see if he had closed his eyes. He stared straight ahead, deep in thought.
“Morning?” she rolled to him and he opened his arm in welcoming.
“Did I wake you?” he asked his voice hoarse and gruff.
“No. I was waiting for you,” she lied.
“Forgive me Bella. I promised to be here when you woke.”
She looked up at him. The joke fell flat. In fact it kind of stung. She wasn’t so needy that she’d pitch a fit if he weren’t there, though she did give him a hard time before. “What is it? What has you leaving the room constantly and looking so worried? Can’t you share your troubles with me?”
“No.” He scooted down the covers and faced her on his pillow. “I have a question for you.”
“Mmkay,” she said kissing his nose.
“Are you engaged to be married in America?”
Mira double blinked. “Wha-um-no. No. Who told you that?”
“Doesn’t matter. I believe you.” He then kissed her softly. “Are you ready for a trip out to Tuscany? Just you and I?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s shower and make love. Then we can join everyone for breakfast.”
“I thought breakfast wasn’t a tradition in Italy?”
“My mother is Irish. Breakfast was always served from her table. Besides my little sister loves America. She spends a lot of my money in New York City. Breakfast is her favorite meal of the day. Catalina knows what is proper; she will feed you.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “After breakfast I will show you another side of my life. Remember my goal is to keep you with me,” he kidded.
“I can’t wait.”
Fabiana sashayed out of the bathroom and paused. Lorenzo placed the receiver back on its cradle. It was the third phone call he’d accepted that morning. She knew something was wrong. She could feel it. But her guy told her nothing. He showered her with gifts and sweet talk but gave her little of himself. In the harsh light of the new day, their arrangement didn’t feel as appealing as before.
“I’m thinking I might go to Napoli. Visit the boutique today to check in. We have two floors with employees running our business, and we haven’t been back since the show in Milan.”
“No.” he rose. He wore dark slacks and no shirt.
“No?”
“We have such a short time together. I don’t want you to go.”
Fabiana cut her eyes. Not believing his bullshit.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“Yes. With you, not me. We get close and then you shut down. You can trust me Lorenzo. Talk to me. I can see you’re stressed. Maybe I can help.”
Lorenzo smiled. “Cara, I’m enjoying every minute with you. That is all you see.”
Fabiana uncrossed her arms. She had to get out of her own head. It was she who asked so little. Mira warned her about being eager with men. This one she liked, a lot. She felt the heartstrings connecting with his. It could be the makings of love. “For starters your life. I know you aren’t married, and you never mention any family outside of this. Where is your mother? Your father?”
“Come here.” He sat on the edge of the bed and patted his lap.
Fabiana walked over in bare feet. She wore a summer dress with thin straps and a long split. He pulled her down to his lap and kissed her under the neck. “My mother is dead. She died of breast cancer, many years ago. My father died when I was only twelve. He was murdered. I was raised with no siblings, just Giovanni and Dominic. Then came Catalina. You’ve met them all.”
“Right. I have. But who are you Lorenzo?”
“Who am I? I’m second. Second in everything.”
“That makes no sense.”
He let go a gust of laughter. She thought he was kidding, but the pain in his eyes said differently. “Si. I’m nephew not son, cousin not brother, capo not consigliere, never first Cara. I’ve competed with being first for a very long time. Then I met you. I look at you and I don’t feel second. I feel chosen. You have chosen me no?”
Stunned she nodded.
A sly smile moved across his lips. “Sei bellissima. Grazie. For being mine.”
His lips, soft, lush and persistent brushed hers and started the kiss that swept her breath from her lungs. He lowered her to the bed, and she held to him, to the feeling of having him. The kiss came to a natural end, but his forehead pressed to hers. “I’m in need of a favor.”
She frowned. “From me?”
“An inspector will come in the morning. He will tell you and your friend that your business is closed again. This time you won’t question it. Capisci? You will explain it to your friend and help her accept it. Then you will convince her to stay here.”
“Lorenzo I…”
“Not permanently. Just a few days longer than you intended to stay. A week, no longer, I promise. C’mon, you know who I am. What I do. Trust me. This trouble will pass in a few weeks. Until then you and her are safest here. The phone call was my cousin. You know what power he has.”
“Yes, I have no illusions of who Giovanni Battaglia is. The head of the Cammora, of your family.”
“Very good. This is his wish, and we have to abide by it.”
“Then why can’t he just be honest with Mira? She’s my best friend. I won’t manipulate her for him.”
“Then will you do it for me. It’s in her best interest and yours. It will only cause her undo worry. You run her business right? Right?”
“Yes, but Lo—”
“Shhh, consider this another business negotiation. I haven’t told you the best part. You do this, convince Mira to stay here with my cousin for a longer vacation, and he will get your business visa cleared. You can buy property, cut through all the negotiations with that useless solicitor. Tell me this isn’t a deal worth making. Huh? Tell me?”
“It could help us. Are you sure he will do this?”
Lorenzo nodded. “He’s taken with her as I am with you. He doesn’t want our business to interfere with your lives. This is a good deal for you both. Can you do this for me angelo? Can you do this without question?”
“Will it help you, be more than second?” she reached up and touched his face.
His dark sapphire blue eyes narrowed on her. “Si. It will help me.”
“Then I’ll do it. I’ll figure something out for our workers. I can handle Mira.”
Lorenzo smirked. “I’m hungry, let’s join everyone for breakfast.”
He held her hand everywhere they went. The brief tour of his home was a bit overwhelming. He covered the front wings. There were lower levels and wine cellars she hadn’t seen. The place had two kitchens, one used to prepare formal dinners with four stoves, a walk in freezer, a drink refrigerator, a wine closet and other top chef appliances. The other kitchen was a bit smaller with a gas stove and a brick layered oven heated by wood and coal, and a small white fridge. It reminded her of a cozy home atmosphere with large tin pots and skillets. He said the larger one was built for his mother but she refused to cook in it. To this day Zia and Catalina cooked out of the smaller one. Finally he brought her to an outside terrace that faced one of the most spectacular views. There was a pool with a roman statuesque fountain that looked strangely authentic. Also a two-story cottage down a garden path, and mountains everywhere.
“Morning sweetie,” Fabiana bit into a pastry, seated before a vibrant spread of bright red, lime green, yellow and purple slices of fruit and fresh baked pastries.
Catalina looked over her shoulder at Mira and then cut her eyes, mumbling a greeting.
“Hi everyone, good morning.” Mira said, as her guy pulled out a chair for her and she sat. A few men, possibly under his employ rose from the table taking their cups of coffee with them. Mira made eye contact with Catalina. Even without makeup she was gorgeous. She decided to make an attempt at being friendly. “So I hear you will be married soon.”
“I will. It’s difficult because,” she glanced over at Mira. “Still looking for the perfect dress.”
“You have two dresses being delivered this week. Enough talk of this dress. You will choose from what we bought.” Giovanni said sternly.
Mira was grateful. It was her vacation and a short one. In another week this fantasy would end and she’d be in her shop working hard on next season’s line. Designing a wedding dress for a spoiled little Mafia princess, didn’t feel appealing. She reached for a pastry and some of the sliced fruit on the platter, turning her attention to her friend. “What are you doing today?”
“Horseback riding. Here at Melanzana.”
“You have horses?” Mira asked.
Giovanni winked.
“Oh. That’s nice. I didn’t know you had horses.” She glanced down to Giovanni. He sipped his coffee, returning his attention to the newspaper he had unfolded to read.
“We have over three hundred acres of land. I wanted to show it to Fabiana. You and Giovanni can come.”
“No. We have plans.” He announced. Lorenzo’s gaze switched to Mira and locked with hers. There were times his sly smiles made her uneasy. But again she suppressed that feeling. They ate breakfast and enjoyed light conversation.
“Where is Domi? I’ve been waiting for him all morning.” Catalina asked.
“I sent him away on business. He’ll return.”
“What! Why? He… he and I… we had things to do.”
Lorenzo chuckled. “Yes Gio. Domi is better suited running errands for little Catalina than tending to our affairs.”
Giovanni gave Lorenzo a silencing glare. “He’ll be back tomorrow, Catalina.”
The young woman let loose a few angry words in Italian and stormed off. Mira found her reaction interesting. She and Fabiana exchanged looks but said little.
“Are we ready to go, Bella?” Giovanni asked.
The breakfast was sweet and fresh. The pastries had to have been homemade. She nodded and rose and followed him out. Outside parked in the circular drive was a box shaped jeep with an open top. She eased on her sunglasses and silently wished she hadn’t spent so much energy straightening her hair. The wind would have it wilder than an Angela Davis afro.
“After you.” He extended his hand to help her climb up into the elevated seat. Giovanni took the time to secure her belt around her, before kissing her cheek. He walked around the front of the vehicle and slipped inside with a gun in his hand. When did he pull a gun? She stared as he tossed it into the glove compartment. She assumed he had it on him since they left the room.
“You take a weapon with you everywhere you go?”
“I call him Danny-boy.” He answered. She watched him put on a dark pair of sunglasses, his tone matter of fact.
“You named your gun?”
“He and I have been through some tough times.” Giovanni fired up the engine, and they were zooming out of the drive toward the tall gates. As she expected the wind whipped over them tossing her hair wildly in her face. The drive out of Sorrento was magnificent. They arrived under the cover of darkness. Today, in the sunlight, she saw the coast. To her right, homes and stores stretched up the mountain, and down to the left the cliffs that led to the coast had the same homes and roads. The sea sparkled as if filled with blue diamonds. The sky was clear of clouds, and the sun burned brighter than she’d ever known. Mira observed it all in silent awe, until they arrived into the congested streets of Napoli.
“We will fly into Firenze, and drive out to Chianti.”
“Fly?”
Giovanni smirked at her. “In my private plane.”
She relaxed, imagining making love to him in the clouds until they arrived at the airstrip and she saw the tiny three-seater. “We aren’t flying in that!” she exclaimed.
“I’m a pilot. You’re safe with me.” He exited the jeep.
“Giovanni! No!” Mira shook her head fiercely. She wasn’t afraid of flying, but she was terrified of flying in that propeller contraption. And was he serious? He’s a pilot. Bullshit!
He helped her out and cupped her face. “I make this flight often. You trust me? Don’t you?”
“But…”
He kissed her. “Trust me.”
If he cared about her objections, he didn’t let on. He just dragged her by the hand and spoke in Italian to some man with a clipboard. Mira glanced around timidly and begrudgingly climbed inside the small cockpit. Giovanni carefully strapped her inside and gave her a headset. “You are my co-pilot.”
Fear seized her gut, and she couldn’t speak. He winked, slamming the door shut. As he turned the ignition the man out front gave the front propeller a spin and the plane grumbled to life. “Oh sweet, merciful God. Please be with me.” Mira said. She glanced over to her lover. He looked so happy to be flipping switches and speaking into the microphone piece. “Ready?”
She put on a brave smile and nodded. They drove down the runway and slowly they picked up speed. Mira squeezed her eyes shut just as the plane lifted to the clouds and her stomach lurched to her throat. She grabbed his thigh, digging her nails in.
“Open your eyes, Bella. Really see Italia.”
Slowly she did. Her gaze swept the buildings and then the coastline. Nothing had every appeared so beautifully serene. And soon she was relaxing into her seat. They coasted through the sky. He spoke to her through the headset, showing her Mount Vesuvius, one of the few active volcanoes in the world, and flew past Pompeii, so she could see the ruined city. It was magical being with him. The flight ended too soon. When they landed, he kissed her before he turned off the plane, and Mira felt such a profound new feeling of love in that kiss.
They were ushered next to another waiting vehicle, a small convertible two-seater car that had speed. Giovanni looked so handsome driving them through the coast with the sun bronzing his olive toned skin. They travelled roads that were more scenic where street vendors sold everything from leather to fresh fish. And soon she understood his choice in vehicle. A bumpy course of cobblestone had her jostling a bit in her seat. After a few hours he told her they were entering San Donato, which was named after Saint Donata, translating into a gift from God. He shared the history of the village. It dated back to the Romans. In the 4th century Christian soldiers from Arezzo stumbled into the vast hills and took up post. The men built the village because of its abundance of fruit and fertile soil. They made a fortress out of it. Afterwards the village was given the name San Donato after their bishop.
San Donato stood frozen in time, a relic of what once was. Approaching from the distance she noticed a small modest old cement block church on the left side of the country road. Giovanni eased on the gas and the car slowed to a stop. There was no traffic in either direction. Above the pointed roof was a block wall structure with a rusted bell and it appeared older than anything she’d seen thus far.
“It’s beautiful.”
“You should see the inside Bella, it actually dates back to 1000 AD. When the Romans discovered it, they uncovered numerous art treasures still inside.”
Mira smiled at him “What kind of art treasures?”
“The front of the church has a mural painted by Giovanni della Robbia. It depicts the life and death of Giovanni the Baptist. The Romans also found a crucifix to Taddeo Gaddi, two altar pieces by Giovanni del Biondo, another by Bicci di Lorenzo, and a 15th century Florentine chalice.”
“Giovanni and Lorenzo? You have got to be kidding me!” she laughed.
“Our names are as old and steeped in tradition as that church there.”
She stared with eyes stretched in wonder at the church. “I suppose it’s not in there now for me to take a peek?”
“On the way back I’ll walk you inside to see the mural. The other treasures are long gone,” he said smiling, shifting into first gear and driving away.
“How do you know all of this? Seriously as historical as Virginia is back home, I’d barely be able to tell you any of it, and I grew up there.”
“My father would make this same drive to our vineyard when I was a boy. He’d stop along the way and we’d visit families, pray at that church. He’d always share tales and make us recite history to him. He was a man that loved Italian and Sicilian history. He instilled that pride in us. I think he was destined to return to Italia. He met my mother in Firenze. Kept her nearby until she became pregnant with me then brought her to Sicily. He said he knew I’d be born a boy and he wanted my birth to be on Sicilian soil. His family was in Palermo, but Mama lived in Mondello Beach.”
“Mondello Beach? Sounds nice.”
When he didn’t respond she glanced over to find a sullen frown denting his brow.
“You said that you were born in Mondello? Right?”
Giovanni nodded. “At the time of my birth there was conflict within the family. My father at first wanted me born in Palermo where he was born. But for my mother’s well-being he decided on Mondello.”
“What kind of conflict?”
“We’ll talk about it later.” He veered off the main road across a grassy one barely mowed. Mira looked up to see the fields painted brilliant colors of purple and yellow from the wildflowers that bloomed all around and found it captivating. But to be honest their travels into Tuscany had become as freshly exciting as her new love affair with this complicated man.
“This is it?” she asked. She pointed toward the land and the vineyard fields stretching for miles. She saw several weathered barns and a small ranch style farmhouse between them.
“Yes, this is it. We will have to walk the rest of the way. My uncle doesn’t like vehicles driving up to the winery, spewing what he thinks are toxins that poison his land from their exhaust pipes.”
Mira smiled, opening her door. A quick glance back and she caught a glimpse of his gun as he retrieved it. Out in the middle of nowhere she had a newfound appreciation for his Danny-boy. If he felt it was needed, she wouldn’t dare question why. A fresh vibrant fragrance of wild strawberries unfurled all around her. “I smell strawberries. That’s weird.”
“It’s called Sangiovese, the work horse grape of Chianti. When it blooms and ripens, it smells like strawberries,” he said after taking her hand and helping her from the car. He leaned in to brush his lips across hers.
“What is that for?” she touched the side of his face, staring up into his eyes.
“It’s hard for me not to touch you.” He kissed her again, and she rested her hands on his sides. It was a soft gentle pressing of their lips and a sweet exchange of their passion. The breeze rustled the leaves of the trees and swirled through the tall grass. She lifted her arms and reached her hands around his neck to kiss him more passionately. She lost all sense of time and space before he broke away. Together they walked along the road, to the gate. Giovanni let go of her hand once they arrived. Tall grass and weeds were tangled around the rusted links of the fence. He slipped a key into a large lock, opened it, and then pulled the chain loose. He yanked the gate open. “After you fair lady,” he smiled.
“Why, thank you,” she said.
She had to trudge through some of the grass and felt tiny pricks and stings on her bare legs. Giovanni insisted she wear another wrap around dress. She only had three in her luggage, and this one was of fine grape purple silk that clung to her legs and hips. She chose a pair of flat open toe thong sandals to wear with it, and now she regretted this choice. Once he led her from the grass to make the climb up the slanting dusty cobblestone laid road, she wished she had worn sneakers instead.
“Careful, Bella,” Giovanni pulled her under his arm, helping her move over the rocks, smiling at her struggles. “Do you like Chianti?” he asked
“I’m not really into cabernets. I called it a merlot, but it’s really a cabernet, right?”
“Right. So you prefer merlots from Napa?”
Mira shrugged. “I guess. I’ve drunk so much wine since I’ve arrived it’s a mix for me.”
“Well, it’s okay because Chianti doesn’t stand well on its own. With the right meal, it’s the red wine of lovers. Not an expensive wine compared to some I’m sure you’ve had, but its taste lingers along the palate and arouses your senses in sensual ways you will come to appreciate,” he said kissing her forehead, draping his arm around her shoulder to keep her close. Mira glanced over to the violet colored blossoms on the vines.
“Those flowers are beautiful.”
Giovanni nodded. “When they bloom, swollen grapes the size of coins drop down.”
Letting go of his waist, she walked over to the vine and pulled a full bloom. Biting into the round tiny fruit, she frowned. His laughter boomed in the air. Her mouth was filled with a sour burning flavor that must be the same as the taste of battery acid.
“Bitter is it?” he asked.
“Extremely!”
“It takes time to mature; the longer it’s allowed to ripen the sweeter and higher the alcohol content.”
Mira put her hand behind her back and dropped the grape innocently.
“I saw that,” he chuckled
“It was nasty.” She kissed his lips. “Mmm, now this tastes better.”
Giovanni laughed, pulling her in his arms “Let me taste, again,” he slipped his tongue inside her mouth. Wrapping her arms around him, she kissed him back, feeling his hand go down her back, cupping her below.
“Il mio ragazzo! Il mio ragazzo!” A short man who looked to be covered in wrinkles from head to toe yelled out to them. He wore blue jean overalls over a short sleeve white t-shirt and a cap pulled down low, shading his face. Giovanni let go of the kiss. “Here comes my uncle Rocco. He’s a bit of a flirt. Be careful how close you stand to him.”
Mira watched a peculiar bowlegged older man with a wide grin rushing toward them. He flashed her a toothless grin. His face deeply wrinkled, his hair thinning and grey. She guessed his age around seventy, at the very least.
“Giovanni!” he shouted. He pulled Giovanni down into a hug, giving him kisses to his cheeks.
“Rocco! Where are your teeth this morning? Did you not get the call we would be visiting?”
Rocco laughed. His gaze volleyed over to her and snagged. “Chi è questa belladonna?”
“Speak English, old man. She’s American. Her name is Mira.”
Rocco took Mira’s hand and kissed it. Rubbing his gnarled fingers over her soft skin, smiling he said, “Welcome to Vigna di Battaglia.”
“Grazie.” Mira smiled and the old man embraced her. Once they parted she was almost certain his hand brushed her backside.
“Rocco, she’s with me,” Giovanni pulled her back to him.
Rocco nodded. “I still got it Gio,” he boasted.
“Well, keep it away from my girlfriend capisci?”
Girlfriend? Did he just call me his girlfriend? Mira slipped her arm around Giovanni smiling. Her hand hit his gun, and she flinched, pulling away. He looked at her confused, but Rocco immediately interrupted. “Come, come, Carlotta will be so pleased.”
“If it’s okay, Rocco, I’d like to give Mira a tour of the old cellars so we can do some tasting.”
Rocco nodded. “Of course, Gio. I will set it up.” He shuffled off excitedly.
“I don’t want to impose. If he has work to do today we can—.”
“Nonsense. Those are my cousins, the workers,” he nodded to the vineyard. She could see two men on top of a large truck, and others in the distance. “They will handle the business, and we’ll tour the old wine cellars.”
“How old is this place?”
“Over a hundred years old, before Mussolini. My grandfather bought the land, and Rocco and many other family members made it fertile.”
Rocco waved from a distance signaling for them to follow. She walked a bit ahead, around the mowed path to an older building made of wood instead of stone. When she entered the cool atmosphere it made goose bumps rise along her arms. Mira took note of the dark stone walls and large barrels lined up in the center next to blocks of steel containers for crushing grapes. She inhaled the acidic smell of fermentation and was overwhelmed by the odor. She glanced back to see Giovanni pick up some very crude looking pair of sheers with a long wooden handle. He inspected them closely.
“What’s that?”
“My uncles would use these to cut grapes free from their vines. They’d fill barrels that they wore strapped to their chest and then haul them in to be picked free of stems and leaves.”
“Wow, that seems like a lot of work.”
Giovanni hung the sheers back on the wall. “It was.” He nodded goodbye to Rocco who closed the barn door giving them privacy. “Until we bought those.”
Mira looked over in the direction he pointed out the window. She saw a tractor looking vehicle with a large container in the front and two mechanical arms that had sheers on the end.
“That is a mietitrice meccanica, what you would call a mechanical harvester. It fills those containers with the amount of grapes ten harvesters could haul in within a matter of minutes as opposed to hours. They are brought into a room like this and dumped into crushers.”
The more he talked, the more he touched her. First his hand reached for hers, and then he stroked her arm. Now he was behind her, running his fingers up and down her hips. Mira relaxed against his chest as the low timber of his voice spoke smoothly against her ear. In her mind’s eye she saw a family of brothers, relocated to Chianti from Sicily, out in the fields doing honest hard work. How did that life lead them down the path of a life of crime?
“Sounds interesting,” she said, folding her arms and pressing into his tall frame.
“The crushers?”
“Yes. I thought most of it was done with their feet?” she asked softly as he kissed the inside of her neck.
“Would you like to?”
“No,” she chuckled.
“I think it’ll be sexy to see you stomping grapes for me.” He let his hand ease from her hip down the front of her thigh.
“Is that so?” she sighed.
Giovanni let her go, and Mira collected her thoughts again. She stepped away from temptation to get a closer look at the large containment barrels, as if she cared.
“Come with me. The tour isn’t over.” He again captured her hand and led her to the back of the barn to a closed wooden door. He opened it, and she saw the stone steps that went to a dark cellar. Hesitant at first she braved the steps, careful to follow close in the dark cramped hall. An unknown light source beckoned them at the end. They arrived to find it to be from a single bulb in the center of the wine cellar, and walls of bottled wines, some covered in cobwebs. There was a small bench and table at the back of the room with a ceramic bucket used in tastings to pour out excess wine. To her left there lay a thick yellow quilt with a white picnic blanket on top. She counted three bottles of wine and a tray of meats and cheeses. Giovanni led her over to the large blanket.
“You planned this?” she asked. “A picnic in a wine cellar?”
“Zia honored my wish. You will meet her soon. Shall we?” he said.
She smiled at how sweet and secluded the setting was. With him a dusty wine cellar felt like the Taj Mahal. He reached behind his back and removed his gun. He turned to put it up over on one of the shelves. Mira dropped to her knees. She picked a bottle with its black lettering and read the family name across it. “It’s a 1987 Chianti. Only two years old?”
“It’s from our best harvest. Mark my words, ten years from now people will proclaim 1987 the best crop Chianti has ever produced.”
She liked how he spoke of wine, how confident he was. It was the kind of strength most women found attractive in a man. After the long drive, she was a bit hungry. She lifted the lid to the basket to find fresh baked bread wrapped in red napkins. “What’s for lunch?”
“Prosciutto and soprassata. Think of it as different salamis and cold meats. The cheese is fresh. Zia makes it and the olive oil too, from scratch. This here is raveggiolo cheese you should spread across sliced bread.” He stretched out and laid down on his side, observing her. She took the lead to fix their tiny plates and spread the cheese as he suggested over the sliced loaves. She found a container of plump olives, her favorites, and fed him one from her fingers.
“I like when you feed me, care for me,” he winked.
“So you’re the kind of man that wants a woman to take care of him?”
He nodded.
“That’s not attractive in the States,” she smiled.
Giovanni looked as if he could give a shit about what men in the States preferred. “You know what I would really like?” he asked as he poured them wine, and she tasted everything she could sample from the trays. She stopped mid-chew and looked to him. Swallowing she blinked curiously. “What?”
“To taste Chianti from your nipples.”
Mira laughed thinking his request no more than one of his saucy jokes. He’d made a few since they became lovers. In the shower he talked of her pussy as if it were a fruit and constantly made references to the softness of the skin between her thighs. At first she blushed inwardly at his frank manner. Now the words were warm and enticing. “Are you serious?”
“About your nipples? Yes.”
She rolled her eyes, shaking her head. But when she looked around, she couldn’t deny how isolated they were. And God help her, but she loved the way he sucked her nipples. Rising she dusted off her hands and chewed what was left in her mouth. “Fine. It’s a deal. And if I let you, then you must do something I want.”
He drank from the bottle staring at her breasts.
“Do you agree?”
“What do you want?”
“To know the story of your parents. How they met, how they died. The entire story of their love affair.”
Surprise siphoned the blood from his face. He stared at her silent for a pause before speaking. His body language sent her a private message to be careful how far she pushed him. Doors once open cannot be closed. What could she gain by unlocking the mysteries of his past, how far did she want their lives to intertwine? She considered taking back the flirty challenge. But the words didn’t form. Giovanni’s gaze shifted away. “To gain my pleasure I must exchange my pain, is that your proposal?” He sat upright.
“Is it that painful of a tale? I don’t want to pressure you into anything. I only wanted to know a bit more, after meeting your family. You’ve shared so much, I only… I guess I’m curious to know more.”
The dim lighting within the wine cellar covered his face in partial shadows. Still she could read his pain, feel it, and part of her even understood it, though a full understanding wouldn’t come until much later. “I will tell you the story of my parents. Now undress for me.”
It had become clear why this man had a preference for the flimsy silk wrap around dresses she owned. His insistence that she wear this dress in particular today would soon prove essential in her seduction of him. She untied the belt and parted the fabric to reveal her black bra and panty set from her intimacies collection. The unveiling of her body underneath made his beautiful eyes sparkle like crystals. The lacey black bra cups housing her medium sized breasts were connected by a thin satin bow. The same tie was knotted to the left and right side of her panty, keeping them snug and low on her hips. He drank more of the wine from the bottle with his gaze sweeping over her body.
“Undress.” He ordered.
She smiled. “This is a wine tasting. My nipples yes, my navel yes, nothing more. My panties stay on.”
“I want the knickers off.” He frowned, his eyes level under drawn brows.
“Not part of the deal.”
He stared at her for a moment then nodded that he agreed. Mira untied the bra in the front and shook it off her shoulders. Giovanni moved the food. The wine glasses and the basket of food were set aside on the cool concrete floor. His hand reached for hers, and she allowed his help to lower her down to the blanket and stretch out before him.
She was gorgeous. Undressing her had become his favorite thing. However, there was nothing more exciting than having her undress herself. She laid on her back before him with one knee raised, beautiful, submissive and dangerously sexy. Her smooth, brown skin, hair thick as sable, and smoky eyes made him a bit hesitant. What if he gave his heart to this woman and she never truly felt for him what he felt when he was with her? Was the risk worth taking?
Her mouth and lips, begged to be kissed. If he did he’d climb on top of her and take her as he had done the night before. Lying before him now he was once again reminded of the Egyptian goddess statue they saw in the gardens of villa Melzi. Giovanni reached for the dark bottle of wine and her gaze lifted to the action as it hovered, then he poured magenta grapes to the center of her chest. The stream slid downward to her neck so he had to pour with a more concentrated attempt over her left then right nipples. Wine splashed and her chest heaved, causing the crimson drops to spread and drip along the underside of her breasts, down the slender curve of her belly.
“You’re pouring too much. I’ll be all sticky!” she squealed.
“Trust me, not one drop will go wasted.”
Licking her lips, she laid perfectly still waiting for whatever was to come next. Giovanni took his time tracing his trigger finger around her areola. He pinched her stiff nipple. She sighed. The sexy tension stretched tighter between them. He hadn’t shared why this cellar of all places would be a place he wanted to bring her to. Often he’d fly his plane out here, drink wine, and think over his troubles, away from those that needed him. He loved the quiet isolated feel he got here, much more than at the wine cellars he had on his estate in Portici. And he had grown equally fond of the peace and contentment she’d given him in the short time they’d known each other.
His face lowered for the first sample of her skin laced in his family’s wine, and his focus became singular. He brushed his lips over her warm skin, and then flicked his tongue at the dark berry while using his free hand to ease down her damp, sticky tummy over her mons. She parted her thighs an inch and his pulse accelerated. He aided her by cupping her pussy in his palm. Now he was ready to taste her. Holding her intimately he swirled his tongue over the circumference of her nipple then licked and tasted the swell of her breast. He could feel her core grow hot and damp against his palm as he used his tongue to swipe her right breast clean of Chianti. His gaze flickered up, and he could see the frozen gasp of pleasure on her parted lush lips. Caught between wanting more and suppressing the urge to say it, she was his goddess and he her King.
Descending into undiluted pleasure, he tasted everywhere he could along her chest, grateful for the privilege. Easing aside the seat of her panty, he eased two fingers into her tight channel. The soft walls of her inner channel warmly stretched and accepted his invasion. She immediately brought her hand to his as if she had the strength or will to resist him. Giovanni let go a deep chuckle when she failed to maintain her grip and shuddered as he masterfully fucked her with his fingers. He latched on to a quivering nipple and sucked harder. Mira’s hold on his wrist weakened and dropped away. She rolled her ass and parted her thighs to pump her pelvis upward. He longed to strip down to nothing and fuck her raw, no condom. He wanted to desperately ram every inch of his manhood into her and fill her womb with his seed. What was he thinking? How dangerous had this affair become? She was now his new weakness.
Instead of resisting her hold on him, he used his fingers to elicit a soft chant of submission from her plush lips. While Giovanni observed her climaxing under his watchful stare, she opened her eyes and locked onto his.
He kissed her. Soft, and then hard, her lips and his tongue begged for a union far beyond sex. Neither of them could comprehend the implications this early in their courtship. Still he kissed her like a man would his woman and made a silent vow. He’d do anything to ensure no other man ever knew the pleasure loving her could bring. She returned his kiss with a hunger that belied her outward calm. He moved his mouth over hers, devouring her softness until she weakened and became his again. His lips left hers, and he stared into her lovely face.
“Are you okay, Bella?”
“Always, with you always,” she said softly.
“We can take the lunch with us.”
“Where?” she half-moaned with her lids sliding shut as he rubbed the sensation of her quaking orgasm into her pussy.
“I’ve shared my pleasure with you. You asked to see my pain. For that we must take a short drive.”
Her eyes flashed open again. “Mmkay.”
She dressed after using napkins to clean herself. He hadn’t intended to take her to Villa di Luce when they embarked on a visit to his family’s winery. Her request to know more about his mother threw him. But now he wanted to share his history. For the first time since his parents’ death, he felt okay with explaining to a stranger why he was who he was.
As she packed their lunch and he folded the wine soaked quilt, he cleared his throat. “What’s your mother’s name?” he asked.
“Melissa, everyone called her Lisa,” she said confused by the turn of the conversation.
“How did your mother die?” Giovanni asked. She froze, her gaze lifting to him from her crouched position. She stood with the basket. “She died from an overdose of heroine.”
Giovanni couldn’t imagine that to be her mother’s fate. Mira shied away from him, busying herself with tidying up the space of their brief picnic. He ached to comfort her, to tell her it was nothing to be ashamed of. But he declined. He hated what drugs did to those he knew and cared about over the years. Men he trusted as brothers who wasted away.
They headed up the cellar stairs through the old barn and out into the fresh air. Her mood seemed to lighten under the noon sun. He dropped his arm around her shoulders and walked at her pace, answering her questions about the land and the products sold there. He loved her curious nature, though it would prove troublesome if she didn’t understand and appreciate the times when he would need to remain silent.
Zia, having seen them through her front windows, came to the door to watch their approach, all of which was pointed out to Mira by Giovanni. His aunt wore a forced smile. According to Giovanni she’d never seen him bring a woman to their vineyard for a visit. His visits were always alone; only Lorenzo knew of his need to come to the vineyard and disappear at times.
In the past Zia had set him up on many ambush dinners with local girls. Other than sex, Giovanni had no time for romance. Her lingering stare on Mira was uncharacteristically critical. However, his Bella was uncharacteristically different. Still Mira was gracious and polite. He couldn’t tell if it mattered to her that others regarded her with suspicion and scorn because she was different than them, just as his mother had suffered the same looks of contempt over her red hair and ice blue eyes.
Zia spoke with her limited English. She invited them both for dinner. Mira looked to him expectantly. Her smile indicated that she’d be willing to stay. He passed on the temptation before he lost his nerve. They would visit his mother’s villa, and he’d face his demons with her.
“No.” Giovanni simply stated and his aunt glared at the lack of respect. To refuse her, was an insult. He had no time to explain his intentions. Mira would be his and only his this evening.
Zia took Mira by the hand and told her she would refresh their basket with food from her oven. Mira appeared enchanted with his aunt’s tiny kitchen. She found a way to communicate as they packed away a fresh basket of thinly sliced meats and cheeses for the wine, along with pasta he knew his aunt hand rolled.
“She’s a beauty.” Rocco said in Italian. “Is she yours?”
Giovanni understood the reference. His uncle had leered at his woman since they arrived. He wanted to know if she was his mistress or plaything. He chuckled. “No uncle, she’s an American friend.”
“You said girlfriend?”
“Si, an American raggaza.”
Rocco leaned to the left to get a clear look at Mira in the kitchen. Giovanni shook his head and let it pass. The women returned and Mira allowed Rocco’s farewell embrace, though it lingered too long with polite kisses to her left then right cheek before he brushed his lips over hers. Giovanni put a hand to his shoulder to remind him to show respect. Zia shooed him away and kissed Giovanni goodbye.
“Your uncle felt me up. Twice! And he kissed me on the mouth in front of his wife!”
“I apologize. He’s harmless.”
“Well he’s fresh, really fresh.”
Giovanni chuckled. “I’ll talk to him. It won’t happen again.”
Once outside he walked her over to his motorbike. Mira stopped. Her eyes registered shock, but she didn’t question him. He took her basket and secured it in the back hutch, then put a helmet on her pretty head. He couldn’t wait to feel her pressed against him as he drove out of Chianti.
“So are we dating now Giovanni?”
He slipped her a sly smile and eased on his sunglasses. Giovanni climbed on the bike first and got it started. Mira used his shoulders to climb behind. “My dress, it’ll fly open on this thing.”
“Keep your thighs close to me and sit on your dress.”
She tucked the center of her dress hem under her and between her thighs. Her arms circled his waist and he again felt more alive than he had in months. Soon they were racing out of the vineyard toward a new destination. He could feel her nervous energy in the way she clung to him. He tried to tell her he’d be extra careful, but she wouldn’t lift her face from his back.
The road to his mother’s villa turned into a long one-way stretch of dirt, paved, and then cobblestone strips mowed through browning grass. After travelling for over thirty minutes he relaxed on the speed, and Mira lifted her head to look around.
“Where are we now?” she said loudly.
“Fiesole,” he answered dryly. “There it is!” he pointed ahead to the aged block shaped lemon yellow building trimmed in plum colored purple, over the hill. The tall grass had rose red wildflowers blooming. Giovanni drove the jeep up to the front of the villa and parked. “This is where Mama lived after we returned from Ireland until Catalina was two. I was fifteen when we were brought here. Catalina wasn’t born until a year later. After that Mama stopped running.”
“Running?” Mira asked into his ear, holding him again tightly around the waist. “What do you mean running?”
“Papa would have preferred to have her in Sorrento, but she resisted this for a while. She was kept here under guard. Here he could have access to her without interference. He couldn’t be separated from her.”
“But why, did he do it by force?” Mira asked.
“Let’s go inside.”
He drove them to the door and held the bike steady while she got off. Giovanni dropped the kickstand and collected the basket and wine. He watched her stroll toward the doors removing her helmet. Giovanni had forbidden Catalina and others from going to the once dilapidated cottage. Just recently he’d had the place painted and the roof replaced. He had to admit he missed his mother intensely whenever he dared to venture here alone. Mira waited for him at the steps. She accepted the basket while he fidgeted with the old lock and forced the wooden door to creak open. Immediately they were overcome by the strong pungent odor of stale air and mildew. To his relief Mira set aside all that was in her hands, drew the curtains back, and opened the dusty windows to allow fresh air in.
When Mira turned he walked away with a large ball of sheets trapped in his strong arms. Every piece of furniture including the mirrors was covered. She brushed the pads of her fingers across the film of dust on the mantle and wondered how long the place had remained untouched. It was then she noticed a portrait in a large silver frame on the mantle. Giovanni continued to open windows on the lower level. She could hear him groan and struggle with a stubborn latch.
Careful of the delicate silver frame she handled it with one hand and wiped the dust off the glass of the frame. The man in the picture had to be his father. He was a strikingly handsome man with jet-black wavy hair that greyed at the temples, and a perfectly shaped mustache that reached his chin. He had hard eyes. They were so dark the irises appeared black in the portrait. He wore a navy blue pinstriped suit and a blue tie on top of a white shirt. In front of him sat a beautiful woman with paler skin, dressed in a matching blue dress. Her hair bright red, long and wavy hung past her shoulders. She had kind eyes. Clear blue like Giovanni’s, there was such a sweet beauty to her. Though the portrait was aged she could see the details of her dress, the freckles on her cheeks and the sweet baby in her arms in a christening gown. To her left stood Giovanni as a teenager, no more than sixteen, wearing a pensive look.
Giovanni spoke behind her, and she jumped. She turned and revealed what had her so mesmerized. He accepted the frame from her. “Papa was so happy when we took this photo. He had a local artist transform it into a painting. It hangs in Mondello now. Mama placed the replica here.”
“You don’t look happy,” Mira said.
“My mother never spoke ill of him, but I was a teenager at that time this picture was taken. I had no delusions of who my father was.”
“It’s hard relating to our parents as teens.”
“More than hard, Bella.” His gaze lifted to hers, the blue had dissolved to a soft violet and she could see tears glisten. He blinked and the illusion of tears cleared, but the beauty of his eyes remained. “Mama took me with her when she fled Sorrento and hid with her cousins in Ireland. Her mother and father wouldn’t have anything to do with her, because of me, but her cousin took us in. She was happy for a short while. We were dirt poor, and she was happy.”
“You weren’t?”
“I knew nothing about poverty. As Don Battaglia’s son I always had the best of everything. I didn’t understand why we had to eat scraps from the dinner tables of others, and wear the rags. Mama could barely make enough to keep us fed through winter with her washboard. Still she acted as if we were free. I felt like we were in hell.”
“You were a boy, confused.”
“After two years in Ireland my misery got the best of me. Kids that I didn’t fit in with taunted me. I defied my mother and called Sicily for my father. I told him where we were.”
Mira held her breath, transfixed by the story. “What happened?”
“He arrived. Our little one bedroom cottage door opened one day and he and his brothers walked in.” Giovanni smiled, but there was no pleasure in this smile. “My mother knew immediately that I had betrayed her. I’ll never forget the look of pain and hurt on her face. It haunts me now. He walked in and kissed her, told her to collect our things. She did as he said without objection. We were immediately taken back to Italy. Soon she was pregnant, and the fight in her was all gone. She never tried to leave again.”
“I don’t understand. He was her husband. Why did she leave him?”
“I told you they were never married.” He said bitterly. Mira realized he had shared that truth with her, but she didn’t find it scandalous. He spoke of it as if their love was some mortal sin. She opened her mouth to apologize and he shook his head. “Don’t. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be cross.”
“Your mother made a sacrifice for you. For your sister?” Mira asked.
“Yes.”
“She loved you.”
“She had no one but us. Even in Ireland she was treated with scorn.” He sighed, dropping on the sofa. Mira sat next to him. “My mother arrived in Napoli with her parents at the age of fourteen. Her dad wanted to open up his textile business there, and hearing that they could prosper better than in poverty stricken Ireland, he relocated the family. At the time my father had gained prominence within Mussolini’s Republic. He had a lot of influence.” He ran his hand through his hair and sucked in a deep breath as if the weight of the tale constricted his breathing. Mira ran her hand across his chest to soothe him through the telling.
“I don’t know when he first laid eyes on my mother, but he did. He said once that he’d never seen hair so red on the head of an angel. He said he fell in love at the sight of her.”
“She was a child, only fourteen.”
Giovanni wiped his hand down his face and slouched in the sofa seat. “Yes, she was a child.”
“I understand, you don’t have to—.”
“I’m not done.” His tone was flat but assertive. “He commanded a lot of respect.”
“As do you?”
Giovanni glanced over to her with a curious frown.
“You helped me with opening the doors to my boutique when we were closed down. Seems that your family’s influence extends through southern Italy.”
“It does.” Giovanni chuckled. “To insult a man of my father’s prominence is a grave mistake. The McHenry’s didn’t know this. My grandfather challenged Papa openly for touching his daughter inappropriately during a visit to their store. He threw him out. My father left without any complaint. This part of the story was told to me by my cousin, as part of my shame.”
“Why is it your shame?”
Giovanni stared down at the picture. “My father ordered his brothers and men to leave the McHenry’s alone. No punishment was to be extended for the insult. It confused them all. One thing Don Tomosino wasn’t was a charitable man. But he had other plans for the family. He had other plans for her.”
“What did he do to your mother?”
“The unthinkable. He raped her.”
Mira froze. Had she heard him right? He used the word rape as casually as a man would say the word love. She looked down at the picture of the family with a renewed understanding. It pained her to hear the fate of an innocent girl by the hands of a lustful, calculating man twice her age.
“How did he get her alone?”
“My mother attended a school in the hills during the day, while her mother and father worked to get the business off the ground. They had a driver pick her up each evening and take her home. She once told me her dream as a young girl was to be a nun. Her father had taken her to Vatican City and she believed in her calling.” Giovanni chuckled bitterly. “It was not to be.”
“We don’t have to talk about it.”
“We do. I want to. Papa learned of her school schedule and interceded. He had her brought to him.”
“Did your mother tell you she was raped?”
“No. I’m a man now. I know how this works. Whether she understood or consented to what happened to her that afternoon, she was a young sheltered girl who had no idea of the consequences. After it happened she tried to cover her shame and avoid him, but Papa convinced her that she would have to continue to let him have his way with her or her family would be disgraced. Soon she was pregnant with me and her world fell apart.”
“I know the rest of this story.” Mira said sadly. Her stomach soured. She didn’t want to hear anymore. “Her family threw her out. Didn’t they?”
He nodded. “As my father knew they would. Her parents were sickened and enraged to learn that the affair had been going on under their nose. To them it was the most unforgivable sin. My father being a married man made it all the worse. She fled to him for protection. Because her father felt wronged, he went to a feuding family that he heard customers whisper were enemies of ours. He asked the Don for revenge. In exchange he would give him part ownership of his textile company. That was a direct insult to my father since he had given my grandfather a free pass in his city. Blood spilled in the streets over this feud, and until this day many blame the Battaglia’s for this. Mama’s parents fled in the night to Ireland with nothing but the clothes on their backs.”
They sat in silence.
Mira put her hand over his. He turned over his hand and captured her palm, intertwining her fingers with his. “Then came you?”
“Papa’s wife was barren. To Papa the union was a fraud. He felt cursed to be joined to her and treated his bride horribly. Mama was her replacement. She gave him what he always wanted, what none of his mistresses were able to achieve. A son.”
“Does he have other children outside of you and your sister?”
Giovanni sighed. “I don’t know. None have never come forward.”
“Then why not divorce his wife and marry your mother?”
“Divorce?” Giovanni nose wrinkled. He glared at Mira. “We’re catholic. Divorce is not an option.”
“But he had affairs. Adultery is a sin.”
“Divorce from men like him, like me, would never be an option.”
Mira withdrew her hand from his, understanding his message loud and clear. Giovanni’s gaze returned to the portrait. “His wife was madly jealous of Mama, the Irish woman with the bright red hair who had charmed her husband away. Even though my mother was a child herself, she hated her on sight. She made Mama’s life miserable during the last months of her pregnancy. Even in Mondello the people shunned her. When Papa came for us, I was two months old and Mama was heartbroken.”
Mira didn’t know what to say. She looked back at the picture, “What’s your mother’s name.”
“Evelyn, but he called her Eve.”
“Did she ever explain why she stayed with him?”
“I suppose she loved him, or learned to love him as some prisoners learn to love their captors. Because in spite of everything he put her through, she was a devoted woman to her faith and her family. We were moved to Melanzana and she became the donna of our family.”
“But you said she ran from him?”
“Even a saint has her limits.” Giovanni dropped his head back and told the rest of the tale with his eyes closed. “She watched me and my cousin grow in the image of our fathers. The way we worshipped them and our lifestyle as teenagers became too much for her. When Lorenzo’s father was killed, Mama took Lorenzo and his mother in. The competition between my cousin and me worsened and Lorenzo’s mother constantly worked to drive my mother from my father’s heart. To do so would mean I wouldn’t be a Battaglia heir. Lorenzo would fill those shoes.”
“Oh, okay.”
“So my mother went to my father and asked that Lorenzo and I be schooled away from Italy, that we not know the brutality of our family’s history. My father refused. He told her that I would carry on the traditions. I was his son. She packed our things and bought us a ticket out. Telling my dad she wanted to purchase things for our upcoming visit to Mondello, we slipped past him and the guards.”
“Then you told him where you were?”
“And he came for us. I later learned that she made him swear to send me to college in America, to give me a different life. He told her she could never leave him again and would give him another son. That’s why he put her here. Her open defiance wouldn’t allow for him to bring her back to Sorrento. Catalina was born. Having Catalina healed my parents. They changed. She and my father were inseparable from the moment Catalina entered our lives.”
“What happened to her, after your father’s death?”
“When he was shot and I accepted an oath, the ordeal broke her heart. She pleaded and cried at his bedside to release me. Mama actually thought I’d be some great lawyer and leave this life. He refused. We fought; I didn’t show her the respect she deserved. I was too hell bent on avenging my father. I’m not proud of the things I said to her. Less than six months later she took ill. I believe she stopped taking her insulin. She died soon after.”
Mira pulled his face to hers and kissed him. He reclined her on the sofa and she parted her legs continuing the kiss. With him on top of her, she felt the weight of his burden. She clung to him wrapping her legs around his waist. Giovanni’s mouth was the most persuasive. The kiss pulled her under his spell. His lips grazed her cheek and then went down to her neck while he worked the zipper on his pants and freed himself. He lifted and raised himself by gripping the arm of the sofa above her head. The folds of her dress had parted and slow and easy he untied the ribbons to her hips to release her panty. Afterwards he was thrusting into her hard and strong. He pressed his forehead against hers and they breathed in unison as he drove both pain and pleasure into her until her body melted beneath him and she cried out her release. He lay on her panting against her ear with his face partially covered by her shoulder and the sofa seat. Mira stared up at the ceiling thinking of her own sad tale. Should she share it? Could she fathom the sad life her mother too shared with a man that led to her misery and then her conception?
“My mother ran away from my grandparents when she was sixteen. With a boy from our town to God knows where.”
Giovanni withdrew from their intimate connection but rested on her breasts, close to her heart. She stroked his head to share what she did know of her mother. Her intention was to lessen his suffering but the more she talked of her mom, the more it lessened her pain as well.
“She came back ten years later with me in her arms. My grandmother said her eyes were dead. For old people dead eyes meant the person had lost their soul. The bracelet you found with my purse was attached to my wrist. My mother would not speak of who my father was, but Me-ma said it wasn’t James. Later they discovered she had overcome a bad drug habit. Something she confessed in my grandfather’s church. She found a way to remain clean. After a month she asked my grandparents to take care of me. She said she had left her heart somewhere else and it was time to go claim it. My grandmother begged her not to go. She couldn’t believe her daughter would run out on a new baby for a man. My mother swore that wasn’t what she meant, but she never disclosed the truth. Four months later she died of a heroin overdose in Chicago.” she said bitterly.
His head lifted. She touched his face. “You see, your sorrow is mine as well.”
He nodded and relaxed against her breast. Mira closed her eyes. Before long they were asleep.