La Sposa

by Sienna Mynx

  The joy she felt over that single promise had to be evident in the smile stretching her cheeks. She couldn’t correct herself. She truly was excited. “You’re my hero, Lorenzo Battaglia.”

  His dark brow winged up in surprise at the proclamation. Last night she’d called him an asshole, a pig, and a jerk. It had been a constant push and pull of compliments and insults between them. It was part of why she felt she could say or share anything with him.

  She resisted touching him. She needn’t. He leaned in and kissed her. Marietta felt every inch of the lovely promise he made within that kiss. When his face drew away, she reached for him and kissed him again. Deeply. Afterwards, they walked up the dirt path to the little farmhouse nestled between fields of grapes and olives. She held his hand, careful of where she stepped in her high-heeled shoes. He was protective of her, stopping to be sure she managed the trail. “Why didn’t we drive up to the door?” she frowned.

  “My uncle doesn’t like it. We have to walk in. He’s particular about fumes polluting the air of his vineyard. The old bastard is probably inside hung over.”

  “Oh, he was at the wedding too?”

  “Yes. Remember, be careful. He considers himself a ladies man.”

  Marietta frowned. She continued to walk at his side. The farmhouse looked quite cozy. She loved the fresh smell of grapes ripening on the vine. When they arrived at the door, Lorenzo opened it without knocking, and held it for her to enter. She did. Inside, the place was both quiet and dark. So many family portraits lined the walls and were stacked on shelves. The furnishings were modest. Her gaze swept over a sofa, two chairs, a coffee table and a few plant tables. The only thing she found out of the ordinary were a few stacked bottles of wine on the piano bench and a crate of wine bottles pushed under the piano. The sound of someone shuffling out of the back drew closer. An older man walked in and looked up as if caught by surprise.

  “Mira?” he said.

  The man removed his glasses from the front of his overalls and put them on to get a look at her. She remembered him. He was the one that danced with the fashion designer bride. Everyone laughed and clapped as he clung to her on the dance floor.

  Lorenzo greeted him in Italian. Told him that he tried to call before they made the trip but he didn’t answer. The old man never took his eyes off Marietta when he responded that he was drunk and just got up for the day. He complained of the train ride home, and how he should have been given a car instead.

  “Where is Zia?” Lorenzo asked.

  “She’s not happy with me. Stayed in Sorrento.” Rocco walked over to Marietta. She looked at Lorenzo, not sure what the old man wanted. Rocco wasn’t shy about the greeting. He took her hand and kissed it. She smiled graciously and then he reached and pulled her face down to kiss both her cheeks and lips. Marietta drew back, surprised.

  A deep chuckle escaped Rocco to indicate he knew exactly how inappropriate his kiss was. He walked away, saying Lorenzo had chosen well, but she didn’t taste as sweet as Mira. The insult threw her. That and the fact she could have sworn he touched her breast. He shuffled to the chair and sat. Lorenzo removed his sunglasses. “Rocco, meet Marietta Leone Capriccio.”

  Rocco’s brows lifted. He leaned forward to get another look at her. “Caruso Capriccio’s daughter? Bullshit! He has no black daughter.”

  “That’s what the Capriccios tell her. But she has proof otherwise. He even left her money in his will.”

  The humor drained from Rocco’s face. Immediately, Marietta knew the man had something to share besides smart quips. She would fight hard against the urge to pry it from his chapped lips. For now, she sat in the chair across from the old man and remained silent as Lorenzo instructed. She waited and listened.

  Chapter Nine

  La verità - The truth

  “Where are they?” Giovanni asked. He set his glass of water down. Renaldo entered from the left. The conversation with Santo ended on a good note. Though the news he shared about Lorenzo left him concerned over his cousin’s distractions, Giovanni, however, knew he shouldered some of the blame. He felt his actions over the past two years had left his men scattered and unsure of his leadership—Lorenzo included. Many told him details on a need- to- know basis in fear of repercussions. Lorenzo was hypersensitive about the history between him and Giuseppe. That must be the reason he left out the messy detail of the Nigerians stashing drugs in a Capriccio warehouse.

  Either way, it was now time to lead by example, and remove emotion from business. If he could get Santo, Carlo, and Lorenzo to do the same, they could turn the family toward more profitable legitimate pursuits.

  When Renaldo didn’t answer his question, he glanced up. “I asked, where is Bella mia and bambina Eve?”

  “They decided to visit the beach, Boss. She and Eve are there.” Renaldo nodded to the sea behind him. Giovanni cast his gaze back over his shoulder. He returned to the edge of the balcony and peered down the thirty-foot drop to the shore where the cliffs ended, and white sand stretched toward the turquoise waters of the sea. Mira’s fuchsia pink dress blew behind her in the wind, lifting on occasion to reveal the back of her legs and thighs. Eve stomped in the sand at her side, trying to match her mother’s steps while holding her hand. Mira, holding her sandals in her free hand, would stop when something caught their little girl’s attention. Giovanni leaned on the balcony and observed them. He looked next to the sea and remembered Mira’s fear of drowning. There was so much about his wife left to learn.

  Renaldo stepped closer to the railing, his hands buried deep in his pockets. They observed as Mira began the beach walk again. Eve, with her little bowlegs, managed to keep pace every few steps. The sight of them, happy and carefree, forced a tight smile to his lips. And the shadows stalking them from several feet behind made him relax. Leo and Romero remained on the job, observant and careful. Keeping a close protective watch over them both.

  “How is Cecilia?” Giovanni asked. He hadn’t forgotten the young girl’s nasty fall. Nico was with her. Though Leo and Romero were good men, he preferred Nico on the job of watching over his girls.

  “She’s recovering. Ankle took a nasty twist. Dottore says it will be six to eight weeks before she is better. Strange, the entire matter.”

  “Why strange?” Giovanni tossed him a look.

  “She won’t explain the fall. Refuses to talk about it. Rosetta said she missed a step but her injuries appear to be as if she took a leap from the top step. Nico questioned her again and again to the point of her breaking down in tears. You know how protective he can be over the women.”

  Giovanni nodded. It was one of the many reasons why he put the enforcer on the special assignment of watching over Eve. Though his talents were better served enforcing Giovanni’s wishes in the field. Nico, for all his brawn and might, could be gentle as a teddy bear when it came to the ladies in the family. “See to Cecilia and her family for the unfortunate incident. But tell Nico to get his ass back here. Now.”

  Before Renaldo could answer, the phone rang inside. Giovanni straightened from his lean on the balcony and went in to answer. “Ciao?”

  “Is it a good time?” Dominic asked.

  “Un momento.” Giovanni snapped his fingers. Renaldo approached. “Have the yacht ready. We are going for a sail and then to dinner. Find Rosetta and make sure she is ready as well.”

  Renaldo nodded and walked out. Giovanni waited until Renaldo descended the stairs before he put the phone back to his ear. “What time is it there?” Giovanni asked, checking his watch.

  “It’s around nine. I wouldn’t call so soon… but, I needed to give you an update.”

  “You met with Kimmatore?”

  “We did. There’s something you should know about Mira.”

  “What? Spit it out!”

  “She had a sister, Gio. Possibly still has a sister.”

  Confused, Giovanni took a step back. “A sister? I sent you to find out about her parents and you call to tell me she has a sister?”
r />   “A twin.”

  “That’s bullshit. Bella never mentioned a twin. She wouldn’t keep that from me.”

  “I don’t think she knows. Her mother gave birth to twin girls. I have her medical records from the hospital in Philadelphia. I’m not sure what happened after she delivered, because Mira’s birth certificate lists Chicago as her birthplace. No mention of a sister or father. Just Melissa Ellison as the mother. The dates are exactly the same, so something is off. For all we know, the other baby died.”

  Giovanni rubbed his brow. He dropped in the chair behind him. “What else?”

  “The man you say is her father. James Walker? I have his prison record. He was thrown into jail four years before Melissa Ellison gave birth. He’s not the father.”

  “Are you sure of this information? Especially about the twins?”

  “I haven’t had a chance to run it through our people. I’m working with Zimmatore and he’s certain of it. It’ll take time. In a few weeks, I will visit the jail and you will have your answers.”

  “Good work. How’s our Catalina?” Giovanni asked with restraint.

  “She’s asleep, exhausted from the flight. Me too. I’ll call again soon. We meet with Mira’s attorney tomorrow to start the process of reclaiming the company.”

  “Keep me posted. Ciao.”

  Giovanni slumped back in the chair. He exhaled deeply. A twin sister? Possibly dead at childbirth? And the Del Stavio bracelet being the only connection his Bella has to her past. He didn’t have enough to bring the news to his wife’s attention. He wasn’t even sure what the news would do to her. But now, more than ever, he was determined to uncover the real truth.

  Chianti –

  “Rocco, I need to know more about Capriccio.”

  Lorenzo purposefully spoke in Italian. If the old man suspected Marietta understood, he would say nothing; and if he sent Marietta away, she’d probably refuse and he’d have nothing. Solving the mystery of why Marietta came to Italy and who wants to shut her up was now a matter of life and death for them both. Whoever this Isabella was, she had too much power with the tapes and photos of him and Giuseppe.

  “What do you want to know?” Rocco answered.

  “When did Capriccio make a black daughter and with who? The woman’s name. Who was she?”

  “Who?” Rocco let go a snide chuckle. “I wouldn’t know of any bastard daughter of Capriccio’s or the name of the whore to lay down with him,” Rocco said. “If I had to guess,” Rocco cut his gaze to Marietta. “The affair happened in America. Not many women here that would make a daughter like her.”

  Lorenzo threw his hands up. “That’s your guess? Of course it was when he was in America. Let me ask the question this way, what sent Capriccio to America?”

  “It was a long time ago.”

  “I’m sure it was but…”

  “Too long to remember.” Rocco waved him off. “How about I fix us a cappuccino?”

  “Wait! Think, damn it. What sent him to America?”

  Rocco paused. He lowered back to his seat. When he spoke, his voice had a tightness that neared frustration. “Caruso was part of Mancini’s famiglia, not ours. He was out of the mafia when he returned. Mancini saw to it. End of story for the dumb fucker.”

  “Why dumb? You retired to the farm. Retirement isn’t dumb. For many of us, it’s the smartest thing to do.”

  Rocco’s smirk was absent humor. His cataract grey eyes narrowed on Lorenzo.

  “I meant no disrespect, uncle. I don’t get the difference.”

  “There’s a big difference between me and Caruso Capriccio. He’s a coward. Stronzo di merda! He moved to Milano and opened a fabric business, like that of a woman,” Rocco spat.

  “And you didn’t find that curious? Sicilians are different, Rocco, we both know that. It’s why you and Patri strengthened the Camorra, by abandoning those traditions. How did Capriccio walk away and it went unchallenged? He could have turned against Mancini and the other Dons. He could have become a real problem.”

  Rocco shrugged. “Maybe walk is the wrong word. Run. Yes, he ran away. Exile can mean many things.” Rocco’s gaze swept his surroundings to emphasize his point. Lorenzo knew a little of why Rocco ended up on the farm and outside of the family, but not enough to speak on it. Out of respect, he convinced himself it was a choice. But hell, like his uncle said, exile can come in many forms. For example, if Giovanni ever learned of the hit he had placed on Tomosino, his exile would come in the form of a bullet to his skull.

  “And Mancini?” Lorenzo pressed. “No ties, nothing?”

  Rocco just stared, mute.

  There wasn’t much Lorenzo or Giovanni liked about Mancini. The old Don was a constant meddler in their affairs over the past few years. They only tolerated him because of the history he shared with Tomosino. Even still, Lorenzo itched for the day he could put a bullet in the Don’s son, Armando Mancini. The smug bastard shared a history with him and Giovanni that dated back to their school boy days. Armando mocked the reach and power of the Camorra, as most Sicilians did. They truly felt the Sicilian Mafioso to be the only legitimate brotherhood of blood. And Giovanni’s bastard blood symbolized weakness for the Battaglias. Bullshit.

  “Marietta, do you have your necklace?” Lorenzo asked.

  Before they left Milano for the wedding, he found her in the bathroom upset. She had broken the clasp on the chain. He watched her drop it in a tissue and put it in her purse. He knew she had it. Marietta did as he asked and retrieved the gold chain and nameplate. She dropped it in his extended hand. Accepting the necklace, he passed it over to Rocco. “She was adopted by Sicilians in America. Later, she learned she’s the daughter of Caruso. This is the only thing her mother left her. Turn it over.”

  “That’s not possible.” Rocco appeared to recognize the work of the nameplate from the minute it was given to him. “You say this was given to her by her mother, Capriccio’s whore? An American black whore?”

  Lorenzo’s gaze slipped to Marietta. She wore a tight lip scowl at the reference of her mother being a whore. He tried to move the conversation along. “Yes. It was.”

  Rocco handed it back. “Capriccio was an errand boy. A foot stool for the Mafioso and not fit to hold a gun. He could never have commissioned Del Stavio for something so sacred. Only the daughters of the Five Dons of Sicily…and…” Rocco’s voice faltered. His eyes stretched with knowledge and his gaze slowly returned to Marietta.

  “Only the Five Dons of Sicily and what?”

  Rocco didn’t speak. He didn’t blink. It was as if he was frozen.

  “What? Only the Dons of Sicily can have jewelry made for their babies? Yes, I know. Now do you understand why I need to make the connection?” Lorenzo asked. “Someone wants to bury Caruso’s history in America. How do you explain her having this necklace with her name on it?”

  Rocco continued to stare at Marietta. Lorenzo didn’t like the hard unrelenting look fixated on her. It was very out of order with his uncle’s gentle, often flirtatious nature. Lorenzo and Giovanni forgot Rocco’s days of being one of the ruthless Battaglia brothers. The blood fights he would constantly get into with anyone who challenged the family.

  “We are done speaking on this.” Rocco was slow to his feet, but steady. “I want you to go!” He pointed to the door.

  Surprised, Lorenzo didn’t move.

  “Vattene!” Rocco seethed.

  “Wait? Don’t send us away. Please.” Marietta stood.

  “Does Giovanni know you are stirring up trouble?” Rocco demanded. Lorenzo shrugged up at his uncle. It only incensed Rocco further. “Does he know you meddle in affairs that are none of your concern?” He pointed an accusatory finger at him. “Shall I call him and tell him what you do now for pussy instead of business?”

  Lorenzo rose, his patience expiring by the minute.

  “Please wait!” Marietta stepped between the two men. Rocco stood upright. Taller than age and years of hard work the farm had weathered him down to. On
ly a man with something to hide could summon the strength to do so. “Please. All I want to know is who my mother is. I think her name was Lisa. Do you know her? What happened to her? Can you help me?”

  Rocco sneered. He spoke in his broken English. “Your mother was a puttana! Nothing more! And now she is a dead puttana! That’s all I know.”

  The look of crushing pain on Marietta’s face made Lorenzo shove her aside and push Rocco. Twice hard to the chest. Typically, Rocco’s age and feeble manner would make him drop. But something fueled his uncle today. He staggered a bit but stood upright. It unnerved Lorenzo. “Apologize to her! Now!”

  Rocco spit on his hand and made an obscene gesture at Lorenzo. “You forget your place. If you don’t leave and take her with you in five minutes, I’ll remind you of it!” The old man turned and walked away, possibly looking for his gun. Stunned, Lorenzo and Marietta watched him go. When he looked to her, she had angry tears streaking down her cheeks.

  She turned and headed for the door. Lorenzo caught her hand. “I’m sorry, Cara. My uncle isn’t normally this way. I’ll talk to him.”

  “Go to hell! You and that old bastard make me sick!” She broke into tears. “Go to hell!” She turned and ran out of the cottage.

  America –

  Catalina rolled over and touched Dominic’s chest. He was finally hers. All hers. Life had changed for the better; so dramatically since she decided Franco would die and she’d go for what she wanted. It was why she didn’t mourn the bastard. Catalina scooted in closer to snuggle the warmth of his body.

  The trip to America and the night of studying for her big day at Mirabella’s exhausted her. But excitement made her restless, unable to sleep. One sniff of Dominic’s clean, manly scent when he eased under the covers with her, and she couldn’t help but feel the urge to have him... between her legs. She ran her hand over his chest and flicked her tongue at his flat nipple. Dominic’s hand eased down the center of her back in a slow caress. Catalina glanced up as her hand moved down under the covers to stroke his flaccid cock. Her chin rested on his chest as she continued to stroke him.