by Sienna Mynx
Chapter Ten
Don Tacchini
Salerno, Italy
Kyra rolled over to her left side and pulled her breasts from the front of her nightgown. She did all of this while still half adrift on a restful sleep. “Hush baby, mama’s here she yawned.” She half expected her little girl to nuzzle in close and latch on to her nipple. It was often what happened when she heard her baby-girl cry. But the bed was empty. Kyra eyes flashed open. Anissa wasn’t crying she cooed for her father. Kyra sat up on her elbow. Renaldo was by the window. He’d put the changing table there since the baby spent so much time in their bedroom. And as usual he was cleaning her bum and wiping down her feet and hands with a sanitized rag.
“Was she even wet?” Kyra chuckled.
Renaldo glanced back at his wife. He winked. “Doesn’t matter, Papa is here to make sure she is nice and dry.”
“Yes, Papa it does matter since you insist I use cloth diapers and I have to spend all day washing and cleaning ones that aren’t even soiled after you leave.”
“Who said I’m leaving?” Renaldo lifted his daughter. She drew up her chubby legs a little and shoved her fists into her mouth. He kissed the baby’s brow. Kyra rested on her pillow and watched him be a good dad. She wished with all her heart that she could seal the room door and make sure that he never left again.
“I saw on the news. More trouble out there since Giovanni was shot. I know you can’t stay.”
Anissa began to cry. Renaldo brought the baby to Kyra and she put her on her breast.
“No. I can’t stay,” he said.
She glanced up. “Any news? Any change?”
“Not yet. It’s a waiting game.”
“And Lorenzo?” Kyra asked.
“We’re looking,” he sighed and went to the closet.
“Renaldo?”
“Yes cara,” he answered.
“Mirabella called. She asked me to come see her.”
Renaldo walked out of the closet. She could see his disapproval on his face.
“You aren’t strong enough. The baby...”
“I’m strong enough and the doctors say the baby is fine, she’s gaining weight.”
“She came early,” Renaldo reasoned.
“And she’s perfect,” Kyra said. She touched her daughter’s cheek. Her little girl was born several weeks early but still weighed in over five pounds. She was a miracle. And each day she bloomed. With a head crowned in dark silky hair and appetite like her father’s the baby kept her busy. Raising two kids was never something she imagined for herself before the age of twenty-three. But here she was a mother and the only problem she faced was the threat of being one alone.
“I think I can help.”
“How?” Renaldo asked.
“I don’t know. I know Mirabella is alone. Catalina is gone and so is Marietta. She has no one now. And she has done so much for us. She didn’t ask me to come, but since you are always over there why not?”
“No.” Renaldo paced. “No. I can’t have a clear head with you at Melanzana. I can’t...”
“And I can’t have a clear head with you away from me. The kids and I will be safe, because you will be making sure we’re safe.”
Renaldo walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. “It’s not how you think it is. Giovanni may die. Everything will change if he does.”
“Everything has already changed.”
Kyra nodded to the nightstand. “Look inside of it. There’s something I got for you.”
Renaldo reached over and pulled open the small dresser drawer. He removed a small mobile flip phone. He glanced to her.
“I can call you anytime, and you can call me anytime. We’re a part of the Battaglia family and right now the Battaglias need us both. Will you talk to Mama and explain why we need to go to Melanzana. All of us?”
Renaldo stared at the mobile phone in his hand. “I promised your parents in Nigeria that I would never do this, never bring you into my world. I promised to protect you.”
“And you have kept that promise Renaldo. I’m your wife not your child. I make you strong Renaldo. Let me.”
Anissa let go of her nipple and milk drooled from her open mouth. Her lids fluttered as if she were intoxicated by the feeding. Renaldo chuckled. Kyra handed the baby to her father and Renaldo was careful with her. She put the cloth diaper on his shoulder so he could burp her. He smiled and patted her gently on her back.
“Pack your things,” he said.
Kyra grinned. “I already did.”
The room was cold. The hospital felt like it was made of walls of ice. She didn’t understand the need for such frosty temperatures. Mirabella fixed the sheet around Giovanni and worried again over infection or some other sickness. Her husband lay still and unresponsive. But even in his unconscious state, he looked strong and capable to her. That was strange.
There was a bit of color to his cheeks today. Not much movement under his eyelids when she spoke his name. He relied on the breathing and feeding tubes, which concerned her. After a few minutes of caring for him, there wasn't much else left do. She glanced to the window. The sun was out and it shined brightly. It hadn’t done so in many days. Mirabella was compelled by the beauty outside. She stepped away from his bedside and returned to the window. She stared out of it.
“It’s a nice day, sweetheart, can you feel the sunshine?” she asked. She crossed her arms over the front of her. She had asked for a meeting with the administrators of the hospital, and was told it would be arranged.
“I had a dream last night, Gio. A really nasty one this time.” She glanced back to him at the bed. “It felt like you were here with me again.” She paused for a moment as the memory of the dream again gave her strength. “We never talked about this day. Never. But we both knew it would come for one of us again. It did come once, and we survived. Didn’t we?” Mirabella closed her eyes and spoke while practicing on how to contain her emotions. “I’ve done it all, felt it all, grief, fear, remorse, loss, love so powerful for you it’s made me both mentally and physically ill. I’ve let it all in. Now there is nothing left but one thing. Only one.” She looked to his bed. “Anger.”
She turned and faced him. “I’m mad at you. I’m mad at them. I’m just angry. Is that normal? Is that how you felt when you got justice by killing the Calderones? Is it what your mother felt? Is it what my mother felt? In the end. Were they angry like I am now?”
Mirabella wiped her tears. She sucked in a deep breath through her nostrils and exhaled slow. “How far do I go? What are the boundaries now?”
Her husband’s chest rose and fell, but he remained silent and still.
“I can't be you. I can't. But I look around, and I’m beginning to understand why we relied so much on you. Heavy is the head that wears the crown, isn’t that the old saying?” Mirabella wanted to punch something. She wanted to kick something. More than anything she wanted to scream. But her silent protest was to close her eyes and clench her teeth until her emotions were under control. This took practice. And over the years she had practiced silence to perfection. Now they wanted her to have a voice. The irony pushed her toward hysteria. Who was she now? A Mafia Boss? A piece of meat to be auctioned off to other Mafia men if her beloved died? Or was she born for this day? Was the real curse left for her by her mother? She opened her eyes and looked at Giovanni. It would have been remarkable if his eyes were open and staring at her. Those deep violet-blue eyes. Still, they remained closed.
“There's something you should know. I had to make a choice. Just like you did the day you became the man you are. I’ve avoided this choice even after my conversion, even after my marriage and the birth of our babies. I’ve always avoided this choice. I’ve walked around here living a lie, pretending to be your Donna, just to have you. And you never made me face that, not really. You gave me a life so filled with love and happiness, even the bad times between us felt hopeful.” She stepped even closer. She touched his hand. They had taken off his wedding ring whe
n his hands and fingers swelled after the shooting. She carried it with her in her purse. She touched the thin tan line. For all the years they were married Giovanni never removed it.
“On my marriage, Gio, on the lives of our children, I make this new vow to you,” she began as she stroked his ring finger. “Whoever pulled the trigger and put you in this bed, will pay. That's how far I plan to go. And if you don't wake up soon, sweetheart, there's not going to be any reason for me to turn back.”
There was a knock on the door. Leo stuck his head in. “Donna, there’s a visitor for you.”
“I am not seeing visitors at the hospital. I’ve told you that.”
“Sì, I understand. This visitor is different. It is Don Tacchini. He’s a close friend of the boss. He wants to pay his respects. And... I think you should see him.”
Mirabella frowned. If this Don was here and the men felt safe enough to mention his visit, he might be important to see.
“Va bene. I’ll see him in the visitor’s wing. Bring him up to this floor.”
Leo nodded and left.
“Who is Don Tacchini to you?” she asked. “Should I trust him? Will it even matter?”
She brushed her lips across his. She then whispered into his ear. “They will pay, Gio. Every one of them. I swear it. I'm going to make them all pay.”
There was slight movement under his lids. Mirabella smiled. She'd experienced shock. In the past week she’d crumbled under grief and despair. Today, she felt something different. A darkness that was so close to her heart she knew it's name. She felt her purpose. And the only way to fulfill that purpose was to get their revenge.
***
The news of Giovanni’s shooting reached Don Piero Tacchini two days after the incident. He learned at the same time everyone else had. And that angered him. Giovanni was a friend. A trusted ally. He should have been notified immediately. The implications of Lorenzo's treachery by shooting Giovanni left a void now filled with speculations and outright hysteria. Tacchini walked in a cold shaking fury over the bodies he and Giovanni dropped, which left him as the only boss left to be held accountable. That was not the plan. How did it happen? Where were the Battaglia enforcers who shadowed Giovanni? The men sworn by a blood oath to protect their Don should have gotten those bullets in the back, not Giovanni. Tacchini had spent his energy and resources on the dissolution of the heroin trade in and out of the Campania. That included the disposal of the Benicia rats that would dare poison their own people, along with that cunt Isabella. It was a delicate and calculated operation that he and Giovanni had planned for months. Bringing in the Carabinieri was risky, but Giovanni had insisted all bases were covered. And it proved to be wise. There was nothing left to implicate his clan or the Battaglias. Or so he believed.
Tacchini was aware of Lorenzo’s sins. He heard the tape the same moment Giovanni had. It should not have been revealed to Giovanni that way. No man should learn of that kind of treachery of someone so loved and trusted. Giovanni and Lorenzo were raised like brothers.
Where had it all gone wrong?
The soft tick of the wall clock disrupted his thoughts. He glanced up at it. He'd been waiting over ten minutes in the visitor’s area on the lobby floor. He and his men could go no further. The Battaglias covered them with intolerant and watchful eyes. The Don paced with his hands clasped behind his back. There were consequences. Lorenzo would have to face them. The clans would have to face them. Consequences were to be expected in this life. But in any scenario the Don could conceive, Giovanni would walk away unscathed. He’d seen the half-Sicilian, half-Irish mob boss survive far worse.
In addition to his concerns for his friend, he had countless troubles of his own. By destroying the Benicia clan, he’d driven a big rift between him and the Cammoristi. Without Giovanni at his side to restore faith and diplomacy, he’d be thrust into an un-winnable war—alone.
That was not the deal!
“You are to come with me.” A man with scarring that covered the side of his face said. He was tall and muscular. The disfigurement only made him appear lethal, not weak or crippled.
“Alone,” the enforcer said to the Don’s men who too stepped forward. Piero glanced to his men and gave a nod of consent. It didn’t go over well. His boys weren’t about to let their boss walk among the Battaglias uncovered. Friend or not, these were dangerous times. He nodded to his top enforcer that he should comply with the request. And then he stepped forward in acceptance of the terms. He lifted his arms. The man with the disfigured face sent in two men. Both of them patted him down for another pointless weapon check. He'd been searched before he entered the hospital and was relieved of his gun and his knife.
With three of the Battaglia men taking the lead, and two of them walking behind him, he was escorted through the emergency wing of the hospital toward an elevator. Every nurse and doctor he passed made sure to not make eye contact. The staff seemed nervous and hurried.
Piero and the men rode the elevator up to the top floor. It was reserved for family members of intensive care patients. He didn’t expect to be granted the privilege to meet with Giovanni’s Black American wife alone. Nor did he expect to lay eyes on Giovanni. It was Dominic he was looking for.
The men walked off the elevator. Piero’s gaze swept the layout of the hospital. He had to wonder about Giovanni’s safety. Maybe he should offer some men to ensure that the boss of all bosses was protected.
“Wait here, Don Tacchini. The Donna will join you.” one man said.
“Donna Mirabella? I’m here to see Dominic.” Piero said.
“You see the Donna,” the other man corrected him.
“Aren’t you Leo Correloni?” Piero asked.
Leo gave him a slight look from a side-eye view.
“I knew your father. He once worked for my family. I remember you.”
Leo walked away. Piero remembered that the Correloni’s took in a little boy named Leo from a charity organization when he was barely twelve. The child was a Roma gypsy who had been a well trained thief by the age of six. He’d robbed many tourists and patrons on the streets of Naples with his boyish charm and bright eyed innocence. It got so bad that it started affecting business for many local store owners. One store owner loathed the gypsy thieves and hated the kids even more. So he set a trap. He waited for a child, any child to send a message to the King of the Gypsies. Leo was that unlucky boy that day. He got a pot full of boiling water doused on him. The hot water caught the side of the child’s face, arms and torso. His skin melted from his flesh. The poor kid suffered immensely, and the polizia didn’t care enough to even fine the shopkeeper for the crime. Leo was all grown up. The scarring had healed, and most of his grotesqueness had vanished. What had not healed he covered with tattoos to the side of his face and neck, possibly arms and chest too. Leo’s adopted father came to the Tacchinis for justice. If the Tacchinis would assume the financial burden, then that shop keeper needed to be made to pay. That was the way of their world. After Nero Correloni died, Tacchini never heard much more of what became of little Leo. How did he become a trusted enforcer for Giovanni? And why did he rarely see him in public? He watched the brooding young man walk off, and the truth dawned on him. Leo rarely left the compound because Giovanni's wife never did. This was her protector. Did that mean he was actually going to meet with Giovanni’s wife—alone?
That question went unanswered for over ten minutes.
The Don was not a man made to wait. He paced and paced. It took another ten minutes before he heard the approach of a woman. A soft clickety-clack of her heels as she walked along the silent hall to meet him. In the past he’d seen and spoken a few polite words to la Donna Mirabella Battaglia. He and his now dead wife Lora had attended the wedding. Lora told Piero that she found Giovanni’s bride charming, but a bit reserved, which was to be expected. Still over the years the wives of the Cammoristi had formed a tight bond. Mirabella Battaglia never once accepted an invitation from them.
Mirabella Battagl
ia entered the room. Her beauty was unmarred by the terrible circumstances that had befallen her husband. There was both delicacy and strength in her face. The long lashes above her liquid brown eyes gave her a serene awareness that bore through him. A striking boldness which complemented her unflawed beauty. But there was something else. Something he knew wasn’t common to her regal features. Anger. In fact, she glared at him—fiercely.
Wealthy, American, untouched by their culture, she married into their life and gave up her own. The memory of Giovanni’s courtship, madness, and eventual marriage flashed to the surface of his mind. Like a picture show on rewind. And he still didn’t know how or why Giovanni chose her, other than the obvious reason.
She was captivating.
Mirabella walked into the room and no man spoke. Her thick, dark hair moved like a silky wave around her shoulders. Her long bangs nearly reached her lashes. She didn't blink away from his stare; she didn't smile for him. In fact, he sensed a defiance in her so strong it nailed his heart. That strength was so much like that of his long, lost dead wife. Tacchini didn’t speak or move. He just stared at her. He couldn't help himself.
Mirabella steeled her heart before she left Giovanni. She walked along the hall with her hands clenched to force back any trace of anxiety. When she entered the small room reserved for family, a tall man in a tailored grey suit stopped pacing. He was so like Giovanni from the back, in a physical way, her mind nearly made the leap to think it was him before he turned and cast his dark eyes on her. And it was then she saw the striking differences. He had salt and pepper hair, but appeared to be no older than Giovanni. It gave him a striking look of confidence, with his dark eyes and a brooding brow. There was no mistaking his power and ruthlessness. With men like her husband and him, it could be seen from across the room. They stared at you without fear. They owned you without speaking. They seduced women without touching. She'd never been close to Tacchini, or any of the men in Giovanni's world. She'd greeted them and escorted their wives away. This meeting would be her first.
