by S. W. Frank
The blue specks of awareness traveled to Bruno. An eyebrow arched. “You knew Bianca was pregnant by Nico all along, didn’t you?”
“Sí,” Bruno answered.
Alfonzo rose, slowly buttoned his jacket and when he looked at Bruno again his face was a mask of angry calm. “You’re as bad as my father. All these secrets are killing people. You are not good enough for my mother.”
“My father has been well-intentioned Don Alfonzo. Loyalty has been his fault since befriending your father. My sister has paid that price and now carries disgrace of bearing a married man’s child. Whatever ill you hold towards my father is misdirected. He counseled Luzo repeatedly to end this feud with his relatives and to emerge from the shadows to claim his place, your father refused. You are a son as I am a son; our choices cannot be that of our parents. If we assign blame, begin with your ancestral coward of a King who did not stand his woman before the people as his Queen.”
Alfonzo scoffed. Strong words from the likes of Corrado. Amused by the weak insult, the Roman Emperor Caligula came to mind. The tyrant Gaius was known for violence during his reign and sexual perversity. Corrado wasn’t insane but he did have a commonality with the Roman. Since Corrado decided to go there, Alfonzo let the cat out of the bag.
“Very bold words from someone sitting behind his old man’s chair, as a sister mastered weapons meant for her brother. My ancestor the King’s weakness was his concern for the people during strained relations with other nations; his motives were not self-interest. He did not don a dress beneath men’s clothes like a shameful deceiver. Bravery is more than words Corrado, advice is best practiced. Remember this as you hide to engage in adulterous affairs with men, slither to your fiefdom and then give diseased kisses called lies to your wife,” Alfonzo replied.
Corrado flushed red and turned to his father. “Papa, mi dispiace.” He did not see shock or disappointment in his eyes at Alfonzo’s pronouncement; he saw a father aware of his son’s affinity.
Bruno’s love was unconditional. He did not approve of his son’s lifestyle, who but a fool expects a child to be a saint?
Bruno addressed his son. “End the farce of marriage Corrado, it is long overdue.”
Alfonzo shrugged. “Hey, that’s all I’m saying. Live correct and then you might be able to talk saintly, but even those who got close were killed for calling others on their sins. MLK for instance future brother.”
Corrado frowned at Alfonzo’s callousness. “I heard tales of your father, and sadly it appears you have inherited his coldness.”
Alfonzo’s eyebrow rose sharply. “Your sensitivity suggests you’re the woman in that side relationship. Are you certain you want to continue stepping your ballet slippers in front of my steel toe boots, pendejo?”
“Enough, both of you!” Bruno chastised. “Our families will be one. Put your egos on the floor, there is a threat that requires we work together.”
Bruno’s son straightened his back but didn’t say a word. He had attempted to grow balls, which Alfonzo curtly snipped. Businessmen such as Corrado were the worse. They stayed far enough away to avoid the burning pot but when the pan cooled they were quick to eat the food. With downturned lips, Alfonzo’s eyes bore into the son, shipping magnate extraordinaire and fake ass family man.
Alfonzo’s skin, tendons, muscles and bone were Giacanti. Speak against his ancestors is to speak against the Puerto Rican formed from their loins.
Old feuds should have gone to the grave with the dead but they had not. He had nothing to barter to end ancient grudges. The problem with steadfast traditionalist is they fail to bend toward progression. There must be a compromise to move ahead but stubborn people have an aversion to cohabitating peaceably alongside brethren. Alfonzo was always in defense mode with the motherfuckers, and he was getting tired of the continual fight to do right with wrong.
Lies covered secrets; dead causes had bodies piled to the sky. They had a human stairway to climb for an audience with Greek gods. That'll be the only mythical ascension to such height, 'cause none of their asses were entering heaven after they die –for real.
“I have to leave. At the next meeting, I want Bianca and the survivors present. I need to hear out of their mouths what happened.” Alfonzo glowered at Bruno and Corrado. The prospect of becoming kin to the self-righteous brat whose father gave him everything was nauseating. Family gatherings were certain to include heated arguments and whatnot, ugh. He wanted his mom happy but damn why couldn’t she have hooked up with that retired sanitation worker from Nueva York back in the day instead?
Hell, picking up trash paid more than a cop in the city. But, nah, his mama gave up marriage to the church for a suave old G with deep pockets and a bunch of spoiled brats.
Alfonzo addressed his future step-father. “Concealing Bianca’s condition only prolonged the inevitable. What you did angers me because this cloak and dagger drama was unnecessary. You should have told your adult daughter to speak to the dude who knocked her up but nah your family likes hiding truths. I’m out!”
Alfonzo gave Corrado a cautionary stare. Go ahead; open your goddamn mouth, the blue eyes challenged.
Bruno’s eldest son remained silent.
No defenses or wisecracks emerged.
The clandestine meeting on the island of Brazil had officially concluded. A Don had the last word.
Chapter Seven
Tony waited in the car. Music and breakfast purchased on the way to the meeting were his company until Nico arrived. A fast moving vehicle sped into the clearing with plumes of dust billowing from the tires. The car skidded to a halt.
Nico was on time.
Nico had clocked over eighty once he made it out of the city to arrive as scheduled. He had to eat a second breakfast, first. When he climbed out of the car clutching a duffle bag, his face was as unreadable as the impending day. Nico hit the hood of Tony’s car and gestured for the man to get out.
Tony turned off the radio, placed the uneaten Styrofoam plate on the passenger seat and joined his Boss on the secluded plot.
“How you doing?” Nico asked but didn’t wait for the answer as he began walking fast to a clearing where the noise of propellers grew loud. A chopper came into view and was soon hovering directly overhead.
Damn, Tony thought, Nico calculated everything to the second, didn’t he?
“We’re going for a short trip!” Nico shouted as the helicopter began to descend as they scurried back. The metal bird whipped dirt and pebbles around the perimeter as it set down.
“Where?”
“No fucking questions. You find out in due time, capisce?” Nico replied in his usual brusque tone. He reached for the door, when the whooshing noises ceased, entered the chopper, tossed his duffle bag on the floor, snapped on his seatbelt and waited for Tony to do the same.
Soon they were soaring over the landscape. The heavy whirring of the blades cut into Nico’s speech as he pointed to a blip in the distance. Tony squinted to see and thought perhaps he needed glasses because he could only make out what looked like a dot peering from the water.
After several more minutes they landed on a remote island in the Mediterranean Sea, nautical miles from Spain where beyond sat la de la Juventud or the Isle of Youth, the second-largest Cuban island and the seventh-largest island in the West Indies.
Nico rummaged in his bag, Tony didn’t ask one damn question as he pulled out a compass, and then began following the navigational device by foot across a rocky plain with an elevated peak for over twenty minutes. They were near the top of a bluff with an unobstructed view of the sea.
Nico sat down with his bag of goodies and started setting up. Computer screens, game controllers
and his cigar were set out in picnic formation. The cigar went between his teeth, unlit as he activated the computer and like a kid about to play a video game stared at the HD image that appeared with intensity.
“Oh yeah baby, that’s what I’m talking about!” he exclaimed.
Tony peered at the clear pictures of a home and the surrounding blocks. “Whose house is that?”
“The mouse you let get away.”
Tony’s interest heightened. Hot damn, Nico was good, no, he was better than good –the fucking best!
“Is he in there?” Tony asked.
“Sí, as well as his entourage.”
“How the hell do you get this information?”
“In due time young buck…in due time you’ll learn.”
Nico began moving his fingers on the remote control and blip sounds emanated.
“What’s moving?” Tony asked.
“A drone.”
“You gotta’ be kidding, from this distance?”
Nico turned to inspect Tony to see if he was joking, but the man was serious. “How the hell do you think a lot of military operations work nowadays? Not everything requires a man on the ground.” He passed Tony the control and gave a quick tutorial. “When you see the target line up, push that button and see fireworks happen.”
Tony moved the lever forward on the device until he lined up with the fragmented lines which formed a circle. Nico lit the cigar and blew smoke over Tony’s shoulder as the drone connected to the coordinates.
Tony asked, “Now?”
“No, we can sit here until tomorrow and miss that dinner party in you and Tiffany’s honor. Of course ora.”
Tony chuckled. “Smart ass.” He hit the button and a succession of loud beeps resounded and the words:GAME OVER, appeared in bold red letters on the screen.
“Game over,” Nico stated emphatically. He disassembled the equipment. The items went back in his tote bag and he was on his feet, puffing his cigar, talking in between pulls about having to wear a damn suit because his wife liked when he was polished.
Tony laughed. “How does she put up with your irritable ass?”
“I don’t know; ask her tonight because I’m still mystified.”
Chapter Eight
Giuseppe winked at Carlo. “Ready?”
“Ready!”
“Bene. We must be well-behaved today, sí?”
Carlo picked his nose, nodding. “Sí.”
Giuseppe frowned. He removed an antiseptic wipe from the container and hurriedly cleaned the boy’s finger. “Use tissue, ah, we are not refined. Nicole is a classical pianist. We must show we are cultured.” Giuseppe rambled.
Carlo giggled as his papa continued to scrub his finger until the skin glowed pink.
“Okay, we are ready…do you think we have over dressed for the museum?” he asked Carlo who wore Amelda’s children’s wear. The khaki pants were dark blue with miniature elephants etched on the hem of the legs and pockets. A collar shirt with a matching theme, solid tie and soft blue loafers completed his son’s ensemble. Giuseppe wore a tailored suit with a white shirt beneath, so white it glowed.
Giuseppe sighed when he gazed at his son. The child was precious. But what was the fascination with boogies, he wondered?
Finally, he opened the door and stepped on to the pavement. He waited for the toddler and together they walked to the house. Well, Carlo ran ahead. He had been there before and remembered the nice ladies. Giuseppe called Nicole’s cell as he strolled forward. When she answered he informed her they had arrived. The door was opened before Giuseppe halted. Nicole stood there holding her cell, clad in jeans, a leather jacket and knee high boots. Her red hair was now blue. She did not look like a pianist but a seductive biker.
Giuseppe’s groin pulsed.
Behave, he told himself as she bent to kiss Carlo’s cheeks.
When she rose, Giuseppe disregarded mannerly advice, lowered his head to her oval face and kissed her to the frame of the door until she groaned for air.
“Umm Giuseppe, Carlo, remember?” she mumbled in his mouth.
Giuseppe gave a lopsided grin as he pulled away. “Carlo likes to see us kiss, right figlio?”
Carlo held Nicole around the leg. She smiled at the boy. “Okay, with two handsome men vying for my attention how do I choose?”
“Me, I win!” Giuseppe answered. He looked down and winked at Carlo because if he won so did his son. But Carlo didn’t play fair. Women are mesmerized by Carlo’s huge blue eyes and the cherry lips shaped like a heart inherited from his mother. Giuseppe didn’t have a chance if the precocious ragazzo didn’t step aside.
“Me,” Carlo mimicked and his father scoffed. Carlo played dirty; he learned manipulation from Allie.
A laugh emanated from the pianist. It was music. “It’s settled, my Carlo wins. Come love, you are my escort today.” She took the child’s hand and they were off, leaving Giuseppe there with a sore loser face.
Giuseppe trailed the couple, purposely hanging back to admire Nicole’s curvaceous silhouette. He loosened his tie, perhaps he was over dressed for the museum after all. He had a pang of guilt, but then he told himself.
I loved you very much donna, but I must move on for our son, do not be angry por favore; you will always be in my heart.
Nicole glanced over her shoulder, and then stopped to wait for Giuseppe. “Are you okay?”
He nodded. “I am okay Nicole, Grazie for accompanying us.”
She extended her hand toward Giuseppe. “You’re welcome, now come on. Take my hand, today is fun day for my sharply dressed gentlemen.” Her wise eyes read his solemn thoughts. “Sadness is not allowed. Carlo isn’t the only one who needs a reprieve, got it?”
“Sí.” His cobalt irises flashed gratitude. “Sí, donna, got it.”
The drive consisted of a stop at a creamery which sold the tastiest sorbet. Giuseppe thought of his mama. She would take him here for these desserts often…she always gave him treats. It was a bitter-sweet feeling to share the experience with his son and guest. He was tempted to call his mama and apologize for what he said, but then remained resolute. His mama must choose, Yosef or family.
They had to eat on the way or miss the introduction. Nicole’s lips held the plastic spoon with the orange milky dessert as he explained they were going to a marionette museum where the pupari was well renowned.
“This outing was scheduled months ago. Carlo’s mama had it in her calendar…I am fulfilling her wish donna…but…mi scusi,” Giuseppe said and then reclined his head to the seat, licking away the residual sorbet clinging to his pink mouth. He squinted under the pain as he shut out the sudden pressure stomping on his skull.
Nicole rubbed his thigh. “Headache?”
He nodded.
She took the container from his hand, placed hers as well in the car’s receptacle to massage his forehead. Her fingers were soft as they rotated on his skin. His face relaxed and the masculine lips puckered as he sighed.
“Feels good?” she asked.
“Ummm…bene…doctors say sex is good for headaches.”
Nicole laughed softly and continued to massage his temple, smiling at Carlo who ate quietly beside his irritable dad. If there are blessings in the world, they are children.
Giuseppe stayed silent to let her work. Sometimes, the headaches came when he was alone with his son. He’d lay the boy across his chest until the pain subsided. Quiet and sleep were often the best pain reliever. But Nicole’s fingers had a therapeutic effect; he took hold of her wrist and pressed his mouth appreciatively to her pal
m. She was unaware he suffered migraines and a bullet to the skull and stress were to blame. Her compassion was endearing.
He leaned forward to kiss her. He slowly detached from the soft lips, insanity caused him to confide a father’s fear aloud. “My son needs a mama. I am unable to do this alone.”
“You are a wonderful father. You are doing an excellent job. As long as he’s loved, that’s the most important thing.”
“He has asked for his mama many times.”
“She is in heaven but her spirit is around him every day, which is true.”
Giuseppe nodded. “You are lovely with Carlo.”
“But I am not his mother and you can’t replace her if that’s what you’re trying to do.”
“I am not.”
“Good.” She eyed Carlo. “Carlo is well mannered.”
“Sí, he is.”
Nicole chuckled. “Look how he places the napkin on his lap and doesn’t spill the ice cream on his trousers. He is such a gentleman.”
“Sí, I am proud.”
The headache had dissolved as the car traveled along a narrow street to the theatre in Via Bara dell’ Olivella directly across from the Teatro Massimo in Palermo. The vehicle halted, and the trio exited after guards surveyed the vicinity.
Later, they sat in the small theatre, and laughed throughout the performance.
Giuseppe soon became light hearted when witnessing his son’s cheeks color and listening to his loud giggles mingled with children as a result of the silly marionette’s escapades. The outing turned cathartic as he watched Nicole’s interaction with Carlo. He smiled at their mutual excitement as she pointed to the cloth rainbow which appeared high above the stage. They clapped with joy and his eyes softened with jealous pride. Then the master puppeteer picked Nicole out of the crowd to come on stage during the conclusion. He introduced her to the audience, and urged her to play the piano with his puppet. That’s when Giuseppe understood the popularity of the woman on stage in the creative world where he usually didn’t dwell.
Giuseppe balanced Carlo on his lap and leaned forward. His attention focused on something other than grief hidden with impatient scowls.
The grace in which Nicole played; the ease of every note caused the audience to hush. And when she smiled at Carlo and Giuseppe when fingering the keys, Giuseppe had a lump in his throat.
