It was two months later that I got my wish, that the burning desire was achieved.
Adriana had decided to accompany me one evening. I hadn’t wanted her to. My evenings were generally spent with my friends, men only sitting at the café enjoying our time after a long hard day on our respective farms.
I saw him walk across the piazza, strolling without a care in the world. It had been a few years since I had last seen him but time had not diminished his face from my memory. It was the scar that ran down his cheek that I focused on. I held my breath. Perhaps he had sensed someone staring at him as he turned and looked my way. There was no recognition in his eyes, maybe just a flicker of something but he scowled and carried on walking.
“Stay here,” I said to Adriana as I stood.
“Where are you going?”
“Just stay here. Go on home if I’m not back in ten minutes, you hear?”
“Rocco, why can’t I come with you?”
“Because I said you can’t. Now do as you’re told for once,” I snapped.
I followed him at a distance. He stopped a couple of times to greet people, ever the gentleman. But the faces of the people he stopped to speak to didn’t always return the smile he gave. He wasn’t liked. It was a short walk before he turned towards a small stone house. I was surprised. For someone who wore the finest clothes, who had the largest car, I wasn’t expecting him to live in such a modest house. I guessed it wasn’t his home when I saw him knock on the door. A young woman opened it, young enough to be his daughter; she didn’t smile as she let him in.
I crept to the window; I had no plan and no idea of what I was going to do. I just wanted to see what he was doing there. The young woman was crying, he was shouting, calling her a whore and then he slapped her face. She fell to the floor just as I stepped on something. The crack of a broken branch echoed and I ducked down, out of sight. A minute passed before I moved. With my back to the wall of the house, I made my way around the side, into the yard and a small orchard. I was aiming for the back of the house and as I rounded the last corner, I came face to face with him.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he asked.
He had leant against the wall smoking his cigarette. I stood tall.
“I know you, don’t I?” he added.
“Yes, you killed my father, my brother,” I replied.
He looked at me for a moment before laughing. “You’re the skinny kid from the farm. Well, you certainly changed over the years.”
The young woman leaving the house momentarily distracted me; he took that moment to attack. He lunged forward, grabbing me by the front of my shirt with one hand, his other arm pulled back ready to punch. I got in first. I punched as hard as I could to his stomach, forcing the air from his lungs. He bent slightly at the waist trying to catch his breath but he never let go of my shirt. I twisted, hearing it tear as I tried to move away from him. I punched, he punched, and a blow to the side of my head rocked me on my feet. The girl screamed as she pulled on his arm. He had to let go of me then, he used his arm to knock her to the ground. That very act took me back years, it was the same thing he had done to my mother. Rage took over. I focused solely on him and we fought.
He was panting, out of breath, but I knew he would never let me walk away alive. I had to kill him and all I had were my fists. He was larger than me, stronger, but I had youth on my side and I was fitter. He pushed me away and for a moment we were separated. It was then that the woman ran back from the house. I hadn’t noticed her leave. She held a large kitchen knife in her hand. We stood watching her, she was sobbing and her body was shaking but her focus was on him not me.
“Fucking do it,” he snarled at her before laughing.
“Go on! Fucking do it!” he shouted again before taking a step towards her.
She backed off, moving more to my side. She was never going to stab him, but whatever was going through her mind, she needed help. Neither of us would live to see the morning if nothing was done. I took the knife from her hand and lunged at him. He wasn’t expecting that. The knife entered his side and I pushed it in as far as I could. His eyes were wide with shock and his hands covered mine trying to pull the knife out.
Eventually he fell to his knees. He wheezed, bloody foam ran from his mouth and blood ran down his side. I looked him straight in the eye and smiled as I watched him take his last breath. He fell forwards, face first in the dirt at my feet.
I don’t know how long passed. It may have been minutes; it may have been seconds, before the woman started to scream.
“You killed him,” she shouted.
I looked at her stunned.
“You’re the one who came out with the knife, you wanted to kill him too,” I replied.
“Oh, God, you killed him.” She knelt beside him, holding his head in her hands and crying. “Someone, help,” she cried out.
I stumbled backwards, not expecting that, before turning and running. I ran all the way home.
****
My mother was in the kitchen as I crashed through the door. She dropped a glass she was holding in shock at the sight of me I guessed. I looked down. My hands were covered in his blood and the front of my shirt was torn. I rushed to the sink scrubbing the skin and watching the water run red.
“What did you do?” she whispered.
“I killed him, like I promised myself I would,” I replied.
“They’ll come for you, Rocco. Oh, my son, I can’t lose you too.”
“And I’ll be waiting, Mamma. I’ll be waiting for them.”
“You’re one man. What do you think you will be able to do?” The anguish in her voice was evident.
“The villages can stand side by side. For once, we can all stand together and fight.”
“Rocco, the villagers are old men, the young one’s don’t care enough to stand by you. I need to speak to Geraldo. We need to get you away from here.”
She called for Adriana and sent her to fetch my uncle.
I pulled the shirt over my head and threw it in the bin just as my mother returned.
“Geraldo is on his way,” she said.
I nodded before pouring myself a tumbler of wine and sitting at the kitchen table. As the adrenalin wore off so reality set in. My mother was right; the villagers were too old to stand against the family, too scared to fight. Some of my friends, over the past couple of years, had joined the family opting for the money and the smart clothes.
My mother came and sat by my side, she placed her hand on my arm, and her fingers traced the tattoo of the dragon.
“I’m proud of you,” she said quietly. “But now you have to leave.”
“I can’t leave you with all this,” I said, indicating with my head towards the orchard and farm.
“I managed it before and I’ll manage it again. I want you to have a life, Rocco, and leaving here is the only way that’s going to happen.”
We heard tyres screech to a halt on the dirt drive outside. My mother stood to look through the window. She relaxed as Geraldo came through the door.
“So you did it then?” he said as he sat. I nodded.
“You know they will come after you. They can’t let this go unpunished. The first place they will look is here so we need to get you away.”
“I guess I can head for Rome or the city,” I replied.
“I was thinking further than that. I have a friend, Rocco, an old friend who lives in America. I called him; he’s willing to have you there. You’ll be safe with him but there is one thing…”
He paused as he took a sip of the wine my mother had poured for him.
“He has his own family, in Washington, DC.”
“So, I kill a man from the Cosa Nostra and you send me to another?”
“It’s the safest place, Rocco. Guiseppi is old school. You remember him, Dina?”
“I do. Rocco, he’s a good man. You’ll be safe and that’s all I care about,” my mother replied.
So it was decided. I was t
o leave the village, leave Italy, and head to America. I didn’t own a passport but was told not to worry about that. I then began to wonder who my uncle really was. He had connected friends, he could get me a passport and he could send me to America on a moments notice. I left my uncle and mother to their discussion and headed for my bedroom.
The room was sparsely furnished; there was no need for elaborate décor or furniture. We lived simply and that suited me. I pulled an old suitcase from the top of a wardrobe and began to fill it with the small amount of clothes I owned. In my mind I believed I would return one day.
It took three days for a passport to be delivered to Geraldo. Those three days I’d spent moving from farm to farm in the village, hiding out in sheds and outbuildings. No one wanted me in their home for fear of being punished. On the fourth day, dirty and scared, I was driven to the airport. I had some dollars in my pocket; I didn’t question where the money had come from. Geraldo drove and with the window down, I watched my beloved Italian landscape pass me by.
****
The flight was long and cramped, made marginally better by the striking brunette giving me sly looks and shy smiles whenever I caught her. She was sitting across the aisle from me. I could speak English, of course. We were taught a universal language in school but my accent was heavy. Most people found it hard to understand me.
“Going on holiday?” she asked.
“Something like that,” I replied.
“I’ve been on a tour around Italy, amazing country,” she drew out the word ‘amazing’.
She then spent the next hour detailing every part of her holiday, the sights she had seen, the food she had eaten, and the Italian men she had dated. She began to bore me. She was crass and I prayed not all American women would be the same. She was nice to look at but her accent grated on me. Maybe I was just cranky from the journey. I was tired and already missing home.
When the plane landed, I took my time unbuckling my seat belt. I deliberately held back letting her exit before me. I had no desire to spend any more time with her than necessary. Dulles Airport was about the busiest place I had ever been to. I was on edge though; the passport I was carrying was a fake. I had to pretend I was on holiday, a two-week break to catch up with family and friends.
After scrutinising my passport, I was free to proceed to the luggage claim. I spotted the brunette and decided she may actually be of use so stood beside her.
“Oh, I thought you’d already got through,” she said, smiling up at me.
“Need my case first.”
“Oh, yeah,” she said with a laugh.
Dumb bitch, I thought.
“You want to get a coffee before you head off on your travels?” she asked.
“Sure, why not.”
She reached forward to lift her suitcase from the belt, being the gentleman that I was; I placed my hand on her arm stopping her before grabbing it myself. A minute later I located my own bag and loaded them both onto a trolley. She would make a convenient companion to walk through security with.
Once through, I paused, searching the faces in the crowd waiting to meet friends and loved ones. As I scanned I came to rest on a man, he nodded as he approached.
I had never seen him before but had been told that someone would be at the airport to meet me; he would have seen my photograph so Geraldo had explained.
“Rocco?” he asked. I nodded.
“Time to leave, sweetheart. Nice to have met you,” I said to the brunette before grabbing my case and following.
I was gone before she realised and could respond.
“Welcome to America. My names Jonathan,” he said as we walked to a silver car. “How was your flight?”
“Long,” I replied with a laugh.
“Guiseppi is expecting you at his house until we know what to do with you,” he said with a smile.
I liked him immediately. He was older than me but not by much I guessed. A driver exited the car parked right out front and opened the boot. He took my case and I slid into the rear seat. Jonathan pointed out some landmarks as we made our way from the airport. I was aware that it was idle chitchat on the journey and the one time I broached the subject of Guiseppi, Jonathan glanced at the driver before changing the subject.
We pulled onto the drive of a large house and I was surprised at the lack of security. I imagined Guiseppi to live behind high walls and iron gates with security patrolling the grounds. Instead we were met by the man himself at the front door.
“Rocco, welcome, welcome,” he said as he pulled me into an embrace.
“Thank you, and thank you for allowing me to stay,” I replied.
“Come on in. Paulo, take Rocco’s bag upstairs. You know which room.”
I followed Guiseppi into his home, into a large kitchen where he introduced me to his family.
“Rocco, this is my wife Maria, my daughter Maria and that little one is Joey. Evelyn is out, you’ll meet her later.”
I smiled at the young Maria who lowered her head and rushed from the room. Joey hid behind his mother’s legs.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you and thank you for having me in your home,” I said to Maria. I was aware of her forced smile.
“Sit, Rocco. Can I make you coffee?” she asked.
I took a seat at the kitchen table and Guiseppi sat opposite me, Jonathan to the side.
“Now, tell me. How is your uncle? I knew your father too and I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Geraldo sends his regards. He spoke highly of you.”
“How is your poor mother coping?” Maria asked as she placed the coffee on the table.
“She’s well, she has her family to help with the farm for the time being.”
I noticed Guiseppi look towards his wife; he gave her a smile and a nod of his head. She left the kitchen on what I guessed was his instruction.
“Now, tell me what happened,” he said.
I started at the beginning, I wasn’t sure how much Geraldo would have told him. He sat, nodded occasionally, stopped me to ask a question but mainly listened. When I had finished he turned to Jonathan.
“Find out what you can,” he said. Jonathan stood and left the room.
“You did the right thing. Always, Rocco, always avenge your family. I will ensure your mother, your uncle and your sister are safe. They’ll have no trouble from now on.”
This gentle man, or so he appeared at first glance, sitting in front of me had morphed into something far more frightening and I was reminded of who he was. His features were hard; his dark brown eyes stared straight at me. However, a voice from the hallway completely changed him.
“Papa? I’m home.”
The most beautiful girl I’d ever seen walked into the kitchen, stopping abruptly when she saw me. Her cheeks coloured as she looked from me to her father.
“Ah, Evelyn, perfect timing. Come, meet Rocco. He’s staying with us for a while. Rocco, my bella, my daughter, Evelyn.”
She looked to the floor, obviously shy, and I took the opportunity to study her. Her long brown hair curled around her face, around her shoulders and was so glossy. When she did look up, her hazel eyes met mine. She was breath taking and she was young. Way younger than she looked I imagined. I stood and held out my hand.
“Pleased to meet you, Evelyn.”
Her small hand enclosed around mine, she mumbled before rushing from the room.
“Always so shy. Always so clumsy too,” Guiseppi laughed. “Now, you must be exhausted. Let me show you to your room. You can rest and we’ll meet for dinner at eight.”
I followed him up two flights of stairs to a row of identical white doors lining a corridor. Guiseppi pointed out a bathroom and then headed to the last room. He opened the door and stood to one side, allowing me to enter.
He nodded before closing the door and leaving me in my new bedroom. My case had been laid on the bed and I opened it, removed clothes and hung them in the wardrobe. There was a wooden chest of drawers under the window, a single be
d and a bedside cabinet. A selection of towels had been placed at the end of the bed and I moved them to the floor. Kicking off my shoes and taking my shirt off, I lay down and linked my hands behind my head. I stared at the white painted ceiling and at the decorative moulding surrounding the light fitting. There was nothing opulent about the house, it was understated but classy. The furniture was solid and well built, the bed was comfortable—that comfortable that I soon found myself drifting off.
I was woken by a knock on the door. It took me a moment to get my bearings and I was disorientated. There was a second knock. I swung my legs to the floor and headed for the door. I opened it to see Evelyn. Her eyes were fixed on my stomach and I glanced down to see what had caught her attention. Her cheeks coloured a flaming red that had crept from her neck. She mumbled something about dinner before rushing away. I was bemused.
I pulled the shirt back over my head before making my way down to the kitchen and joining the family for dinner.
“Tell us about your family, Rocco,” Maria asked as we settled down to eat.
There were many people both her and Guiseppi knew from the village and I soon realised it had been their home many years ago too.
Neither Evelyn nor Maria spoke the whole time we ate. I noticed the odd glance from Evelyn but mostly she kept her face down. Joey bounced around, a bundle of energy and wore his mother out.
Chapter Three
I was given a couple of days to settle in, to acclimatise to the time difference before being called into Guiseppi’s office. He was sat at a large desk, Jonathan to one side.
“Rocco, your uncle told of you of my business I take it?” he said.
“He did. He believed being with you would be the safest place for me.”
Rocco: To accompany the Fallen Angel Series Page 2
