by S. W. Frank
AFTERMATH
Alfonzo
Volume VII
COPYRIGHT © 2012 S.W. FRANK
ISBN-13: 978-1484845905
ISBN-10:1484845900
Printed in the USA by CreateSpace
S.W. Frank Publishing, New York
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system in any form without prior written permission of the author.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and events portrayed in this story are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
This novel is dedicated to those who have triumphed over adversity and who continue to smile and dance to beautiful songs in this precarious life.
-S. W. Frank
"Life’s the greatest teacher of wisdom,
The best students are those who listen."
-Alberti Luca Giacanti
(Capo de Tutti of the Giacanti clan)
The darkest hours pass,
My love’s light cast,
A welcome illumination,
A blackened heart’s Hope.
-Alfonzo
A tragic Aftermath,
Left Us ruined ash,
We mortared,
Iron and stone,
To stand erect pillars,
Diaz-Giacanti strong.
-Selange
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
THE GATHERING
Palermo, Italy. 48 hours after Alberti Luca’s death.
Wherever the death occurs, the body is brought back to the family home. It is embalmed then placed in an open coffin where family and friends come to pay their respect. Today was the second day of viewing and mourners continued to flow through the doors to offer their condolences to Bianca Luca. Among the horde, were neighbors, dignitaries and friends. Then there were the Mafiosi who came with their triteness. First, they paid respect to the trio of suited Don’s in the parlor with armed men in every corner of the room. The visitors moved in single file. They expressed sympathies to Alberti’s son, gave a customary acknowledgement to Don Giuseppe and deference to the third man known as Alfonzo. They kissed his ring then reached inside their fresh suits for stuffed envelopes filled with cash. Their monetary offerings were discreetly handed to Alfonzo’s Capo and placed inside a large wooden box sitting atop a decorative stand within arm’s reach of the Big Boss. The display of reverence did not go unnoticed by Alberti’s wife. Eversince Alfonzo’s arrival, high-ranking men arrived in droves and their actions were always the same.
The American was the ruling Boss of Bosses in Italy and America, the first of its kind. His businesses ran the gambit from real estate development, waste management to internet companies. He’s reputed to have insiders in the stock markets, international banks, government offices along with corrupt police and judges in his pocket on every coast. He delegated control of the gambling and money laundering operation to high ranking families and maintained dogged oversight. Alfonzo steered clear of the drug, arms smuggling and prostitution trades and prompted those in his organization to do the same. He preferred not to dirty his hands with it. Families who dabbled in those illicit activities knew not to use any businesses controlled by the Capo de tutti. The lines of demarcation were clearly drawn and anyone found in violation often disappeared.
Among the criminal elite Alfonzo was both respected and feared. He was a savvy businessman, low-key and not reckless like his cousin Giuseppe. Alberti’s proclamation prior to his death was spoken and he named Alfonzo as his successor of the Giacanti clan.
The further elevation in status gave the youngest of the three men political clout. Alfonzo Diaz-Giacanti had become a revered man in the syndicate. The generous contributions to election campaigns and donations to reputable charities fostered an air of legitimacy many in organized crime failed to attain. Therefore, his colleagues were not concerned with his minor legal problem in America; they considered it posturing by an elitist government to slow the progression of a mixed heritage man. He’d grown powerful behind the scenes and in their view might upset the status quo. But, if they looked carefully, the oppressed were rising politically and economically, which ultimately is the plan.
The hoarding and privileged few were bigoted snobs who believed pigmentation or wealth entitled them to rights beyond human ones. They were the most reluctant to embrace change. Alberti had considered such people parasites on society and Alfonzo agreed.
Alfonzo’s tactics to break those in opposition included extortion and bribes. When their will snapped, Alfonzo received immense satisfaction. Falsely superior men with large egos did not require force, simple coercion worked and eventually they bent. A scandal of any sort shattered their resolve and sense of entitlement. They were not accustomed to a man they considered inferior to wield such power. In their racist eyes, he was nothing but a spic, a thug and a second-class man –until proven otherwise.
Alfonzo wore the ring of his grandfather; a jeweled platinum band with the Giacanti crest. It was the ‘Supremo,’ and the stern men flanking him represented unity and affirmation of his station. They did not question or disagree. Many heard the stories of the Giacanti’s since they were children. These men were descendants of a king, their ancestors aided in opposing rising food costs and taxes to the poor. They gave shelter to refugees and provided monetary supplement
to destitute farmers in Sicily during and after World War II.
In 1944 the Giacanti’s were believed obliterated in a bloody massacre. The mournful wails of the villagers some say were heard as far as Sardinia. It was a sad time for many. To learn not everyone perished and three sons survived and bore sons brought resurgence in the spirits of those considered the underclass. The processions of Mafioso were the descendants of families aided by Sergio Giacanti and his wife during those years of war and strife. Their allegiance was ironclad.
Alfonzo gave a subtle nod and one by one the men in their Italian shoes proceeded across the shiny teak floor toward the widow. Bianca Luca sat regally like a portrait of an aristocrat in the huge living-room beside her husband’s coffin. She wore her hair pulled back to display her oval shaped face. She represented sophistication and wealth clad in stylish black. The sun-kissed skin gleamed beneath the natural light coming through the window. The face they saw did not belong to a senior lady, but a lovely woman who looked more like a daughter.
They proffered condolences, kissed each flawless cheek and gave a peck to Alberti’s coffin, and then the mafia men floated away like dark clouds of smoke into the morning air.
Alfonzo glanced discreetly at his Vacheron Constantin timepiece. The edge of his sensual mouth descended in displeasure. The plane carrying invaluable cargo should have arrived hours ago. He would know, since he’d flown the same route numerous times over the years and unless something unforeseen occurred, it should have landed all ready. The pilot Troy assured him everything was fine but the man remained tight-lipped. Troy made some fake-ass excuse about being in a holding pattern. Bull-shit!
The outward calm masked the anxiety escalating with each passing hour.
The funeral was due to start at one o’clock. He worried for his family and could not relax until they were at his side. The sky-blue eyes remained level, however his thoughts were elsewhere. The tension caused the angular jaw to clench. To the casual observer he was a handsome statute, yet it’s his cousin Giuseppe who sensed his discomfort and opined in jest, “Relax, your woman will be here, besides she cannot run away on a plane.”
Alfonzo scowled and his capped temper flared, “The flight isn’t this long Geo. It’s more than three hours behind schedule. I want to know where my family is!”
****
Bianca Luca sat close to Alberti’s coffin until the funeral. Under Italian law the funeral must be held within 48 hours of death but not before 24 hours elapsed.
Tradition was practiced because Alberti was an old-fashioned man. He was the love of her life. To honor him in this final stage of grace, a window remained open for his soul to fly off to heaven when it was ready. Her husband was rather cynical about such things. He once said his crimes were certain to give him a seat in Satan’s home and that’s where he’d make his bed. Bianca disagreed; beneath the actions of the complicated man was a caring soul with many redeeming qualities. Only a good man shows kindness to others. Alberti was wrong, he was going to the highest tower with Semira; Bianca was certain of this.
A death notice had been placed outside the family home and on special boards outside the churches. She requested the visitors abstain from bringing conzu or consolo. Yet, many came with the customary food offering, anyway. Some habits were difficult to break, she supposed.
She missed Alberti. She’d always smile at his witticisms. Men like him were few. Today’s breed lacked polished manners and chivalry.
‘Oh, my love. I’ll miss you. You were the best father and husband and you will always be in my heart.’
She touched the ebony coffin and lovingly caressed the shiny surface. She ensured he received the best; no money was spared, it was pittance compared to what she’d lost. She would trade everything to have him beside her –but wishes were for wells. The coins tossed in those fountains were sinking fantasies. Her love was gone and another chapter in her life began. It frightened her, especially since she’d been with Alberti half her life. Forty was considered relatively young, but at the moment she felt withered and tired without her man. She drew in a deep breath for strength and eyed her step-son.
Nico was handsome, like his father but far more intense. His dark eyes were solemn and troubled. Last night he sat with her and they talked long into the night. They were about the same age and she found the information amusing. Of course, Alberti would have other children. How could she have been so naïve to think otherwise? He was after-all more than twenty years her senior and a handsome virile man.
Nico was divorced and had two sons. They were twins like her daughters, Evangeline and Madeline who were ecstatic to learn they had an older brother, and a handsome one to boot. Sixteen year-olds are bold and have no qualms about prying. Soon, they had him talking about his sons and their antics. Bianca saw the light return to his eyes during the conversation, and then it faded when the girls were sent to bed. It touched her heart when the girl’s hugged him.
They kissed his cheek and before retiring, Evangeline, the eldest by two minutes said to her new brother, “You must be what papa looked like when he was young. Benvenutofratellomaggiore. Sonofelicechetusiaqui. Papá sent us a gift. Buonanotte, Nico.”
Bianca wiped a tear away at the memory and when she looked up again, Nico approached. He knelt in front of her and took her hand, “You okay?”
She summoned her bravest smile, “Sto bene, grazie.”
He caressed her fingers, “Sono qui, fare una pausa.”
Nico had a caring heart like his father. She gripped his hands and raised them to her chin as she leaned forward. Her clasp was tight and motherly, “Go to her Nico. Do not take love or life for granted and seize every blessing. I loved your father beyond words; it is that love which sustains me. Promise to love, make your happiness, capisce?”
Nico could not promise and looked away.
Bianca pat his cheek as if she spoke to a child, “I do not need rescuing from my grief. Vai Nicolo, mi andrà bene.”
Nico stood and returned to his seat and observed the woman for any sign of distress. The hushed conversation taking place nearby was not lost during his watch.
“Did the flowers get sent to the Peglesi’s?” Alfonzo asked Lou who stood over his shoulder.
“Done.”
“And Wax?”
“His sister in Trapani is taken care of.”
“Good.” He went silent when a quintet of men entered. He recognized the Italian shipping magnate Bruno DeMarco and his sons.
Giuseppe snickered, “DeMarco and his lot.”
The men neared the trio. They all paid their respects to the Giacanti’s and traipsed to the widow’s side; all except their father.
Bruno’s haughty gaze settled on Nico, “Lemeisimpatie.”
“Grazie.”
The dark eyes of the older gent traveled to the cousins, “Stesso a ciascunodi voi.”
Giuseppe nodded, “Grazie.”
Alfonzo mumbled, “Thanks.”
Bruno sized him up, and Alfonzo did the same.
“I knew your father. He was a good friend.” Bruno said in fluent Spanish, taking the American by surprise. Bruno had not formerly met Alfonzo, yet in person the resemblance to Luzo was uncanny. He even possessed the cynical slanted eyebrow. The light eyes didn’t flinch. They were undoubtedly probing for insight. Bruno smirked, “Before you leave, we talk, yes?”
“No, we have nothing to talk about. Luzo’s dead and that's the end of the conversation.”
Bruno let out a derisive snort, “Humph!” Then he eyed Alfonzo’s ring. The curt man was given the highest honor in organized crime. From his countenance he was a lethal exactor, yet some say was a man of reason, which Giuseppe was not. It is logic, which instilled respect rather than unnecessary force. Alfonzo would need it in order to deal with the many families. “Supremo. It weighs l
ittle but its burden is heavy, no?”
Alfonzo replied, “Supongo que depende del hombre con ella, ¿no?”
Bruno’s eyes sparkled in amusement. Alfonzo possessed Luzo’s wit. He was right; the burden did depend upon the man wearing it. “Si, I suppose it does giovane Luzo. Miscusi, I must visit my daughter.”
Alfonzo watched Bruno retreat. DeMarco was Bianca Luca’s father? None of his cousins thought to mention it. He questioned Giuseppe concerning the lapse, “You knew that’s her father?”
“Of course, they are well-known in Sicily, but I forget, you are American.”
Nico interjected to bring Alfonzo up to speed on the cast of siblings, “Those are her brothers, Corrado, Marcello, Franco and the one peering into the coffin is Enrico.”
“Yes, Enrico and Marcello live in Spain. They manage their papa’s business there. When I was ten I gave Marcello a black-eye when he disrespected Amelda.” Giuseppe snarled.
“I’m surprised that’s all you did, and what’s up with the damn O’s?” Alfonzo asked.
“I don’t know Alfonz-O,” Giuseppe teased.
Some of the tension dissolved and Alfonzo chuckled.
The men were leaving and the smile faded from Bianca’s face. It was a pretty smile, Nico noticed.
Do not get any ideas Nico, I am watching you.” Giuseppe commented nonchalantly.
“Cool it Geo, that’s inappropriate,” Alfonzo chastised.
“Is it? I am letting our cousin know we are watching him.”
“Geo, you’re sick.” Nico grumbled.
“The three of us have a pact as of today. No fooling with each other’s women and that includes widows, cugino. The micio remains the property of the deceased.” Giuseppe remarked.
“What’s micio?”
Giuseppe smirked at Alfonzo’s question, “Something we love to eat, cugino.”
“It means pussy boss,” Alfonzo’s Capo Lou said quietly. He was unamused by Giuseppe’s crass behavior and eyed him coldly as he stood guard behind his boss’ seat.
Alfonzo’s patience waned. “Geo, goddamn, come on chill!”
Giuseppe shrugged away Alfonzo’s irritable outburst, “I am chilled, stranzolunatico! Nico if you cross the line again, we will have a rematch.”
Nico snuck an amusing glance at the man on his right and scoffed, “I look forward to it. Be at your best, because next time you’ll need your jaw wired shut!”
Alfonzo’s frustration showed when his head flopped back. Geez, he really missed Domingo. These two were working his nerves!
