by S. W. Frank
The Agent’s expression soured. “Pity you won’t cooperate.” He turned spiteful. “You could be home with your children, because I’m sure they’re scared.”
“Why would my children be afraid?”
“Oh, you don’t know. There’s a mob war going on. I hear some of your family members were killed. That’s the thing with criminals; they frighten children and give them nightmares.”
The Agent marched off and she heard the clang of doors. Mr. Johnson remained. “Damn girl, we’re trying to help you!”
“Yeah, I really think you believe the crap they fed you. Look at what they’re doing Mr. Johnson. I thought you retired from the force. Why do you think they’re reaching out to you now? They’re using you because they know how much you wanted to belong, but they didn’t hesitate to throw you to the wolves when they were done. Get smart and stop thinking with a meaningless career title and think as a father for a change.”
Mr. Johnson exhaled gruffly. “You were always one stubborn girl; Shanda too.”
Selange’s gaze was steady. “There’s a boy. He has the sweetest smile when you read him bedtime stories. He likes pancakes, who does that sound like?”
Mr. Johnson looked at his feet. His shoulders heaved with an intake of breath. “Shanda loved pancakes, she sure did.”
“Her son is your blood. For once in your life put aside your career and side with family. Choose today whether belonging to a fraternal order is more important than blood. Choose wisely.”
The sonovabitch muttered. “I have. I side with the law.”
Selange blinked the tears away.
Alone with the sounds of strangers she couldn’t see shouting, doors opening and closing sending drafts of stagnant air, she focused on Alfonzo’s face and held tight to him for strength.
That bastard Mr. Johnson would never change. Ice flowed through his veins, but gratefully her husband had a heart and she witnessed it every day.
The man in the picture with Matteo that the police could not identify was Don Meroni of the ‘Nhandrangheta. She’d seen him in pictures with Carlo in Sophie’s photo album. Although the image was not very clear, the outline of his nose, posture and the shoes.
She knew her shoes and those were made by the reclusive craftsman Olivano. He’s an elder cobbler who retired but when requested on occasion designs footwear for wealthy friends. An Olivano shoes is a rarity, the authenticity is the signature logo of the shoelaces, black or gold with white O’s.
Oh, and the gold tip of the shoelace is 24k real.
She needed a phone –badly.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Upon Giuseppe’s arrival to Nico’s place, he was escorted to the makeshift studio a short distance from the house. The media frenzy had begun. They’d awakened to speculation of a mob war from irresponsible journalists who disavowed police accounts of the armed home invasions and the ongoing police investigation to formulate their own theory of what occurred.
The problem with the new wave of reporters is their lack of consideration for the innocent casualties in their quest for sensationalism. They’re not Nobel Prize investigators, but ratings hookers, fabricating in some cases conspiracies, revealing government information and getting people killed for the sake of a story. The sad reality is sometimes, the less the public knows; the happier they can live. Look at the fearful, clutching purse mice, believing every man of color is a killer or rapist and governments should unveil top secret information simply because tax payers demand.
Nico also understood the attention span of the public was as short as the single released by the ‘so-called’ singers. Damn shame people were living vicariously through others and not making the most of their lives.
He shut the door, confident the entire media circus would die down when an actor or singer divorced, which was often.
He checked on Tony this morning, and told the guy to lay low. He and his woman were with Nicole at Alfonzo’s home, guests of Giuseppe Dichenzo who decided to take over another man’s house. The fucking prick didn’t even know Alfonzo would arrive in a few hours or that he was injured and the last thing he needed was a congregation under his roof during recuperation.
Uncle Willy was treated at a local hospital and released. Nico arranged for a private jet to escort Tony’s mom and loquacious Uncle to the U.S. Nico figured that’s the least he could do after their harrowing adventure in Sicily. A plush plane with the comforts of home was a minimal contribution to their silence.
“So what did you learn from Amelda?” Nico asked.
“Matteo had an affair with Geovonna.”
Nico was unfazed. “How did she find out?”
Giuseppe leaned his shoulder on the wall to peer out the window. He could see Nico’s rustic home. His cugino liked to ask questions but failed to reveal necessary information that affected the entire family.
Giuseppe changed the subject. He had questions of his own. “Why did you and Alfonzo withhold why mama married that cazzo?”
Nico didn’t mince words. “We knew you’d kill him. We didn’t want to risk Sophie’s life.”
“You have little faith in me cugino and so does my brother.”
Nico snorted. “Your track record isn’t the best in the patience department.”
“And your track record is above reproach?” Giuseppe asked as he pushed angrily off the wall to face Nico. “If you were not my cugino I would have killed you. Sometimes I regret that I have not.”
Nico’s eyes were slits of danger, weighing many things. “Never threaten me Giuseppe. I am not the enemy.”
“Are you sure of that cugino?”
“I know where my loyalties lie. My concern is that you believe different.”
Giuseppe stepped forward. His mood was black. He’d killed people he believed had his best interest at heart, only to find they were pretenders waiting to knife him in the back. “You slept with Bianca. We sat in your father’s parlor and I saw then where things would lead. Do not bother to deny to me that you were attracted to her before you learned she was Protezione.” He sneered. “Did you think to question why she took off suddenly after your crazed mother was killed?”
Nico didn’t answer.
“She is pregnant cazzo. You lack the discipline with your pene and that is your trouble.”
Nico’s solid features cracked. “What are you talking about?”
“Ah, secrets that are easily figured out.” Giuseppe tapped a finger on his temple. “And yet as intelligent as you are with your computers and killing, you cannot figure out people. You upset me Nico. I struggle inside to understand what makes you tick. I see blackness in you and wonder will that poison spread to me because we are famiglia.”
“Cool it Giuseppe.”
“You are upset. Bene, you understand how it feels to stir in anger. You and Alfonzo exercised poor judgment when you withheld information from me. Mama told me this morning about this painting and the potential threat to her life. Did it occur to either of you Yosef could be lying?”
Nico’s face tightened. “Of course.”
“Did you investigate thoroughly?”
“I always do.”
“Yosef has brought his troubles to our famiglia, because of him Carlo may have died…I cannot have another I love die!”
Nico lowered his defenses. Giuseppe lashed out when hurting. He was frightened also for his son. “But he didn’t, and as long as we are famiglia we will fight to protect each other to a dying breath.”
Giuseppe heaved. “Carlo is all I have left of her…I will not let him be
harmed because of this stranger in our midst, capisce?”
Nico closed the gap between his blood. “I am an asshole at times but so are you. Yosef did not lie; a hit was placed on your mama.” Nico’s chest expanded. “Do you think I will go along with a fake marriage without turning over every stone first? Sophie is like a mother to me. I will die for her, for you, many times gladly for every child in this family. Look me in the eye you spoiled fucker and name once that I have failed to stand against our enemies?”
Giuseppe frowned. “I cannot.”
“Mi dispiace Geo. Perhaps I was wrong not to inform you, but do not cut my heart out. We are not at war with each other.” Nico’s face softened then. “Carlo has my protection as do you. Fear nothing!”
Giuseppe rolled his shoulders. His maddening thoughts settled. Nico was insufferable but right. He gestured toward the door with his head, feeling like a kid reprimanded by a parent after a tantrum of words. “I have Matteo’s computer in the car. The password is Geovonna. I have read the cazzo’s treachery. He was responsible for the death of his father and our Alberti. There is more on there but I could not gain access.”
Nico shook his head in frustration and stormed out the studio. Hearing of Matteo’s vileness angered him. The news of Bianca further escalated his ire.
There is a possibility he might lose Ari forever.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The largest island in the Mediterranean, Sicily is squeezed between Europe and Africa, between Christendom and Islam. It was a spectacular region that cradled Alfonzo’s family. He’d been caught between two worlds, light and darkness; always wanting the light, afraid to let go of it.The most violent awakening occurred when he turned away from the blinding light; to find in the darkness a restoration of sight.
His faith was strong. He had willed himself to victory. The old footage he often watched of the World Series game between the Diamondbacks and the New York Yankees after the 911 bombings when the Yankees were down in the fourth inning is what gave further inspiration. The turn which happened and uplifted spirits was the home run by Tino Martinez.
The co-pilot managed to quickly stop the bleeding. Alfonzo had not yet reached an acute phase of hemorrhage which may have led to hemorrhagic shock. His Intravascular volume and oxygen delivery were not completely impaired. Fluid resuscitation, oxygenation and use of vasopressors were administered in flight.
The pilot was well-versed in the emergency protocol for his VIP passenger and diverted the flight to Sweden where he a trauma specialist waited. Tyree worked his mojo.
A large donation buys confidentiality and anonymity for a John Doe who received priority care. Lab work, diagnostics, and hours later once Alfonzo was stabilized, the plane was back in the air.
The pilot had a good approach to short runway. He did a recheck of the fuel flow before the landing gear was down. He nodded at the co-pilot, before utilizing the flaps to for a lower- approach speed and a steeper angle of descent. He had a better view of the landing area. The airspeed and rate of descent were stabilized as he aligned with the runway center line as the final approach began.
The whine of the aircraft cut the air to announce their arrival in the south of Sicily as the aircraft sped by markers and fields of grass. The touchdown was as smooth as a razor sliding across the face, when done right.
The jet skidded along the tarmac.
Troy saw the vehicle headlights chasing along the perimeter until the plane completely stopped. Alfonzo was advised to rest but he was on his feet, talking on his cell and ready to disembark, saying he needed air.
Alfonzo was stubborn; the entire crew experienced his defiance, even when it was in his best interest. Alfonzo exited the plane, his gait stiff, and his face paler than usual. He marched down the side of the tarmac ignoring the guys, walking out of earshot from everybody because he couldn’t hear over the noise. The sound soon died and he could finally have a coherent conversation.
“Mama, what the heck you mean she’s in New York?”
“Hijo, calmarse.”
He nearly shouted a string of profanities and then remembered his manners. “Mama, por favor stop stalling and tell me what’s going on.”
When his mom recanted Selange’s message, he stopped abruptly, spun around and tossed the phone to the hard ground. He stomped the mess out of the cell with the little strength in reserve and the damn thing didn’t break. He got no satisfaction, only a headache and winded for trying to kill an inanimate object made with black box material meant to be indestructible, yet thinner.
Frustration and anger blended with no outlet for release was taken out on a kid who saved his life when he asked was everything all right.
“No the fuck it isn’t kid, now mind your business!” He hissed and picked up the phone when the youth turned around. He caught himself, fixed his mind right and said, “Get over here Lorenzo!”
The youth sauntered over sheepishly. “Yeah?”
“You did a good job. I’m going to have the car fixed and if you want it let me know and it’s yours.”
Lorenzo’s expression was incredulous. “Qué, for real?”
The tension lessened in Alfonzo’s body at the young man’s joy. “For real.”
“Hell yeah I want it!” Lorenzo exclaimed and then rephrased his acceptance to sound more respectful. His father taught him well. “Sí, gracias Mr. Diaz. That car is wicked!”
Alfonzo nodded and scoffed. “Make sure your dad’s okay with my present. I know you’re grown but if he’s alright with it, then I’ll feel good.”
“Oh, he’ll be alright with it –trust that,” Lorenzo said and then nearly ran off; pumping his fists like he’d won the lottery and not a blood vehicle.
With somber detachment Alfonzo watched the men unloading the dead body from the plane. Nico sauntered over and stood in the dark beside him on the runway in the center of fields. Alfonzo peered wearily at the constellation of stars twinkling above in the dark. Nico didn’t speak, just stood beside him in brotherhood.
When a grown man cries it’s because there’s something pulling so hard on him, and he feels either helpless or too damn angry to do anything else. The glistening of Alfonzo’s eyes were brilliant blue crystals on a bitter face. He didn’t have any words; famiglia was falling, one by one like leaves on an autumn tree. The invisible fingers gripping his throat, choking and shaking him were not as injurious as the emotional blow he dealt himself.
You’re supposed to keep her safe…you didn’t protect her…your arrogance is why people you care for are getting hurt or dying!
Corrado was right; he was Luzo, cold and selfish.
These solemn reflections were in his head as he peered upward, trying to reason out what to do next. Trust her, that’s what Selange asked him to do and depend upon faith. His cheek stung, did a tear drop or had the injury bled again?
Alfonzo’s palm went to the ripped skin and liquid was felt. Helpless is not what he was, faith depended on many things. He had faith in his love. But allowing her to sit in jail when he was free wasn’t any plan in which he’d agree.
Why did Selange always care so much about other people?
Why was she always giving her heart to have it injured?
Why did she believe in him even despite his wickedness?
Answers didn’t arise. He figured bad cannot understand good because virtuous is a foreign language. Selange inspired him to be less cynical and truly he had changed for the better, but he wasn’t naïve either, hatefulness exists and there are cheerleader rallies to witness a downfall.
Trust?
Hmm, he trusted his babe meant well.
But, she’d better trust there’s no way in hell he’d sit on his ass and do nothing.
Sorry, I’ll hold off coming for a minute but there’s but babe you’re not going into battle without your right arm –me!
“Selange got detained yesterday when she visited Teresa. She sent a message warning me to stay clear of the U.S. and that I shouldn’t trust Matteo. I want to speak to that fucker!” Alfonzo said to the air.
Nico’s lips descended at the corners. “Matteo’s dead.”
The activity taking place was canceled out. Men boarding and then disembarking were night footage from the film depicting the seedy side of criminal living. The cleaners were the people who erased the evidence of Alfonzo’s involvement in murder; nobody wants to hear self-defense after a killer flees the scene and takes a corpse across the sea.
The janitorial workers were diligent in their tasks because they were afraid of Nico, who expected only a stellar job performance.
“What happened?”
“I’ll explain on the way home. You look awful cugino.” Nico looked sideways at him. Yeah, pallor remained. Alfonzo shouldn’t be on his feet. From what the Capo told him, Alfonzo nearly bit the dust. Another broken rib, some nasty bruises to his face and loss of blood can do that. But to stand after, not fall over, that’s a real soldier and a sign of how tough Alfonzo truly was.
Alfonzo scoffed. “Yeah.” He needed to get off his feet. Food and a quiet space is what he required to think. In the morning he was meeting with Bianca and the family members he’d yet to meet. The opportunity to tell Nico about his pending troubles arrived. “Bianca’s in Italy. The Protezione were slaughtered last week, everybody but an old man, a woman and a kid.”
“Cosa, the Protezione are dead?”
“Every one of them except you and of course Bianca. By the way,” Alfonzo stated as he began walking slowly toward an SUV. “She’s prego with your baby.”
Nico didn’t have a reaction because that part he’d already known.
