by S. W. Frank
After Sergio’s death, Olivano ceased making the shoes. He was wealthy; Alfonzo’s grandfather ensured he was paid exorbitantly. Labor and tools are expensive as are high-end materials. But during the war the Germans stole his possessions and poverty is where he dwelled until Luzo searched him out and thus he re-emerged in a sense on Luzo’s foot. What Alfonzo found interesting is, just as an origin of a word, theories abound about the shoemaker and why he does not design for anyone other than Sicilians, and even they are few. But, the agreement was Olivano took an oath that he is to design only for a Giacanti and those he or she recommends.
Luzo trusted few people, if any. Those he did trust if they enquired about his suit, then a tailor’s name was recommended, that can be said for his shoes as well. Therefore Alfonzo surmised his father considered Don Meroni trustworthy.
Ironic, isn’t it that history is found in subtleties when a person is astute?
Don Meroni removed his hat. On his scalp sat wavy tuffs of gray. He placed the cashmere cap on the shiny teak, like a gentleman, like Alberti, is what Alfonzo thought.
“Ah, this talk of who a donna marries isn’t why I am here mi amici. The revenue generated from the investments in our portfolios is ample incentive to remain steadfast in keeping our hands clean. Don Diaz has been responsible for the increases in our profits; therefore I am here in full support and unity.”
Alfonzo appreciated the oratory. “Good to hear.”
Lou ‘Smiley’ Domenico of the Camorra grumbled. Why they called him Smiley was evident. “Giovani are too accepting. Yosef’s head should have been on this table for the Russian fiasco moons ago. No offense Don Diaz-Giacanti but I was there when the shipment came in and Carlo, may he rest in peace was shortchanged. Yosef should die. Finito!”
Alfonzo took a sip of OJ. “So you suggest I handle old business?” He squinted. “No offense Smiley but that matter should’ve been resolved before you retired and I came on the board.”
The grunts from irritable people are the crap he dealt with regularly and the reason the scowl usually formed. Dealing with seniors who disrespected a person because age gave them carte blanche wasn’t where he co-signed. Anybody who wants respect better give it or keep the hell out of his face with the bullshit. Finito maricón!
“Our famiglia is aware of each of your concerns. Famiglia may not always agree on matters, therefore the Don requests that until there are further concerns which warrant these meetings, your families have nothing to worry about. He will handle the matters of his famiglia and the Israeli if the need arises.” Matteo the spokesperson interjected without warning.
Alfonzo placed his ring hand on the wood. “Don Peglesi has been eloquent. But here’s my thoughts aloud, either you’re loyal or you’re not. Smiley you had your opportunity to deal with Yosef and let it pass. He’s now in the family and that’s where enemies are sometimes watched the closest. Yosef hasn’t made any moves against you or questionable transactions which violate our policies; in fact he’s been dormant. Do not doubt Senior Dons that this kid will deal with him personally if he fucks up, capisce?”
The men were nodding. They respected Alfonzo’s forthright speech. Matteo liked to sugarcoat shit and Alfonzo didn’t. A suit hadn’t changed the heart of a Puerto Rican.
He stood, signifying the meeting was over. He also had a plane to catch to another island with sun and tropical trees.
Chapter Three
Maria smiled at the chef who arrived like clockwork. He had begun to set out the utensils to make Bruno’s customary gourmet meal pre-Maria. Clad in an apron and silly accordion hat, which announced, I am a Master Chef, he peered in the cabinets after giving a perfunctory buongiorno as if Maria were merely a guest.
Tomás was his name. A thin Parisian, who somehow avoided the side effects associated with his profession, he traipsed around as if he owned the kitchen. But, Bruno had given Maria carte blanche over the mansion and last night she had spoken with him about Tomás. He disregarded her orders the other evening when she requested he add a Puerto Rican dish to the entrée. Guests of Bruno visited and she wanted them to taste the flavorful cuisine of the island, however the chef decided otherwise.
“You are my donna, not Tomás. Fire him if that pleases you or anyone else who does not respect your position,” Bruno had said as they cuddled after a wonderful evening of wine and romance.
So, this morning as Bruno dressed for his travels, she found the courage to exercise her authority. Leaning on the counter she said, “This morning Tomás, I am preparing breakfast for Don DeMarco; you may collect your things, gracias.”
The man spun around as if she spoke in blasphemy. “What do you mean?”
“Today you are not needed, thank you,” she pronounced in a slower pace, in the event her nervousness caused her to speak rapidly and he did not understand.
He waved his hand. “Nonsense. I have cooked for the family for years.”
“That may be and I’m sure your services were well compensated, but as I have said, today I will do the honors for my fiancé.”
Tomás’ indignation was a snort. “I do apologize, but I must be frank, it is best that I cook from now on for the both of you. Your food is how I say…less than palatable for high society.”
Oh, never insult a Latina, especially one who’s considered a beast in the kitchen. Her culinary skills were the result of a degree in Caribbean culture when meals are made on meager salaries. The pompous ass brought out the Maria Diaz from the barrio that attended mass on Sunday but handled insolent customers throughout the week when she operated a salon.
“You are fired pendejo. Get your fancy utensils and leave. Feed your bird droppings somewhere else but the pigeon food will not be eaten here, now go, ahora!”
Tomás challenged her and a yelling match ensued. Bruno appeared, tailored and sharp. His angry visage silenced Tomás before he spoke. But when he did, there was a bass so deep, that gave Maria goosebumps.
“Tomás, silenzioso cazzo. How dare you speak to my donna that way? Va, ora before I pound you like the dry meat you cook!”
Tomás apologized profusely as he collected his items, shoving them into his eco-friendly sack. He turned to Maria with imploration asking her forgiveness. He had not meant to offend the mistress, he had overstepped his boundaries and he was aware of his error. Twenty years he had worked for the De Marco’s. The former mistress was unable to cook and relied on Tomás more than she should. When she took ill it was if he had died, because he loved her like a sister, thus his resentment of Maria, a mistress who did not seem to need him around.
He did not speak these thoughts, but he did ask for a chance to begin anew.
Maria sighed. Tomás was not a horrible cook. In fact he was quite good. She glanced at Bruno who said nothing more. Her decision was what he would support. Within the teachings of scripture, there is the mention of compassion and the urging of forgiveness. She recanted a scripture in silence from Matthew 6:15, ‘But if you do not forgive others their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.’
Maria regained her composure; she had allowed herself to become riled. “You may return tomorrow Tomás. Today, I will cook, but you are well received in the morning and I will appreciate if you can plan a menu that includes foods picky children might love.” Maria smiled warmly. “My grandbabies are coming today. However tomorrow my daughter-in-law will join us for an outing but I’m sure learning to make your fancy cookies and pizza will be nice when we return. My sweet daughter will certainly find the
recipe’s useful. Now, I warn you, the children are lively and their mama will require our combined patience in the cucina. Will you be ready for the challenge ahead?”
Relief blanketed Tomás’ face. He was not fired. ““Oui, Signore. Thank you...thank you. I will come up with a variety of simple and fun meals any child can make, even a mother who cannot bake. Ah, I will begin work on this today,” he said with such gratitude, Bruno smirked.
Tomás had never apologized before. He was an arrogant person who Bruno tolerated as he did family. However, there are moments when someone requires a firm hand as a guide when their footing strays from the path of respect.
When Tomás departed, Bruno approached Maria. He saw the frown upon her face which passed suddenly. He hoped Tomás’ offense had not upset her too much. His hand rubbed her arm as she reached for the egg carton upon the counter. To her neck he planted a kiss of adoration and to her ear he whispered, “You rule my home donna, I give you access without reservation as I do my heart.”
She shut her eyes to his heavy breath on her skin and his hands upon her hips. The goosebumps from his voice presented from his touch. The sound of a zipper instead of utensils echoed in the quiet of the expansive kitchen. The elation of loving again took over. The maturity of a woman admitted her desire for Bruno without shame. The hand lifting her dress, sliding down her panties and spreading her thighs apart were given assistance. She stepped free of the trappings, simultaneously as he kicked away his shoes and wrestled loose his lower garments before bending her torso across the marble counter in an urgent expression of his need.
The acceptance of Bruno’s hard internal caresses resulted in an uncharacteristic supplication as her breasts jellied to and fro atop sandstone. “Oh Bruno…guapo…take care on your journey…return safely my heart.”
The tenderness of Maria’s expression was a blessing he always longed to hear. She had begun to love and trust again. He had loved his wife, but living beyond her death had become hours of loneliness. He craved the warmth he found in genuine love’s company. The day he saw Maria sparked joy.
He held her hips, kissed her and made promises he planned to keep. Unlike, Luzo he would cherish her like life. His thumbs pressed her waist, his thrusts were quicker. “Sí donna…we will not be apart long.”
She made sweet sounds, caressed his taut thighs and gyrated shamelessly on her future husband until he released a torrent. Lovemaking for the young produced children if they were not careful, but in maturity, there aren’t such concerns, which made the act more pleasurable. If that were to occur, ah he’d feel another blessing had shined on his house.
He kissed her shoulder. “I will call soon cara mia.”
Bruno did not reveal to Maria the important business trip involved her son.
***
Giuseppe’s vehicle intercepted his mother’s in the courtyard of her villa. The car was blocked and she could not go anywhere until she explained this swift wedding to Yosef Glavovitz.
Giuseppe exited his car and marched the short distance to the rear door where she undoubtedly sat, tapped on the window and when it rolled down, he stuck his head in and found her alone, on her cell, but he didn’t care.
“Where are you going this early mama?” Giuseppe asked. He had missed her on the two occasions he visited. Either she was here or there and his attempts to call went to voice mail and he had begun to wonder if she were hiding from an inevitable confrontation over her new husband.
“None of your business, move your vehicle, I have no time for this,” she said and put the cell in her purse. “Why do you behave this way figlio?”
Giuseppe pulled open the door, slid beside her, unbuttoned his jacket and grumbled. “Where is the stronzo you wed after fucking?”
“Watch your tongue with me!”
“You have heard worse, do not feign innocent ears.”
“You filthy speaking ragazzo. If your father were here-”
“But he is not. You sneak to marry my papa’s rival and avoid me. I learn of this marriage from Amelda and you disgrace papa by speaking of him in the same treacherous breath.”
“Amelda is banned from my home for snooping. I planned to tell you personally. That was not her place. Besides, Yosef and I have yet to determine if he will live in the villa.”
“I do not care about Amelda’s ridiculous punishment. You marry someone yet live apart, which is even more perplexing. Did the pene take your senses?”
Sophie slapped his cheek. He felt only an irritating sting. His mother had slapped him many times for his bad words as a boy.
“Silenzio!’ she said.
Giuseppe persisted. “I want an answer, ora!”
“Do not speak to me in such a tone.” She frowned, and then she calmly asked, “Where is Carlo?”
“The ragazzo is not part of this conversation. Why have you married this Israeli who deals with our enemies? He associates with Viyachov who papa hated. You know this mama!”
Sophie sighed. “There are reasons figlio.” She was about to confess the purpose she married Yosef so quickly when her son rudely interrupted with yet another of his demands.
Giuseppe’s eyes were flaming crystals of blue. “You spit upon papa with this indulgence to recapture youth. Divorce this cazzo mama. I order you ora!”
Sophie’s sadness was her son’s injurious words. He knew nothing, this boy dressed in men’s clothing refused to listen. “I do not take orders from a child; get out of my automobile until you have learned respeta!”
Sophie pushed at his arms, but he did not budge. He was not a boy in size or obedient. Instead he stared at his mother with malice. “Until you have found your senses again, you are not allowed to see Carlo. I do not want my son around a man papa despised or a Nonna who besmirches her deceased husband’s memory.”
“I loved Carlo. He would understand.”
“You lie to yourself. Papa would never give his blessing to this vile union. If you love me or my son you will annul this marriage for our peace. If you insist on keeping the uomo…you lose a son and grandchild.”
“You are cruel to say that. I am still grief-stricken over Carlo’s mama, she would not want you to do this!” she shouted.
Giuseppe scowled. “Do not ever speak about her…do not ever bring her into this.” He shook with such venom he had to exit the car for fear of an explosion. He slammed the door. He heard her piteous wail as he stormed to his car and entered.
“Do not do this figlio…I beg of you…do not hurt me more!” she had screamed but he closed the sounds of her pain out. His derision showed in a snort, he had chosen his son’s safety over a mother.
“Va ora!” he shouted to the driver.
Not a tear was shed over his decision. His mama could scream like a banshee but until she acquiesced, Carlo would not visit. An Israeli Mafiya consorting with Viyachov was apt to bring poison into their house. Viyachov and his father were rivals. Their feud over a shipment of arms had been long standing. He remembered only snatches and pieces of what occurred, it had happened so long ago, but he did recall his father’s abhorrence of Viyachov. Matteo’s Uncle filled in the missing parts since he was present during the exchange.
Apparently, Viyachov accused his papa of attempting to receive more weapons by alleging he had been shortchanged. Matteo’s Uncle said twenty crates of armaments were due but upon delivery there were only eighteen. Yosef had brokered the deal and was paid handsomely. Viyachov denied the accusation despite the bill of lading which clearly showed the numbers.
His father recognized a conspiracy and had planned to eliminate both men. His papa never liked being taken for a fool. Luzo quickly intervened to
broker an agreement, the terms were simple, return the difference of the weapons Carlo had not received and in exchange the Sicilians would refrain from waging war over pettiness. Reluctantly, Viyachov agreed. The men existed in a truce of sorts, but his father was not one to easily forgive. Giuseppe recalled the occasional rants whenever the Russian sought to do business in Sicily. His father refused any further dealings with their lot. Giuseppe supposed this was why he maintained an aversion to the Russian Mafiya.
The year after this problem with the Russians, a Sicilian Don was apprehended in America for heroin trafficking in what the law enforcement officials termed The Pizza Connection. The network stretched from Sicily to America. During the coordinated crackdown on the operation, internal fighting among Sicilian criminals began. Those involved in the trade seized the opportunity to go after rival factions for control of smuggling and distribution. The timing was ripe for insurgents to rise. The height of the killings began when word reached Sicily that the Don on trial in the United States had cooperated with law enforcement. In exchange he requested immunity from prosecution and placement in their Witness Protection Program.
Giuseppe’s stomach whined as the car rumbled across an uneven section of a strada. He scoffed at the reminder he had not eaten and missed his mama’s food. Then his thoughts returned to the feuds of violent men.
The upheaval set about by a rat resulted in shifts of power. His father was not involved in the drug smuggling business, his position remained unaffected. Giacanti’s are not solely mobsters; they’re royalty’s heirs. His father’s illegal activities consisted of money laundering, loan-sharking, and a host of other crimes. His trash collection company was the legitimate front. There wasn’t a necessity to engage in drug trafficking. He had enough money. Besides, his father once said the drug franchise is for the scavengers; those who eat their young. He was right.
Prostitution he found harmless if a woman was of legal age and chose to become an entrepreneur of her flesh. But, if she was underage, forced, kidnapped or tricked into the profession, then he was of the opinion such exploitation was an affront to decent men who loved women.
