by Sienna Mynx
Glenn’s smile spread across his face, wickedly white, and absent of humor. “Now, James doesn’t spend many hours out of his cell. Besides a shower break, he is on 24 hour lockdown until his trial.”
“Trial? For?”
“He killed a guard with a spoon. I hear he was pissed over the missing dessert on his tray. He’s a vicious son of bitch. Big one too. He’ll be shackled, but he’s known to break a few. I insist that three guards attend your meeting at all time.”
“I need privacy. This matter…”
“It’s non-negotiable, son. Those are my rules.”
“Understood.”
Dominic was brought to a door that only opened with the swipe of a badge. He entered and found a single table and two chairs. The walls and floor were both a concrete grey. Long florescent bulbs in the ceiling kept the place bright and clear of shadows.
“Wait here.”
The door closed behind him and the lock engaged. Dominic loosened his tie. He walked around the table and took a seat. After a minute of solitude, the grey wool trench he wore felt hot and heavy. He rose and shouldered it off. In the Campania the weather was nice, warm, and pleasant. In New York, the blistering cold kept his nose running.
There came a buzz. He glanced up in time to see the door open. A guard stepped in, and then another. Dominic waited. A tall black man with big shoulders and a bulking physique shuffled in next. He immediately locked eyes with Dominic. He glanced around the room, and then his hard gaze returned to Dominic once more.
“James. Please. Have a seat.”
“Who the fuck is you? My attorney? These bastards finally got me one?”
Dominic stared at him.
James shuffled over to the table and a guard pulled the chair out for him. He was locked down so tight in chains he needed the assistance. Dominic guessed his age to be late fifties. He, however, had the height and body of a thirty-year-old athlete. His skin was a medium brown, and his brows and mustache dark black. He had dark black eyes that never wavered when fixed on someone. If he was in a suit he would blend within society, possibly be mistaken for an athlete. He didn’t have a scar or tattoo on him, which many men who spent time in Italian or Sicilian prisons carried. Dominic guessed his height to be at least six feet-four or five.
“These motherfuckers wanted to deny me rights. I know my fucking rights. You look too young to be a good attorney. How…”
“I’m not your attorney,” Dominic said.
James’ brows lowered. “What are you? Italian? Sicilian?” There was something threateningly low in his voice when he asked the question. He said the word Sicilian as if it tasted like battery acid.
“My name is Dominic Battaglia. I need information, James. Only information you can provide.”
A deep throaty chuckle escaped the prisoner. “You! A fucking guinea grease ball wants information from me? Some shit going down with the dagos in this joint? That it?” James leaned forward, and his mouth curled into a snarl. “I don’t run with no fucking Italians! And the last Sicilian I met in here, I snapped his neck before I ripped off his balls. Ask these guards why I’m in chains, and they still look scared.” He raised his arms and slammed shackled fists down on the table so ferociously, Dominic thought it would split in two. The guards stepped forward.
Dominic glanced up and shook his head no. The men held their ground.
“I’m here about Melissa Ellison.”
The anger and disgust drained from James’ face and he slowly sat back. Dominic saw such raw pain flash over his features, he thought James stopped breathing. The mention of Mira’s mother hit him hard. James dropped his head, shaking it. “Of course, of course. A got damn zip would come here about Melissa after a lifetime of my suffering for my baby you want to turn the screw,” he said hollowly.
The guards looked at each other, confused. It was Dominic’s guess that James never showed weakness to any of them. They were all witness to his greatest weakness now.
“Lisa.” James mumbled.
“Lisa?”
“That’s what we called her. Lisa.”
“So you remember her?” Dominic asked. It was the wrong question. Immediately, James’ head snapped up and his eyes blazed with rage.
“Who the fuck are you?” he shouted. “That fucking bastard sent you here after thirty years to rub my face in it. Didn’t he? Didn’t he?! Didn’t he?” James shouted over and over. One of the guards stepped forward and hit him in the back of the neck with his baton. James lurched forward and a gurgling noise escaped him. Drool dripped from his bottom lip. His hate- filled gaze lifted slowly to Dominic. “He couldn’t face me his fucking self? So he sends you? Piece of shit guinea bastard!”
The guard hovered over James, ready to deliver another strike. “You cool, Walker? Are you cool?”
James turned his neck from left to right as if working out a kink. He didn’t answer but the guard took it as a yes. He stepped back.
“That motherfucker destroyed my life. You know what? I can live with no life. Not much of it for a country nigger without a high school diploma. But taking my Lisa from me was too much. She was barely sixteen when he decided to take her, and I was too fucking stupid to see his play.”
“Who took her?”
James frowned.
“Who took her from you, James?” Dominic asked.
“Don’t you know?”
Dominic shook his head. He wouldn’t divulge who he was or why he came unless necessary. The less Giovanni’s name was said in the presence of strangers the better. But he needed James to talk. And he wasn’t sure what he could offer him to ensure he did.
“I don’t know. That’s why I’m here.”
“A fucking Sicilian like you. They called him, Manny Cigars.”
“Is he the reason why you burned down that club and killed those people?”
James laughed. It was a genuine laugh. “I didn’t burn down no club. The first man I ever killed was behind bars. Found out it was a good stress reliever so I kept doing it.” He cut the guard to his left a sly smile. “But I ain’t kill no fucking body on the outside.”
Dominic knew men rarely confessed to their crimes. It was always someone else, anyone else’s crime but theirs. For some reason, he couldn’t explain. He was inclined to believe James.
“How is my Lisa? Still sweet chocolate brown, isn’t she? Bet she ain’t aged a day since I last saw her. Sweet chocolate brown. Did she send you here for me? I’ve been waiting a long time for her to send me a message that she was good. All good.” Hope softened his features.
“No. She didn’t send me,” Dominic said.
“She’s a sweet baby. Took real good care of me. And Lisa could sing. Everything about her was soft and lovely. Best damn thing that ever happened to me. I love her still. You tell her I said that.”
“She didn’t send me. James can you tell me about this man, the Sicilian named Manny Cigars.”
“Her preacher father used to grow apples on his farm. Had these orchids that smelled like candy. Lisa carried that scent in her skin. I could inhale her all night.” James’ head tilted back and he became lost in a memory that was only his.
“How did you get involved with this Manny?”
“Who the fuck are you again?”
Dominic looked down at his watch. He was running out of time. “I’m a friend of Lisa’s daughter.”
James looked stunned. It was evident he never knew what happened to his first love. The prisoner heaved an affronted sigh. “So they had a daughter? Cause I’m sure she ain’t mine. Or is she?” James looked up. Again hope in his eyes.
“Her name is Mira Ellison, and she was born in 1964. So I would say no. There is something you should know. Lisa, Melissa Ellison, she’s dead. She died a long time ago.”
“Liar!”
“She is.”
“You fucking liar!” James charged at him. The guards were on him in a flash. He was so strong he threw one of them off while the other two beat him down to hi
s knees.
“Wait! Please! Wait! I have to talk to him. Wait!” Dominic shouted. Finally, the attack stopped. James wept. Not from the beating. He seemed unfazed by it. He wept for a girl named Lisa, who was sixteen when he last saw her. “When she die?” he groaned.
“I’m not sure. I think sometime around 1965.”
“Nooooo… he killed her. He used her and he killed her. Didn’t he?”
“That’s why I came, James. To find out for her daughter who hurt her. Can you help me? Can you?”
James looked up from his tears. “She dead. My Lisa is dead.”
Capri –
“When are we going to bed?” Mira yawned.
Giovanni reached and pressed the button. The anchor began to descend into the blue depths. After sailing around the islands under the moonlight, she could tell he was tired as well. He parked the yacht and the men boarded to secure it.
“We can go to bed now. Look at bambina. She’s a tired princess.” He reached and took Eve from her arms. Mira sighed. She had felt numb through her limbs holding her daughter and sitting on the stool. Giovanni kissed Eve, holding her out in front of him. Their daughter cried in frustration and he put her back against his chest and comforted her. “She turns a year older in two weeks. I can’t believe she will be two. We will have a big celebration.”
Mira walked around to join him. Giovanni turned and cast her a look to not follow. “Let’s make sure no one else is onboard and sees my beautiful wife in her underwear,” he smiled.
A small laugh escaped her. She nodded. “Yes. Why don’t you see to that?”
He winked and walked out with Eve. Mira wiped the fatigue from her dry eyes. She stretched them to try to stay awake. It had to be close to four in the morning. It would be nice to watch the sunrise but she couldn’t handle it. Her pregnancy demanded she get her eight hours of sleep in the early stages. She leaned on the console and stared out into the night. In New York, Catalina was at Mirabella’s. Mira burned inside to know what she’d learned so far. Though Mira trusted Teddy, she knew he had a propensity to try to protect her from the dirty matters of business. When he and Fabiana were a team, that was okay. But now she was back and soon in charge. Catalina would get her all the details that Teddy conveniently kept from her.
She hoped.
When they returned to the villa, no matter the hour, she would call Catalina and learn the latest. Mira smiled. She put a hand to her mouth. Soon she would be designing again. And then she would truly have it all. It was in a time of pure happiness she thought of her mother, and the things they would never share. Why did she run from their family, why did she turn to drugs? She wished she had lived so she could see what Mira had become.
Giovanni returned. He stepped behind her, pressing against her backside. Mira turned around and put her arms around his neck.
“What has you smiling so brightly for me?”
“Love. It heals everything, Giovanni,” she said. “Where is Eve?”
“I laid her down. The men are gone.”
“So we’re all alone?”
He lifted her by the hips and sat her on the console. She parted her thighs and he came between. Her legs lifted and cinched around his waist.
Giovanni couldn’t keep his hands off her or his dick from inside of her. Since the day she said she was pregnant, his libido went into overdrive. Maybe it was some shared hormonal thing? Also, there was undeniably a yummy heat in her pussy. He was addicted to it. He asked her if she felt different and she dismissed the question. Well, for him she felt different, hotter, softer, and sexier. Now, with her thighs pressed at his side and that warm moist pussy of hers pressed to his pelvis, he contemplated ways to ravish her again.
Maybe he should give her a break?
Maybe he should let her sleep?
Maybe he’d perform better with a little rest if he waited until after sunrise? Truthfully, he could give a shit about any ‘maybes’. Right now, she was all he wanted. He stared at her face. Bathed in moonlight, it was clear to him in the shadowy captain’s cabin. Long eyelashes dipped low revealing her tiredness, and her soft brown eyes maintained his stare, refusing to give in.
He leaned forward and kissed her mouth. The returned passion fed his hunger for her. He released her, and lowered his face to bite her nipple and then went further down. Now, confronting her labia, he buried his nose in between the soft folds first. His tongue toggled her clit. Her hips undulated, bringing her sex crushingly close to his flicking tongue, and a deep pleasured groan tore from her now gaping mouth.
Giovanni sucked on her clit ruthlessly and then swiped his tongue in a figure eight swirl over her pussy, until moisture spilled from inside of her.
“Yes! Please! Yes!” she cried out.
It was all he could stand. The urge to overtake her brought him to his feet. He fisted himself to guide the head of his dick to her opening. Slow and easy, he pushed inside of her. That all consuming heat through her channel welcomed him, beckoned that he take it there, further than mercy would permit. So he stroked forward, thrust after thrust; holding her tenderly by the neck and hip until he was balls deep.
She tortured him. Crashing in bliss, and grunting with passion, together they released.
America –
Catalina strolled around Mira’s office. Strangely, she felt Mira everywhere. Hell, even after all these years, the room and belongings smelled of her. There were swaths of fabric left around, and an easel with a half drawn design. An antique sewing machine sat next to a modern one. The desk and computer, along with bookshelves and dress mannequins, were all to be expected. What stopped her cold were the photos. She was drawn to a tack board with images of the city, parks, things captured from the window, and other daily events frozen behind camera lenses. Mira had circled some of them. Placed Post-it cards under others, with notes of colors and design themes. She even saw a few sketches of dress designs, apparently inspired by a few.
And the photos were only the beginning. Catalina’s attention riveted toward several, with Mira posing in the arms of the Asian man. She had read so much about this man. Mira looked happy. The man did appear to be captivated with her in every picture. One image depicted them against the backdrop of snow-capped mountains in ski outfits. Another image looked like they were at a formal affair. He was strikingly tall and handsome.
Catalina gathered all six photos up and stacked them in a neat pile on Mira’s desk. She then turned her attention to the others, pictures of Fabiana and Mira. So many, the pang of sympathy for how Fabiana died, pummeled her heart. Catalina suppressed tears. Fabiana was a fireball, and it wasn’t just her red hair. She had a larger- than- life personality. Every award or fashion show they’d had during their years together, was captured in the silver-framed photographs. Catalina walked around the office and gathered every single photo. She stacked them neatly on the desk and went to the phone.
“Vicki, can you come in here please?”
The receptionist walked in and smiled.
“We need two boxes. One for trash.” She pointed to the images of Kei and Mira. “And another to mail these,” she pointed at the images of Fabiana. “Back to Italy. And also, bring me the project design plans for this season and next.”
“Those are Carole’s and she is very particular.”
The request was a highlighted one from Mira, in the folder Catalina studied. “I don’t care. I’m here to review Carole’s designs because Mira said so. Bring them in to me. That’s all.”
The young woman nodded and walked out. Catalina sat down behind the desk slowly, unable to stop grinning. Mira had told her what to do, but she never told her how gratifying calling the shots on anything outside of the family affairs of Melanzana would be for her. She could really see herself as the boss.
Riker’s Island –
James Walker swallowed down his pain. He had years of practice after being caged behind bars for a crime he didn’t commit. He was now seated again in front of Dominic, stone faced. But he
was talking. And he had one helluva story to tell.
“Lisa was too young to get a job when we ran away. I was too fucking ignorant to take the jobs given to a colored man then. I wanted more for my baby—and myself. I planned to set her up in a nice house and treat her like a fine lady. Like them rich white women where we from.”
Dominic nodded, encouraging him to continue.
“Anyways, there is only one way a nigger like me can make that happen. Either steal it or flip the shitty hand dealt my way. My height and strength made me able. We ran away to Philadelphia.” He paused. Dominic patiently waited for him to continue. “This was before the civil rights movement. Things were hard for us. Really hard. The only job I could get with decent pay was for the Italians who ran the neighborhood club called Manny’s. Lisa refused to sit home and do nothing. She got a job at a Chinese Laundromat not far from the club, making pennies. One day, she came to meet me after she got off work. I normally walked her home because it was kind of rough, the area we were in. She got tired of waiting and went inside. Lisa was brave but really naïve. Coloreds weren’t allowed in Manny’s unless they were part of the staff. And they sure as hell didn’t walk through the front door. Lisa knew this, but she figured it was my job, and it would be okay because it was a neighborhood spot. She’d never been inside a club before.”
“And then what happened?” Dominic asked, pressed for time. James would not be rushed. Speaking about Lisa seemed to be some kind of therapy for him.
“The club wasn’t open yet. Lisa, being who she was, gravitated to the piano and began to play. She loved music. Played the organ in her father’s choir. That’s where I first saw her, in church. I was three years older than her. Prettiest chocolate baby I ever seen. And then the day came when she got up from that organ and took the microphone. No one could sing like her. I fell in love. Her father put a gun on me. Said she was too young, and I was to stay away. I never did. Before, I seduced her with words of love and she was mine. All mine. There was no going back after that.”
