ATONEMENT (Alfonzo)
Page 1
COPYRIGHT 2012 S.W. FRANK on Amazon.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system in any form without prior written permission of the author.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and events portrayed in this story are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
ATONEMENT
Alfonzo volume IV
The beginning of atonement is the sense of its necessity.
--Lord Byron
The Alfonzo mob series
Volumes 1-3
Acknowledgements
With soldiers who are steadfast, marching each step of the way, lifting me when I stumble, shouting for me to keep forging ahead and when I’m wounded, have given me aide. I am blessed to have such comrades in my company and I thank you family!
To the readers who’ve visited Alfonzo’s world and encourage and support the characters I’ve lovingly woven into the fabric of each page, cheers to you.
Lucie C., a dedicated reader who brings smiles to my lips as I write due to her contagious exuberance and belief in my story, I wanted to show my appreciation for the enthusiasm. I am humbled and appreciative of your messages, therefore, a mob wife; Lucia finds her way in the tale.
Crystal W., for you my dear, Crystalia is a mob wife with fiery red-hair, much like your fierce spirit.
All the wonderful new friends and authors who inspire me with their abundance of talents; Loretta Walls, the Triplets (Envy Red, Kristofer Clarke & Rahiem), & Tamika Newhouse. To the book clubs, Indie Lounge and bloggers who have mentioned my works, spreading kind words, umwah!
My musical inspiration while writing the novel was eclectic. Music is poetry set to song; it’s also what plays in the background as I write. At times you may hear the influence of these artists steaming through: A fellow Queens, NY native, 50 Cent, ‘Many Men’, Matt Kearney ‘Ships in the Night’, Trey Songz, ‘Heart Attack’, Whitney Houston, ‘I will Always Love You,’ are only a few of the many artists which have set the mood for various scenes. To these musicians past and present…
…Thank you all, umwah!
It is impossible for a man to be freed from the habit of sin before he hates it, just as it is impossible to receive forgiveness before confessing his trespasses...
–Ignatius
We have a strange illusion that mere time cancels sin. But mere time does nothing either to the fact or to the guilt of a sin.
--CS Lewis
Self is the root, the tree, and the branches of all the evils of our fallen state.
--William Law
In short, a man must be set free from the sin he is, which makes him do the sin he does .
--George MacDonald
He comes never late who comes repentant.
--Juan de Horozco
To sin is a human business, to justify sins is a devilish business.
-- Leo Nikolaevich Tolstoy
Repentance is but a denying of our will, and an opposition of our fantasies.
–Montaigne
A MAN WITHOUT SIN IS A LIAR TO HIMSELF AND only IN TRUTH is he set FREE!
--ALFONZO
Do not lament OF past SINS, REPENT AND embrace what is now.
--Selange
Table of contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
PROLOGUE
Constantine Tulo drank the last of the bottle of Scotch, pushed several euros at the sallow face bartender and exited onto the street of La Kalsa. He was passing through this central section of Palermo on his way home, a part of town avoided by most after dark, except Constantine considered himself braver than most. His feet did a stumble-shuffle, adjusting to the gravity which seemed to pull at him and made it difficult to stand upright. Public intoxication was illegal in Italy; he didn’t care. The anti-spirit lawmakers should eliminate liquor, ban it altogether then the ridiculous law would make sense. He chuckled, of course it wouldn’t work, Italy is also wine country and productive winos roam en masse. Besides, they tried such stupidity in America. The era of Prohibition and what came of it? Further lawlessness, that’s what!
He sputtered like a happy fool at his wit, until the night chill slapped him sober, but only a tad. Oh, life was such a torturous, mysteriously puzzling enigma. Selfish pleasures were frowned upon and hypocrisies flourished among upstanding men. He laughed at himself for being such a lush. He’d go home to his wife; she’d look at him, frown disapprovingly then retreat quietly to their bedroom. Constantine guffawed at the image of his docile wife when a spirited spouse is what he needed. To counter this he dallied with other robust women from time to time, but in the end he always went home.
His inebriated body swayed from side-to-side and to compensate he barreled out his chest, put out a foot to stop the swaying motion then experienced a case of flatulence. He chuckled at its loud foghorn sound in the heavy silence, unashamed of the personal indecency. He took wobbly steps thinking, ‘the car is right there, certainly another step or two is not an impossible feat.’ Then he debated whether to drive or climb inside, lock the doors and let sleep nullify the liquors’ affect. Eventually, he navigated to it, propped himself against the door and fumbled in his pockets in search of the key. Footsteps approached and he grew cautious. He forgot the hour, forgot a lot of things but not his position. In Italy he was an important man, a well-known member of the criminal elite, a Capo for the Messini Clan and a damn good one!
“Money, give it to me!” A strong voice at his back demanded.
He cracked up and tried not to pee his pants as he turned. The thuggish man resembled many others with dark hair, darker eyes and olive skin. He was shorter than Constantine and too skinny to be taken seriously. What audacity provoked a man to demand another’s belongings? Perhaps, the crook was slow-witted, this would account for his foolish request.
“Give you my money?” He scoffed, “Forget it; I’m not a charitable man.”
The mugger presented a knife and shoved it menacingly in Constantine’s face, “Your money drunk!”
The threat of being sliced at the hands of a hoodlum did not amuse him. He leaned his neck forward toward the knife, “Cut.”
The man’s eyes widened. He should have known this was one of those reality shows where people are pranked for sport. He found no humor in being used for comedy relief and searched the landscape for cameras intent on ending the charade. He found only darkness. The transient distraction was a window of opportunity for Constantine and he took hold of the skinny wrists and reversed the tip of the weapon. It happened with such speed the mugger could not move his neck in time. The point punctured his throat and the shocked eyes widened more.
The degenerate would have died eventually but Constantine’s mood was foul. He yanked the knife out the man’s neck, gripped his jacket, pulled him closer and plunged the blade several more times into the man’s flesh until he tired. The robber’s coat was later released and the bloody carcass struck the pavement in an unrecognizable mess.
“Lazy bum, work like the rest of us!” He spat then straightened his spine. A profanity escaped when he saw the amou
nt of blood staining his brand new suit. “Merda!”
This night should have ended pleasantly, however in life there are always unexpected troubles which usually occur when a person’s at their happiest. He stooped and cleaned the knife on the dead man’s clothes then his arms were seized from behind, he was snatched upright and the weapon taken from his hand. His head swiveled back and forth to find himself restrained by uniformed police. One held the knife aloft and the other put handcuffs on him. He said nothing. Sobriety was over-rated.
“Caught red-handed as they say in those American crime stories,” the policeman gripping the stained blade remarked. “We witnessed everything.”
“Then I’ll have no problem with the magistrate since you saw this thief’s knife at my throat. Self-defense is not a crime.”
There was a loud chortle, “Really, I saw no such thing?”
Constantine searched the streets for their vehicle but failed to see the obvious blue car with POLIZEI etched on the side. He said nothing more and waited.
He was pulled back a few steps by the silent officer as his partner bagged the knife as evidence, snapped a photo of the dead man and then took one of Constantine who quickly turned his face away. This was not proper police procedure and the purpose of the photo highly questionable. Now, he wished he had not stopped in this hole of a place and waited to drink at an upscale bar closer to home.
Constantine surveyed the deserted street and clearly saw the state of the place with its dilapidated buildings and squalor. In his rush to appease his thirst he dismissed these obvious signs of neglect for his liquid fix. The neon sign of the bar was all he noticed and seeing the place from a renewed perspective, he questioned his own judgment. This section of town was under the control of the Lameza family. How could they prosper when they reigned over such destitution?
“There’s a way for you to avoid prison and this incident can ‘poof’ disappear.” One officer said close to his ear.
Constantine continued in his silence.
“These photos and our video, edited of course will show how violently you murdered this innocent man after a simple disagreement. It will incite the anger of good citizens, especially the Adiopizzo groups. You’ll rot in jail for the rest of your life, if your associates don’t kill you first.”
The corners of Constantine’s dry mouth turned downward.
“All we need is one thing, it’s a simple request.”
Constantine said nothing.
“Poor fellow, minding his business before you follow and kill him so brutally.”
His eyes followed the officer’s hand as he pointed at the corpse, then they traveled up again and he stared straight ahead, unflinching.
“You know, if you help us many territories open and the prospects for a Capo with ambitions is limitless.”
Constantine listened to the corrupt officer. Yes, he’d been a fool. This was an elaborate set-up. He wondered how much they paid the unsuspecting dead man to aid in their scheme and if they told him the danger of such an act? Of course they had not.
“Perhaps we’ll send a photo of you wearing handcuffs in police custody to Messini. He’ll find it interesting, don’t you think?”
Now, Constantine’s eyes glowered. Anyone in La Costra Nostra alleged to be in cooperation with the polizei were marked for death. It did not matter their innocence, there were no impartial juries or possible acquittals. Suspicion was evidence enough and eradication the sole sentence. The men and their photos would cause Messini to question his loyalty and soon he would find himself in the aforementioned position. The cunning imposters left him no option, “What do you want?”
CHAPTER ONE
The vibrant flowers added to the picturesque landscape. Its colorful scenery provided the perfect backdrop for a quiet Sunday for the Diaz family. Alfonzo had not reneged on his promise and put aside ‘business’ to focus solely on his children. He was relaxed during these times, carefree and engaging. There was no shadow of the rumored nefarious crime boss. To his loved ones, Alfonzo was an ideal father, husband and successful businessman.
Selange lay atop the grass, laptop open, fingering the beautiful gold embossed wedding invitation, video-chatting with her best friend Shanda. She paused to glimpse at her family. Alfonzo played soccer with the kids. The children’s musical laughter was evidence of their joy in having their father’s undivided attention. Love and happiness were such fleeting things. Once they’re lost, one can forget the power of these emotions but through memories recapture them. Today the picture of the children and their father were stored in her mind, held in a cranial keepsake box, in the event she needed to open it and browse its contents in less joyous times. As the future neared and truths were unveiled, the laughter would cease. She was certain of it.
Selange held the invitation up to the screen, “It’s beautiful. I haven’t seen anything this nice; I really love the professional photo of the couple here in the corner.”
“Well, from what I can see the groom is fine. If I weren’t going to Brazil with my new boobie, I’d come. But girl your wedding invites were banging, too.”
Selange smirked, “They were, weren’t they?”
“Hell yes, I helped so you know they were top-notch!”
“But these people are celebrating for two weeks before the wedding. It’s crazy because the bride-to-be wants all the bridesmaids in Milan in a few days. Last minute things, she says and fittings. Then there’s the whole secret location of the wedding. They’re notifying the guests of the location only hours before, isn’t it ridiculous?”
“Whoa, some high security stuff. Important people must be coming. It’s sort of like when the President comes to New York, only a handful of people know where he’s at. The CIA and Secret Service worry someone might try to assassinate him. Trust me, if it’s top-secret, somebody high-profile is in the mix –but I’m sure Alfonzo knows, afterall he’s Amelda’s cousin.”
“Yeah, makes sense.”
“Nobody wants shit to pop off during a celebration. My dad hated when I went to those house parties in Bed-Stuy. He said they were never adequately chaperoned and anybody can get in and start busting off shots. The man was so right.”
Selange snickered. “But your butt always went anyway.”
“Girl, you were up in there shaking your ass, too!”
“Uh and why? Because you lied and said it’s your girl’s birthday party and her parents were home, that’s the only reason I went.”
“You believed anything, sheesh, naïve Selange.”
“I was, wasn’t I?” She replied and thought, but I’m not anymore. “The thing is, I barely know Amelda and it’s going to feel awkward being in her bridal party.”
“Girl, please. Just go and have fun. All you do are charities and schedule shit for the kids. You need to shake that ass and stop being cerebral all the time!”
“Hey, I have fun. Let me add, I want to be with my family.”
“Yeah, right! Alfonzo’s doing his thing. He’s not with the kids every second of the day. You deserve a break for crying out loud. Utilize some of that money and let’s do a girl vacation.”
“Oh, you’re trying to get a free vacation out of me, some friend!”
Shanda laughed, “I can pay my own way, although if I were rolling in dough I’d treat you with no problem.”
“The problem is you’re not rolling in dough and I pay every time we hang. Free-loader!” Selange smiled, “But I love you girl and I don’t mind, seriously.”
“Back at you. BK till we die!”
“Brooklyn, in the house!”
Shanda seconded that, “Whoop, whoop!”
They were laughing at the memories, best friends with more than fun times but tragic ones as well. Shanda was there when Selange discovered her mother and Al’s bodies. Then the killer mistook Shanda for Selange, killed her boyfriend Jay and held her captive until she escaped. Shanda was there…when her marriage took a curve…smack talking Shanda was always around. Selange sm
irked, Shanda was an irritating bitch but the girl was a true friend.
“Anyway, I’m jealous, everyone’s married or getting married and I’m thirty with no kids, not even a proposal.”
“When it’s meant to happen, it will.”
“Well, let’s see. Maybe I’ll snag a divorcee and become part of the next wedding go-round.”
“You’re nuts!”
“Seriously, it sounds fun. Rich, good-looking Italian men with those full kissable lips and thick accents. I like the Sicilians; they’re dark, from the southern tip and ooohhh-la-la so fine!”
“Ugh, Shanda you’re always in heat. Anyway, what happened to whats-his-name you were dating recently?”
“Who?”
“Oh, forget it!” The woman went through guys like purses. Selange only hoped she’d find one worth keeping. “You’re sick.”
“I know…I know. I’m getting sick trying to find the perfect dick, nothing quick, I ‘aint no trick!”
Shanda’s vulgar free-style didn’t faze her. She’d heard cruder remarks from her best friend; instead Selange looked over at her husband. His long muscular legs pursued Sal who’d taken possession of the soccer ball. Allie lagged far behind, scurrying to keep pace. She smiled, they were so cute together. “Is that your latest rap from My Man Gave Me Clap?”
“Oh, bitch! I guess it’s easy to poke fun at me when you’ve lucked out. It’s not every day a street hustler from our ‘hood makes good, well unless he’s a rapper but shit their minds are still in the ‘hood –but you go ahead miss snob ‘cause if I had your man I’d be his cushion all day and night, whenever, wherever. Hey, do you still got that fine bodyguard, Nico? Oooh, now he’s lickable and then the brother, um yum-yum, twins. I’ll fuck any one of those guys, scratch it, I’d do a ménage á trois just for the fun of it. Owww!” Shanda bobbed her head and shoulders to invisible music, completely unaware her statement wiped the smile from Selange’s face.