"Ogni mali nun veni pri nòciri, bubbi." Not every pain comes to harm you.
He jerked, to sit straight in his chair, eye narrowed he spoke, "what did you just say to me?"
"I have heard but I never understood how such a provision could sustain, after, so many years. People's loyalties, faith change. A new generation takes the helm, throwing out old ways and what was sacred is no longer. You taught me this."
He seemed uneasy, "No, you repeated a proverb, you've done this before. What did you just say about 'not every pain', finish that?"
"I'm not sure what you speak of Nonno, to get men to listen to directives is difficult…"
"Stop, I heard you, but you spoke Sicilian, Bisnonna home dialect. Sometimes I worry that you spent too much time with the old lady."
It pleases me he appears rattled by something I said so I go along with this superstitious direction. "What are you saying? You couldn't believe, Bisnonna Maria was part of a coven— rumors were true she was a witch?"
I whisper as if my words could conjure the dead.
"Of course not, he straightens gold cufflinks, just… hmm, I am unable to fully explain. I have no fucking idea on the whole of it. Moreover, what little I do know, I am sworn to keep."
He thinks for a moment, "Permission came by letter, five years after, your bisnonna Maria died. Which consequently coincided with the year and month of your faked death."
What the fuck?
"Permission? For what… to say they are witches. Wait I do not believe in sorcery. Did they think they were witches?" He ignored my questions continuing with his point.
"What we have here is a case of how myth is created, constructed, and then disseminated. Folklore once it becomes a part of someone's legacy is difficult to eradicate. It's like giving up their ancestry. Now this coven of purely dames, copycat femme fetale assassins from some crazy cinema shit. I saw it laid out in this movie, explaining this type of shit."
"The point is, he glances from place to place, I don't go look for them, and they don't come to bother mine, unless you fall to harm my family, directly or indirectly, fucking bitches. All my life I have been outmaneuvering three-legged bastards to stay in this game. Don't need to add fucking invisible dames to my headache, too." I noticed his ranting came with less force than his normal boisterous speech. My mob boss nonno was afraid of a group of conjured women. It was ludicrous but interesting, seeing cinema nor television influenced Bisnonna Maria, the island remains resistant to western influence and technology, even today.
"The hit on you was unauthorized, a pure power play from an inside rogue." I almost laughed. "You know I take seriously my mother's claim on you as heir. Not to mention, I could taste, my long retirement in Acciaroli."
Ernesto was born in a remote village on the western coast of southern Italy, Acciaroli, and Province of Salerno, where a high number of people reach well beyond their hundreds. Every summer bisnonna sent for me and I spent it running the old villagers crazy and waiting for Donny to join me so I could step up my plans of mayhem. Her consistent mentoring and planning of my life solidified to everyone the seriousness of her claim.
I was an heir to the Garko throne, mixed-blood be damned.
Bisnonna passed away there, I was twenty, already made a Boss, and emerging by fire baptism, as Force.
"Savior Herman is here. The charges in New York did not hold. He had old warrants here and those were solid."
Only because I'd asked Special Agent Riley to do what he must to make it so. Savior increased my MSP roster lineup to six New York residents. I needed to spend enough time with Savior to convince him my plan for New York was solid, without any of his presently Riker Prison, brothers
If he'd just allow me leeway, a license of sorts to introduce my intentions to his former crew, once I got out, I was convinced less killing would occur. Savior may have been the Bloods old Boss, yet he continued moving pieces in a city a thousand miles away, from prison, and in a gang, he no longer headed.
"Where better than behind bars, for me to instigate moves, prison is like a fuckin job fair for the criminally inclined." Ernesto laughed.
"Well, this shit hole is making me feel filthy. I must leave you to your den of mayhem. Wrap up your schemes soon you have two weeks. My sentence dictated I had months, not weeks to serve. Did he think I was staying at the fucking Hyatt? I could just check out of this bitch, on his calendar. Schedule mine, your first visit, and we will talk more of our plans for this venture if it will eradicate the pestilence and is as lucrative as you say."
He rose with the grace of a man half his age and turned to walk away. "By the way, the men who tried to assassinate you, at the hotel, the day your Bella Lucca was born. I personally traveled to handle the situation. When I arrived, they were all dead, heads removed, and absent from the ground."
With no familiar terms of endearment or goodbyes, he and his guards disappeared.
Sleep brought dreams, of headless bodies chasing me through the prison. Weaponless I ran. Hand to hand combat against headless men is never a winning possibility. Exhausted, sweating, and defeated, my bisnonna appeared, laughing, "You silly boy, what are you running from?"
"The headless bodies," I answered gasping. Her laugh again, the giggle of a young girl. She waved her hand and my headless pursuers disappeared.
"Sleep well my, son."
My bisnonna was one hundred fourteen when she passed. However, she carried various birth certificates and visas claiming different dates. The scents of lemons, lavender, and rosemary foolishly generate my search for her in my cell. I am a practical man, but in my solace, the belief she is an enchantress visiting me through the night, comforts me and I sleep.
CHAPTER 6
The Jungle Is Missing A Beast
Evee
"Evelyne, clearly you are not taking your responsibilities seriously. No man wants a trickster for a wife. Speeding tickets scream you buck authority… just reckless. Why must you eagerly stumble where you should tread with care."
"Is this your version of a pep talk, mother?"
"This is my reaching out to my daughter who has made me proud and soon will come full circle to show her Ponti bloodline is infallible and mighty. None of those Giovanni bitches ever graduated from anything besides a cock sucking internship. And don't use this American 'mother' shit you've picked up to address me." Wow, mother was in rare form. I'd begun calling her mother, since catching the Movie Mommie Dearest, on Netflix three months ago.
When Joanna, Joan's daughter, spoke the word 'Mother', my PTSD resonated. The mother-daughter dynamic played on screen, hit home. Too, close.
"Umm ... have you spoken to papa, lately?"
"Of course, I have, he is still my husband. He's going to call soon. He wants to take you on a trip to D.C. to meet some of his contacts there. You know how to navigate any job offers you may receive, right? This is your time to show everyone where your loyalties lie. This family could use a win… show we are team players."
"Funny you should mention winning; I've been sent a package."
"Why in the hell did you not start telling me you received a package? This is wonderful I'm going to regain my rightful place on the Institute Alumni Relations Committee. Just you wait and see. Just don't fuck this up."
"Ahh, there's my mama. I was wondering when you'd show up."
"Eveline don't be a wiseass. Your sisters are both ungrateful ghosts. Romi will not leave her island. Vilia won't stop running around haunting that damp castle."
"Ahh, you misspoke, you meant running around a haunted castle, not that she is…"
"My English is clear, the only active ghost in that castle is your pale sister. Now, I'm upset my position is fragile. Tragedy befalls us but we keep going because of who we are. I'll let you get to your package."
She hung up. No doubt to ring her friends she'd soon be back where she belonged. Melodramatic, bipolar, sadistic at times, the many faces of Sonia Ponti-Basso, Mommie Dearest to four children. I wonder abou
t my clueless brother. What shenanigans he must be up to these days at Cambridge? My sisters Romi and Vilia are both MIA. Vilia I do not miss, she has more of my mother's attributes than any of us. Luckily, I gained my mother's smooth skin and thick hair. We girls all inherited her ass. Little did we know as taunted schoolgirls, a curved, firm ass would be in such high demand as women.
Evee talking to her papa
"Papa, hello."
"How is my beautiful lawyer daughter?"
"I'm well papa. How are you? I miss you fiercely."
"I am good now that I hear your voice, Evelyne. Did you receive my gift?"
"Yes, I'm sending you pictures of what I purchased with half of the monies. Have you returned to the states, yet papa?"
"No, but soon, has your mama told you the trip I want us to take?"
"Yes, she has just moments ago I spoke with her."
"Ugh em. She seemed well?"
"Yes, papa."
"Oh Evelyne, the car is a wonder. You've outdone yourself."
"I didn't do the reconstruction of the body. I did, however, tinker with the engine. Just a little. I call him Boss." He laughs.
"Is my lovely girl going bad."
"Papa, whatever do you mean?" We both laugh at this.
"Are you dating? You know what I always say about men. We repeat this together. They all have the cooties, every last one." My father thinks I'm ten years old.
"I'm considering dating a man soon. I'll make sure he doesn't have the cooties, first, of course, Papa."
"Please do, we wouldn't want you married to a Beast or into a frightening family of the Haska. Did you read where they all contracted rare measles or some superbug and died? Like over forty of their relations. I guess living in a drafty castle together like some commune didn't help. Mercy, Vilia was unscathed, she scared death away like your mother."
"Papa, you are not very nice... but very funny." As we laugh, I hear my next-door neighbor's door slam shut. The show was to commence in an hour, I needed to get my papa off the phone. I would need to prepare.
"Papa as soon as you know when you might come, I'm in New York I bought a condo. Just let me know. Or I could meet you in D.C. I thought you might want to drive, Boss a little though."
"Hurrying me off the phone with teasers of driving your beast you've acquired, hmmm."
"Papa! I wouldn't and my car's name is Boss."
"Oh yes, you would, and did, Evelyne. You are the most remarkable of all my children, yet so easy to read, Evee, your almost normal." He laughs.
"Papa take it back. I am not normal. You're going to make me cry." I sniff dramatically to gain his laughter.
"True. Seen any fires lately, Irasci?"
"Papa, no evidence has ever been found to connect me with fires nor eruptive devices. But thanks for asking."
"You're welcome, see you soon, Evee. Papas proud of you."
"Love you too, papa." I choke out. Rare I get to say those words, but always when I talk to my papa.
Evee opens her package
The shower turned on next door. Squealing, I jumped out of bed. Brushing my hair into a ponytail had taken most of my time. I cleaned my teeth, my face, and fingernails, taking particular care to clean underneath. You know just in case. Hehe...
I did stretches to get the blood flowing. And hoped back in bed to wait. And I waited. What the fuck was taking them so long next door. The package on my nightstand called to me. Might as well peek.
Esquires' latest ten most eligible bachelors in the world, hot off the press. My connections got me the copy before its release to the public. The eyes of the man who made the cover jumps out at me, what the fuck? Is he even human?
Tomas Massimo de Moraes Garko, Is the Jungle Missing its Beast, the title reads. A strange statement is added at the bottom, "Esquire chose this cover before charges were brought against Mr. Garko and his unfortunate prison conviction. Rumors of his possible exoneration gave us a hard-ethical choice to make, whether to revamp the cover and replace Mr. Garko because of this status. Esquire does not advocate criminal endeavors but is secure our source and his or her information provided are factual concerning Mr. Garko's future complete exoneration."
What does that even mean? You've got to be kidding me, Esquire. You're going to sell a million magazines on the back of Mr. Garko's incarceration. Due praise to the photographer he is a master— the cover is brilliant. They have set the Mob Boss, against a jungle, bare-chested with tuxedo pants, dress boots sitting on a wooden throne. The throne is more like the trunk of a dismembered tree than a chair, however. The jungle behind him has been, brushed with color, hues of topaz, emerald green, and lagoon blue. Large cat animals sit at his feet surrounding him like bodyguards. A tiger, cheetah, lion, and leopard are present. He is stroking the lioness; a blue topaz diamond dangles on his pinkie finger.
Damn, he is pimping the jungle.
Eyes surely touched with an artist's photoshop are sexy scary. Tomas Massimo de Moreas Garko is perfect and fucking hot. My damp panties say my vagina agrees.
"Bump, bump, bump," my wall shakes and moans.
My fucking neighbors.
No, literally, my neighbors are fucking, without me. You see they fuck at the same time each night and I listen through a shared wall I've placed my bed against and either take notes or masturbate in sync. Three thousand a month, you would think they could invest in thicker walls.
"You fucking long dick horse, I'm gonna ride you raw like my cowboy daddy." My neighbor's wife is nothing, if not flattering and descriptive. I've been taking her strings of lewd compliments as notes. Her husbands, "oh shit, oh fucks," are not worthy of my pen.
My body, primed from the Esquire cover on Tomas.
Anyone who can dampen my panties from a cover I should be on a first-name basis with.
Slipping in on my neighbors' escapade should be easy.
However, I'm less interested in my neighbors' fun time, this evening.
My fingers itch to get to it. I decide to fake a headache and bow out. Now on to my future.
Choosing a mate, I would be remiss if I didn't even glance at the other nine bachelors. I take a peek. I judge most, elite, and too high strung to acquiesce to my political aspirations, I see pregnant and at home alone.
Now left with three, living in the states, Tomas American Italian business mogul, Fitzpatrick, the Irish Real estate heir, and Adam Bagler, American Big Pharma heir. hmm, Bagler is a familiar name, I click through my internal files … there it is.
The Bagler name regales the walls of an entire Wing in the Louvre a Paris museum. Bagler a billionaire philanthropist sponsored the renovation.
Rome is my home; however, America's variety has a tight grip on me. My accent is easily turned off and I speak many languages. I can fit in anywhere, but it is the States music, freedom, and I don't give a fuck attitude I can't live without.
My brain wants to suck it all inside.
I once over my three front-runners in order, as if my vay jay-jay, had not already chosen.
Sex on a stick— get it, they have him sitting on a log… anyway— he has caught my eye.
And as I learn how tragedy and treason surround his life, yet he reaches down to the bottom of his soul each time finding the power it takes to come back winning, the deal is made. Yes, even without his consent, men never know what they need, anyway. So, says my Bisnonna.
Tomas' words and I quote, "Too many people in this world sacrifice everything, and never amount to anything. The system has them fooled, it is an inequitable system that asks too little of the haves, and too much of the have nots. My family has generational wealth, we are blessed, and I am an heir, there is no praise in my prosperity. I should be successful. I want each generation of Garko to have a passion to build something greater. Therefore, I push myself to the limit to achieve bigger goals than my grandfather, than my late father. I am the younger generation of Garko's model."
Life would not be dull, maybe a bit risky, the article hints of m
ob syndicate ties and that kidnapping, part, hmm. Yes, he is an entitled wealthy man, but not some yahoo, who would spend our evenings, incessantly speaking of himself in the third person. I'd tear my hair out, just trying not to throw my body heart first, on a dull dinner knife.
Tomas is tainted— no illusions there— yet the trail he set I find mesmerizing to follow.
Now, he just needed to get out of prison.
Mother Dearest will explode. Her next son in law a recently released American ex-con. One martyr in the Ponti-Basso tribe was enough.
"At thirty-one, married twice, both lasted a year or less, the first at eighteen made him a widow and he annulled the second. A father of three, two girls, ages twenty-one and four, a story worthy of hearing from the source itself, and one adopted son, twenty-five.
Yes, she'd shit bricks worrying about what her old cronies club would think if I pulled this love connection off. It thrilled me so, I almost peed myself.
"I'm a believer. Tomas Massimo de Moraes Garko, I chuckle, Italians and our obsession with lineage— most clear in our practice of keeping five surnames—has the features of a fucking Adonis. Tomas circumvents that androgynous fashion model aura, yet the man should be called beautiful.
Virile.
Hair dark and thick,
Jaw wide, lips full, sensual. Mmm
Hands large like paws— better for gathering, grabbing, groping, maybe?
Posture erect and dominant,
Legs elongated, Sequoia-like in stature
Physically a win-win, maybe snuck in line twice, as my bisnonna says. His Italian rich blood is evident by jet-black hair and olive skin. However, his Brazilian heritage produced the hypnotic glare only eyes painted topaz reveal. A predator vibe warns, "When I catch you I'm going to devour you."
Potent indigenous Tupi (Indian) ancestors, who —were often raped— I meant, laid with—Portuguese slavers—I meant explorers, left their super DNA on the coasts of Brazil centuries ago.
I bet he could impregnate me by the proximity of his scent. Most Brazilians, not even the rich, who escape the ills of poverty like malnutrition, are not standing at 6'6, 290, and Italians, well… I'm just saying he pulled his length from an ancestor way back.
For Blood and Beast: Tomas, For Blood (Garko Book 1) Page 4
