by Неизвестный
He swam after it and returned it to her feet again. She ignored the stick,
upped her pace to a sprint, and when he caught up with her, stick in mouth,
she slowed down again. They continued with the game until the edge of the
cove at which point Maria took the path leading inland. Pesto abandoned
the stick and sprinted ahead of her to take their usual route, up and around
the front of the estate in a loop that would bring them back to the villa after
eight kilometres.
Maria looked at her watch as she jogged the last few paces to the
veranda. Forty-two minutes. “Good job, Pesto.” She stood recovering her
breath, hands on her hips, while Pesto lapped from his bowl and flicked
water across the veranda. She wiped the sweat from her face, the gentle ebb
and flow of the sea encouraging her pulse to slow. Giovanni was still
fishing. The cruiser’s white bows glistened against the rising sun, and there
was a little movement on the water. Maybe she would dive later.
She went to the side of the house shaded by the terraced roof, put
her boxing gloves on, and started to spar. She pounded the hanging bag with
short, fast punches in a steady, even rhythm. She shifted to faster
movements in a pattern of two-to-one, jab-jab-cross, bouncing on her toes
to adjust her position and enable maximum impact.
She began to grunt with each punch, becoming louder as she pushed
the boundaries of her comfort until she let out a final shout as she landed
the last punch. She bent over, fighting for breath. “Fuck, that hurts, but it
feels fucking great.” Pesto’s ears flicked, but his eyes remained closed. She
straightened up, puffing hard, and pulled off the gloves and placed them on
the bench. She made her way to the kitchen, pulled a bottle of water from
the fridge, released the cap with shaking hands, and emptied the bottle in
one hit. She reached for the box of dog biscuits on the countertop, and as
she tipped some into Pesto’s metal bowl, he came running into the house.
He sat to attention, waiting. She ruffled his neck as she lowered the bowl to
the floor. “Not much escapes you, does it, boy?”
She loaded the filter with coffee, flicked the switch, and waited for
the aroma. She poured a small glass of orange juice from the fridge and
drank it, then filled the creamer with milk and set it to heat. She poured the
coffee and went to the veranda. The routine was comforting and the vista
calming.
Giovanni cast his line into the water. Pesto looked up at her. She
smiled. “Come on, boy, let’s take Giovanni a coffee.”
Pesto jumped to his feet and ran onto the beach.
5.
Light grey, matt painted walls towered the corridors that led to a
web of cells sprawling across the footprint of the prison. From the west
wing to the east wing, metal railings defined boundaries, and steel doors
segregated individual spaces; every man’s cell a prison within the prison.
Stefano had described it to her, complained about the ringing and clanging
and the constant echo that reverberated around the inner walls of the prison.
But what he had to endure was nothing by comparison with the
incarceration in which Patrina existed. She was a mafia boss’s wife. That
was her destiny. This prison, this corridor, was no colder and no more
austere than her life had become. At least Stefano lived within a community
here, respected by those who surrounded him. At least most of them did.
She had no one.
Simone imagined the softness of Maria’s lips, her tongue driving her
to a state of senseless ecstasy, and she felt instantly enveloped in a fuzzy
sense of hope and expectation. Maria hadn’t meant what she had said at the
penthouse suite. She shook her head. They would find their place, together
again. They always did. Maria needed her as much as she needed Maria.
The guard’s heavy footsteps and the clip of Patrina’s heels
resounded in the corridor. They passed through a door and an offensive,
overpowering, musty male odour hung in the air, and disinfectant gave off a
nauseating aroma. Always smells like piss.
“Lady Amato.”
The guard addressed her with her formal title though he didn’t bow
his head as others would feel compelled to do in her presence.
He held open the door to the small room. “You have ten minutes.”
A dense Perspex screen split the room in two with her chair on one
side and his on the other. She welcomed the physical barrier that separated
them. As she made herself comfortable, the seat effused a new perfume. A
wife? A lover? She played both parts, though favoured the latter, and only
with a woman. She sighed and closed her eyes. Maria. She couldn’t
imagine taking another lover. No. She blinked her eyes open and took a
deep breath, then straightened her posture. She needed to portray strength to
Stefano, though he always made her feel weak. She was in control. She was
the voice of the Amato business. Though she sensed it slowly slipping
through her fingers with Alessandro’s increasing involvement. No one must
know she was losing control. It would be the death of her.
The door closed with Stefano Amato facing her on the other side of
the screen. He moved in the silence the barrier created between them and
sat. He picked up the phone on the wall that linked to the phone on her side
then indicated with his cold stare for her to pick up the handset.
“You had a haircut,” she said. The short white hair, tight to his scalp,
matched the length of the stubble around his chin. He looked younger for
the close trim. She smiled. He didn’t.
“How is business?”
His deep, commanding tone hadn’t changed since his incarceration.
The tingling in her neck crept down her spine as it always did. She tried to
breathe softly to abate the trembling in her stomach. She adjusted her
position in the seat. Nothing worked. “Business is good.”
He nodded. “How is Alessandro? You are teaching him well, I
hope?” He leaned towards the screen and glared through narrow eyes.
Had he always been as menacing? As handsome as he was, the sight
of him now made her heart thump, and her instincts urged her to escape his
presence. The Perspex didn’t stop her fear. That he was a brute, she had
always known. He had been charming…once. Even so, the best part of a
lifetime together, and she had never known the tenderness with him that she
had experienced with Maria. She craved the gentle touch of a woman…one
woman.
She softened her smile and pouted. It was a game. Men were so
easily distracted.
He licked his lips.
“Alessandro is like his uncle. He has a strong will,” she said.
He leaned back, nodding his head and smiling smugly, before he
crossed his arms. “He has a good brain for business.”
He doesn’t. She smiled. “He is ambitious.”
Stefano looked vacantly. “That’s good. Very good. He will learn
quickly.”
He’s as thick as shit. She wanted to tell him about her concerns and
that Alessandro was impulsive and likely to bring down the Amato empire.
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But that could make her look weak, and if Stefano lost faith in her, God
only knew what he would do. He would think the worst of her long before
he could see his nephew and heir’s reckless behaviour clearly. Blood was
thicker than water. If Stefano wanted to, he would ensure Alessandro was
elected Don in his absence. And if that happened, she would be history.
Over my dead body. “How are you, darling?”
“I’m okay.” He looked away. “It’s getting tougher in here.” He
closed his lips tightly together and leaned closer to the screen. His eyes
widened, and he pressed his mouth to the mouthpiece. “The new regimes
are entrenched.”
He was referring to the fact that the prison governor and guards
couldn’t be bought easily. The same was true of the police now. Times had
changed. She smiled inwardly, the thought of his suffering lifting her spirits.
Keep to the script. She frowned, hoping her eyes conveyed tender concern.
“They are treating you well, though?”
He rubbed his ribs. They wouldn’t leave visible scars, though part of
her wished they would. Retribution came in many forms and from many
directions, and since she couldn’t exercise revenge on him, it would be
sweet justice if someone else did. The unified image they had presented to
the world, and the pretence she had endured in the name of loyalty to him
as his wife, she would no longer tolerate. She would support the Amato
business, always. That was the code she had signed up to. But they were
working in a new era now, with new rules, and this was a game Stefano
wasn’t aware he was playing. If she had her way, Stefano would spend the
rest of his life in prison, thinking he had control when he hadn’t, but she
was under no illusion that if he had good reason to get to her, he had the
means, and he would make the call. For the foreseeable future, she needed
him.
His muscular frame dominated the screen between them as he leant
forward. “You look distracted.”
She shook her head and put on a smile she hoped would absorb him.
His eyes narrowed.
“Do you need anything, amore mio?” She didn’t care, but she had to
ask.
“Send Alessandro to me, bedda.”
Her mouth went dry. She pressed her lips together and nodded.
Alessandro having direct contact with Stefano could confuse the chain of
command further. Stefano would big up the boy’s ego, and she didn’t need
Alessandro thinking any more of himself than he already did. Fuck! She
smiled, forcing her grin to stay in place. He looked away from her. She
cleared her throat. “Tell me what else you need?” She softened her smile,
and he stared intently into her eyes. She maintained the warmth in her
expression despite the tingling creeping down her spine. She swallowed and
wetted her lips seductively.
“I only want Alessandro to visit,” he said. “There are things he
needs to learn that only I can teach him.”
Shit! She blinked. He was smiling at her, and the tingling intensified
and moved into her legs. She rubbed her forehead.
“I’m glad he has you too, bedda.” He pressed his palm against the
window.
His hands looked too big, too harsh. They reminded her of
Alessandro’s. Stefano’s hands had stolen the lifeblood from many men, but
that was expected in his job. Her hands weren’t clean either. Whose were?
The thought of his hands touching her made her stomach cramp. She placed
her hand opposite his, and the Perspex seemed to become less dense. He
was closer than she wanted him. His heat, his touch couldn’t reach her,
though she imagined it did, and her stomach flipped. “I wish you weren’t
stuck in here,” she said softly.
He returned the handset and stood.
With shaky legs and using the table to assist her, she slowly rose
from the seat, and the other woman’s perfume left the room with her. She
inhaled short, shallow breaths as she followed the guard to the prison
entrance. Her heart thundered. Get me out of here. The guard opened the
steel doors to the outside world, and even though the air was humid, she
inhaled it deeply and lengthened her stride.
6.
A haze of warm air hovered lazily over the lower parts of the city of
Palermo and car headlights ghosted past the shadows of the buildings. The
night sky seemed to expand at the outer reaches of the city and darken to
near-blackness as it reached out into the stars. Maria smiled at the view that
seemed more alluring at night.
She heard the door close and the sharp clip of multiple leather and
metal soles on the highly polished wooden floor. She didn’t turn to face the
three approaching men. She knew exactly who they were and why they
were there. Instead, she kept her focus on the white, round cotton cloth in
her hand. Tending plants is so much easier than this. Dealing with her idiot
brother-in-law’s behaviour was an annoyance she could do without. She
took a deep breath and tamed the rage she wanted to launch at him. He
wasn’t worth the effort, but he was a loose cannon, and she couldn’t afford
for him to start a bloody war with Alessandro Amato. And now she had to
assert her authority in a way that Vittorio would respond to.
The footsteps stopped, and Maria half-turned to see them stood just
before her large, solid mahogany desk. Vittorio looked skittish and out of
control. Beads of sweat seeped through his skin and slid down his temples
and neck towards the blood-stained collar of his otherwise well-pressed,
white shirt. His slight sway and reddened nose told Maria he’d been
drinking too much again. If he wasn’t her sister’s husband, she would
consider taking a hit on him herself.
Giovanni Grasso stood stiffly to Vittorio’s right-hand side. Maria
acknowledged him with a small nod. He would be as pissed with Vittorio’s
behaviour as she was, though his flat features obscured any thoughts he
might have about Vittorio’s current state. He looked the epitome of
calmness, loyalty, and focus. Angelo, Giovanni’s younger brother, stood
closer to Vittorio on his left, allowing Vittorio to lean on him lest he should
fall over.
“Did you know the orchid has been around for a hundred million
years?” Maria asked, her voice soft. She caressed the dark green, rubber-
like leaf with a cloth before she threw it in the bin and pulled out another
clean one. “And yet, it’s a highly specialised pollinator: extinction of the
insect means extinction of the orchid.” She leaned closer to the vase on the
window ledge and traced the symmetrical face of the blood red flower with
her fingertip. It resembled the silky flesh of a woman’s sex, open and
inviting. With tenderness, it becomes pliant and responsive to the touch.
She rested the delicate soft petals lightly in her hand as if caressing them.
Show a plant love and it grows. Treat it badly, you destroy it. So intricate,
so striking in every way. Discipline is about taking control of your urges.
You cannot take that which is not willingly given to you. Did Vittorio not
/> realise that a lack of discipline was the quickest route to the grave? “The
orchid is designed to attract a mate who will pollinate for them, you see.”
Vittorio’s right eye twitched violently, and he stretched his neck
upwards. He tilted his head side to side before returning to a static stance.
His arms hung down either side of his body, and he picked at the skin
around the thumb of his right hand, something she noted he did when
intensely uncomfortable. He looked down at his hands. Blood crusted
darker in places across his knuckles and dirt and grime contaminated the
open wounds. He was nothing more than a streetfighter and a poor
reflection of the Lombardo clan. What in the hell did Catena see in him?
“They live in symbiosis with fungi, did you know? Very clever.”
Maria picked up the water bottle that sat next to the plant and softly
squeezed the trigger. A light spray rained onto the leaves. She watched a
trail of water slide the length of a leaf, lingering at its tip before it dripped
onto the window ledge. She wiped the water away with the cloth. “Many
are so beautiful. Some consider the orchid is parasitic, but they are not.
They never take what is not theirs to take. They don’t harm another for their
own gain.” Unlike you, Vittorio. She placed the bottle back on the ledge,
positioned the handle at an angle of precisely forty-five degrees from the
window to the right side, and threw the soiled cloth into the bin.
This wasn’t the first time she had had cause to address Vittorio for
his indiscretion with respect to the Amato family, and most likely it
wouldn’t be the last. Maria walked slowly from the window to the front of
her desk. She ran her finger along the carved and polished lines in the wood
that defined the desk’s outer boundary, then continued another three paces
until she encroached on Vittorio’s personal space and forced him to look up
at her. Pesto rose from the basket at the far side of the desk and growled at
the men. She clicked her fingers to silence him.
Vittorio glanced towards Pesto. He blinked several times, his vision
appearing unfocused. Maria stepped closer, and he shuffled a pace
backwards. Angelo stiffened his arm around his back to steady him. Vittorio
shrugged the assistance off and clenched his jaw in a mild act of defiance as
