by J. D. Griffo
He wore loose-fitting gray pants, a short-sleeved V-neck shirt over a long-sleeved white undershirt, and black sneakers. If it weren’t for the shackles, he would have looked like a doctor after a long shift in the emergency room. Unless you looked at his face, and then you’d see him for what he really was—a criminal who deserved to be behind bars. Joyce was wrong, Alberta thought. You can judge a book by its cover. Especially if the cover of that book was written by Umberto Bottataglia.
He possessed a thick head of hair that they hadn’t noticed before, because every time they saw him he was wearing a hat: a mass of black waves with some gray at the temples that reminded Alberta of every man she’d ever met walking down the street in Hoboken, New Jersey. His eyes were coal black, so the pupils and the irises melded together to create one dark, ominous circle, and his nose was bent to the left, most certainly the result of being on the receiving end of some thug’s left hook.
He had a five o’clock shadow, even though it was barely eleven, bags under his eyes as if he had just woken up, deep wrinkles on his forehead and around his mouth, and the telltale scar running down the left side of his face. He was a character out of a dime-store novel, a creature from a horror film, and someone the women would never forget.
When he sat down across from Alberta and Jinx, they pressed their knees into each other and fought the urge to grab hands. They were frightened, but they were committed not to show how they truly felt. They were determined to act as if they were truly reporters investigating a lead for an article and not a grandmother and granddaughter who knew, without a doubt, that they were completely out of their league.
He placed his hands on the ledge with a clang and smiled. His teeth were remarkably straight and white, making his smile both inviting and deadly. It was easy to imagine how despite his rough exterior he could charm his victims into a false sense of security. When Alberta remembered that Sloan was somehow his latest victim, her heart started to race. She reminded herself that if this meeting was going to be successful, she couldn’t make it personal. Umberto didn’t get the memo.
“Well, well, well,” Umberto said, his smile lengthening. “This must be my lucky day. Two beautiful ladies for the price of one visit.”
He leaned closer to the partition and the women willed themselves not to lean back.
“You must be Jinx,” he said, pointing at Jinx. “And you, bellissima, must be Alberta.”
Again, Alberta was reminded of Sloan. He would often use that word to describe her, and although his accent was atrocious, it was a sound she loved. Hearing Umberto say the word, even in his perfect pronunciation, made her sick. She knew they had to take control of the conversation immediately, or else the entire trip would be a waste of time.
“You would be correct,” Alberta said. “And you must be the one and only Umberto Bottataglia.”
“I broke the mold when God made me,” he said.
It was difficult to comprehend that God had any involvement in the creation of the man they were looking at, but He did work in mysterious ways, so anything was possible. Even the fact that Umberto was responsible for three deaths while being incarcerated.
“Thank you so much for agreeing to meet with us, Mr. Bottataglia,” Jinx started.
“I’m no mister,” Umberto interrupted. “Call me Umberto.”
“Alright, Umberto,” Jinx said. “It seems that you’ve been spending more time out of prison lately than you have in your cell. How did you make that happen?”
“Why do you think that?” he asked.
“Because we’ve seen you in Brooklyn and Tranquility, New Jersey,” Alberta said. “Walking in broad daylight, acting like you’re an innocent man.”
“Innocence is in the eye of the beholder, bella,” Umberto mused.
“So you admit that you somehow broke out of your cell several times over the past few weeks?” Jinx asked.
“I can’t give away all my secrets,” Umberto said. “But it’s a known fact that some of the guards here can be . . . persuaded . . . to help a man find a temporary retreat from this place.”
“A retreat like Rizzoli’s Diner?” Alberta asked.
Umberto’s black eyes widened. “Have you tried their sausage and peppers? You must, la salsiccia è deliziosa.”
A shiver ran down Alberta’s spine when Umberto kissed his fingers and raised his hand to the sky. For a second it was like watching a flashback of her father after tasting one of her mother’s meals.
“Why did you go to Rizzoli’s?” Jinx asked. “Did they hire you to take care of some business for them?”
“Those Rizzolis do a lot of business, some good, some not so good,” Umberto replied. “I assume you ladies know all about the brothers.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Alberta saw that Jinx was about to answer his question, and she knew Jinx was going to respond like the hard-hitting reporter she was becoming. Unfortunately, Alberta had already sensed that Umberto didn’t want to talk to reporters, he wanted to talk to women. Although it disgusted her, Alberta understood that it was important to use the appropriate arsenal when in combat with an opponent.
Sitting up straight and pushing her chest out, Alberta smiled and said, “You know what they say about a lady, Umberto? She needs a man to help her become a woman. Why don’t you help us out and tell us what you know about the Rizzoli brothers?”
Both Jinx and Umberto stared at Alberta, Jinx in shock and Umberto in delight. She knew her granddaughter was appalled by her brazen talk, succumbing to the common misconception that a woman needed to use her gender to succeed, but the clock was ticking, and if Alberta had to flirt with Umberto to get him to spill the beans on the Rizzolis, so be it.
“What do you want to know about Giuseppe and Enrico?” Umberto asked.
“Everything,” Alberta replied. “Why not start with their business?”
“The two brothers own Third Wheel, Inc., along with a family friend, Shamus MacNamara,” Umberto said. “The three of them were literally partners in crime since they all met in the school playground. When they grew up they kinda went legit, bought some real estate, and opened up the diner. Everybody thought they’d kill each other within a year, but they proved us all wrong, they’re still together. In name anyway.”
“What do you mean by that?” Jinx asked.
“They’re not friends no more, haven’t been for years, business partners only,” Umberto explained.
“What happened to their friendship?” Alberta asked.
“What always breaks up the friendship among men?” Umberto asked back. “A woman.”
“One of them had an affair with someone else’s wife?” Jinx asked.
“No, if that had happened somebody would’ve wound up dead. This had to do with Giuseppe’s daughter, Bettina,” Umberto replied. “She fell in love with Shamus’s nephew and they were set to be married, but Bettina wasn’t all woman, if you know what I mean?”
Remembering the story Filomena told them about Bettina, Alberta did know what Umberto meant. “She couldn’t have children?” she asked.
“Sì, as barren as the Mojave,” Umberto replied. “There was no way a proud Irishman was going to let one of his own marry a woman who wouldn’t be able to contribute a branch to the family tree. It would have been . . . sacri-lego. . . so they called off the engagement, paid her off, and she left town.”
It was working. They were getting the information they needed to corroborate what they already knew. It was time to push further and find out things they didn’t already know.
“What can you tell us about the twins, Theresa and Dominic?” Alberta asked.
“Ah, those stronzos,” Umberto said. “Enrico’s grandchildren never stood a chance.”
Alberta felt half victorious and half defeated. Umberto’s reply explained that Veronica was the twins’ aunt, but she didn’t understand why they were schmucks or why they never had a chance. Neither did Jinx.
“What do you mean by that?” Jinx asked.
/> “They got their roles reversed. Theresa was the tough one and Dominic was weak,” Umberto said. “Theresa was never going to be satisfied to play the role the family expected of her, and Dominic wasn’t strong enough to be a real man. They both left home, just like Bettina, but they were nothing like that one, let me tell you.”
“How can you say that?” Jinx asked. “The three of them did the exact same thing, they all fled their family.”
“Sure, when they were young, but when they got older the twins stayed away, they didn’t want anything else to do with Brooklyn or the Rizzolis,” Umberto explained. “But Bettina, that one is un’arpia vendicativa, she wanted revenge.”
Both Alberta and Jinx had to remind themselves that Umberto wasn’t only speaking about Bettina, he was giving them information on Veronica too.
“How do you know Bettina was a vindictive harpy, Umberto?” Alberta asked.
“Because who, cara signora, do you think Bettina called to help her get revenge for being dumped and abandoned all those years ago? Me, that’s who,” Umberto said, proudly. “I hadn’t heard from her for years and then improvviso . . . how do you say? Out of the blue she contacts me for my services. I was more than happy to help her out.”
“What did you do?” Jinx asked.
“She wanted me to frame him so the cops would go after him,” Umberto started. “But then I realized her drudo could help me more than I could hurt him.”
“How could Veronica’s drudo help you?” Alberta asked.
“I’m sorry, what’s a drudo?” Jinx asked.
“The man who jilted Veronica,” Alberta said. “Answer me Umberto, how could he help you?”
Umberto didn’t feel like answering any more questions, he was more in the mood to reminisce about the past and fantasize about the future.
“It’s always easy when you deal with strong women and foolish men,” Umberto said. “Do you know what’s better? A strong woman and a stronger man, like you and me, Alberta.”
“What?” Alberta cried.
“È la forza del destino,” Umberto replied. “Berta and Berto, sounds like a match made in heaven, no?”
Absolutely not, Alberta thought. But she couldn’t say that out loud; she needed Umberto to tell them exactly who Veronica as Bettina wanted revenge on. Unfortunately, the guard who approached Umberto had other ideas.
“Time’s up,” the guard said.
“We’re almost done with our interview. Could we just have a few more minutes?” Alberta asked.
The guard looked down at Alberta and she thought he had a very kind disposition. She was wrong.
“No,” he replied. “C’mon, Bottataglia, back to your cell.”
“What crime did Bettina want you to commit?” Jinx asked. When Umberto didn’t respond, she grew more desperate to get answers. “Did you kill Theresa and Dominic Rizzoli? And Inez Rosales?”
“Alberta, next time come by yourself and leave the kid at home. She asks too many questions,” Umberto said. “Anche, she’s too young and innocent to know the truth. L’unico crimine che vale la pena commettere è un crimine di passione.”
They watched Umberto limp away, more uncertain than ever. They had gained some clarity, but garnered even more confusion. Could he be right? Was the only crime worth committing, a crime of passion? And if so, how many passionate crimes did Veronica commit?
CHAPTER 23
Salva l’anima davanti al corpo.
The moment Alberta saw Dr. Manzini’s face as she stood at Sloan’s bedside, she knew the next words she heard were not going to be words she wanted to hear. They were going to be unpleasant and difficult to comprehend, and she was going to feel angry, then scared, and then an unsettling combination of the two. Once again Alberta proved to be prophetic, because all of those things came to be.
“What do you mean he’s in a coma?” Alberta asked. “You said he was going to be alright.”
“He is, but—” Kylie started.
“No! No buts!” Alberta said. “I don’t want to hear anything other than Sloan is awake and conscious and perfectly fine. You told me that all he had was a minor infection. Now you tell me he’s in a coma!”
“A medically induced coma,” Kylie corrected.
“What’s the difference?” Alberta cried. “A coma’s a coma!”
“Not precisely,” Kylie replied. “Coma just means a deep state of unconsciousness. The difference is how someone gets there, either naturally or with medical intervention.”
“Which is what you did to Sloan?” Alberta asked.
“Yes, because his brain started to swell,” Kylie explained.
“Oh dear Lord!” Alberta exclaimed.
“It’s a normal reaction to the kind of trauma Sloan sustained. The only anomaly is that his brain didn’t swell immediately,” Kylie said. “We thought things were under control, but it seems the infection triggered an adverse reaction.”
In her mind, Alberta no longer saw Kylie. She was standing in front of another doctor, a much older white-haired man, and he was jabbering on, offering her information that she did not understand. All she remembered hearing was something about a severe stroke, massive damage to the brain and heart, and little to no chance of survival. It all added up to one simple fact: Sammy was going to die.
She never thought she’d have to live through such an experience again. As a widow she thought she’d be spared, and yet here she was. Alberta knew that she should be hoping for the best, but after spending a lifetime preparing for the worst, it was hard to shift her mindset.
“Do you know how long he’ll be like this?” Alberta asked.
“It’s hard to tell, but the delayed swelling that I’ve seen in the past usually takes a few days to rectify,” Kylie replied.
“Once he wakes up, what are the repercussions?”
“Usually none, but we’ll know better in a few days.”
“Have you been able to reach Sloan’s daughter yet?” Alberta asked.
“Not yet, but we’ll keep trying.”
There was nothing more for Kylie to say, so she clasped Alberta’s hands, smiled, and went on to see her next patient. Alberta remained standing in the hallway, unsure of what to do next. She knew that she should go into Sloan’s room and sit by his bedside so he could feel her presence, but she didn’t move. Her mind, however, was racing.
Why was she behaving like this? She had been through medical crises before with friends and family and had been on the receiving end of more than her share of bad news. This was not a pleasant situation, but it wasn’t unique. So what was the difference? Was it merely her fear of losing Sloan before their relationship truly started, or was it the guilt she felt because she was finding it harder to let go of Sloan than it had been to say good-bye to Sammy?
The realization struck her in the chest like a bolt of lightning. Was she a widow or a girlfriend? Was she ending or starting her life? Did she belong to Sammy or Sloan?
Standing motionless in the hospital, activity bustling all around her, she understood that the truth was, she was all of the above. She would always be part of Sammy’s life and she was currently part of Sloan’s. Would she continue to be a fixture in Sloan’s life forever? She didn’t know, but for now they meant a great deal to each other.
Her life wasn’t ending or beginning, it was continuing, from the past to the future, from being a wife and mother to being an independent woman who happened to be in a relationship with a new man. When she cried, she wasn’t crying for loss or out of fear that Sloan wouldn’t recover; she was crying because she had found the answers by herself, all the strength she needed was inside of her, she just needed to be reminded of it every once in a while.
It also reminded her that she should go to the hospital chapel and light a candle for Sloan. It didn’t hurt to give medical science some extra help. While she was there she also wanted to give thanks to God, and some angels and saints as well, for giving her the insight into her own personal capabilities. Knowing that Go
d dwelled somewhere deep inside of her, filled Alberta with more optimism than she ever thought she could handle.
The chapel was not elaborately decorated, which Alberta liked. It didn’t promote the pomp and circumstance of religion, but rather the essence of spiritual healing. Inside the small room was everything that was needed to pray. Four rows of pews made out of simple pinewood stained a dark brown, with matching kneeling benches that were topped with a burgundy cushion. The gold and red tabernacle sat on top of a wooden altar that stood behind a three-tiered wrought-iron candleholder that consisted of rows of red votives, long matches, and a container of sand to extinguish the flames.
To the left of the front door was a holy water font, on the right wall was a stained-glass depiction of the pietà in the same primary colors as the one on the front door, and on the right wall was a small confessional with two isolated compartments, one for a priest to hear a confession and another for the sinner to confess. Alberta thought it was a perfectly crafted room, devoted to personal healing and not meant to be an ostentatious display of wealth or power.
After lighting her candles, Alberta prayed silently for a few minutes, kissed the gold crucifix around her neck, made the sign of the cross, and started to leave. Just as she placed her hand on the doorknob, she saw through the stained-glass window the distorted images of Father Sal and Owen walking toward her. She wanted to confront each of them for very different reasons, but she made a split-second decision based on the fact that her curiosity would be quelled quicker if she listened to their conversation instead of participating in it.
She pulled the curtain of the confessional closed and lifted her feet above the hemline just as Sal and Owen entered the chapel. She made another sign of the cross, asking for forgiveness, when she realized she was defying the basic teachings of the nuns from her grammar school. She was in hiding so Sal and Owen could be heard and not seen, rather than the other way around. Hopefully, she would overhear something worthwhile that would make the morally ambiguous action she was undertaking worth the risk.
