Omertà Anthology - A Very Merry Mafioso Christmas

by V. Domino

  “To who? Marcus?”

  I run a hand through my hair, fighting to think of a less stupid plan. Marcus won’t care. Marcus would marry off his own sister in a heartbeat. He doesn’t give a damn about the women in his family, he only cares about power. And the alliance they’re solidifying with Lana’s marriage helps him as much as it does her parents.

  “Let me think!” I growl, swiping my hand across my nightstand and knocking the lamp to the ground. It shattered into pieces causing Lana to flinch.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she says softly. “It’s a done deal.”

  I cross the bed, my knees hitting the soft mattress as I go to her, pulling her hand and spinning her back to me. “Please.” I add, “Let me figure something out.”

  She shakes her head, dark hair spilling over her shoulders while she laughs lightly. A small hopeless smile gracing her lips. “It’s useless.” She tells me, and at the same time I can see the fight has drained from her. She came to me last night as a lat hurrah, a last fuck you to the establishment that is the Costello Famiglia. But now, now that it’s over, she resigned herself to the fate of her impending marriage.

  The stupidity of my actions falls over me like a wave, dragging me under the surface as I realize how much I jeopardized by bringing her here, knowing her family's plan for her. I scrub a hand over my jaw as I let her go.

  She’s right, I can’t help her.

  Quietly, she picks up her discarded dress from last night, pulling it over her head and searching for her shoes. When she dresses again, her hair tied neatly on top of her head and the wrinkled dress covering her body, she asks me for a ride home.

  It feels like a block of lead is sitting at the bottom of my stomach as we leave my building, both of us walking slowly to the car, knowing that these are the final moments of a relationship that never was and never will be.

  Can’t be.

  I slide on a pair of aviators as we slip out into the sun. She stops first, her back going rigid as she looks out to the curb where my Jeep is parked. My eyes follow hers to the figure that leans against my car dressed in a navy blue suit and white shirt. He has a sinister lopsided smile when he sees us together.

  “Hello, fiancée,” he sneers.

  Want the rest of Lana and Naz's story?

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  Natalia Lourose is an author of romantic suspense, contemporary and new adult romances. She lives in Michigan with her husband, cat, and dog. When not writing, she can be found drinking very sweet wine and watching far too much television.

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  The Omerta. A code of silence and secrecy. A law that forbids it’s members from betraying your fellow Made Men to rivals or the authorities. A way of life that will take more than blood if you break the sacred promises you made before God and man.

  In my youth, things were simpler and a lot more straightforward. It was a time where talking trash to someone was called choppin’ them... And we Renzetti’s knew how to do both very well.

  I am Andino Hangman Renzetti and this is my tale. Though I give no secrets away, I will still require your pledge of silence.

  My story is a bloody one during a war with the Greek Mob run by the Aetós family and truce with the Gambinos Famiglia. After all, there’s money to be made in war and peace.

  My time was when the Made Men of New York ruled the streets with an iron fist and everyone knew our reputation with money, power and respect. Where the newspapers held our names on the front pages in bold ink.

  The nineteen sixties were a golden era, not just for the music and movies but for the media filled courtrooms and rivers of blood on the streets. It was my time, my place… it’s where I met my Queen.

  My time is expensive so pay attention and tie your lips as I tell you all about who I am and where I come from.

  I am Hangman… I am Mafia.

  Being a Mafioso is either in your blood or it’s not. You can’t wake up one day and decide today, I am Mafia, and expect to be able to pull it off. Hell, even some of the Made Men who are born into La Cosa Nostra aren’t made for it.

  I, on the other hand, am bred for this life. I have the mind for it and a stomach strong enough to spill blood as this life often demands of us. It separates the men from the boys without care for age. It leaves no room for weakness.

  I have the ability to cut a man’s throat and still enjoy a home cooked meal an hour later. I can torture a traitor, soaking in the sounds of his pleas and screams and still be able to get a good night’s rest.

  Anything this life throws at me I can take, except... This. One. Thing.

  “No, Pop. I will not marry. I don’t need a wife.” My voice is tight, ready for the hit I know I deserve. Talking back to my father, Paolo Renzetti, is never a good thing but I’ll take a bruised face than a wife. I’m just not ready for that commitment and any woman stuck with me will have a miserable life ahead of her.

  I’m a twenty-one-year-old man who has the reputation of a playboy, not a husband. What kind of life would I provide a prim and proper Italian woman?

  “You will marry who I, as your father and your Don, tell you to marry. You are my capo and son, do not mistake this as a request, Andino. You must learn to put your selfish desires aside for La Famiglia, even in this. If you are to step up and become Don when I step down, you will need a wife beside you."

  With his voice as hard as the look on his stern face, I’m surprised he didn’t knock my teeth in. No, my father is not an abusive man to his sons, but his word is law and normally he wouldn’t take someone, not even me and my brothers, talking back to him. Had I been someone else, I’m sure I would have taken a knife to the hand for refusing him.

  "Pop," He scowls and loosens his tie like he's patience is barely hanging on. Clearing my throat, I correct myself, "I mean, Boss. I don't need to be Don. I told you, Frankie would make a better Capo dei Capi than I would. He's got what it takes, and he's got the ambition to rule the way you've done all these years."

  He knows I'm right. While I am good at what I do, being the Don isn't for me but for my brother Frankie... Yeah, he could definitely do it well. Frankie the Manic, known to be the most gruesome killer in La Famiglia, knows how to keep this well-oiled machine going. Me? I'll most likely fuck it all up and make my ancestors rise from the dead just to kill me for it.

  My father softens and sits back in his chair while scrubbing a hand across his jaw. Taking a closer look, I see how tired he looks. Things have been rough with the Gambino’s in New Jersey lately. A strained relationship with any one of the New York famiglie is a nightmare but especially with the Gambino’s. Next to us, they're the second most powerful family.

  "Listen, son. Frankie would make a very good Don, but he is adopted, and he hasn't taken our surname. While I love him as my own, the Renzetti Famiglia must be ruled by a Renzetti. I have spoken with him on this and like you, he doesn't want to be Don. He has however, accepted the role of Underboss. He will make a good partner."

  I open my mouth to suggest our youngest brother, but my father holds up his hand, stopping my words.

  "Adriano is not fit for this life. I will allow him to become a Made Man, but you and I both know that he has been too spoiled for that status to be anything other than a title. With him as Don, this family would go under. He's smart and tactful but he doesn't have what it takes to lead La Cosa Nostra." My father tosses up his hands like there's nothing to be done. He's right though. Adriano is at the stage in his teenage life where he thinks he knows everything, yet he really knows nothing at all.

  "Negotiations have already begun so you will marry the Gambino girl and tie the relationships with the New Jersey Famiglia. That is final."

  I drop my chin to my chest and sigh. I won't put any more pressure on my dad right now but I will find a way to make this tie null. I'd push the girl on Adriano, but he's still just a kid.

  I lift
my head and nod, "Capisco, Capo." I understand, boss. I turn to leave, anger bubbling under my skin, but my father's voice stops me.

  "When I was first married to your mother, I resented her. I didn't want a wife and the responsibility that came with it. Responsibilty I knew I lacked. I wanted to continue being the bachelor I was, after all, I was considerably older than her by fourteen years and I didn't want to give up my lifestyle, but when I met her..." His eyes go far away as he thinks of our late mother.

  She died last year to cancer and our father has been different ever since. Harder on his men, softer on the sons she birthed him.

  "Your mother ruled beside me. She was not what I had expected in a young Italian Principessa. She was a Queen and wore a crown of sin. I believe your Martina Gambino will be just the same. I've seen the glint in her eyes, she does not shy from the darker parts of La Cosa Nostra."

  I furrow my brows at that, "What do you mean? Women don't know the darker parts. At least they don't mention them."

  Paolo Renzetti stands from his chair and walks around the desk, throwing his arm around my shoulders, "That's where you are wrong. Women are the most cunning creatures on this planet, my son. They see, but they don't speak. They watch and they learn. They move without being seen. You know how they get away with these things?"

  My father hands me his untouched whiskey, "Because boys like you, and almost every man in La Cosa Nostra think women are just pretty playthings. I was that way once but your ma, she put me straight and I have an exceptionally good sense of these things now. Martina Gambino will become one of two things for you. Your whetstone or the blade that cuts you down."

  I roll my eyes at his crazy talk and gulp down the amber drink, relishing the burn it leaves in my throat. "Whatever you say, old man."

  I chuckle when he slaps the back of my head, "Get outta here, ragazzo, before I kick your ass."

  I place the empty tumbler down on his wooden desk before turning to the door. As I cross the threshold my father yells after me, "You will meet your fiancé tomorrow when you have dinner with her and her family. Dress well and no drinking!"

  I shut the door before he can talk me into anything else.

  Gah! Fucking tradition and it's rules. The rules the Omerta lay out for each Made Man are strict and narrow. They are unbreakable and meant to be followed without question or deviations. To do so is to forfeit your life and bring shame to your family.

  Perhaps I won't have to break its law, perhaps I can make myself so unwanted that this Gambino girl will denounce the betrothal.

  "Ahh, so pops told you about your bride?" Adriano's screeching voice halts my steps. I love my brother, but sometimes I'm sure he's the one who is adopted.

  "You knew?" I ask as I turn and keep walking down the halls of our childhood home. This house has been in our family for generations, and every nook and cranny has been my hiding place while growing up. Spying on the men our father brings over for meetings or simply hiding from this goon behind me.

  "Of course, I knew. I'm privy to such things. Pops trusts me after all." I roll my eyes at the runt.

  "Listen, Schemer, hiding in the corners like a little boy who is still wet behind his ears does not make you privy to father's business." Adriano hates the nickname Frankie and I have given him. It fits him since he's always scheming like his balls have dropped enough for him to be a man.

  "Aww, have we resorted to name calling because the golden boy didn't get what he wanted for once?"

  Whirl around at the little shithead but Frankie comes out of our mother’s library with a smile on his face. It's one of those crazy smiles that got him his nickname. He twirls one of his knives in his hand as he walks over to us.

  "Ahh, maybe Dino needs a good time tonight to get his mind off the future. I hear Lilliana DeLuca will be out with one of her friends." He claps me on the shoulder before turning to Adriano, "Sorry, squirt, but you're too little to come with."

  He ruffles the punk's hair and I feel a pang of guilt. Frankie is nicer to Adriano than I am. More of a brother than I have ever been to him. He's always been on a different vibe than me, not that it's an excuse for how I've treated him, just a fact.

  "Lilianna is a fool if she gives you even a minute of her time, urchin."

  Okay, I no longer feel bad. Especially when Frankie shakes his head and walks away.

  "You're a real piece of shit, you know that? If you weren't my brother, I'd cut your tongue out for that. Frankie is family... unlike you." I look him up and down in disgust before chasing after Frankie.

  "Vaffanculo!" Fuck you! Adriano screeches at my back with that horrible teenage voice of his.

  I don't even give him the satisfaction of acknowledging his weak outburst.

  Frankie may be adopted off the streets but he's a fucking Renzetti through and through. I remember when we saw him stealing fruit from the street vendors in little Italy. He was quick and stealthy as he took grapefruits for him and the other children. The same children who ran off when my father approached Frankie.

  My mother was pregnant with Adriano at the time, but she has a miscarriage before him. A boy. Her heart was still wounded and hurting but when Paolo saw the dirty little kid surviving on his own, he healed her when he came home with the orphan.

  Frankie and I have often joked that our father bought Frankie from the streets, but the truth is, my father has a big heart for kids and losing their unborn left a void only Frankie could fill.

  He's been my brother ever since, even when he kept his own last name, Romano.

  I catch up to him, prepared to tell him that Adriano is a hateful runt whose words hold no weight, but it seems Frankie has already brushed it off. Like always, his manic smile is on display.

  The snow falls lightly as Christmas draws near, our first without our mother here to celebrate. It’s a sobering thought.

  Maybe having a woman in my life won’t be so bad. After all, the holiday seasons are nothing without the touches of a woman.

  "Let's go to the bar. Pop said we got the night off and I'm ready for my Principessa to call me daddy." Frankie’s words bring me out of my silly musings. Nah, I don’t need a wife to have the Christmas spirit. I just need some good liquor and my freedom.

  I pull out a cigarette and light it, but Frankie’s words have me shaking my head with a chuckle.

  "You're biting off more than you can chew with that girl, Frank. She's a mean little thing."

  Frankie barks out laughter as we climb into his car and crank up the heater, "That’s how I like them, Dino. Pretty and mean."

  I shake my head and turn up the music. Frankie Valli’s ‘Walk Like A Man’ plays as we forget about tomorrow and enjoy tonight.

  Walking into the bar called Two Times is sort of like walking into a room of family members. Everyone knows us and respects us. ‘The Streets of The Bronx’ by Cool Change plays on the jukebox as we shake hands with our associates and friends but we don’t stop and chat for long.

  A man named Skip is part owner of the place and he never fails to have a good crowd within the darkened place. This is mine and Frankie’s hangout and unbeknownst to the law, we are the other half of that ownership. It’s good money and running up the bills on the place is no problem to me. Skip will just file for bankruptcy and we’ll do an insurance job on the place.

  Skip buys double of everything at wholesale and we sell half of items under the table at retail prices. The liquor and food go to anyone willing to pay. Usually it’s other restaurants and bar owners but what do I care? As long as my money is being laundered and doubling, the how is unimportant to me.

  I don’t see the place going under any time soon though, which is good for business.

  Just about every day, we can be found here. The back of the bar is where we have our meetings and poker nights, in a small room that holds all our secrets in the wood panels, but none of them spill out of the door.

  It’s where we’re heading now.

  “Hey, Andino, Frankie! How yous
doin’?” Skip calls out as we pass the bar.

  I lift my hand in greeting but keep going as Frankie stops and orders our drinks while we wait on the guys to arrive. We have a meeting to get through before we have ourselves a good time. No rest for the wicked, as they say.

  My head is still on this fucking marriage that my father is pushing me to and I’m dreading the prospect of becoming a one-woman kind of man. Husbands have it hard. I’m a firm believer that stepping out on your wife is almost as low as ratting out your brothers. It should be against the Omerta to be such a two timer and therefore I can’t get married.

  Having one pussy for the rest of my life is not something I want, but in this damn marriage, that’s how it’ll be.

  Bringing the heels of my palms up, I rub harshly at my eyes. Why the fuck do we gotta make ties through marriage? Fucking tradition. If, and this is a big fucking if, I do get married I will make sure that my children never have to marry someone they don’t know or love. That will not happen to any of my offspring.

  My sons will marry who they want, when they want, and my daughters will decide their fate. I won’t continue this archaic path the Famiglia society demands. I know some of these arranged marriages work out, like my parents, but not all do, and I don’t want that for myself or the unlucky Gambino girl.

  “You ready to marry your bambolina?” Frankie laughs as he walks in with a bottle of scotch and glasses. I hate that even he knew before me.

  “Get off it, coglione.” Fucker. "You're lucky you're not getting tied down to one woman." I pull out a cigarette and light it as he pours us drinks.

  I loosen my tie a little, the room becoming stuffy with thoughts of marriage bombarding me.

  Exhaling the smoke from my lungs, I reach out and take my glass and raise it, "To my last few fucking nights of fucking off."

  Frankie laughs in his manic way before clinking his glass against mine.

  We bottom up and I refill as my brother lights his own cigarette. I hand him his glass, but he points his cigarette clutching fingers at me, eyes squinting with the smoke, "Non essere così drammatico, Andino." Don't be so dramatic, "For all you know, this girl could be the one."