by Sienna Mynx
Carlo melted down on top of her. The pain in his head had long subsided. The pain in his heart had begun to heal. He’d learned at an early age how to live with pain, but not how to release it. He was getting there.
“You’re here?” Mirabella gasped.
Kyra turned. She held the baby in her arms. Her smile brightened Mirabella’s mood. Kyra looked beautiful as a new mother. Her slender figure had returned. Besides her breasts, one could not tell that only four weeks ago she had given birth. She wore a white-lace embroidered tea-cup summer dress with a short-sleeve yellow sweater. Her hair was to her waist by a center part of braids so thin you could barely recognize it wasn’t her own natural style.
Mirabella walked over with her heart in her throat. Since the shooting she had not seen or spoken to Kyra. And she’d never seen the baby.
“I’ve been dying to meet her,” Mirabella said. “May I?”
Kyra gently put the newborn in Mirabella’s arms. It had been so long since she held an infant. Her eyes welled with tears. Eve was born so tiny with skin so red she looked like a papoose with a round head and cherub lips. Renaldo’s baby-girl had dark wavy black hair flat to her skull. It framed her face. She slept peacefully.
“So beautiful... what’s her name?”
“Anissa. We named her after Renaldo’s first wife.” Kyra said.
Mirabella sat down in the parlor chair. Kyra continued to stand. She walked around the parlor as if it were her first visit. She stopped before the five-foot tall portrait of the Battaglia family and stood there staring. Mirabella looked up from the baby to Kyra and then her gaze lifted to la Battaglia famiglia.
“Of course Giovanni and the kids wouldn’t sit still enough to have it painted,” Mirabella said. “We took a photograph and the artist painted the likeness from that image. An Italian surrealist painter named Girraldo Machevelli whose work is now being compared to Salvador Dali. I think ours is the only family portrait he’s ever done.”
“It’s remarkable. The photo realism is stunning. I like the way he captured the family insignia on Giovanni’s ring and the details of the twins curly afros. Eve’s buckle on her shoe, it’s got every detail.”
The portrait was commissioned a year ago. It arrived two days after the shooting and replaced the old family portrait on the wall. Kyra was right, the painter captured them all, from her to the kids, to Catalina and Dominic and even Lorenzo and Mirabella.
Kyra turned and faced her. “How are you?”
“I have my moments. But today is better. Giovanni will be brought home. He’ll be cared for here.”
“What do the doctors say?”
“Physically he’s healing. But they aren’t sure why he hasn’t come out of his coma. They think he will soon.”
Kyra sighed with relief. “Good. Jamie sends her love. She’s in Paris with your team. She wants to come back. To support you.”
Mirabella spirits lifted at the mention of her. She would love the company. Since Catalina and Marietta abscond she has had no comfort from her trusted friends. The isolation only made her grief more crippling.
“Renaldo told me the sad news. Vito is dead,” Kyra said.
“He is. And so is Rosetta. Josefina is beside herself with grief.”
“I’m so sorry Mirabella. I can’t imagine what you are going through. It’s awful. All of it.”
“You brought your luggage?” Mirabella asked as Anissa squirmed a bit in her arms. She rocked a little to calm the baby who slept without a pacifier.
“Renaldo took some convincing. His mother too. But I want to be here for you, for him. I can help.”
“You just had your baby. I...”
“And you have a staff bigger than the one at the White House back home. Big enough to help me if I need it, right?” Kyra smiled. “Rocco called about villa Rosso. I’ve already started. And I spoke to Cecilia last night. We agreed the kids should...”
Mirabella burst into tears. Kyra came over to her concerned. She sat next to her and put her arm around her. Mirabella dropped her head over on her shoulder.
“Thank you,” Mirabella wept.
“I’m here. And you’re not alone.” Kyra said. “We love you Mirabella, we all do. We love Gio too. We’ll get through this like family.”
Anissa opened her eyes and she yawned and blinked up at Mirabella. The tears stopped and she smiled at the baby, reminded how special one could feel by being a mother. Anissa began to squirm and whine. Mirabella transferred her over to Kyra.
“She’s hungry.”
“Let me take you to your room so you can feed her,” Mirabella said and stood to wipe her tears. Rocco’s words were in her mind. She was not to cry, not before everyone who she had to remain strong for. Kyra stood and grabbed her purse. The young woman was wiser and calmer than most. She felt better already by having her around.
Chapter Eighteen
Vito is Dead
Sorrento, Italy
“Are you awake?”
Catalina opened her eyes. She, however, hadn’t been able to have a solid nights sleep in two days.
“Yes.”
“I’m told that Lorenzo is able to meet me with today. I think it might be best we have the conversation now.”
Catalina sat up. She looked at Armando alarmed. “You haven’t told them?”
“That Vito Battaglia is dead? No. I’ve spent the past two days in meetings, or up here in bed with you.”
“But...”
“They aren’t my concern, Catalina. You are.” He brushed her hand from her face with his fingers. She stared at him in disbelief. The past two days were indeed a blur. But he was constant. First he let her cry, then he let her rage, and then he held her as she grieved—and seduced her with wine and sex. Her food was delivered to her, and it was only when he returned from his business affairs that he sat with her and forced her to eat and stop drinking. She could take most anything but the death of her beloved uncle, the plight of her brother, and the blood on her hands over the murder of her cousin was too much for her.
“Marietta? How is she?”
“I haven’t spoken to her in two days.”
Catalina reached for a robe on the chair and put it on. It was senseless since he now knew every inch of her body. She glanced to her haggard appearance in the mirror. She hadn’t bathed or showered in two days. She was well past due.
“I’m going to shower. I want to be the one to tell them.”
“There’s something you should know,” he said.
She stopped at the door of the bathroom.
“What? What is it?”
“They will have the funeral in Bagheria. I’ve gotten word that Mirabella and the family will be arriving to attend.”
“When?”
“Day after tomorrow.”
Catalina smoothed her hair back. “I... I...”
“You want to go?”
“How can I?”
Armando gave her a smile. “I’m still Don Mancini. I can make it happen for you.”
She stared at him. She had little time to process the complications in their relationship.
He took a step toward her.
“I need to shower. I reek,” she said and went in and shut the door. She put her back against it. She closed her eyes. Whatever compassion he had shown her didn’t change the fact he was her enemy. And a dangerous one at that. She would not let her emotional turmoil cloud her judgment. Right now she had to get strong and face Lorenzo. If she had blood on her hands, so did he.
“Are you sure you’re up for this?”
“Up? Look at me!” Lorenzo held his arms out and stood while balancing on one leg. He had been patient with Marietta’s nurturing and paranoia, but he was on the verge of madness. At night when she slept, he did pushups, leg exercises. All of it in the bathroom where Armando’s camera could not record his actions. It enraged him that they were in Mancini’s home. Though a small part of him was grateful for the time to heal. The greater part of him knew the price of
recovery could jeopardize everything he’s worked so hard to build.
“I think you should still take it easy. The blood you lost, and the infection.”
“Come here,” he said.
She walked over to him. He gathered her into his arms. “Can you do me a favor?”
“Anything,” she sighed with relief. Even though her belly was large he could still embrace her curves. He missed his woman, both physically and emotionally. He wanted to be a man to her again not some cripple she needed to keep constant vigil over.
“Let me be a husband to you again,” he said.
She chuckled and he let her go. He took her face into his hands. “I know you’ve been through a lot. I put you through a lot. But I’m better, stronger, and I always keep my promises, cara. I am going to fix this between us. When it’s over you will have it all. We are going to have it all.”
“What are you going to say to him?” she asked and looked over to the camera pointed at them.
“He’s been avoiding me since we got here. Eavesdropping on me and you. Fucking puttana. I will handle him. Trust me.”
She pulled away from Lorenzo. He watched her pace with her hand to her belly. The sarong skirt was tight to her hips and smoothly defined her thighs. She wore a white loose fitted shirt over her belly. Her hair was natural and untamed with more curls than he recalled her normally wearing. It’s as if the baby was radiating her beauty from the inside out. He shifted his weight. He needed to sit down. The pressure he applied to one leg was intensely uncomfortable. Still he wouldn’t show her weakness.
“There’s something you should know,” she said in a voice so low he barely heard her.
He hated when she started any conversation with that phrase. But Lorenzo kept his anger in check. Patience was something he practiced daily with Marie. Her constant fears, and questions were never satisfied or calmed. The confinement to one room made that even more torturous. If this was the price he’d have to pay to bring his child into the world he’d do it. But it taxed him more and more.
She looked over at him with tears in her eyes. Lorenzo reached to touch her but she turned away. “There’s something I should have told you several days ago.”
“I’m listening.”
“Promise you won’t freak out.”
“Marie? Just tell me, cara. Enough of the stalling.”
She put her hand to her brow. Tears slipped down her cheeks. He staggered a step toward her, and she pushed out her hand like a traffic cop to warn him away. “Stop!”
“Marie? Damn it! Tell me what is going on!”
“I... uh, uhm, remember when I told you about Catalina? What I did? What we did to trap Armando.”
The tension tightened like a roped coil of a noose around his neck. “Go on.”
“It’s worse than I said.”
“How? How is it worse?”
“She... Domi, he broke up with her... after he found out. She was upset. Very, and, ah she lured Rosetta from the villa to... she killed her.”
The sentences garbled together around tears. Lorenzo stood there stunned. Not sure he heard his wife right. What he thought he heard was Catalina killed Rosetta. “Slow down, Marie, you aren’t making sense.”
“She killed her. And then she ran away. She was afraid and confused. And with Giovanni being shot she was vulnerable, Lo. Very. So... I’m sorry.”
He ignored her pleas to stay away from her and dragged his leg as he approached her.
“Catalina killed Rosetta?” he asked and stopped before her.
“Yes, and that’s not all, sweetheart.”
“Rosetta is dead?” Lorenzo frowned.
“Yes. And she’s here.”
“Rosetta is here?”
“No. Catalina is here.”
Marietta must have been alarmed by his facial expression because she took two steps back toward the door.
“She’s with Armando now. She lives here.”
All Catalina could think of was her poor aunt Josefina. Yes, she still hated Rosetta. But she adored her aunt and uncle. They were as close to her heart as Zia and Rocco. She spent countless summers with Zio Vito teaching her to ride horses, or riding in his tractor with him on their home land in Bagheria. Could she still hold on to those memories with the guilt of knowing what she’d done?
“Catalina?”
She stopped pacing. Armando sat in a large wing back chair with a leg crossed over his knee. He drank too early. Suddenly she wanted a drink as well.
“Have a seat, cara,” Armando said.
She rolled her eyes at him, but came over to the chair across from him and sat. He stared at her the way he had since she arrived. Everything was wrong in the world, and their relationship topped the list.
“Lorenzo please... please...” Marietta cried from a distance.
Catalina shot to her feet. Armando took another sip from his glass, unfazed. Lorenzo charged in. He froze at the sight of her. He must have been told she was there, but the look on his face went from shock to rage.
“What are you doing here?” Lorenzo demanded. He looked as if he’d lost at least ten pounds. And he moved with the aid of Marietta. He tried to come after Catalina, but couldn’t step fast enough. Everyone knew it. And that humiliation further angered him.
“Answer me! What are you doing here?”
“She’s with me,” Armando replied in that smooth deep authoritative tone of his. And this time it felt more like the mocking snipe of a victor. “She has been for some time.”
Lorenzo’s glare speared Catalina as he spoke to Armando. “You motherfucker. I’ll fucking kill you for brining her here!”
“I wouldn’t take another step if I were you,” Ignacio said.
Ignacio had entered the room undetected. Catalina and Marietta were too focused on the strained look of rage on Lorenzo’s face, and the slow death march he made toward Catalina to notice. When Ignacio spoke, Lorenzo stopped. This time he did look at Armando.
“I am going to kill you. Do you hear me? I am going to fucking gut you!” Lorenzo pushed Marietta aside and tried to go for Armando, but he only made two staggered steps before Ignacio hit him to the back of the head with a gun. The crack of the force sounded out louder than Marietta’s warning scream. The moment Lorenzo went down, Ignacio kicked Lorenzo’s wounded leg, hard. He stomped it. Harder.
Marietta went to Lorenzo, who grimaced under the assault but didn’t cry out in evident pain. The attack ended as quickly as it started. Lorenzo tried to lift from the floor. Ignacio pointed a gun at Lorenzo and Marietta both.
“Stop it!” Catalina screamed. “Make it stop!”
Armando sat there smiling.
“Armando! Make him stop!” Catalina begged. Armando set his glass aside. He cast a look to Ignacio who lowered his gun.
“Get the hell out!” Catalina commanded Ignacio. The consigliere looked to Armando, who nodded that her wishes should be honored. Ignacio left. Lorenzo held his bleeding leg, but sat up enough to look up at Catalina.
“Why?” he asked her.
“I had no choice,” she wept.
“You killed your cousin, you left the family? You came here to him!”
“Me? You want to talk about my crimes? What about Patri? What have you done?” she shouted the last word so loud her voice went hoarse mid scream. Lorenzo didn’t flinch. He kept his murderous contempt centered on her. She saw no guilt or regret. Just unfiltered rage. The kind that would get them all killed if he didn’t take a moment to recognize their true situation. Armando was in charge. Period.
“You killed Patri,” she reminded him.
“He did not! It wasn’t his fault,” Marietta wept. “You heard the tape. You both did. Giuseppe Calderone did this. It was him!”
“It was Lorenzo! Don’t defend him! This is his fault. I would have never agreed to your plan to seduce Armando if it weren’t for him. Never lost my Domi. Never had to kill my own cousin, and Vito wouldn’t be dead!”
Lorenzo’s expression
froze on her last statement. And so did Marietta’s. Catalina wiped her tears and nodded that it was true. She couldn’t even say it aloud again because it hurt so bad.
“Dead? What do you mean dead?” Marietta asked the question.
“Armando told me. The family went to Roma to tell Vito of Rosetta’s death. He had a heart attack. They will bury them both the day after tomorrow.”
Lorenzo’s breathing went deep. He closed his eyes and summoned strength to stand, but couldn’t. It was evident he was in a lot of pain. And now his leg bled through his pants.
“Help him!” Marietta pleaded with Armando.
“Fuck him,” Armando said.
Lorenzo cast an angry glare at Armando.
“You are in my house. You will remain on your knees and show me respect. Or I will take you outside and put a bullet in your other leg. And this time we will wait to see you bleed out.”
“Then put a bullet in me! I’m not your dog!” Lorenzo said through clenched teeth. “As long as I breathe I will never bow to you!”
“Che stai facendo?” Marietta gasped.
“Listen to her Lorenzo. You better chose your words wisely.” Armando smiled and stood. He eased his hands into his trouser pockets. “You sure about insulting me? Papa?”
Catalina stepped between the men. Armando’s gaze switched to her. “You do anything to him, anything, and I swear before God, Armando, with my last breath I’ll make you pay. Do you understand me?”
The murder-lust in Armando’s eyes never dimmed. But he gave her a cursory nod. She turned on Lorenzo. “We can fight about whose sin is greater than the other’s later. Right now Giovanni is dying, Vito is dead, and the family is coming back to Sicily. That means Mirabella is coming here. She’s our last hope to find a way to make peace. We have to go to the funeral,” Catalina said.
“We can’t,” Marietta said. “They’ll kill him.”
“Mirabella would never allow that to happen. She’s in charge now. That’s how it works.”
“That is not how it works,” Lorenzo grimaced. He used his wife, and the help of Catalina to stand. Then shrugged off the women, even though he sweated with pain. “Rocco is in charge. And so is Domi. They see me, they end me. That’s how it works.”
