La Dolce Vita: Romantic Suspense (Battaglia Mafia Series Book 7)

by Sienna Mynx

  "Should I stop? Get you something to eat? You don't look good."

  Carlo shook his head. "Tired. Fuck eating. I need a drink and some sleep, and then I'll be fine."

  "How was America?" Renaldo pressed.

  "Don't want to talk about it," he grunted.

  "And the pink woman... Shae?"

  "Strawberry, not pink. She doesn't fucking like pink."

  "Okay strawberry," Renaldo shrugged.

  "We're done. It's fucking over," Carlo said. "No more strawberry pussy for me."

  "C'mon, Carlo, she was more than pussy. Wasn't she?" Renaldo asked.

  Carlo didn't answer.

  Renaldo returned his gaze to the road. It seemed to him that out of all of them Carlo took the most hits. Yet he was still standing, and surviving. Renaldo respected him. Even if he'd witnessed some of the crazy darkness Carlo carried inside. Shae (the pink lady) was the first woman he saw him soften for.

  "Speak to Lo?" Renaldo asked, shifting gears in the conversation.

  "Not yet. Why?"

  "I heard a rumor. Wondering if it's true."

  "What rumor?" Carlo yawned.

  "The word is, the boss plans to go public. He will tell everyone about the Donna and Marietta being Mancinis."

  "Who told you this rumor?" Carlo asked.

  "Umberto. He's up in Chianti now. Guess that's why we are summoned. The word is we go to war with the Mafiosi. Giovanni is expanding territory."

  "It's fucking suicide. We don't have the men... the reach... fuck it, whatever, I don't give a fuck. Let's go to war. We have to die sometime." Carlo dropped his seat lower and closed his eyes. That meant the conversation was over. Renaldo found a radio station and settled into the drive. He missed Kyra. She was pregnant. His thoughts drifted to their last conversation. She cried on the phone over a burnt dinner and a broken dish. He knew his little hurricane was out of sorts with him gone. He needed her chaos in his life, and she needed his stability. They fit like a lock and a key. The phantom pain surfaced in his chest once more, and he grimaced. He saw a petrol station from the roadway and turned in.

  Carlo sat up a bit and frowned. "I told you I don't want to eat!"

  "Need to make a phone call," Renaldo said.

  Carlo mumbled something and dropped back down. Renaldo didn't bother to ask what he said. He figured it wasn't meant for him. He dug in his pockets and found enough coins to use at the pay phone. He dropped them in and dialed home.

  "Pronto?" a weary voice answered.

  "Ciao, Madre, it's me," he said.

  "Renaldo, aye! I was hoping you would call," his mother said.

  "What's wrong?" he asked and felt his heart beat faster.

  "Kyra... she's had a bad day. She's upstairs. Aye, the tears. She needs you to come home. When can you be here?" his mother asked.

  "Can I speak to her?"

  "I don't know... I just got her to rest."

  "Let me speak to her. Per favore," Renaldo said.

  He glanced to the road and the cars zipped by. He had no idea what Giovanni wanted or would expect of him. But he doubted it would afford him time to return home and take care of his wife.

  "Hello?" came a soft voice.

  "Mi manchi cara," Renaldo said softly.

  Kyra began to cry for him. It destroyed him to hear her weep with such strain and sorrow.

  "What is it? Tell me?" Renaldo whispered into the phone. Kyra responded best to his whispers. He rarely if ever raised his voice. Even when angry, disappointed, or frustrated he lowered his voice when he wanted to be heard.

  "When are you coming home?" she asked.

  "Soon. I swear it."

  "I need you here. I'm scared. My body hurts, I can barely get around I'm so big. And I'm tired. I just need you to come home. You said you would be here, Renaldo. What if I go into labor early? What then? I could you know."

  He ran his hand back through his hair. "Where is Jamie?"

  "Paris. You know that! I told you that..."

  "Shhhh... calm down. It is okay. Madre is there," he reassured her.

  "I need you. I'm six months pregnant."

  He smiled. She complained constantly, but he knew the problem wasn't the pregnancy. She was young, and in a foreign country. He swore to her that this would be something they would experience together. He had made many promises to her. After he had been shot and forced into a long recovery, they discovered she was already pregnant. As soon as he was on his feet and able to hold his gun, he was back in the streets. That was not the vow he made to his wife.

  "I will talk to the boss. What if I take a week or two to come and care for you? Will that work?"

  "Yes," she said.

  "Then I will make it happen. You are my first, my only priority in this life." He glanced back to his broken friend sleeping in the car and remembered his life before Kyra brought love back into it. He would not lose her or her faith in him.

  "Ti amo," she said.

  "Rest. I love you, too; I will see you soon," he said and smiled. The calm in her voice soothed his agitation. The burn in his chest cooled.

  "Be careful. Please. Promise me," she pleaded. "No chances."

  "I will be okay. So will you. I swear," he said.

  "Where are you?" she asked. "Close?"

  "I have to go. I will call tomorrow. Ti amo," he said.

  "I miss you, ciao," she said and hung up.

  Renaldo sighed. He hung his head and tried to shake off both fear and concern. It made him weak. And in his job he could never afford to be weak. He had to get to her soon, for his sake and hers. He walked back to the car and eased in behind the wheel. Carlo snored. He drove away thinking of what he could say to Giovanni to convince him to allow him to return to his wife if the boss wanted to wage war. And he knew the answer.

  Nothing.

  ***

  Giovanni opened his eyes. Eve lay on his chest. When did his little girl start to snore? He looked down at her and rubbed her back. She must have been exhausted from her day. He didn’t mind. Holding her always calmed him. He glanced over to the left and saw Bella was turned on her side away from him. Gianni slept against her breasts and Gino slept between them. It wasn't often when he shared his bed with his wife and the kids. But after the day was lost to her terrors he decided that’s exactly how they would spend the evening.

  The drive to Ravello was canceled. The kids were brought upstairs, and they had dinner in the children's room. Mirabella seemed fine on the outside. And he pretended not to notice her hand trembling, or the tears in her eyes when the kids did something that made her laugh.

  The children loved the attention of having Mama and Daddy together. And that was exactly what his family needed. Unity.

  The hour was late. Giovanni checked the time on his watch and found it was after midnight. He sat up gently with Eve then put her on the bed. In his robe, he went to the bathroom to get dressed.

  Mirabella woke. Her vision blurred but soon corrected in the darkness. She heard the toilet flush and water run. She smiled. He was her hero in every way. She was so ashamed to show him how deeply fragile she felt. The vision of Kei was so frightening that her only escape was to retreat to the space under the sink. He saved her. It was like he reached into her mind and brought her back from the brink of madness. Giovanni knew the words that stoked her love for him.

  Again she drifted to sleep before she heard the soft sound of a zipper. She opened her eyes again. A man was dressed in a black tracksuit. At first, she nearly sat up in fright, but when the moonlight cast through the window and gave her a view of his profile she relaxed. It was her Giovanni. He stood near the window loading his gun. He wore black, dark running shoes, a black cap pulled down on his head, and after tucking his gun in the band of his pants, he put on dark riding gloves. She'd never seen him dressed that way. He knelt and put another gun in the strap at his ankle and then pulled down his tracksuit pant leg. He turned, and she closed her eyes. Not sure why, but her instinct told her she should let him thi
nk she was asleep. And after a few seconds, she heard her bedroom door close.

  Quick about her actions, she got out of bed and located her robe and shoes. She hurried out of the room and didn't bother to address Leo who looked concerned. She went down the stairs and stopped when she heard voices. She waited and then went down the rest. In the hall, she turned and ran right toward the garage. Instead of going inside she went to the kitchen that gave a clear view of the driveway. She walked over to the sink and leaned in to see Giovanni. He spoke to several of his men. They seemed agitated. Two were pacing. And then they all nodded to Giovanni's orders. His motorcycle was brought out. To Mirabella's horror, he got on it alone. He fired it up and rode off--alone.

  "No!" she raced out of the kitchen as fast as she could and out of the door to the garage. "Giovanni!" she called after him. The men whirled and looked at her with surprise.

  "Where is he going?" she shouted at them. "You let him leave alone! You are never to let him go anywhere alone!"

  Umberto stepped forward. He smiled. "Donna, va bene, everything is okay."

  "It is not okay! He left here by himself!"

  "He will not be alone. We have men where he is going. He will be fine."

  "Where is Dominic?" She turned to flee back inside, but Umberto stepped in front of her.

  "Forgive me, Donna. I mean no disrespect. But I have my orders. Dominic and Lorenzo don't need to know about this. Giovanni is clear. How about you discuss it with him when he returns?"

  "Get out of my way!" she seethed.

  Umberto looked as if he would disobey. That frightened her. Something was wrong. These men never made defiant eye contact with her. She stepped back instead of forward when she asked the next question. "Where is he going? To meet with who?"

  "It is not for me to say. Please, Donna. Go back to bed. He'll return soon. Please." Umberto pointed her toward to the door.

  Whatever was going on it wasn't something she could intercept or prevent. Not now. She tightened her robe and went back inside. When did her husband ever do anything without Carlo, Renaldo, Lorenzo, or even Nico at his side? Confused and afraid she returned to her children. She would be unable to sleep the rest of the night.

  ***

  Cars braked with curious hesistation as he weaved around them along the narrow alleyways and roads. The motorcycle gave him flight. He had missed having so much control within his hands. It hugged the road as he sped between tall buildings and around cliff side highways. Giovanni kept his eyes focused. His mind trained on his singular objective as he pushed the bike full throttle to go as fast as safety would allow.

  The night ride took him through one of the main arteries to the town of Sant'Agnello. The street that he veered toward his destination sloped downward, and Giovanni was careful to sit upright and coast into the shadows without incident. He arrived to find three cars parked in front of the three-story building. He turned off the bike and waited.

  Giovanni stared at the building and then the cars. The dark baseball cap he wore was pulled down low on his head, and the bib cast a deep shadow over half of his face. He reached behind him and withdrew his gun. He released the clip and reinserted it, confident that a bullet popped up into the chamber. And then he heard a noise. His gaze lifted. The door to the building opened. A woman appeared, the light behind her gave only a clear view of her silhouette. She lit a cigarette. He saw the amber light of the flame flare as she inhaled, and then the wisp of smoke as she exhaled.

  If he had to fight his wife's demons, then he needed to be prepared to return to hell. And this is where it all started. Her pain, his regret, and the mistakes made by his clan.

  The woman leaned against the doorway. She stared straight at the shadows that concealed Giovanni. She smoked a bit longer and then flicked the cigarette away. She turned and went back inside but left the door open. A clear invitation. Giovanni eased off his motorbike. He tucked his gun to the front of his pants and dashed out of the shadows and crossed the street.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Doctor and Patient

  Firenze, Italy –

  It was earlier than Dominic preferred. He didn't even have time for a cappuccino. He entered the doors to the ospedale with eyes searching. There weren't many present. A few nuns passed him on his way in. The others, men and women dressed in white, looked to be hurried and uninterested in greeting visitors. Not many glanced his way. The few that did dismissed him with cutaway glances and kept going. He found the clerk to the back of the ospedale.

  "Buongiorno?" A very nice portly looking woman with a nest of gray and black hair on her head said. She wore glasses with a long chain that linked around her neck.

  "I have an appointment with a Dr. Marchetti," he said.

  The woman smiled. "Take the lift to the third floor. She's at the end of the hall on the left. You can't miss the office."

  "Grazie," he winked.

  Dominic took the lift up and exited to an empty hall. He strolled through the hospital, unsure where the patients were. All he saw was staff and regular people like him. He wondered what kind of place it was. When he found the door to her office, it was closed. He turned the knob and discovered it was locked. The lights beyond the glass were off. He grimaced. He thought she scheduled him for eight. Dominic drew back his sleeve and checked the time. It was ten minutes after. Could he have gotten the message wrong?

  Then he heard the soft clicks of a woman's shoes. His gaze lifted from his wrist to a woman quickly approaching. She was digging in her satchel as she walked. The bouncy locks of scarlet red curls over her head reached past her shoulders and framed her face when she looked up. She had the clearest blue eyes behind her dark rimmed glasses. He could see them from the distance. Her beauty was fresh and as soothing as that of his sweet Madre Eve, who had raised him from a boy. Dominic rarely felt stunned by femininity, unless it was from his beloved Catalina. This one gave him pause. The dress she wore was the color of her eyes, and her skin had a milky cream flawlessness. She smiled.

  "Are you Dominic Battaglia?" she asked.

  "You must be Dr. Marchetti," he replied.

  "Uh yes, hi." She pulled out her keys. "I'm so sorry I'm late. It's been one disaster after another. First, my car wouldn't start, and then I locked my keys inside. Luckily I have a spare. Please, please come in," she unlocked the door in her flustered state. He followed her inside. Her floral fragrance led the way.

  "Please, forgive me," she said as she went about turning on the lights. "I'll be late to my funeral."

  "You sound American?" he said.

  She glanced back over her shoulder with amusement in her smile. "Yes. I am. I've only been here two years."

  "Two years?" he repeated. He frowned. Her smile dimmed.

  "I've been practicing psychology for over a five-year period. I'm published in several medical journals, and I sit on the--"

  "Why did you come to Italy?" he asked.

  She stared at him a minute, and then her smile surfaced, and again he was disarmed. He decided to focus on her eyes instead. Her features and manners were familiar. Not from the comparison of his dead adoptive mother, but someone else. He couldn't quite place it.

  "My dream was to come to Florence. And when this job presented itself. Well, who passes up on their dream?"

  "You're Italian?" Dominic asked. He scanned the degrees she had tacked on the walls, as opposed to looking into her hypnotic eyes.

  "My parents are both from San Gimignano but moved to America before they had me. When they moved back, I decided Tuscany should be my home... enough about me. Please have a seat, Signor Battaglia. I have a few questions of my own."

  Dominic paused at a few photos of her with her parents, and one with a colossal dog. No husband. His gaze swung back to her. She sat behind her desk and scooted in. She combed her red hair back from her face with her slender hand, and it hit him. Fabiana.

  "Something wrong?" Dr. Marchetti asked.

  The similarities in beauty and stature were e
erily close. Could this be a relative he didn't know about?

  "Signor Battaglia?" she said with a hint of alarm in her voice. "Are you okay?"

  "Your name is Marchetti?" he asked.

  "Yes."

  He shrugged off his instinct to shut down the meeting and adjusted his tone. He took a seat. "You remind me of someone."

  "Oh?" her eyes became bright with curiosity. "Okay. Well, how about you tell me more about Mirabella Battaglia. We can start there. I read her file; she's refused to take anti-depressants?"

  "She's complicated. And there will be no drugs. Ever. Her husband won't allow it. I was told you knew of other ways to help her cope with trauma."

  "Of course... the thing is, the one thing missing from the file is background information. I know her medical history, but I can't believe that is the real source of the trauma."

  "You know who she is. Right?" Dominic asked.

  "I do. Who doesn't? She's the most famous designer in Italy right now. She's been on every news station since the spring event in Milan," she replied. "She's best known for her classic style of wrap around dresses. Women and men go crazy over the style."

  "Then you must understand the need for discretion," he said. "We would never give her background history to a stranger. She's a very private person, and this is a very private family matter."

  "I understand your concern. But like I said before I don't know what preempted the poisoning..."

  "Have you ever seen her partner? The one she started the business with? Fabiana?" he asked.

  "Well I... yes, a few pictures on the tele but..."

  "You look a lot like her," he said, and the accusation was tight in his voice.

  "Oh! It's the red hair. I recently dyed it," she smiled.

  "Why?" he frowned.

  "A change. Look this will work better if I could meet with her. And can you have her medical files, the ones I haven't received, released to me?"

  "You meet with me and then I decide if we go further. Why did you dye your hair a week before this meeting?" he asked again. "Your hair isn't red in the photos I received."

  "Wait what?" She frowned. "You have photos of me?"