by S. W. Frank
Copyright © April 2013 S.W. Frank
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.
Printed by Create Space
ISBN-13: 978-1484028469
ISBN-10: 1484028465
Publisher S.W. Frank
Cover image for illustration purposes only, Corbis USA
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.
ANIMUS
ALFONZO
VOLUME
X
ALFONZO I
ASCENSION II
ANARCHY III
ATONEMENT IV
AWAKENING V
ANNIHILATION VI
AFTERMATH VII
AFFIRMATION VIII
ASSOCIATES IX
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
If an injury has to be done to a man it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared.
-Niccolo Machiavelli
Deep vengeance is the daughter of deep silence.
-Vittorio Alfieri
No husband will ever be better avenged than by his wife's lover.
-Honore de Balzac
Vengeance is mine, and I will repay.
-Leo Nikolaevich Tolstoy
Dedication
To the wonderful readers and friends who continue to follow the series, I hope you enjoy this installment as much as I did writing it. Your messages and kind words of support helped fuel my spirit. Hugs dear sister Janet and kisses family for indulging my obsession with smiles of encouragement.
Thank you my loves,
S.W. Frank
Prologue
Women can be quite lethal. They can kill a man’s aspiration with a discerning glance or put an end to a suitor’s advances by ignoring his confessional heart. This is what the man thought as he walked beside the statuesque beauty as she ate another of the small chocolate truffles taken from her purse. Her hair shimmered like a sea of black silk which draped her back, waving and cresting with each step. The suitor grew anxious because she had yet to respond to his request. As crude as it was he wanted to fuck her right there. His hunger for the woman began on the day he discovered the pleasures of sex. Nearly three decades he’d longed to plunge his hardness between her thighs until she received every inch of his love. He became highly aroused thinking of the euphoria of being gripped within her vaginal pillows. His basest thoughts were ravenous cravings for a woman who unknowingly captured his heart, yet married another.
They walked below the edge of Admiral’s Bridge, directly over the former Oreto riverbed. The Sunday morning air was comfortably warmer as spring settled in. Incessant talk of yesterday’s killings on the steps of an ancient church in Palermo saturated the media. In light of her connection to the victims, he was surprised she agreed to meet for a romantic stroll to talk about things unrelated to business or death. Everyone spoke of the mafia leaders gunned down as if they were kings, when in fact they were nothing but low-life scum. The man’s eyes caressed the woman. He asked again, less politely to have a night with her. In fact, he demanded she cease the flirtation. Her eyes opened wide, surprised at the affront.
“Truffle?” she asked taking another dark chocolate from its wrapping, which he suspected she’d plop in her ruby mouth if he declined.
He took it from the soft hands and ate. The sweet was delicious, and the sour mouth smiled. “Grazie, it is very good.”
“Sí, buono.”
“You have yet to answer. Certainly, you are not concerned with your husband. He can do nothing.”
She brought along her children and they walked ahead of the couple. Their boisterous sounds belonged to cheerful youth interested only in the present. The woman nodded, her gaze was on the children’s backs as they danced to music on those contraptions at an elevated decibel. The tiny devices emitted such power, it was hard to fathom their ears were not bleeding. But, the man was glad the youngsters were oblivious to his lustful pursuit of their mother and had not turned around to spy the noticeable erection. They might then notice his intentions were far from innocent. He stopped and seized her waist, jerking her roughly to his chest to take his kiss. She did not fight; in fact her tongue was equally hot and set him on fire.
He burned in flames from the woman. If her children were not there, he would have lifted her off the ground and carried her to the darkened archway beneath the bridge to cool his hard flesh between her thighs. Perhaps, the blood rushing to his head was the result of his impotent desire, but whatever it was caused it to throb
with such ferocity he stumbled back gripping his forehead. His legs no longer held him upright and he slumped to the ground.
“Sei malato, amico mio?” she asked kneeling and fumbling through her purse for something. She found the bottled water, unscrewed the cap and forced him to drink. “Here, take some, por favore.”
He drank thirstily unaware the liquid sped the poison through his blood and washed DNA from his mouth. Her face was a blur of sun and beauty. In a lucid moment he said, “You and I were meant to wed.”
“I wed who I loved.”
“He should not have brought you into his world.”
“And what world is that amico mio?”
He winced at the desert he once used as a throat and swallowed sand. “One…filled…with…his kind. They have tarnished…our beautiful Italy…made it a place of killing and thieves.”
“Such things existed since ancient times.”
He lifted his head as the sun started to fade, although to others it remained bright. “Their family will be wiped out. Be glad you are free.”
The woman caressed the man’s sweaty forehead. “I am sad you believe freedom means being alone. I had happiness, freedom was not my desire.”
“It is too bad mi bella you chose his side.”
The sun warmed the woman’s back. “It is your hand that took his life, no?”
“It was my bullets that ended the blight allowed to foster on our shores. The others will follow, know this will not end.” He coughed dry dust.
“Perhaps, but you will not live to know the outcome.” She screwed the cap back on the water and stood.
“Bianca?”
“Yes?”
“The chocolates…were poison, no?”
“Sí.”
He had to smile. “Lethal…but your kiss is worth death.”
Bianca Luca walked from the man she had once considered a very good friend. Under the sun, below a bridge lightly traveled is where she left him to die. Eventually someone would happen upon the body, but by then the poison would have seized his heart.
Bianca called to her daughters and they stopped in the distance. When she reached the girls they embraced their mother, knowing how hard it was for her to take the life of someone she had trusted. “It’s okay mama,” Madeline was the first to say.
Bianca nodded. She had known Leopold since grade school. Spent time at his home, vacationed with the aristocratic family and considered him a brother of sorts. But, he betrayed their friendship, seeking more than a friend should. He consorted with those who plotted the extermination of the Giacanti’s, blaming them for the ills of Italy. He did not see or understand the Giacanti’s were a threat to the descendants of the royal family because of their shared ancestry.
Her love for Alberti survived beyond his passing. Wealthy and vile is what her former friend became and for his treachery, the Giacanti punishment was death.
It is her father who warned her about Leopold. Initially, she did not believe him, yet the more time she spent with Leopold after her husband’s demise, it became clear he concealed something.
The excruciating months of missing her love were filled with such pain and loneliness, killing Leopold set her free and gave her a new direction. He was but one of many responsible for what befell their family. In time each conspirator would meet a similar fate.
Bianca kissed her daughters. “Your father loved us very much.”
“Sí, mama,” Evangeline answered.
“We must now help your brother, the circle is open. We will help Nico to close it.”
“Sí,” the twins answered in unison.
Their father had prepared them. “In the event the circle falters or opens, link upon link seal it with three. Do not solder in an oxygenated room, use welding masks and tradeswomen skills to adhere the chains so tight no outside force will break it,” Alberti had said only days before he died.
The moment arrived. Of all the family, it is the wife and children of Alberti Luca who were given rights of the Protezioni Segrete.
It was an honorable position and they were but a few to hold the distinguished title. They could aid the Protectors in shadow, always unseen. This was the oath sworn by the men who died in anonymity. Her grandfather was a secret protector. It is a role passed to her father, but one which became compromised when he was asked by Luzo to become Consigliere and given the ring. The Protezioni Segrete only emerges when there is great danger to the wearer of Supremo. Only to Alfonzo were they to reveal their identity, otherwise, they were sworn to silence and die mute.
Bianca hurried the girls along before they were spotted. They must maintain a low-profile at all times.
CHAPTER ONE
Vilely you have wounded my heart, two-fold,
Feel my blade tearing your flesh, three-fold.
-Alfonzo
There’s a stillness which is unbelievably thick when death visits. It hovers over the living, an ominous cloud of sorts, without form which clings to the flesh and seeps into bone. To dream of bullets, loved one’s toppling and a priest is often visions of a survivor. Sluggish sapphire eyes with red threads branching across white marble opened to the surreal of living. Alfonzo had resigned himself to an inevitable fate, willingly given up any future to save his love and preferred to remain asleep if he failed. But today, there stood his cousin Nico, watchful as always, staring down at his face. He wore an unreadable expression which elicited a whisper, almost inaudible in volume, yet Nico heard. “Is Selange alive?”
“Yes, she’s alive,” Nico answered.
“And my brother?”
“Yes.”
Alfonzo’s eyes closed and opened again at the good news. His chest felt like someone had repeatedly kicked him with steel toe boots. He took a slow breath to ask, “Was Selange shot?”
“No.” The nurse cautioned Nico to keep his visit short and allow the patient to rest. Alfonzo suffered trauma to his chest despite the bullet-proof vest. The high caliber bullets pummeled his sternum and caused three nondisplaced rib fractures and large contusions in their wake. The flesh wounds to his neck and arm would heal, overall he’d live. Once Alfonzo learned about Selange he’d become upset. Nico waited, hoping the man would not pursue the topic, but when it came to Selange, Alfonzo became a tenacious beast.
Sure enough, another question surfaced from Alfonzo, “If she wasn’t shot, then what happened?”
Nico sighed. Damn, he had to disclose the truth, yet serving as the bearer of bad news wasn’t easy. During ancient times, it is the messenger who suffered the sword. Selange enjoyed motherhood, as surely as the sun sets. An ectopic pregnancy didn’t mean she couldn’t have any more children, it just increased the risks. On such a private matter and considering his past relationship with the woman, a confident Nico stuttered, which for anyone acquainted with the killer is an alien impediment. “Um…well um…”
“Nico just spit the shit out!”
“She um…had a tubal rupture and the doctors performed emergency surgery.”
Alfonzo was taken aback. The shock left him speechless and he looked away. His eyes drank in the sterile scenery. In the past he had the displeasure of visiting similar places. This time everything appeared different, almost dreamlike in quality which he attributed to the drugs being pumped through his system. It dulled the harshness of reality, causing a sluggish effect that sedated the mind. The monitors were quieter. A bodyguard’s silhouette draped the inside door. There were flowers in vases; a prelude to a funeral. He noticed a lot in the frame of a minute and then he realized he lay in a suite larger than Luzo’s in New York –and although he was not dying he felt dead. He’d become the man he swore he’d never be and yet, he was worse, wasn’t he?
Luzo allowed his
mother to leave and start fresh. Alfonzo had considered him a fool for not fighting for the woman he claimed to love. Yet today, Alfonzo had a different perspective. In light of everything he’d gone through, Luzo’s actions were noble and unselfish. He actually spared Maria Diaz the perils that came with his sordid life.
Alfonzo strained to contain the rising tempest. Perched at the precipice of despair he teetered there without a harness. Anger brought acuity and neutralized the effects of the anesthetics. A vein pulsed at his forehead; he felt it, beating, rolling and pushing out from skin as if it might explode from the pressure. Selange suffered far worse than any woman should. Her mom was murdered, best friend kidnapped, she’d been shot twice –dammit twice and now this!
He was a selfish bastard, always requesting more kids…more sex …more…more!
Finally, he erupted. The throbbing ache did not keep him immobile. He ripped out the IV and ignored the throbbing to his bones. The injury to his heart was worse. He needed to be there when Selange awoke and provide comfort. He’d tell her not to worry, he’d love her always and if she decided to leave with the children, he’d step aside. Yes, dammit, he’d let them go and keep them safe from a distance. His selfish desires had become the method of torture and he could not hurt his love, anymore. Alfonzo’s vocal chords were strong when he asked, “Where is she?”
“Across the hall.”
He slid up in silent agony as daggers carved through his flesh. Despite the discomfort, he broke free from the prison of a bed and stood without falling.
“Alfonzo you’re supposed to lie still,” Nico cautioned.
The obstinate jaw and fiery eyes were disinterested in Nico’s warning. Alfonzo refused to remain in bed when his wife underwent an operation without him present. “Nico, don’t try to stop me. Move, ahora!”
Alfonzo was unreasonable. Nico allowed the stubborn patient to pass. The guy’s ass peered out from the hospital gown, blood dripped from his hand and he could barely walk. The cripple persisted laboriously across the tiled floor. Nico stayed close in case the patient dropped from stupidity. “Just take it slow, hot-head.”
Long masculine lashes lowered over the blue irises during each agonizing step. In the abnormally quiet corridor he glanced east and west. Small formations of soldati were posted at various stations. Those closest to the Capo de tutti nodded and then lifted their chins, returning to statutes of marble.
Nico ensured the entrances and exits were guarded. Of course he had. The super-diligence and extreme efficiency of a man like Nico are attributes of a professional, a skill set not everyone has. There were many superlatives to describe Nico and some were not complimentary.
