by S. W. Frank
Nico didn’t answer the antagonist instead he slapped Alfonzo’s leg on his way out the door. “See you around, something important came up.”
“Do I need to know what?”
“No.”
“Alright, hasta luego!” Alfonzo responded not questioning further. Nico had multiple tasks. If something arose that required his attention, Nico would tell him. He usually did.
Trust. Such a small word, but such a powerful meaning.
Matteo returned and said good night, but before he exited Giuseppe started up again. “Tell Amelda to stop the trouble-making. I do not like how she gossips with Shanda!”
Matteo buttoned his suit jacket, adjusted his cuff links, ran a finger comb through his perfect hair and in playboy casual pursed his lips in a smile. “Any trouble in your home is of your doing. I do not have those problems with my bella, listen and learn.”
Sergio laughed. “In your face Giuseppe!”
“Siate ladro silenzioso!” Giuseppe barked at the interloper then slammed his palm on the table. “Play!”
Sergio presented a Royal Flush. “Sucker!”
Alfonzo smirked, so did Matteo before he walked out. Giuseppe required reminders he was not the best at everything. To Matteo’s delight, this had been proven. Unfortunately, Giuseppe was not an amicable loser. One hundred and eighty-seven grand in two hours of poker isn’t a bad haul for a young man. Yes, Sergio was very good at cards.
On Matteo’s way up the stairs he saw legs of women descending. “Buongiorno Matteo,” Alanda who led the group of scantily clad females greeted when they were at eye level.
“Buongiorno,” Matteo said respectfully as he continued to ascend. He shook his head. Giuseppe played dangerous games. He reached the ground floor and the guards came in view. There were seven not including the six in the rear of the establishment and four outdoors in cars. His lips pulled back in a fleshy curtain to reveal white teeth of an angry Don. Matteo chastised the Tenente. “Why did you allow the women entry?”
The Tenente answered, “Don Giuseppe informed me they were coming.”
“In the future remember when you stand in another man’s domain as his guest, extend courtesy to the host and inform him of further invitees, capisce?”
“Capisco.”
Matteo’s nostrils flared. He did not want to have such occurrences again. If Amelda were to discover loose women frequented on game-night, his peaceful villa would become a battleground similar to that of his brother-in-law. No, he preferred tranquility with his family. That is what he had growing up. Why make an enemy of wives when they are more lethal in battle then husbands? Such wars men never win. Amelda Dichenzo Peglesi he loved best as a wife and a friend.
***
Alfonzo scowled the minute Alanda entered. She claimed a seat on Giuseppe’s lap as her companions boldly flanked Alfonzo and Sergio. “What is this fratello?” Alfonzo asked as he leaned forward when the women’s hands caressed his chest.
“I bring luck.” Giuseppe winked. “Besides you are my guest. Go play fratellino with micio.”
Alfonzo held the probing female hands at bay before they ventured into his trousers. “I’m married brother or maybe you forgot!”
A rumble of laughter is what Alfonzo received from Giuseppe. “Ah, fratellino. You think too much. Your wife is not here and your dick requires a kiss, no?”
The eyebrow arched. “I’m good hombre,” Alfonzo retorted, waving the women aside and ignored their petulant faces with eyes on his goodie-bag. “Don’t you think this is a pretty shitty way to treat your fiancée?”
“My Prima Donna is happy. I do nothing wrong.”
Sergio smiled broadly as a pair of ladies stroked him intimately. Giuseppe distracted the dude easy and made him forget about cards and money. Alfonzo on the other-hand found Giuseppe’s action an attempt to sabotage everything he rebuilt with Selange. “Cool, but I’m good. I’m going to nap and when you guys finish wake me up!”
When he reclined to get shut eye, Giuseppe went there, hitting low is what the motherfucker did. “She has softened you fratellino. When she fucked Nico do you think she thought about loyalty?”
Sergio’s smile died. What? Uncle Nico smashed Alfonzo’s wife, now ‘aint that a bitch!
Alfonzo bolt forward at the scathing remark. He let the words sink in the sand where he buried the past. He’d gotten over that mess, Giuseppe was aware he had. Why he went there is anybody’s guess, and frankly Alfonzo didn’t care. The fact he sought to strike him below the belt is what Alfonzo didn’t respect. His feet were in motion. If they were boys these fights would’ve happened many times because Giuseppe was an instigator. But they weren’t kids, supposedly. Giuseppe scrambled to his feet upon Alfonzo’s rapid approach, and hoist Alanda out of harm’s way. With a matador’s focus Giuseppe prepared for the raging bull’s attack.
Alfonzo’s fist hit with speed, and a smacking noise resounded. Giuseppe’s cheek only moved a fraction and he chortled. “Oh, is that it fratellino?”
He shouldn’t have spoken because Alfonzo jabbed with force and Giuseppe’s midsection caved in and he coughed. Now the motherfucker understands I’m not playing, Alfonzo thought during a bob and weave in response to Giuseppe’s swings. On an up motion with a solid stance he clocked his brother in the mouth which caused liquored spit to spew out.
“Sonovabitch!” Alfonzo growled. Giuseppe’s insult begged for an ass-beating and frankly, one was long overdue.
Before Giuseppe took a bullet to his big head he lacked impulse control. The man wasn’t diagnosed with Tourette’s; he was just a callous bastard in Alfonzo’s opinion that never received punishment as a kid.
Boys rough-housing in someone else’s place is the scene Sergio witnessed. The shock about Uncle Nico and Alfonzo’s wife hadn’t gone away yet. Yeah, Selange was fine and maybe if he could get away with it he’d hit it too. Nah, then again he wouldn’t because he’d get killed. Then his brows furrowed at something Uncle Nico said about a woman being a man’s downfall and he finally put it together. The reason his father died is because of Uncle Nico. He’d heard his dad sought to protect his twin brother and now he wondered just who the bullet was meant to strike and who pulled the trigger. “Did you shoot my old man Alfonzo?” Sergio asked as Giuseppe wrestled Alfonzo to the floor.
The wrestlers stopped, glared at him like he was stupid and in unison answered, “No…get out of here with that shit!”
“Then who did?”
“The man’s dead. I put a bullet in his head,” Alfonzo replied as he spun out of Giuseppe’s arm and leg clamps to stand but Giuseppe clutched his neck.
Alfonzo went for a head-butt which Giuseppe evaded and then he rammed Alfonzo in the stomach sending him colliding with the table. Alfonzo found himself sprawled on his back atop poker chips and money. Sliding with arms outstretched he steadied by bracing his feet on the edge and that’s when he experienced a shake. Then a wobble followed. A massive vibration rocked the solid gaming table, an antique from the eighteen hundreds that couldn’t withstand Alfonzo’s weight. Then he crashed in a thunderous clatter showered by chips and cash.
The noise brought men bursting through the door. Giuseppe ordered them to stay back as he waited for Alfonzo to climb to his feet.
Brothers stood as adversaries, ready for another round until Sergio intervened. He stepped in the middle of killing machines. Giuseppe’s bulk was massive muscle, Alfonzo’s physique somewhat leaner but impressive with cuts gained by regular work-outs and kicking ass. Sergio weighed the risky action, but put aside his apprehension out of necessity. The family history had too much bloodshed and brother against brother could only lead to further carnage. Hadn’t his father’s death and the others taught these hot-heads anything? “Hold up…hold up…you’re brothers…chill. You know Giuseppe what you said was cold. Ya’ll can’t be doing this shit, word. Once you start b
eating on each other it won’t be long before others get in the fight. Apologize Giuseppe before ya’ll kill each other, for real.”
Giuseppe grinned. “Cazzo makes sense fratellino. I do not want to kill you.”
“Pendejo!” Alfonzo growled. He marched forward shoving Sergio to the wall as if he weighed an ounce and the second part of the brawl ensued. The guards ushered the women out who were enjoying the fight between stallions. Brawn and agility were a handsome sight to women that liked machismo. Reluctantly, Alanda scurried out, looking back and calling to Giuseppe, “Ciao Geo, call me soon!”
“Ciao bella I will!” Giuseppe shouted at the woman who addressed him informally because they were intimately familiar. Alanda gave the best head and his sensitive brother’s tirade is responsible for sending her home far earlier than he wanted. That seemed reason enough to fight.
Sergio stayed out of harm’s way with his arms crossed. The crazies bounced off the walls, crashing into the sparse furniture and breaking whatever they contacted. They were really trashing Matteo’s place. He shook his head because he tried. They were drunk and tomorrow they’d feel the after-effects of idiocy. He grimaced when Alfonzo socked Giuseppe in the mouth –again. But, Giuseppe wasn’t going down; the wrestler-boxer put Alfonzo in a head-lock that looked painful. They vented their frustrations with knuckles after Alfonzo broke the hold. Ripped sleeves, popped buttons, they looked a mess. Liquor, temper and testosterone is an explosive cocktail, add in sexual frustration, bruised egos, a bully as an older brother and you have Alfonzo and Giuseppe.
Alfonzo shoved Giuseppe against the wall. He’d made his point. Giuseppe got it; never bring up that incident again. “That was a low-blow cabrón and there better not be a repeat!”
Giuseppe wiped spittle from his mouth. The fight had pumped his blood, an adrenalin rush equal to sex, a fitting substitute since Alfonzo decided to cock-block. His hot-headed fratellino needed to relax. Sometimes Alfonzo was uptight. Perhaps the liquor brought out Giuseppe’s beast or was it Sergio who had taken his money? He sneered, no; Alfonzo mentioned something he did not want to hear. However, he enjoyed the fight. With their father’s gene, they were neither monogamous nor good. They were Dons and fidelity was alien to their blood. When Alfonzo spoke of Shanda he experienced a tinge of guilt. He really did not want to disappoint his bella, but when a man is accustomed to freedom and doing as he pleases, reformation is difficult. Seeing Alfonzo’s injury, not of flesh but to the heart is why he frowned and apologized. “Sí, that was not nice. You are crazy about your bella, perdóname fratellino,” Giuseppe said and grabbed Alfonzo in a bear hug to kiss each cheek and then shoved him roughly away.
The cut happened. Recanting now didn’t close the wound. Yeah, what Giuseppe said was the truth, but also the ugly goddamn past and the fact Giuseppe smeared his face in the crap after he’d reconciled the pain is an egregious injury to a brother who loved an irascible jack-ass.
Alfonzo walked away, flipped Giuseppe the bird and shouted. “Make sure you pay for this mess dipshit and start taking responsibility for what you break!”
“Vaffanculo!”
“Same to you. Tonight I’m sleeping in a hotel!” Alfonzo retort. He opted for amenities in which to simmer. With a pit-bull and its masters roaming the premises he’d get little rest anyway, especially if Shanda saw their condition. She’d blame him, as usual. No matter how civil he was to the chica she found motive in every action. Giuseppe could keep Sergio for the night since Nico decided to bounce. If not for their meetings tomorrow and the day after he’d go home. However, an upcoming obligation required a show of family unity. He climbed the stairs, jogging the remaining treads to the main floor. Out the door cloaked by figures he inhaled the fresh air. Dealing with Giuseppe with a black mood caused by sexual frustration wasn’t good. Sleep and a quiet morning at a five star hotel with breakfast and silence sounded pretty good.
“To hell with all this mess!” Alfonzo grumbled as he yanked open the car door before the bodyguard touched the handle.
CHAPTER TWO
Oppressive, heavy, burdensome is the heat of the African continent. To think that its people were unencumbered and stood tall when foreign visitors wilted beneath the scorch is testament of their strength. Those who toiled and lived in the womb of a mother were unbowed by nature’s hand, they welcomed her loving touch; it brought them closer to her heart.
Climbing from the air-conditioned jeep, Moyo looked around similar to a scout and his first step told his cousin the way was clear. Dark skin, firm with ridged muscles was clothed in light cotton which breathed in the sun. Effortless flexes, without unnecessary swinging arms represented a powerful man’s walk. The aquiline eyes did not miss simple details. Up the concrete stairs to the busy bank, through polished glass and floors the pair traversed until they reached the offices of the Manager sitting nervously in wait of their arrival.
“Gamba, welcome.” The wide girth African in his ill-fitting suit exclaimed as he stood.
The door shut by Moyo’s hand who served as sentry as well as user of weaponry. Gamba could sit, knowing Moyo had his back. The Manager reclaimed his soft position and leaned forward reaching for the document on his desk. The lack of greeting in return from Gamba did not go unnoticed; in fact he was offended by Gamba’s lack of manners. Yet, he could do nothing except absorb the slight quietly. To be rid of the intimidating businessman he spoke in urgency. “There is everything you requested. The transfer of ownership and deed are yours and as you see the title remains for investigative purposes only property of a non-profit entity.”
Gamba did not touch the documents. He read the name in bold, satisfied to have gained full control of the holding. He then put his hand on the desk to lift the page; this is the document eyes would never see. A series of numbers and abbreviations. Coding bank jargon for insiders, encrypted for further inspections but for Gamba easily identifiable by the G in the algorithms. This was the most important. A large amount of money would soon find its way to Africa. Strategic planning carefully constructed for months. Once he received the donation to this bank the money would immediately get transferred elsewhere and paid out in gold. The satisfaction of taking from the man whose eyes mirrored his, not in color but depth was as priceless as the stolen pieces taken from Africa’s lands. Take he would, take is what he planned.
He rose with the papers. Before he exited he asked. “Was there any inquiry?”
“Many, direct and indirect.”
“And?”
“No others have occurred.”
“Stay abreast of it as if your life depended on it.” His smile seemed amicable but the Manager was aware of the threat. “Because it does.”
Out, in the sun. Touched by warmth again, Gamba’s smile was genuine. He removed the photo of the beautiful woman whose eyes danced in merriment. Property of another she belonged.
Take.
As an Italian King had once done.
Take.
Back through subversion.
Take.
Away the arrogance.
Take.
The heart of an adversary and return honor to his ancestor’s home!
***
Bianca answered the door. Her eyes were red and the usually composed woman wore a desperation Nico had yet to see. The hour was late and if not for her urgent message he would not have crossed the threshold of the widow-killer. She backed away as he entered and closed the door.
Nico’s eyes did n
ot wander beyond Bianca’s chin. Clad in a sheer robe, his deceased father’s wife nude skin peered through. His heart did not accelerate, instead the tempo slowed and his eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “What’s the emergency?”
“I have seen tua madre,” she said walking away and then his eyes followed the silhouette of her curvaceous derriere.
The mention of his mother made his feet ambulate. Four strides led him in in front of her. She halted because the bulk of Nico prevented progression. “What did she say Bianca…is she okay…cosa?”
“She knew today is very sad and she wanted you to know she mourns with you...with us.”
“Is that all?”
Bianca’s feathery lashes lowered. She wanted to say to Nico things that an honorable woman should not. Her tongue did not seek to give voice to her thoughts. Her heart wailed in silence for her husband’s loving touch. Nico’s mother, Sabrina must have known the imprisonment of loneliness and the vow of her secret order. The woman had come to warn her, the time was near. Broken oaths were found out and the executioner’s bullet was primed. Today of all days would be the date of her demise. She sent the girls away before death arrived.
The matron Sabrina was well versed in the bi-laws, how, Alberti of course. She advised the young widow to seek Nico’s protection. Do not forfeit your life in a ghost’s passion; do not die in the hourglass of memories. There is a way of penance without sacrificing your life. Bianca’s desperation breathed in solemn solace. Nico was married, but his love is not what she sought, she only wanted his protection. The wearer of Supremo was not the only person who could halt her death. If a Protezioni Segreti revealed their identity to a ranking Protezioni there is a pardon for a soldati. Blood cut cheeks marks the male, a female Protezioni’s flesh seals to her male counterpart, a union and proof thereof, and spoken words by the Protezioni of high rank bonds them until death. Nico’s rank as Comandante di Protezioni, commands enforcers and as head of The Circle of Protectors, his influence was great. Bound she could live and Bianca yearned desperately for life, to feel the heat of a kiss, the warm blood of affection and to see her daughter’s marry.
