Destino (Battaglia Mafia Series)

by Mynx, Sienna

  “My master.” The child answered.

  Francesco shook his head fiercely. “I found the poor thing. Saved her. I gave her a place to stay. Protected her. Tell them. I protect you don’t I?”

  Lorenzo’s rage gripped his gut turning it sour. He itched to draw his gun and unload. He was wrong. Again he was wrong! This motherfucker was trafficking young girls. Doing it under his nose. He took a step forward and Giovanni stopped him with a look. He cleared his throat and spoke to the room. “I knew nothing of this. Francesco never brought that girl here, any girls this young here.”

  “Take her away Domi,” Giovanni ordered.

  The girl rushed Giovanni and hugged him. Lorenzo noticed the discomfort in his cousin’s face but saw that he tolerated the child’s gratitude. She glared at Francesco. Spat at him and cursed him in Spanish as Dominic led her away. Francesco put his face in his hands. Lorenzo could do nothing but be a spectator in silence. To say anything more would damn him for sure. For his family he was now guilty by association. There was no explaining it away. There was lowlife scum in the Cammora that dealt in the prostitution of kids, trafficking, drugs. But it was not something the Battaglia’s did. There was pride to be taken in their family. Pride Don Tomosino died protecting, and Giovanni swore to uphold. Yes, Lorenzo wanted them to move into the future, but after witnessing Francesco’s actions first hand he had to wonder if again he was wrong.

  Giovanni approached Francesco, never taking his gaze off him. His hands eased into his pockets. Carlo and Nico both stepped on either side of Francesco. “You like bambinas?” Giovanni asked.

  “No. She looks older than…”

  Giovanni slapped him.

  Francesco whimpered.

  “You like babies?” he repeated.

  Francesco looked to him again. He didn’t know how to answer Lorenzo supposed. Giovanni’s gaze hardened. “You are a sick man. Aren’t you?”

  Francesco nodded.

  Giovanni patted the cheek that he struck. “I’ll cure you of this sickness.”

  “Carlo!” Giovanni commanded.

  “Madonna santa! Wait! Wait! No!” Francesco squealed. Carlo grabbed one arm and Nico the other. The two of them lifted Francesco up from the ground. Renaldo swiped all pots and dishes off the steal table and Francesco was slammed on top. “I swear to you on all that is holy and sacred, I only wanted to help her. Lorenzo! Speak for me!”

  Lorenzo raised his chin slowly and shrugged his shoulders. “Che me ne frego? What the fuck do I care?”

  Giovanni plucked a knife from the butcher’s block. Lorenzo silently cursed the fool and the mother who birthed him for his despicable crimes and denounced their alliance. He wasn’t sure if Giovanni believed his innocence, but he was innocent. His cousin set the knife aside and folded the sleeves of his shirt up to the bend in his arms. He selected two large oven mittens from the stove and Lorenzo stepped back. He could act. Say something to spare Francesco his fate. But after seeing the abuse heaped upon that child he agreed with Giovanni that this punishment was just.

  “No! No! Noooo!” Francesco begged. Giovanni lifted the pot and carried it before him. The sauce continued to bubble within its self-contained heat. Francesco kicked and bucked against the strong arms holding him down. Giovanni dumped the bubbling hot sauce over the man’s head and face. The screams were ungodly. Francesco thrashed as his skin and hair boiled away from his skull. The men released him and the death screams filled the room. He bucked so hard he flipped over the table and landed with a thud to the floor. His feet kicking, his hands and arms twitching, nothing but horrific gurgling sounds escaped him.

  Lorenzo glanced around as others stood there watching his death throws curiously. “I had nothing to do with what he has done. NOTHING!”

  After a pause and once Francesco went still and silent, possibly dead, Giovanni tossed the empty pot, and removed his oven mittens. Lorenzo braced for whatever was to come next. To his relief his cousin turned and walked out of the kitchen. Lorenzo glanced to Carlo and silently pled for understanding. His best friend nodded that he believed him. Somehow he’d convince Giovanni. He had to.

  ****

  After three carafes of the best wine she’d ever drank in her life, they barely made it through the door. “I’m going to bed.” Fabiana announced with an exaggerated yawn. Her friend spun on her heel and started toward her room.

  “Freeze.” Mira said. She stepped out of her high-heels and staggered across the plush carpeting down into the sunken living room area that separated their en-suites. Mira began to gingerly remove the diamond studs from her ear. She swayed right and left as if she’d topple over. The urge to explode in a fit of giggles kept forcing smiles to her lips even though she meant business. “Out with it Fabiana.”

  “With what?”

  “This Mafia business. That’s what.” Mira placed the earrings in the side zipper of her clutch bag then flopped down on the sofa. Fabiana threw her hands up in defeat and marched in to join her a bit more steady on her feet.

  “Oh, girl, we already talked about this.” Fabiana patted her mouth, suppressing a genuine yawn this time.

  “I don’t think you told me everything.”

  Fabiana put on a serious face when she sat folding her legs under her. Mira had to admit that her friend was far better at managing the treacherous highs and lows of running a fashion house more so than she ever was at designing actual clothes. She trusted her. But the idea that they were in trouble with people in another country sobered her.

  “I was approached three days after we arrived in Naples. Wait. No. You received a message from the Camorra three days after we arrived. I declined the request for a face-to-face meeting. I also told them to go to hell when they threatened us with a fine to operate our own business. They demanded monthly payments that were not only ridiculous but also damn right insulting. We already have to pay them for the trash disposal that is littering the streets.

  “Why would we have to pay them for our trash disposal?”

  “Things are different here Mira. They control sanitation and other things in the city. These bastards think they’re entitled to full access to our building. If we didn’t comply, they’d have us removed. Bullshit! All of it is bullshit scare tactics. Our solicitor and attorneys here in Italy met with Teddy and me. We were to ignore them. Things like this happen all the time to foreigners. What I didn’t know was that they could have our building seized.”

  “So it’s the Mafia that’s locked me out of my business?”

  Fabiana rolled her eyes. “I told you no at first. After what Lorenzo said, I have to wonder. He’s a good ally. Let me work with him.”

  “We can’t wait long enough for you to seduce some thug to give me my designs. This is a disaster! Christ!”

  “Calm down. I’m handling it. He’ll help us.”

  “No! We have to get my designs out of the building and be in Milan in days, not weeks.”

  “Lorenzo says his cousin would be willing to make a call, except he now wants to invest in your company. I’m negotiating. They are offering protection from future harassment.”

  “Extortion?”

  “See this is why I didn’t want you to know. You’ve been under so much stress—”

  “You don’t keep something like that from me!” Mira said. Fabiana looked away. They sat in silence for several minutes before their anger subsided enough for either of them to speak without voices rising. Fabiana went first.

  “Things are done differently in southern Italy. Not many Americans leasing along the Spaccanapoli. It’s expected.”

  “I don’t like the sound of this. We’re in another country. Things are done differently here like you said. Did you or Teddy notify the Embassy?” Mira pressed.

  Fabiana let go a gust of laughter. “No. They won’t do anything.”

  “This isn’t some game Fabiana. Extortion is serious. Everyone wants a piece of my business. This can’t be legal. They can’t get away with this.”


  “The Battaglia’s are legit. What they are offering means the doors to the building open, and you won’t have to be harassed any more. I told Lorenzo we will consider his offer if they help us first. I’m sorry, but I know what I’m doing.”

  Mira shook her head. There was no getting through Fabiana’s stubbornness. “How do you know Lorenzo? Is he the guy you told me about a couple of months ago? The one you met when you came here to finalize things.”

  “Yes. He approached me when I visited his restaurant with Teddy, and we shared a bottle of wine. We kept missing each other and could never hook up after that night. I’ve been trying to get my schedule clear to see him. He’s a good guy.”

  Mira drifted on the memory of her tall dark stranger. His name was Giovanni. She liked that name.

  “Mira?”

  Mira sat upright. “Giovanni.”

  “Who?”

  “Giovanni Battaglia. I met him. Tonight.”

  “You did? When?”

  “At the bathroom, I forgot to tell you. Francesco cornered me.”

  “Wait… slow down.”

  “He’s Lorenzo’s cousin. He’s the one who Lorenzo was speaking to.”

  “Dial it back to Francesco. What happened?”

  “He cornered me. It got all heated, and Giovanni came. The man went running. I just put it together.”

  “Did you talk to him?”

  “No. Not really. He introduced himself, and that was it. Really nice looking guy, Tall, with crystal blue eyes.”

  “Sounds like Lorenzo’s cousin.” Fabiana nodded. “Why are you grinning like that?”

  “Nothing,” Mira chuckled. Her insides felt warm and her head fuzzy from the wine. All she could do was smile. It had been a weird night. Her debut was in less than seventy-two hours. If the Battaglia’s could get her back into her building then so be it. However, she would not take on investors. No way in hell. She wanted nothing to do with the Mafia mess. Mira rose, bone weary tired. “I’ve had enough of this intrigue over the Battaglia men. I’m done. Going to bed.”

  Fabiana shot to her feet. She grabbed Mira by her hand and dragged her toward the doors to their outside balcony. “What are you doing?”

  Mira was forced outside into the warm night. “Look out there!” she exclaimed. “We did it! You and I together. We’re finally here.”

  She held Fabiana’s hand and stood at her side on the balcony. They always vowed to celebrate their successes. Tonight was the first night she truly believed in her talent without reservation. Maybe it was the wine.

  “What’s that over there?” Mira pointed.

  “Egg Castle. Isn’t it pretty?” Fabiana said in a wistful tone.

  “Yes. All of it is. The cathedrals, monuments, bridges and mountains. All of it is like some dream.”

  “It is a dream. Our Dream.” Fabiana squeezed her hand. “And it’s just begun. So is your new life, social or whatever. From this day forward you are going to live it. We both are. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  ****

  Giovanni reclined in his smoking chair. He didn’t sleep often. The dreams overwhelmed him when he let his defenses down. He had it within his power to do away with the prostitution houses they owned under his father’s reign. He allowed Lorenzo to operate to send a message to his enemies, to give the appearance of not being soft. The thought of it turned his stomach. They were not good men; he had no illusions that they would ever be. But women were not to be abused and used in this way. He thought of his mother’s suffering, and his adoration for Catalina. He could not face her or Zia with his family sullied this way.

  He closed his eyes.

  After a bullet was put in the head of the dying scoundrel Francesco, who dared bring dishonor to his family, he gave the order. There would be no more prostitution brothels, period. The men didn’t seem shocked. Even Lorenzo held his tongue against any protest. He was done with the shit.

  A nightmare lingered in his memory, and he forced the hot ache in his chest to subside. Tonight he thought he might have awakened with the sounds of his own screams still lodged in his throat. He wasn’t sure. No matter how hard he tried to understand his failure as a son, he found no peace. The first life he actually took with his own hand was the life of the bastard he believed shot his father. Even now he took no satisfaction in revenge.

  It was my fault.

  He rose from his chair, his shirt hung open and his feet were bare. The clock declared the time to be closer to three in the morning. He had the bitter taste of tobacco and whiskey in his mouth. The room to his suite opened to a balcony and he decided to spend the rest of the evening smoking his cigars waiting for the sun to rise on the Amalfi. Soon he’d return home. Catalina would be expecting him. He needed his family strong. He could forgive or try to forgive this one time to gain his cousin’s faith and trust.

  They were brothers. In blood.

  Chapter Two

  For twenty-eight hours she and her team worked. Nothing would be missed. Determined, committed, she fretted over her final choices for her collection. Her line had been inspired by autumn’s seasonal colors she’d often watch bloom out of her bedroom window over the rolling hills of Virginia. It had better translate well for her showing.

  Fabiana’s voice rose above the chorus of staff members buzzing around half-clothed models and cosmetologists. Each one marched to an explicit directive from Mira on how they were to serve the needs of her big event. Through it all she remained frazzled and over sensitive when mistakes or accidental mishaps occurred. The last thing she needed or desired was Fabiana ‘her bossy best friend’ Girelli inserting herself in the midst of pandemonium.

  “Where is she?” she heard Fabiana’s voice crack like a whip over the apologies of an assistant. Mira cut her gaze away. On her knees with pins in her mouth, she hand stitched a ruffled hem that unraveled along the train of the evening gown.

  “Mira! What are you doing? Let Eduardo or Angelique handle the retouches. We don’t have time for this. You’re supposed to be in hair and makeup.” Mira glanced up. Her vision blurred a bit, and her stomach rumbled. She’d survived on 3 to 4 hours of sleep at a minimum. The day of a show often became this melodrama between them. Fabiana would harp on how she needed to be cared for, and Mira would escape her tyranny to tend to the necessities often forgotten before her clothes graced the runway. Food, even grooming herself, all came in second to last on her list of priorities.

  “Drink this. You look like death!” Fabiana held out a cup of coffee.

  Mira ignored the order. After she added the ruffle, she wanted to revisit the straps and loosen them a bit to ensure the fabric fell low around Zenobia’s breasts.

  “You’re going to make me hold you down and pour it down your throat.” Fabiana half-teased. Mira knew that her friend wasn’t opposed to trying. “If you don’t eat or drink something, you won’t be standing by the time Zenobia hits the catwalk. Now do it.”

  Mira glanced up. She was pleased Fabiana had worn the dress she made for her. It was a tangerine linen summer dress with a low back line, which crisscrossed with a multitude of tiny straps in a web-like design. The front of the dress had a scoop neckline and plainly slimmed out her curves with the hem rising two inches above her knees. She liked the understated look that turned sexy when her friend walked off and a person caught a glimpse of her backside. It complimented the multifaceted layers of her friend’s personality to a tee. Fabiana’s hair flowed in scarlet waterfall curls and bounced on her shoulders.

  “Enough!” Fabiana stomped her foot in protest. She tossed her locks and scanned the crowd for someone to seize. Mira continued to sew the inseam of the train.

  “Angelique!” Fabiana barked to one of the better seamstress. “Finish this hem, please.” Fabiana reached for Mira. Spitting the pins out of her mouth into Fabiana’s hand, she sulked as her friend passed them off to Angelique. With no other choice available, she allowed Fabiana to help her rise.

  “Look at you!”


  Mira lowered her gaze down to her khaki pants and all white cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the bend of her elbow. Her hair had undergone a hot press and curl earlier but she had smoothed her tresses into a ponytail.

  “Once again my designing diva looks more like an apprentice instead of the brilliant starlet she is.” Fabiana frowned at her disapprovingly. “The show starts in less than an hour, and you aren’t dressed!”

  “Stop talking so loudly. I have a headache.” Mira accepted the cup of cappuccino. The roasted bean aroma opened her senses. She inhaled deep before taking a swallow of the scorching bitter liquid. A shot of espresso is really what she needed.

  “Let’s go, and I mean now, Mira.” Fabiana gave her a gentle push. They passed models lined up in studio chairs getting their makeup and hair done. She walked through the heavy black curtain heading to her trailer with Fabiana on her heels. Behind her she could hear her friend speaking through the headset clamped down on her head like a pair of iron earmuffs. Mira flung open the door and suddenly her frustration had a name. It was her bossy friend coming between her and what could be the critical minutes of work to be done before the show. She had to bite down hard on her tongue to keep from voicing her anger. Besides, the fatigue had depleted her of energy. She craved sleep, though it wasn’t an option. She had another four hours of preparation to look forward to, though her runway event would last no more than twenty minutes. And when it was all said and done, her fate as the new international sensation would be decided.

  She wanted to throw up.

  “Don’t ever talk to me like that in front of my staff again,” she grumbled.

  Fabiana nodded, “Okay, sweetie. Whatever you say. Are you hungry?”

  “Don’t patronize me!”

  “Mira,” Fabiana removed her headset. “I don’t have time for this shit. I know you’re stressed, but it’s my job to get your ass in line, to keep this operation from falling apart. So drop the attitude okay?”