La Famiglia (Battaglia Mafia Series)

by Mynx, Sienna

  Armando chuckled. “Of course he does.”

  He started off to his office. Dominic followed. Armando hadn’t expected any Battaglias after the last unannounced visit. But even if they were brave enough to visit his home they certainly wouldn’t do so alone. He glanced back at Dominic. He had always known this one had bigger balls than the others, considering the hellhole he escaped as a boy.

  “How is Don Mancini?” Dominic asked of Armando’s father when they entered the office. Armando went to his bar and reached for the crystal decanter of freshly poured wine. “He’s doing quite well. He’s in the garden. Is that why you came to visit? To see Papa?” Armando turned with glasses. He walked over and handed one to Dominic and then returned to his desk to take a seat. “Please sit. I’m curious about this visit.”

  Dominic sat. He let the wine swirl in the bottom of the glass but didn’t take a sip. “As you know Giovanni has returned to Villa Mare Blu. He’s brought his wife and baby daughter. It’s a holiday for them.”

  “I’ve heard,” Armando said. “I am disappointed that he didn’t call to inform us of this holiday.”

  “That’s why I’m here.” Dominic grinned. “I came to let you know of our intention to stay, until the babies are born.”

  “Babies? Twins?” Armando asked.

  “Yes. We are blessed. Twin boys.”

  Armando glared at Dominic from over the rim of his wine as he took a sip. “So you are consigliere again?” When Dominic didn’t answer Armando chuckled. He knew that Dominic killed Catalina’s husband Franco. They all did. He also knew that he was stripped of the title consigliere for the dastardly deed. Though it appeared the punishment was brief. Another weakness of Giovanni’s was this dirt rat who they adopted into the family. Armando sat his glass down on the coaster. “Forgive me. I find it funny how you Camorra pretend at understanding Cosa Nostra. One day a consigliere, the next day an errand boy, the next day consigliere again,” Armando chuckled.

  “We are no pretenders, I assure you,” Dominic replied. His unfazed manner set Armando’s teeth on edge.

  “Of course you are pretenders. The Camorra is the lap dog of the Mafia. We Sicilians own the traditions you play with in Italia.”

  Dominic sighed. “We are just as Sicilian as you. Our fathers took the same oath of omertá, instilled the same values. The Camorra is stronger because of our mutual Sicilian blood.”

  “Is that what Giovanni teaches you?” Armando asked, with a sardonic smile.

  “I’m not here to debate you, Armando. We exist. And that will never change. I’m here to pay respect to your family and inform you that we will be in Sicily for some time. If that is a problem, you should tell me now.”

  Armando sat forward. “You’ve got some fucking nerve arriving here without my blessing. If I do have a problem you were foolish enough to make it easy for me to rectify it.”

  Dominic stood. He put the glass of wine down on the table without having a sip. Another insult. “But you won’t, Armando. Will you? Until the old man dies you play at being the mafia Don. And my guess is Mancini doesn’t want a Battaglia war, he never has.”

  Armando smiled. “You’d be surprised by what my Papa wants these days.”

  Dominic started for the door.

  “Come sta Mirabellá?” Armando asked, slouching back in his large wing back chair.

  Dominic stopped.

  He turned his gaze back over his shoulder. Armando rocked back in his chair. The cold congested look of rage on Dominic’s face was the first show of emotion since his arrival. Armando was pleased he had pushed the right button. “Tell her that my Papa sends his love and blessings for the twins.”

  Dominic gave a single nod of his head and then walked out. Armando stroked his chin. The Battaglias had a secret and it was the same secret his father carried. Armando guessed that if he uncovered why those bitches mattered he’d finally have the means to destroy Giovanni Battaglia. He smiled. That indeed would be gratifying.

  “Dominic Battaglia?” Ignazio entered his office and spat the words with distaste. “What the fuck is Dominic Battaglia doing showing his face around here? Did you invite him?”

  Ignazio was Armando’s left hand. And when Armando took the crown from his father, Ignazio would be his consigliere. Armando picked up his wine and sipped it. Ignazio stood there with his hands in his pockets.

  He lowered the glass of wine back to the table. “He came to say that Giovanni Battaglia will be staying in Sicilia for the next couple of months. He and his black wife.”

  “Let me deal with him, a nice little accident on his drive back to Mondello.”

  “No,” Armando said. “The old man wouldn’t like it. Besides, I have a better plan.”

  Ignazio’s brows lowered with interest. Armando leaned forward on his desk. “Giovanni’s wife. She’s here to give birth to twins. That means they have a doctor in mind. Find out who it is. I’d like to meet him.”

  Ignazio nodded his head and walked out.

  Armando smiled. Giovanni was home. It felt like old times.

  * B *

  Mira sat up on the exam table. She was helped down to her feet. Giovanni insisted on being the one to put on her underwear and then shorts. The gesture was so sweet but a little oppresive. Mira was still able to manage the effort, however, she knew allowing her husband the priveledge appeased him. They were always both so tense when making a doctors visit. And of course he took the liberty to touch her intimately. He pulled up her shorts and kissed her nose.

  “I can’t believe you had him come to Sicily.” Mira smiled.

  “I told you I would have the best doctors for you. Besides he’s part of a team here in Palermo that will be seeing to you. I made sure they were the very best,” Giovanni winked.

  “You’re a wonderful husband. Thank you, sweetie,” Mira said.

  The doctor knocked and returned. His name was Abdul Buhari and he was African. He was a tall handsome dark black man with a bright white smile that matched his cool bedside manner. At first Mira thought Giovanni would be uncomfortable with this doctor, unfazed by the man’s natural charm. The doctor spoke fluent Italian, Spanish, French and English. She first met him weeks ago when she bled so heavily she thought she was miscarrying. He said that it was her cervix expanding and nothing to worry about. The bleeding stopped as suddenly as it started and she began to feel better.

  “I’m happy to report everything looks well Signora Battaglia. Molta brava!”

  “That’s great. Will I be able to carry them full term? You were worried about my blood pressure. And look at my feet.”

  The doctor and Giovanni glanced down to her swollen ankles and feet. After walking around today they were so puffy she feared if a needle poked them they’d explode.

  “Can I suggest that you remain off your feet? Relax. I’ll be doing home visits for you three times a week until delivery day. I’ve already worked it out with your husband.”

  Mira looked to Giovanni who nodded that he and the doctor had met. “Then I’m confident that it will be fine. I will do whatever is necessary, Doctor,” Mira said.

  The doctor glanced to Giovanni. “Signor Battaglia? Can we speak?” The doctor asked. Mira tried to mask her frustration. She hated when the doctors always pulled him aside to discuss her. But she knew it was a matter of respect for Giovanni. She watched the men go. Alone in the exam room she stepped over to the mirror above the sink. She turned sideways. Her stomach had a nice round swell to it. She would be seven months in a few days. A mother again in a few weeks. She couldn’t wait to hold her sons, love them, and build their family. But she also wanted to talk to Giovanni about future kids. Three children was a blessing, more than either of them hoped for. After having these two she wanted to go on birth control. Zia told her it was against their faith. Mira shook her head with a smile. Faith or not she was not a baby-making machine.

  “What is wrong?” Giovanni asked once they were behind the doctor’s office door.

  “As I e
xplained to you before, her situation is delicate. The low-lying placenta hasn’t covered her cervical opening. But it hasn’t moved up as we hoped.”

  “Go on,” Giovanni said.

  “And her pressure was dangerously elevated when she got here. It does give me concern. I want to suggest you cut back on her activities. I, ah, it’s hard for me to say this.”

  The doctor looked nervous. His brow was damp and he kept avoiding looking him in the eye. He didn’t like that manner. A man should always look another man in the eye. Giovanni had heard from Dr. Ricci that Buhari was the best in his field. Still something about the doctor struck him odd.

  “What is it?” Giovanni demanded. “And look me in the eye when you say it damn it!”

  Shock flashed over the doctor’s face. He forced a smile. “Of course. My recommendation is that you cut back on her physical activities. Recreation. We need to get her to the eighth month.”

  “You said that already.” Giovanni frowned.

  “Also sexual activities need to cease. Uh, as well, I uh, suggest,” he stammered.

  “Oh?” Giovanni said. “I understand. Have I caused this?”

  “No. No this is the natural course of things with a woman in her condition.” The man flipped open a folder and shuffled through the documents. Again he avoided Giovanni’s eyes. “How is her depression, mood swings, anxiety?” the doctor asked.

  “She’s the same. She has her good days and bad days,” Giovanni said.

  “And the bleeding?”

  “It’s stopped, none for a week. I ask her every day.”

  “Good. Good. I won’t recommend bed rest yet. If her next ultrasound shows no improvement then of course that is the decided course of action. Let’s give it another week.”

  “Okay. Grazie, dottore.” Giovanni stood and extended his hand. The man shook it. He turned and walked out. No sex? He chuckled. That would prove to be a challenge

  * B *

  St Tropez, France –

  Under the instruction of her seamstress Marietta held her arms out at her sides. The seamstress then carefully placed pins where needed. Marietta’s head tilted left and she looked her dress over. She loved everything about it. Not the typical fashion style for a wedding dress.

  The garment was overlaid in antique white lace and fit like a sleeve when pinned down to her dimensions. The front was a heart shaped bodice. The waist was so slimming thanks to the corseted fit that laced up the back. And the hemline stopped considerably high on her thigh. But it was the overlay that made the dress. The lace had pearls and tiny white crystals woven in.

  “This is a Mirabella original?” Marietta asked.

  “Ouì, it is. Since Mirabella has risen from the dead her dresses are in high demand. This dress, mademoiselle, is from her 1989 collection. She designed it personally before her accident. A vintage piece that we only recently received.”

  Marietta didn’t think the snooty black Barbie could design something so damned sexy and edgy to walk down the aisle in. She might have to rethink her opinion of her.

  “Do you approve?” the woman asked. She stepped back and Marietta ran her hands down her figure.

  “I do. Yes. I like it. I hated the other ones but this was made just for me.”

  “Ouì! I believe it was. You will be beautiful.” The woman celebrated with a clap.

  Marietta grinned. “I feel beautiful.”

  Lorenzo sat on the circular sofa with his arms stretched out over the top of the plush furniture. He watched Carlo pace in front of him. The shop girls were quite attractive. Leggy blondes with nice asses. Not one of them turned the head of his friend. He was in no mood for Carlo’s paranoia.

  “Would you sit the fuck down? You’re giving me a headache,” Lorenzo sighed.

  Carlo stopped. He pointed at him. “Do you know what you’re doing? Marrying her!” Carlo seethed. “Giovanni will lose his fucking mind! This will undo all your progress with him. He will punish us both. He’ll fucking cut our balls, Lo.”

  “He can suck my dick,” Lorenzo grabbed his groin and gestured obscenely.

  “I’m serious!” Carlo said.

  “Fuck Gio!” Lorenzo shouted. He leaned forward and glared up at his friend. “I don’t exist to be his puppet, to suck his prick for the rest of my life. I’m my own man. And she’s my woman. My woman!” Lorenzo pointed at Carlo. “He has no fucking say in this. And I’ll tell him to his face. I’ll fucking marry her, and go back home and tell him to his face. It’s done.”

  Carlo shook his head. “You’re doing this to gain leverage over Gio aren’t you? You’re using her. You telling me you’re over Fabiana? She’s the one you want.”

  The accusation cut open a wound that had barely healed. Yes he wept in his heart for Fabiana. But Marietta was different. She made him strong. The woman knew his deepest and darkest secrets. “Say that to me again, Carlo, and I will forget we’re brothers. Say it to her and I’ll cut your fucking throat.”

  After a deep sigh Carlo wiped a hand down his face. “I’m telling you what you need to hear.”

  “Why? If Gio can see Mirabella from across the room and fall in love with her why the fuck can’t I do the same with Marietta?”

  “Because that one in there is trouble! She isn’t Mirabella. She’s you in a fucking skirt!” Carlo shouted.

  Lorenzo laughed.

  Carlo shook his head smiling.

  His friend plopped down on the other sofa and dropped his head. Lorenzo couldn’t stop smiling. “She’s a handful. Yes she is. I can’t explain it. Maybe it’s what Gio sees in Mirabella, maybe it isn’t. She understands me. She accepts me. And she has this way of controlling me the way I need.” Lorenzo’s smile faded. He spoke with quiet emphasis on his words. “I want to go home, Carlo. The only way I can bring her through the doors of Villa Mare Blu is as my wife. You and I both know it. This plan will work. Giovanni will have to deal with us. He will have to deal with me.”

  “But do you want a wife?”

  “No. I want Marietta, and fucking her on a boat is only going to get me so far. I can’t risk her going back to America. Leaving for another mission to find her identity. I can’t risk her learning from someone else that I knew who she was and that I never told her. I want her. And this is how I can keep her.”

  “Do you love her?” Carlo asked.

  Lorenzo nodded his head. “I love her.”

  “I pray you know what you are doing,” Carlo shrugged.

  Lorenzo shrugged. “Has that ever stopped me before?”

  Careful of the pins attached to the seams Marietta handed the dress over to the sales clerk. When she arrived it was her idea to ask for Mirabella Originals. If she were to be Lorenzo’s wife then it would mean she was a Battaglia. She would have to deal with the Queen Bitch and cranky Don.

  However, when Marietta saw the beautiful dresses she felt an overwhelming sense of pride. There weren’t many black American women with the power and talent in the fashion world as Mirabella. It made her intrigued by the Queen B’s success.

  Her selection would be the perfect dress to show Lorenzo how much she loved him and wanted to be part of his family. Her life had changed overnight because of their love.

  “We will see to it, and have the changes altered immediately.”

  “I need it delivered to me tonight. I get married in the morning,” Marietta said.

  “Oui, it will be done.” The salesclerk affirmed.

  She walked out and found Lorenzo and Carlo laughing. She was still pissed at Carlo over the argument they had earlier. But when he looked at her she didn’t see the disapproval from earlier. He actually smiled at her. Marietta rolled her eyes at him and went to Lorenzo.

  “The dress?” he asked, pulling her down to his lap.

  “She’s making a few adjustments. They will deliver it to us tonight. It’s so beautiful. And guess what?”

  “What?” He lifted her chin.

  “It’s a Mirabella Original,” she said.

&nb
sp; The smile dimmed a bit on Lorenzo’s face. He glanced over at Carlo who shook his head while wearing a deep scowl.

  “What? What’s wrong with you two? I thought you’d want me to wear a dress by her!” Marietta exclaimed.

  “I do.” Lorenzo quickly added. “Surprised you wanted to… I’m just surprised.”

  Marietta scanned his face to see if he was lying. All she saw was his love for her. She hugged him around the neck tightly. “We have to celebrate. It’s our last night before we become man and wife,” she said.

  Lorenzo kissed the top of her head. “A private celebration. Me and you.” he whispered in her ear. “I want you to dance for me.”

  Marietta giggled. “Oh baby, you haven’t seen the dance moves I got planned for you.”

  “And then tomorrow you’re mine,” he said.

  “I already am!” she exclaimed.

  6.

  Discomfort in her back sharpened. Painful spasms knifed its way up her spine. Mira breathed through her nose and arched a bit underneath the seatbelt. She was exhausted. The last stop they made was to visit family in Bagheria. At Giovanni’s side she walked through the huge estate and greeted each family member personally. In doing so she found that Esta was right, the Baldamentis/Battaglias were a huge family. And they had the respect of the people who lived in the village. A quarter of the countryside was named for the family. And the house where Giovanni’s family dwelled had been rebuilt and expanded over the years—extending it from every angle. The family members who lived there numbered twenty-three. She met so many, aunts, cousins, and distant relatives that her head spun.

  “They loved you, Bella.” Giovanni glanced over to her instead of focusing on the road. Mira exhaled and resolved herself to the discomfort. She glanced over to her husband who looked like he wanted her to respond.

  “I remember many of them from the wedding,” Mira said. “Your family is so huge. It’s really something. I don’t understand why we are Battaglia and not Baldamenti?”

  “Many of them are Battaglia. Some Baldamenti. All of us are family.”