by Sienna Mynx
“You can’t. You’re consigliere.”
“I haven’t been a good one.”
“Dominic, you can’t get involved—”
“It’s not all pleasure, Catalina. It’s business. La Camorra has strengthened their alliance with the Mafiosi. Giovanni territories extend from Palermo, Bagheria to Mondello. I will run the business along the coast.”
“He’s making you underboss?”
Dominic picked up his cup with the two fingers and took a sip of his cappuccino and then toasted her. “You always wanted me to be in charge. Thanks to you, sweetheart, I am.”
“You were consigliere. You were to finish Flavio’s work and make us legitimate, not help Giovanni embed us deeper into the life. Without you giving Gio reason to pull back he will not turn back.”
“There is no pulling back. Lorenzo has made that impossible. After he is dead, we will control it all. That is the future Giovanni wants, and that’s the future I want. Fuck being legitimate.”
“I don’t know what you think you are doing, Domi, but you can take me out of your plans. What we had is done. I’m not in love with you anymore.”
“So you say,” he chuckled.
“I am not!”
“Then my staying here should not be a bother at all to you. Consider it business.”
“You’re such an asshole.”
“Am I really? Am I the bad guy?”
“Yes!”
Dominic smiled.
“What are you smiling at?” she huffed.
“You. You look beautiful this morning, princess. Even when you’re angry for no reason,” Dominic replied.
Catalina swiped her hand across the table and flung breakfast from it sending the pastries rolling away over the floor. Dominic didn’t flinch. He stared her in the eye. He held the challenge. She wanted to scream at him, demand he get out of her house. But it wouldn’t work. She knew him so well. For many years she owned his heart and he controlled hers. Tantrums used to bend him to her his will. Something had changed about him just as it had changed for her. She felt powerless in the face of it.
“Don’t come to my room again! Do you hear me? Stay out of my room.”
He gave her a curt nod that her wishes would be honored. He then picked up his paper and opened it again. Catalina got up from the table and started away. She stopped and stared at him. When he didn’t even glance her away she decided to leave.
“Oh, and Catalina... one more thing,” he said.
She paused with her back to him.
“Giovanni knows you are helping Lorenzo. I plan to find out how. You’ve betrayed his trust in you.” Dominic glanced up from the paper. “He won’t forget.”
Dominic’s gaze returned to his paper. Catalina walked out of the solarium with her head held high, and her entire body shaking.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Secret and Lies Unfold
Two weeks later - Secondigliano, Naples Italy
HERE COMES THE BRAND new flava in ya ear... American rap music was still his thing. He listened to everything from Nas to Organized Konfusion in the past few years since Marietta introduced him to the revolutionary music. It wasn’t easy getting his hands on the tunes since she and Lorenzo ran off. Popular rap songs typically didn’t reach Italy until several months after their release in America. Carlo bought his contraband through an American disc jockey who often traveled between Milan and Rome where he hosted parties. ‘Flava in Ya Ear’ remix by Craig Mack featuring Notorious B.I.G. blared from his speaker system. For Carlo, most rap songs mimicked each other. But this one struck a different cord with him. He loved the sound of the rappers’ voice snarling at him over and over on top of hard hitting bass. His flashy red sports car sped down via Regina Margherita late for his meet-up. He shot pass the agreed upon meeting spot and had to circle back to find a suitable parking space. Carlo eased his car in between a delivery truck and a small aged cab to the side of the street. He turned the engine off and his car lights. He scanned the night. He checked those around him for his apprentice. He then saw a car parked on the opposite side of the road further ahead flash its lights. Carlo flashed his.
He waited.
Rolando got out of his car and dashed across the street. In minutes the kid was inside the car with Carlo smiling.
“Ciao boss,” Rolando said. “You’re late, I got worried. I was about to grab a drink before I saw—”
“Is it stolen?” he asked.
“Huh?”
“The car? Did you steal it?” Carlo turned his gaze to the kid.
“I, ah, yes.”
“Ditch it. You need to stay clean. Now what do you have for me?”
“Uh, yes, uh, Umberto frequents here at times. That’s why I suggested we meet because I thought he’d be here tonight. He was. But you got here late... um, not too late, you just missed him. Lately he’s been with Don Giovanni at his side.”
“Where did he go?” Carlo asked.
“I can take you.”
Carlo started the car and Craig Mack jumped into the conversation. He refused to turn down the rap music, so Rolando had to shout his words over the lyrical genius. The kid filled him in on everything he knew about Umberto. Nothing Umberto did as Giovanni’s new favorite capu was egregious enough to warrant a bullet in his chest or Carlo’s meat clever in his skull. However, Carlo had his principles and was deeply insulted by Umberto’s arrogance.
The young man kept talking giving the next destination and its purpose. Carlo’s gaze flipped to his rearview mirror. Again, he noticed he had a tail. There was a red box-shaped Peugeot keeping up speed. Carlo didn’t see much of the driver behind the wheel.
Rolando ran down all the information he’d gathered in the past two weeks since Carlo saw him last. He glanced over to the kid. He had cleaned up. He looks well fed and rested. Street kids, beggars, gypsies, always had a dusty worn appearance from the hard life they were forced into. He could tell that Rolando had taken his money and support to heart. A loyal pup was a useful pup. It was the lesson Lorenzo often taught him.
He turned down the music.
“See that red car behind me? Have you seen it before?”
Rolando glanced to his side mirror. He squinted at the car. “Ah, not sure? Never paid attention. Don’t look familiar.”
“Start paying attention.” Carlo glanced over to him. “Go on.”
“Umberto’s family is connected to the Mancini’s. In Sicily.”
“I know that.”
“Yes, but Dominic didn’t. When he found out he forced Umberto to bring his cousin Bionca and her husband into his plan to take Catalina out of Palermo. Bionca was Armando Mancini’s maid. She spied for him. And he killed an Armenian woman he didn’t trust.”
Carlo frowned. “What Armenian woman?”
He glanced up to his rearview mirror and again saw the same car made every turn but kept a car between them for appearances.”
“I don’t know her name boss. She came to Palermo with Catalina and Lorenzo. Dominic thought the woman was dangerous. So, Dominic used Umberto’s cousin to bring the Armenian to him. He killed her, boss.”
“And Giovanni rewarded Umberto for this hit?”
Rolando shook his head. “Wasn’t approved by the boss. Dominic rewarded Umberto. He has pushed for Umberto to get more responsibility, so he could move to Sicily and stay with Catalina. The word is Dominic is obsessed with her because she is pregnant from Armando.”
“What?”
“You didn’t know?” Rolando asked.
Carlo glanced up again to his rearview mirror. He didn’t see the red car. The tightness in his chest lessened. In the past two weeks his life had moved fast and his grip on the brotherhood he shared with la Camorra had slipped. He found being a husband wasn’t hard at all. He focused on Adara. If she was happy, he was happy. If she wanted to fuss over something small he’d listen and not give an opinion. And none of it bothered him. He’d learn the temperament of a pregnant woman thanks to Marietta. He also
knew what to expect for delivery, so he did his best to keep Adara calm and comfortable. Tonight, was the first night since his wedding day that he’d left their villa to return to Naples. To the life. And he had a tough time keeping up with what life was left for him in the new order.
“Is it true, boss?”
“Is what true?” he asked, and his attention again returned to his companion.
“That you plan to move to Naples permanently. In one of those fancy homes at Via del Rione Sirignano?”
“Who told you that?”
“I’ve got my ear to ground, gathering information for you, sometimes that information is about you.”
“What else have you heard about me?”
“Huh?” Rolando frowned.
“Any rumors, anything I should know?”
Rolando shrugged. Then he shot upright with a thought. “Yes! There is a rumor.”
“And?”
“A woman.”
Carlo chuckled. “I don’t need gossip about whores.”
“American woman.”
Carlo glanced to Rolando.
“She came to your villa, after Umberto sent all of us away.”
“What did she want?”
“Don’t know. But she was different.”
“How was she different?”
“She was like the Donna. American. Black.”
Carlo glanced over to Rolando again.
“I’m sure of it.”
“American? What else? What was her name?”
Rolando frowned. “I don’t know. Oh! I remember, they said she had pink in her hair. Yes. The boys said she was your ‘pink lady’.”
Carlo slammed on his brake. He nearly caused the car behind him to ram directly into his rear bumper. The upset driver blew his horn. “Pink hair? You’re sure? Pink?”
“No? Uhm? Yes. I dunno, boss. They said it was the pink lady and Umberto had met with her at your place.”
“When? When did this happen?”
“I... dunno.”
“Think, damn it!”
“Month’s... it happened after you left... before you returned.”
The cars behind him blew their horn. Carlo sat with an iron grip to the steering wheel staring ahead. It couldn’t be Shae. It couldn’t be. Why would it be Shae? Was it Shae?
“Who told you this rumor? This story?”
“Enrico.”
“Get the fuck out of my car. Find him.”
“But... Umberto is—”
“I’ll deal with Umberto... find Enrico, I don’t care how or when but bring him to me in forty-eight hours. You hear? Find him. Call me when you do.”
“He’s been run off—”
Carlo grabbed the kid by the throat. Rolando winced. The kid eyes stretched the size of clams.
“Perciò trova il ragazzo e portamelo,” Carlo snarled.
“Yes, boss. Yes. I understand. I think I know where to look. I’ll take the train to Rome. Take it tonight.”
“Go!”
Rolando hopped out of the car fast and took off running. Carlo ignored the angry drivers behind him and sat in the car with his rap music cursing and making threats. He turned the volume off. He closed his eyes and dropped his head back. And let every question and memory swirl in his head.
“Don’t let it be her,” he sighed. “Please, God. Don’t let it be her.”
He had focus now with a wife and a baby on the way. He didn’t need Shae. He didn’t want her. It’s what he told himself repeatedly. But that spark of hope had been ignited. And despite his best intentions he knew that if it was her, he was in deep trouble.
Sorrento, Italy
GIOVANNI LEFT HER WITH the gift of sleep. He kept the kids from the room and the shutters closed. Mirabella lay undisturbed for hours. When she turned over and realized the time she knew only one person could be responsible. It was different having him home more. The first few months after his coma she was wrecked with anxiety watching him recover, his way. Slowly normal was returning to their lives.
She glanced over to her pillow. A blue rose rested on a folded note upon his pillow. Mirabella lifted on her elbows. She stared at it for a moment. Did the new normal mean her husband would start leaving her love letters?
She smiled and picked up the note, careful of the rose and its prickly thorns. She opened it and read the message.
Sicily, I’m ready. I need you with me.
—G
Giovanni had gone through her things. He’d picked out a summer dress and sandals for her and left another blue rose there, as well. Mirabella set aside her covers, eased out of bed and her toes then bottoms of her feet landed on the cool floor. She felt her baby girl stir. Just the other night she had questioned who he was. It was as if she lived with two different men. The complexity was constantly pushing her between love and concern. If he was ready to bring her back to Sicily it meant they were moving forward. This was the new normal and it didn’t include Zia, or Catalina.
Mirabella went into the bathroom. Giovanni had sprinkled everything with rose petals. The even covered the shower floor.
“You have been busy,” she smiled.
She didn’t bother to clean the roses up. The delicate silky petals crushed under her feet as she went to the shower and turned on the water. Mirabella showered, and put on the clothes Giovanni had chosen, but had to change the shoes. Her feet were swelling and there were few in her closet she could fit. She wrapped her hair up in a turban and put on dangling earrings. She added his favorite for the fragrance for the flight to Sicily. She knew this perfume always set a mood between them.
When she came down the stairs she was surprised to see the staff buzzing about. Breakfast had to have been served. Typically, this kind of excitement came before one of her big family meals. The staff moved fast as if she weren’t present. No one paused to ask her questions. She followed one person carrying a large vase of flowers, observing the tiding and the attention to detail. She smelled fresh coffee and pastries being prepared, or were they pies?
She walked down the hall that led to a family room where Giovanni often gathered after or before a meal. And she heard Eve’s laughter. She entered the room and found not only him and the kids but Zia as well. The surviving matriarch of the family sat in a sofa chair with Eve on her knee as Eve gushed over the new puppy in her arms. Zia glanced up upon Mirabella’s arrival. The smile she gave her was full of warmth.
“When did you arrive?”
Giovanni looked up at the sound of Mirabella’s voice. He pulled his sons off him who both went straight for her knees to get her attention. Mirabella’s gaze switched between Zia and Giovanni. Zia didn’t look as frail or heartbroken as she did when they last saw each other after Rocco’s funeral.
“I arrived this morning,” Zia replied. “I’m glad to be home.”
Giovanni removed a smoking pipe from the box next to his chair. He packed it with tobacco and stared at the women silently. The tension was there between him and Zia. She could sense it.
Mirabella gave her a welcoming embrace and then took the boys hands to walk them over to the sofa chair she could sit in. She felt such a release of happiness to have her back. But she really felt a deeper curiosity to know what Zia’s return meant.
“See mama!” Gino said as he lifted his finger to her. She looked at where the Band-Aid had been applied. She stole another look at Giovanni who smoked his pipe. Their eyes met. The sly tip the corner of his mouth lifted in a smile.
MARIGLIANO WAS FIRMLY under the control of la Camorra. Giovanni’s iron grip never wavered during the collapse and rebirth of the clans. However, his handling of waste management in the Naples region made the Marigliano the deadliest point in the triangle of death. It was of no surprise to Carlo that Umberto had decided Ponte Citra would be his territory. The criminal element here was completely ignored as long as the waste dumps were kept profitable. He knew the play Umberto was making because he wrote the play book. The maneuvers Carlo made when he was once under L
orenzo’s thumb had created his own power beneath the underboss. With Carmine and Umberto at his side he dug into this territory like a fish to water. Umberto had learned from the master.
Carlo parked outside of one of many landfills. The stench was so powerful it flooded his car vents and singed his nose hairs. He’d been gone too long to be affected so strongly. There were many cars parked about. He saw fires burning in every direction as la Camorra burned trash in the landfills. It looked like any other night. However, he knew where the gathering of men would be. Carlo grabbed his favorite pack of cigarillos and his lighter before he got out of the car. He wished he had marijuana instead. Since the baby and marriage thing drugs were no longer on the menu. Lighting his slender cigarillo helped clear his nostrils and soothe his temper. He walked through the men smoking and drinking and several paused in shock to see him among them. Most knew not to approach him unless he acknowledged them. A few did not and were immediately knocked aside before the greeting could commence.
There were several buildings, offices is what Giovanni called them. But each one served a different purpose. The command post is where the whores, boozers, gambling and enforcers tended to settle business. That was when he was in charge. He entered the building and discovered a lot had changed. There were tourists in the mix. And drugs. There were more drugs than even Carlo could stomach. He recognized the dazed look on the red faces of those getting their pockets emptied as they smoked from soda cans and glass pipes. He smelled the acidic stench over everything else. And noticed several of his young boys he mentored mixed in with the junkies, now turning into zombie heads themselves. Incensed, he moved on. He followed the laughter, the sound of money tinkled beneath. He went in to find a room where several gathered were being fed. While their boss was reclined in a barber’s chair getting a fresh shave. Umberto eyes were closed as he shared a story with the men of his latest run in with the Russian named Tarzan. No one responded or spoke when Carlo put out his cigarillo in his hand. The barber lowered his razor blade and took a step back from Umberto. Carlo extended his hand and accepted the sharp shaver. He stepped behind Umberto. He put his hand to his protégé’s chin. Umberto’s Adams apple bobbed as he swallowed a breath and joked about cowardice of the Russians.
