by Sienna Mynx
“Run away!” he shouted after her.
“Fuck you!” She went for the door. She hurried through the next to the stone stairs of the cellar when he caught her. She tried to fight him off but he was taller, stronger, meaner. He embraced her, hugged her so tight she had no choice but to hold his sweaty back.
“If I lose you, I don’t know what I will do.” Giovanni said. “I can’t lose you again.”
“Let me go!” she struggled.
“I can’t stop it. I can’t fix it. Bella. I’ve lost. I don’t know how to fight the past when it keeps defeating us!”
“What the hell are you talking about?” She broke free to grab his face and force him to look at her. “What?”
His eyes glazed over with repressed tears and pain. He was scaring the hell out of her. “You have to let it go. Whatever it is. Don’t do this. I married you forever. You and me forever.”
Giovanni closed his eyes and tears escaped. They shocked her. To see him shed a tear meant something was terribly wrong. “Please God. Stop this, Giovanni. I don’t know what to do when you get like this. I won’t question you about your business. But this is about us, and you’re keeping something from me. What brought this on?”
“I won’t lose you or our children again.”
“Is this about the baby? Do you think if I lost the baby I’d take Eve and leave you? That’s crazy.”
He looked up at her and she saw him struggling with answering her. His conflict broke her heart.
“There are some things you can’t control,” Mira said “I know that’s hard for you, but its true. We have to have faith, Giovanni, that the baby will be fine.”
“Faith has never brought me far.”
“Hasn’t it? I never gave up on you, even when we were apart. Faith brought you to me. Now, I need you do the same. Our love is strong enough to survive this.”
He stepped back from her shaking his head. “You don’t know me, Mira, you don’t know what I’ve done. When you were gone. I did everything to punish myself. I had women, booze, death, none of it stopped me from wanting to crush everyone, including myself.”
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore…” Mira pleaded. She didn’t want to think of him with other women or killing people. In fact, she refused to think of that side of him at all.
“It’s the truth!” he shouted at her. “You would’ve never been mine again if you knew what I’d become when we were apart.”
“Stop throwing it in my face! I lost my best friend dammit. Right here! Right outside of those doors. I’m nobody’s victim! Especially not yours.”
“You sure about that?” he asked, with something sinister in his voice that turned her stomach to ice.
“I knew what you were and so did Fabiana! Neither of us cared. Not enough to call it off. I am here because I want to be. I married you because I love you. You didn’t force love into my heart. And when you fucked me, we did it out of love. You’re standing here twisting our life together into something ugly! Why?”
“Because before long, it’s how you’ll see it. That’s the irony. I can bring you a million blue roses, but one day, you’ll really see who I am.”
She turned from him, putting a hand to her belly and the other to her forehead. She calmed herself and tried to speak reasonable. “It won’t work. I won’t let your insecurities rob me of anything else. Do you hear me? I’m not the woman to be treated like some puppet, and I’m not so fragile that I’d run away when things got scary. And yes, baby.” She turned and looked at him. “Right now, you’re scaring the hell out of me.” She walked toward him. “Let’s get something straight. You don’t own me, Giovanni. Not like you own them. Never like that! This is love, not some totalitarian rule over my heart. I won’t put up with you taking us here every time you get afraid. It’s the past. Leave it there!”
“I can’t! I fucking can’t!” he turned and walked back into the boxing room. She followed him. “Leave me!”
“No!”
He put his hands to his waist and started to pace. “One day, I’ll do something. They’ll make me do something, and you’ll have to make a choice that I never want you to make.” His voice croaked with emotion. “I’ll change you or I’ll lose you. That’s our future.”
Tears welled in her eyes. She wanted some normalcy; but if her life would be filled with his darkness, she had to be strong enough to handle it. “What do you want me to say? It’s too late for this conversation. We should have had it the day you came for me in Switzerland. Because it was that day that I decided I wanted you back. Even before then. If you were this terrified of loving me, trusting me, then you should have left me where I was!”
“Stop pushing me, Bella. I’m in no mood to be gentle with your feelings.”
“Whatever the hell this is, you think it matters now? Now? After everything we’ve been through. I’m your wife, Giovanni. I know you aren’t a saint, but you aren’t the devil either. Stop trying to convince me you are. Believe in me.”
“I do,” he said, sadly.
“I believe in you too.” She got in front of him again. He was covered in sweat and musk but he couldn’t be more beautiful to her. She touched his face and this time, he didn’t draw back. She stood on her toes and kissed him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on to that kiss, taking her last breath with his before their lips parted.
“I don’t deserve you,” he breathed, their foreheads touching. “I need to be alone. I can’t look at you. I can’t hold you. Not now. Give me some space,” he said, going back to the bench and sitting down. She stood there, unsure of what to say or do next. He dropped his head back against the wall. He closed his eyes effectively, shutting her out.
She turned and walked out. He didn’t call to her and stop her. She cried all the way back to her bed. After another hour, he came to the room. She heard him shower. She waited for him to join her in bed, but he didn’t. He left out again. Mira turned her face to her pillow and cried again. A few minutes later, he returned. She looked back and saw he had Eve in his arms. Wiping at her tears, she rolled over and drew aside the covers. Giovanni got in with their daughter and she scooted close to them both. He held her, she held him, and Eve slept between them.
“I love you both,” he said.
Unable to stop crying, Mira nodded. He touched her face. She looked up at him in the darkness. “Don’t push me away again. Do you hear me?” she sniffed.
“I hear you.”
He kissed her forehead and wiped away her tears. Mira sighed and forced herself to sleep. But it was a different kind of sleep. It was the first time since Fabiana died that she felt this kind of fear. And she didn’t like it.
Chapter Fifteen
La Famiglia – The Family
“Tell him it’s Giovanni Battaglia on the line.” His tone was abrupt and unapologetic. Giovanni needed to reign in his emotions and keep a cool head. The young woman who answered the phone paused over the name. She asked him to hold. Giovanni closed his eyes and waited. After a tense three minute wait, Armando came on the line.
“Giovanni, this is a surprise.”
“I’m returning to Sicily this morning.” Giovanni answered.
“Is that right?” Armando said, with a hint of annoyance. “Well good for you.”
“I’m coming to Bagheria.”
“Interesting? I don’t remember extending an invitation,” Armando replied. There was a silken, yet deadly threat of a warning in his tone. To say Giovanni and Armando loathed each other, would be like saying the Pope only liked to attend Mass. Their shared history dated all the way back to his boyhood days in Mondello. Typically, an invitation would have to be extended.
“What brings you?” Armando asked.
“Your father. Tell him I’m ready to talk. I’ll be there as soon as my plane lands.”
Armando didn’t answer. No quick comeback revealed all Giovanni needed to hear. He held the line and waited out Armando’s silence.
“He’
ll be ready.” Armando answered and hung up.
When Giovanni set the satellite plane phone down, he caught the stares of Lorenzo and Dominic. “Armando knows nothing,” Giovanni said.
“Are you sure?” Dominic asked.
“I know him. If he knew about Mira and his father, I’d have heard it in his voice. Which means Mancini is doing this on his own.”
Lorenzo shook his head. “All night I stared at her, Gio. She can’t be Mira’s sister. They are so different. Marietta has had it tough. She’s a fighter.”
“And you’re saying my wife isn’t?” Giovanni scowled.
“No. Mira is too, but she’s different than Marietta. You have to spend time with her to understand. I just can’t believe we’ve been played like this. Marietta didn’t even know her mother was dead until Rocco told her. How did this go down?”
“My Bella is clueless as well. She knows her mother is dead but thinks of her as some poor junkie. What Mancini has done will cost him his life!” Giovanni said, while clenching and unclenching his fist.
“Rumor has it that Mancini is sick.” Dominic interjected. “Armando is consigliere and runs the family affairs. No one has seen the old man in months. Only those closest in La Cosa Nostra are allowed access.” Dominic swirled the vodka and orange juice in his glass, talking while staring out the plane window at the clouds. “Did Armando agree to the meeting?”
“I thought he might object, and he did hesitate, but ultimately he agreed.” Giovanni wiped his hand down his face. He didn’t like the hand dealt to him. Last night, he almost told her the truth. It tore at him so deeply, he couldn’t return to bed to face her alone. He had to bring Eve. The guilt of what his father had done to her mother could not be fixed. Mancini held the power to his happiness, the future of his marriage in his hands. What the fuck could he do if the old Don wanted to go to war with him and used his bride as the ultimate weapon? Nothing. And that made him desperate.
“Mirabella…” he said softly, pounding his fist into the arm of his chair. Fortunately, neither Dominic nor Lorenzo heard the tremor of uncertainty in his voice when he said her name. He’d treated her horribly last night. Lashed out at her in fear, not anger, and his actions left her confused and disillusioned. He was so ashamed, he couldn’t face her this morning either. He left a note and crept from the room before the sun rose. The truth was, when it came to disappointing her, he was a coward.
Giovanni plucked the phone up and dialed. He waited a moment and prayed the direct line to his bedroom would reach her. After three rings, she picked up. He closed his eyes to the softness he heard in her voice. “It’s me.”
“You left without saying goodbye.”
“Mi dispiace. The sooner I leave the sooner I return, was my thinking.”
“Last night, you, I… are you okay?” she asked.
“Are we okay?” he answered.
“I love you so much,” she said. “I don’t know what to do, Giovanni, when you punish me for loving you. We’ve only been married for a week and already you are acting like it’s a mistake.”
“Shhh…” he silenced her. “Never think for a moment I don’t want you, what we share.”
“Then you have to communicate with me. Not about your business but about your feelings. Don’t shut me out. How can I know when something is wrong between us?”
“There is nothing wrong with us, Bella. Forgive me for making you think so.”
The answering silence was punishment enough. He had to reign in his emotions. She was right. They’d only been married a week and already he was anticipating the worst. It had to end.
“Why did you call?” she asked. He could hear the exasperation in her voice.
“Ti adoro,” He told her he adored her. “Sposami!”
“Marry you? I thought I already did.”
“Again, tonight, when I come home. We can marry privately. The way you did the night of our wedding.”
“Oh?” A soft laugh echoed through the phone line. He could envision her smile. He smiled, fueled by her laughter, with renewed confidence.
“I see. So you want a repeat performance? Come home to me soon and I’ll get out my ribbons.”
“Now we’re talking,” Giovanni chuckled. “I needed to hear your smile in your voice today, Bella. So very much.”
“We’re waiting for you. Come home.”
“I promise. Ciao.”
Giovanni hung up. He reclined in his chair and focused on nothing, prepared for whatever awaited him in Sicily.
Bagheria Sicily –
Armando Mancini was a tall man. Six-foot-three and all muscle, he had skin darkly bronzed even for a Sicilian, like his father. He wore his hair longer than most men. It lay straight to his shoulders, as dark as raven wings. He had his mother’s hair and features, but his father’s temperament. It made the calm in his chestnut brown eyes deceiving. Most women paused at his handsome features, or succumbed to his wishes from a single glance. Few men mistook his boyhood appeal for weakness. He had proven himself anything but. He was truly Marsuvio Mancini’s progeny. Where his father in his day would be known to use a gun on anything in his way, Armando preferred knives. He had a knife room that housed treasures and artifacts dated back to Julius Caesar. As the son of the most powerful Mafia family in Sicily, he rarely had a chance to carve his name into his enemies. His bloodline dated all the way back to the origins of the Mafiosi. Men gladly stepped forward to preserve his family honor and enforce his wishes.
That was everyone but his longtime rival Giovanni Battaglia. The half-breed pretender had too much power and strength, all of it undeserving. The Camorra were the dogs of society in Armando’s opinion. They employed the code of the Mafia without the discipline of electing true leaders, full Sicilians who were worthy to organize and lead. It pissed Armando off regularly, when he heard of how powerful Giovanni grew each day. Now that he wiped out the Calderones and took claim to the triangle, even the Ndrangheta was paying attention. He needed to be stopped.
The phone call had left Armando seething with fury. Why would his father arrange a meeting with Giovanni Battaglia and not tell him? Bringing the bastard half-breed Don to his front door without the proper acceptance from him was unacceptable. What was the old man up to?
Tapping on his father’s door, he pushed it open and stepped inside. Don Marsuvio Mancini sat up in his bed with a tube under his nose, running across his cheeks, and hooking around his large ears. The tubes joined under his chin ran a direct line into the oxygen tank he carried with him everywhere. The cancer was carved out of his lungs, so the doctors said, but at seventy-one the likelihood of his father living past another year was slim.
“Patri…. may I?” Armando asked before entering.
The old man waved him inside. “What is it?” He tossed the covers back and eased his feet into his slippers. “I was about to shower and go to the gardens to read.”
“Giovanni Battaglia,” Armando said, clasping his hands in front of him.
Before his eyes, his father’s face and neck reddened. The curve to the old man’s back appeared to straighten as he sat upright and glared at his son. “What about him?”
“He said you requested a meeting. He’s landing. Coming here. Why?”
“Here? Now?”
“Yes. Did you not request it?”
Mancini pushed the oxygen tank away from the bed and then rose. “Tutto va bene. I want to see him. It’s time.”
“Time for what?” Armando asked. He took a cautious step forward. “I have a right to be in attendance. I am your consigliere and yet you keep this from me?”
“Don’t you stand there and speak to me of your rights. I am the Don of this family. Until you shovel dirt over me, the rights you have are the ones I grant.”
Armando nodded in respect.
“When Giovanni arrives, bring him to me. In the garden.” Mancini put on his robe and eased it on. With his other hand, he gripped the handle of his oxygen tank and began to wheel it with him to
ward the bathroom. Armando watched him go, tight-lipped.
“Patri?”
Don Mancini paused. He heaved a burdened sigh and cast his gaze back to his son. “É fatto. I promise to make it plain to you soon. Right now, follow my wishes without question. I have my reasons.”
Disappointed, Armando watched his father go. It was hard to see the withered man he had become. He remembered the man who ruled with his fist and evoked respect in every village that dared whisper his name. After his mother’s death two years ago, he noticed the change in his father. Now, with the battle won against cancer, he looked like all the fight had left him. Except in the brief moment Armando told him of Giovanni Battaglia’s pending visit. Whatever brought Giovanni to Sicily had returned the fire and determination in his father that had been absent for months. But what was it?
Bagheria Sicily –
The drive out of Palermo through the hills went without incident. Giovanni travelled in the car with Lorenzo and Dominic. Four of his best men were in the car behind them. Still, he was in the heart of Mancini’s territory; and without a formal invitation, he would need to proceed with caution.
“Should we call on Uncle Vito and our cousins? Let them know you are in Sicily.” Lorenzo asked.
“Doesn’t matter. By the time they reach us, my business will be concluded with Mancini,” Giovanni answered.
“There is one thing that makes no sense to me, Giovanni.”
“Only one?” Giovanni asked.
Lorenzo half-smiled. “Capriccio. Why did he cover this for Tomosino? Or did he cover it for Mancini? Capriccio was determined that Marietta believed she was his. He went as far as putting her in his will, with a stipulation that she not request a blood test for paternity. She found an original birth certificate with him listed as the father. What was in it for him to keep a thirty- year- old secret?”
