by S. W. Frank
Alfonzo inhaled. He hoped Giuseppe returned soon for the mutt, they were both pains in the butt.
With Giuseppe on his mind, Alfonzo dozed on a musical note, wondering if his brother might treat Nico with more respect if he knew everything about his sacrifices for their family.
Alfonzo grumbled in his sleep.
“I doubt that shit!” He mumbled.
Chapter 11
Three scotches and four cigarettes is what Lorenzo consumed while waiting in the sleazy bar for over three hours on the outskirts of Palermo. He swiveled on the stool with impatient energy for his contact to call. Getting an audience with Don Alfonzo required an introduction from one of the trusted higher ups. Those he knew in Sicily were low-level Mafiosi; his father was the man with the connections. Lorenzo went along as muscle to ensure exchanges took place without a hitch.
Looking around the dim establishment with neon lights that cast a reddish haze in the smoke-filled room, he wondered if he should’ve waited in the low budget hotel in Via Maqueda.
He guzzled the tepid liquor, his eyes in the glass, trying not to focus on the images in his brain. The task of burying his family took several days. He sent them to heaven and hell in their finery, sober during the grief-stricken farewell in order to stand upright. He expunged the tears in alcohol after the last casket went in the dirt and beat the crap out of a punching bag when Thalia’s father arrived to take his daughter’s body to Istanbul. The father, a devout Muslim, behaved as if their engagement was a form of heresy, dismissing Lorenzo’s request to attend the burial, insisting her death was a direct result of consort with non-believers of Islam.
Lorenzo was too wasted to debate with the bastard that Thalia renounced Islam years before they met. They’d spoken about their wedding and both agreed it would be a secular ceremony at the aquarium. He slammed the empty tumbler to the wood. Thalia loved animals and he planned to surprise her with a Maltese when they returned from their honeymoon in Hawaii. Unfortunately, everyone he loved was gone and living alone wouldn’t be easy.
His mouth descended in derision when thinking of the investigator’s statement that the killings were not disclosed to the press to avoid compromising their case. Bull, they were concerned the homicides might frighten the public and deter tourists from visiting Greece.
A middle-aged patron entered. She wore a tight dress that hugged her wide hips. She peered around before she sauntered over, took a seat on the empty stool and put her hand on his knee. “Buongiorno, Americano?”
“Ne,” Lorenzo replied with his bloodshot eyes in the afternoon.
She leaned forward, her thick lipstick the consistency of red crayon clumps. “Buona bello, I do not seek an Americano. I am here for un amico.”
Lorenzo stood, slapping euros on the scratched counter at the code word. “You have found him.”
The woman strut out the door and he followed her through the narrow street with seedy dives on both sides of the plaza.
She entered a Fiat, and waved him in.
“Fretta!” she exclaimed, screeching off the moment he shut the door. She spoke as rapidly as she drove. “Your amico sent me. Everything is arranged. You are on the list.”
“And what about the other things I requested?”
She pointed to his seat. “Beneath the cushion is where you will find the items.”
“And transportation?”
“That is taken care of as well,” she answered and then careened around corners familiarly. Her eyes remained alert, as she checked the rearview mirror. “Your amico says you are not to involve him further. There is a deadly risk to what you plan.”
“Tell him grazie –alright,” Lorenzo stated as he watched the old buildings hugging stones begin to thin. “How far?”
“Not much farther.”
The woman remained silent after that. Lorenzo noticed her anxious expression as they passed exclusive villas. Soon a late afternoon haze settled over the trees signifying evening approached. Thick trees, landscaped gardens and rocks that existed long before the homes were built surrounded the scarce residences.
Lorenzo didn’t have a clue about the section of the province they traveled and he didn’t care to ask when she stopped alongside a parked car, grabbed her purse from the backseat and exited. “I must go. The villa is less than twenty kilometers beyond the black gate. There are several armed guards who will stop to search you. No weapons are allowed. Attempt to enter with any and your body will never be found.” She cautioned and then hurried over to the unoccupied vehicle.
Lorenzo switched his seat and adjusted the height position. The squeal of tires is what he heard as the woman did a U-turn and peeled off in the opposite direction. He scoffed, lifting the passenger seat to inspect the weapons. He lifted the .45 ACP 1911 with the modifications he requested. The barrel was elongated with the suppressor and pre-engaged for lighter recoil. There was plenty of ammo and a backup shorter nozzle SIG-Sauer, a weapon his father taught him how to use on his eleventh birthday. His mouth tightened with anger. The firearm had yet to malfunction whenever he used it over the years. He ran his finger over the barrel, recalling the jabs he received from his old man about having a greater appreciation for weapons than women.
A sharp intake of breath burned straight to his stomach. There was nothing farther from the truth. He appreciated women, how could he not with the most important and loving people in his life were his mother and sister? There hadn’t been anyone he thought could pass inspection until he met Thalia. She was tough, a no-nonsense type woman with a beautiful heart to put up with the likes of him. The boozing and carousing decreased the day she moved in to his apartment. Thalia traded in her stripper pole for a job at a café. The frown deepened when he thought of how much he loved her, yet hadn’t totally given up his old ways. He planned to though, the minute he said ‘I do.’ Unfortunately, he’d never have that chance to expunge the crap from his soul. Smuggling arms is an unsavory business, and the dubious characters he encountered were revolting. On occasion he put such people out of their misery at the bequest of his father, who formerly commented his son was a natural born killer, whatever the hell that meant.
Lorenzo frowned, shaking his foot with the added weight to his steel tip boot. The pain medication he’d taken had begun to wear off and he reached for the bottle of Cuervo sitting invitingly in a corner of the seat to dull it. He unscrewed the cap, took a long swig of the tequila and let it burn his insides where emptiness sat. When he finally drove away, the bottle sat a quarter empty adjacent to metal in the confines of the hidden compartment.
The blackness in his soul stemmed from a man who lost everything and had nothing more to lose if he failed.
***
“Hey cooking is my job!” Nico exclaimed when he rounded the corner into the kitchen after collecting Semira from the playroom.
“I’m making my grandmother’s special recipe. You’ll like it. ”
The girl stepped aside as Nico peered into the pot, nudging her playfully. “Smells good. Is this marak temani?”
“Yes.” Anna nodded with a broad smile. Darren’s father enjoyed eating, and that is why he knew a lot about food.
Shy Anna blossomed since her arrival. The fear of Yosef’s retaliation had ebbed. The comfortable ease of their interaction demonstrated she felt safe in his presence and gained newfound co
nfidence.
“You’re supposed to be resting, remember?” Nico reminded the new mother.
“I’m fine Mr. Serano. I am a good cook.”
“You are huh?” Nico asked with a smirk. In the periphery, Semira opened the fridge, likely searching for the yogurt pops he purchased after visiting Anna’s baby. She couldn’t reach it and he grinned.
“The stew is finished if you’re hungry.” Anna said as he walked to scoop up his daughter and close the fridge.
“We sure are, aren’t we ‘Mira my love?” Nico replied.
With a wrinkled nose, his angel sniffed and then gave an unconvincing affirmative reply. “O-kay.”
Well, maybe his daughter sensed the meal might suck, because it was gross and Nico forced it down with a very convincing smile to avoid hurting the girl’s feelings. He gulped water every few slurps and Semira coughed but like a well-mannered trooper she tasted more before abandoning the farce.
After the atrocious dinner, Nico pulled out the pops. For his daughter’s suffering he allowed her a second treat. She wasn’t too full for dessert, he mused. However, Nico required a third helping to diffuse the bad taste of Anna’s failed attempt at a simple dish.
PoorDarren!
Anna loaded the dishes in the washer as Nico and Semira sucked on dessert. “There is plenty left over for tomorrow. In my home we were not allowed to waste food,” she said over her shoulder.
Nico and Semira grimaced simultaneously. Even the toddler understood the potential threat to eating Anna’s salty stew.
Nico responded. “Unfortunately, we’re a wasteful bunch.”
She set the cycle to light and then turned. “You didn’t like it did you Mr. Serano?”
No point in lying, he thought. “Frankly, it was horrible.”
Semira began laughing and there was a sparkle of mirth in Anna’s eyes. Her lip twisted in a smile. “It was…wasn’t it? I accidentally poured too much salt. By the way you were eating I thought you liked it.”
“I figured I could tolerate a temporary rise in blood pressure from the large dose of sodium for one day, but not twice.” He rose and tossed their pop sticks in the bin. “If it wasn’t for the excess salt I’m sure it might’ve been pretty good.”
“Can we have pizza?” Semira exclaimed.
“Not again. Tomorrow I’m making linguini.”
With that settled, Nico wiped the table, gave Semira the broom and they tidied their mess. Soon, she went off with Anna and Nico decided to call and check on Alexandros.
Chapter 12
Bruno pointed to the chess pieces, smiling as he tried to explain to Alexandros the object of the game. The baby yawned; kicking his legs and then blew raspberries.
Bruno laughed, filling the main floor with his jovial response.
Maria smiled at the sound as she returned from the bathroom to collect the child for his bath.
“One day he will love the game as much as I,” Bruno stated.
Maria unstrapped the boy from the seat. “I’m sure he will,” she stated, lifting the boy into her arms.
Bruno rose. “I will be home late tonight, I have a business meeting.”
“Okay,” Maria replied, settling Alexandros against her breasts.
“I will carry him upstairs for you bella,” he said, taking he boy out of her hands.
“Gracias,” Maria replied, although she was more than capable of carrying the child.
She marched behind her husband, listening to him recanting anecdotal stories about his mother. Bruno’s possessiveness of the boy worried her.
At breakfast he informed her that he planned to hire a teacher to home school Alexandros, which she considered preposterous. The child was not even close to a year and the talk of long-term decisions concerning Alexandros’ welfare without input from Nico or her, for that matter rubbed her the wrong way.
He laid Alexandros on the changing table once they reached the bathroom and undressed the child. “He is growing and growing, eh bella?”
Maria nodded, retrieving the boy to sit him in the water. She sponged his pink flesh. “Yes.”
Bruno walked to the door. “I will see you tonight.”
“Um-hum,” Maria answered, her mouth tight with anger at her husband’s behavior.
“Is there anything wrong?” Bruno asked.
“Nothing is wrong. Please, I do not want to make you late for your meeting.”
Bruno hesitated. “There is an extra guard posted at the gate in the event Nico thinks to visit.”
Bruno was unreasonable. She wrapped the child in a towel as Bruno’s footsteps receded. She took Alexandros to the nursery where she applied lotion to his soft skin, and prepared him for bed.
Within minutes Alexandros was dressed and asleep in his crib. She retrieved her cell from the bedroom to take a picture to send to Nico. When the child’s father immediately returned the call, she had tiptoed out of the nursery.
“Hola Nico, cómo esta? You like the photo?”
“No bueno Maria. I like the pix and thanks but I want to see my son. He’s growing and I’m missing every moment. I’m growing impatient with your husband Maria, I really am.”
“I know you want your son Nico. I hear the longing of a good father,” she replied, as she walked through the corridor.
“Look, I’m not going to get you involved anymore. I’ll take this up with Bruno.” His tone became jovial. “Alex has finally grown more hair.” Nico chuckled. “Does he still cry a lot for his mother?”
“He did at first, but not anymore.”
“Maria?”
“Yes Nico?”
“Mucho gracias for taking care of my son. I know he’s in good hands with you.”
“De nada. You have done that for mijo…I am forever grateful,” Maria stated.
Her eyes threatened to swell with tears as Alfonzo’s image as a child appeared. The pain of what he’d done ached, missing him and wanting her good boy again ached more.
“Okay, thanks again Maria. Ciao.”
“Vaya con Dios, Nico,” Maria imparted and then entered her bedroom.
Emotionally weary she longed for a rest and removed her shoes, giving the cell to the nightstand to hold. Perched to sit is when Bruno appeared in the doorway.
“Nico? Was that Nicolo Serano?”
Maria rose at Bruno’s glaring contempt. “Sí,” she answered. “He phoned to check on his son.”
“Dannazione!”
The fury in Bruno’s eyes should have prepared her for the strike. Maria’s arrogance was the belief he would never hit a woman, especially one he loved. Her ignorance was the assumption that she knew Bruno as well as she knew herself. The masculine hand, twice her size, with such force struck her in the face and the sound resembled a whip cracking.
Maria’s body crashed into the nightstand. The edge of the wood dug into the fleshy part of her thigh without penetration, yet certain to bruise. Her arms flailed, one slammed on the platform of the beautiful bureau. In an effort to stop the momentum, she grabbed the corner, knocking over her reading glasses and her backside thumped the wall. She hadn’t fallen, but in a way she had. Maria’s cheek stung, burned by an iron hand of a man who’d use violence against a woman. The charm and refinement opened and revealed a liar.
He pledged his love with such sincerity, yet the Bruno standing there without remorse, ogling her with bestial anger succumbed to the sickness plaguing man.
That injurious controlling intimidating madness to break an
other is not love. The Bruno she married had been none of the above. In the grips of darkness she asked the almighty for strength and the answer she swore he provided went into her limbs.
Her fingers curled of their own volition around the base of the lamp. The god who spoke was the fallen one and urged her to pound Bruno’s skull. She swung that lamp at his head and by some luck he ducked before the object connected with his brain. Angered and ashamed she’d been demeaned by a foul man, she sought reclamation of her dignity by fighting back. Had he lost his footing or slower in gait, she’d have killed him in those moments of fury.
Bruno seized her hand that held the lamp and she clawed his throat with the other, drawing blood beneath her nails. He shoved her over and pinned her with his body on the bed. Trapped by his weight, he simply wiggled her wrist bone and the painful action caused her to loosen her grip on the home furnishing used as a weapon.
“You do not want to hurt yourself Maria, eh do you amore?” Bruno asked, gingerly taking the lamp and stretching his arm to returned the object to the stand.
“I will tell my son. Alfonzo will kill you!” Maria seethed.
“Ne –ne bella. I love you, but threatening me with your son is not wise. Besides, isn’t it I who have the mark of abuse from your sharp fingers? Ah, such a shame that I might press charges, domestic abuse is frowned upon. Men are victims, also. Cosa, you are not aware of this?” He grinned sadistically. “Crimes are everywhere, homes, safe communities. Oh, my poor Maria, mi dispiace that you cannot protect your sorella or nipote. The increase of crime where she lives is often tragic, ne?”
“You bastardo!”
Bruno cupped her cheeks. “Ne, ne, you are upset amore.”
“Get off me!” She hissed. “You cannot keep Nico’s son!”
“You are right.” Bruno replied and Maria’s eyes widened by the turn about. “Ne, I cannot. Call Nico and tell him I will send Alexandros with the nanny tomorrow.”
Maria squinted, jerking her face free from his palms. “What nanny?”
“The one I have hired, she starts tomorrow.”
