by Mynx, Sienna
“I had a lovely time today. Thank you,” she said. He cast those jeweled eyes at her and gave her a sweet smile. She leaned forward and kissed him. “And thank you Giovanni, for sharing your story with me.”
“Prego.”
She opened the door and hopped out of the jeep. They left the picnic basket and wine in the back. As soon as they crossed the threshold, the sounds of a young woman’s wails filled the foyer.
In a flash Catalina rushed through the hall into her brother’s arms, weeping. Mira stood frozen watching the scene. A petite woman in a long skirt with a messy grey bun to the back of her head hurried down the hall after Catalina. Giovanni wrapped his arms around his sister as one would do with a terrified child and comforted her. He kissed the top of her head, trying to understand what had her so distressed. “What is it?”
“It’s awful, just awful!!”
Giovanni gave Mira a desperate plea with his eyes to free him from the entire matter. So she addressed the older woman who appeared to be at the center of the drama. “Can I be of any help?”
The woman looked Mira up and down. She then glanced to Giovanni and spoke in English to be clearly heard. “Donatella is unable to make the dress exactly as requested; the one she sent is all wrong. We have a week before the wedding.”
“A week?” Mira looked to Giovanni surprised. She knew there would be a wedding, but in a week? Catalina let go of her brother shaking her head. “It’s ugly, I hate it! I will look like a fool Giovanni. And she didn’t even send the second dress. We paid for two dresses. All I got is one horrible thing!”
“Do you mind showing me the dress? Maybe I can help?” Mira offered.
“Can you?” Catalina asked wiping her eyes.
“Of course, it’s what I do, remember?”
Catalina smiled. “Grazie.” She looked to her brother for approval. “Is it okay Giovanni? Can she help me?”
“Thank you, Bella,” he mouthed.
Catalina took her hand and pulled her toward the stairs. She glanced back once more and Giovanni winked at her. She returned the wink. Together they ascended the stairs and met Fabiana at the top. Her friend looked at them both curiously. “What’s the hurry?”
“My dress! She will design a new one.” Catalina beamed.
“Wait, I only offered to—.”
“I’m so excited.”
“What dress?” Fabiana asked.
“This way!” Catalina announced. The woman who had to be an event planner shoved her way past Mira and Fabiana heading down the hall after her client. Fabiana gave Mira a puzzled look. “Please don’t tell me you agreed to do a dress for her?”
“How could I say no?” Mira whispered. They both started walking.
“Just say no.” Fabiana whispered back.
Mira chuckled. “It can’t be that bad. She said Donatella sent it.”
“Wait.” Fabiana grabbed her arm before she entered the room after Catalina. “You can’t work on another designer’s dress. Are you insane? You know better.”
Mira sighed. “Let’s look at it. Okay?”
As her business manager, Fabiana never let her do personal designs without going through her. Everything she touched was viewed as a business deal. Reworking another designer’s piece was a complete insult and a definite no-no in the industry.
Giovanni was in no mood for his sister’s hysterics. He walked through his home and out the back doors. In Sorrento he kept his family safe and contained, but the times business called it would always take place in the Villa Rosso. It was the cottage his father ran his business from and the place he took the oath of silence and accepted his role in the family. Necessary matters were only conducted behind those doors. The women knew to never venture in when he and the boys were meeting.
He glanced back over his shoulder. On the third floor of the villa he could see the lights to Catalina’s room flicker on. He hoped the dress matter would be resolved soon and Mira waiting for him in his room when he returned. A wishful thought.
The inside of his two-story cottage was dark and silent. His men patrolled the grounds, but no one had entered before him. He smelled the deep ingrained aroma of his favorite cigars and frequently consumed malt embedded in the walls and floors. It was indeed a meeting place of men. Giovanni flicked the light switch and closed the door. He crossed the gathering room and headed to his office in the back. Above him was a single bedroom and shower. Many nights he chose that room over his own bed.
Not long after he entered his office and sat behind his desk, he heard the outer door open. He lowered as his visitor crossed his threshold. “Did you leave him alive?” he asked.
“Barely.”
Giovanni dropped back in his large swivel chair and gazed up at Dominic. “Will he name you?”
Dominic chuckled. “We made sure he has amnesia when it comes to our visit. This is hard for me to say boss. I chose to question Fish away from Carlo, because I feared. I… I haven’t shared this with any of the men.”
“Speak.”
“I believe Lorenzo killed Giuseppe.”
“And you believe this why?”
“No one, not even the Nigerians would have done away with Giuseppe this way. You know how this works. Sure they would have wanted to send a message, and maybe even teach the old Don a lesson, but Giuseppe played against his father’s best interest. We all know what he was trying to move through the triangle. It just. It doesn’t feel right. And Fish confirmed it. He said Giuseppe and Lorenzo met frequently in Como and often in Genoa.”
Giovanni sighed. “Where’s Lorenzo?”
Why would Lorenzo betray the family this way? For drugs? Did he want to force his hand, force him to make an example of him?
“Fish can be useful.” Dominic’s voice rose above his thoughts. “He can throw the Calderone’s off the scent. He wants to deal. He knows when the old man’s grief takes him down after the body is discovered, the family will disintegrate. Revenge will overwhelm them.”
Giovanni closed his eyes and remembered how revenge almost destroyed his family as well. It was Lorenzo who found the Russians who put the hit on his father. His cousin helped him channel his angry grief into the final act that made him the boss of all bosses. Their Don. He refused to believe that Lorenzo would betray him now or ever. There still wasn’t any proof. His cousin loved his Bellagio home, and he frequented the pussy holes, where men gathered. Calderone’s gambling house in Genoa was one of them.
“Go on,” Giovanni sighed.
“Fish will work with me, only me. Provide me updates and do your bidding. He’ll even put a bullet in Don Calderone if you want it.”
“Now why would he do that? He has no allegiance to the Cammora.”
“Angelo.” Dominic answered. “He hates the fucker. Doesn’t want to work under his command. There is a long standing feud between the men over his woman Maria. We have her and Fish will do anything to get her back.” Dominic’s grin was half sneer, half humor.
Giovanni sat forward. He clasped his hands together on top of his desk. It always came down to pussy for men. Pussy and greed was every man’s Achilles’ heel. That’s why he fucked nameless faceless women. Except for her. Now he too had a weakness. He’d welcomed a woman into his home and bed that he’d barely known a week.
“Boss?”
“Sounds like we can use him.” Giovanni answered.
“If it’s going to be war boss, we need an inside man,” Dominic said. “Whether Lo did the crime, we both know what Fish has seen others have as well. It won’t take long before Angelo and the Calderone’s drag us into this shit.”
****
Mira sat on the bed waiting for Catalina to come out of the bathroom in the wedding dress. She soon became distracted with the way Fabiana lingered near the window. She figured she was holding her tongue for what she was about to do, but honestly a wedding a week away left her no real choice.
“What’s wrong?”
“Huh?” Fabiana asked.
“You don’t want me to fix this dress?”
Fabiana smiled. “Oh no, it’s not that. We can do something with it. The girl has a wedding in a week.”
“How was your day with Lorenzo?”
Fabiana’s smile wasn’t as bright as it was before. Still she was lovelier when she let her inner charm come forth. “We went horseback riding, had sex, went to lunch at this little pizza spot in Napoli, had sex again at an apartment he has there, went for gelato and came here for more sex.”
“Sounds like fun.”
Fabiana shrugged. Catalina walked out of the bathroom with the woman from earlier following closely. Both Fabiana and Mira looked at the dress that was definitely a size too big and sloppily cut. The short puffy sleeves and too wide of a waistline was too low for her tiny frame. The front of the dress was raised too high and the train fell awkwardly behind. The entire dress had woven white beading on top of heavy satin material that would make re-cutting the fabric a nightmare. All in all Mira got a headache from one look at the monstrosity.
Mira sucked in her breath and then cleared her throat, “Donatella Versace sent this over for you?” she asked in complete disbelief.
The lady next to Catalina flashed Mira an irritated smile, “It was from her private line, not her brother’s. She’s starting to do more designing for him.” Catalina nodded.
“Her private line of shit,” Fabiana said aghast at the way the dress looked.
Catalina burst into tears again. “Oh sweetie, I’m so sorry. I run my mouth sometimes. Forgive me.”
Mira walked over to her. “We can make this into the dress of your dreams please don’t cry.”
The woman started speaking to Catalina in Italian to soothe her, and Mira wondered who she was. Catalina saw the curious look on her face and explained.
“Forgive me. Fabiana and Mira this is Signora Clara my Masciata.”
Mira glanced to her friend for translation.
“She’s her matchmaker.”
“Matchmaker?” Mira looked at the woman and then Catalina. The young girl was in an arranged marriage? Really? Mira extended her hand. “Nice to meet you Clara.”
“She’s also my wedding planner. You know the one that makes sure the wedding follows our traditions.”
Fabiana extended her hand and greeted Clara as well. “Nice to meet you.”
Mira addressed Fabiana. “Can you go get my kit that you packed away with your things? It’s obvious that we’ll need to go to our office tomorrow and get some fabric and other things I need.”
Fabiana nodded and walked out. Catalina let go a sigh of relief, “Thank you so much Mira. I really appreciate this.”
“It’s no trouble. I’m excited for you. Tell me about your guy.” Mira smiled.
“Franco?”
“Is that his name?” Mira accepted her hand and led her to the bed in the room where they both sat. Clara stood off, observing them silently.
“Yes his name is Franco Minetti,” Catalina beamed.
“Where did you meet him?”
“The first time I met him was at my christening, Giovanni said he put me in the crib with Franco and even though we were babies we held hands,” she grinned. Mira tried to keep the smile to her face. Catalina placed both hands in her lap and continued with her tale. “Then we met again my graduating year in school at my cousin Aurora’s wedding. It was a year ago. Giovanni said it was okay if I wrote him, so we wrote quite often until I graduated. That’s when Giovanni let Franco come here for a week. We swam, rode horses, and did things.”
“What kind of things?” Mira asked.
“You know, date and things. All of it supervised by Domi of course,” she blushed and looked away.
Mira smiled. “Okay so you fell in love with him?”
“Si. Amore. Giovanni sent me to Palermo, and I got to spend a week with his family. Domi came too. He was right by my side. I hate Palermo. Have you been?”
“No sweetie I haven’t.” Mira glanced over to Clara who continued to watch over them with a critical squint.
“Catalina are you saying this marriage is arranged?”
Catalina frowned at the term.
“I mean was it setup by Giovanni and Franco’s family?”
“Of course. That’s what I’m saying. Signora Clara knew Mama. She has governed our lives always. She is here to make sure we follow the traditions,” Catalina smiled.
“This is something you want?”
“Giovanni said—”
“I’m not talking about your brother. I’m talking about you, sweetie. You are the one getting married. Is this something you want? Marriage is serious and something you should do with a person you love. You do know that don’t you?” Mira asked, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze.
Catalina looked down at Mira’s hand and then to her eyes. “Why did you ask me that? Of course I know this. Of course I want my marriage! Don’t you dare tell Giovanni I don’t!” Catalina snatched her hand away and rose.
“I didn’t mean to insult you.”
“You think I’m young and stupid and can’t handle getting married?”
“No, of course not.”
“I’m the donna of this house. Not you! I take good care of Giovanni and Lorenzo, and I will be a good wife to Franco. I’ve done nothing wrong!”
“Sweetie calm down. I just asked you what you want. If Franco is who you love, then I’m happy for you.”
Catalina folded her arms and glared. “Franco is what I want, it is what God wants. Don’t you dare say anything different.”
Fabiana walked in with Mira’s sewing kit. “Found it!” she said smiling. Looking at the women she frowned, “Something wrong?”
****
“I took the liberty of ordering. Not big on wine like you and these Italians.”
Lorenzo locked eyes with the large Nigerian seated at the table. The man had skin as dark as coal and a shaved head and face. He wore a stark white shirt that appeared brighter against his skin. Lorenzo found him dining alone in a hotel suite crowded with heavily armed men. He felt no fear. He’d shoot every motherfucker in sight if he had to and walk away from this meeting. It was his false bravado that time and time again proved to be his weakness.
“Why did you ask to meet?” Lorenzo asked.
“We haven’t been properly introduced. Name is Enu.”
Lorenzo glared as the African wiped his mouth and extended his large palm in greeting. After a moment Enu slumped back in his chair. “I will admit this is awkward. I have a lot of respect for your family. Actually the Cammora in general. Unlike the mafioso you men understand there can be alliances outside of Sicilian blood ties. You’re much more progressive.”
“We aren’t that tolerant.” Lorenzo scoffed.
“Giuseppe was. In fact he was quite accepting of new ways. Of change.” A beautiful black woman in a traditional wrap of green and gold brought a fresh drink for the Nigerian. She blinked her large brown eyes up at Lorenzo and then shied away. Lorenzo refused to touch his glass of wine. “Giuseppe’s missing, and this presents a problem.”
“Not for me,” Lorenzo sneered.
Enu chuckled, his dark eyes gleamed like those of a cobra with prey in sight. “I hear your boss is expanding the family business.”
“That’s none of your concern.”
“You sure about that? Not only does Giovanni Battaglia own the coast of the Amalfi but now he strives to extend his reach along northern Italy?” Enu raised his glass in a mock toast. “He does have balls.”
Lorenzo glanced at his watch. On the verge of dismissing the bastard he summoned restraint.
“He does understand that his interests have now become my own?”
“Fuck no.”
“Then you should help him with this understanding. Considering Giuseppe’s disappearance has many pointing a finger your way. In a time of war we can be quite useful.”
“The Nigerian Mafia? An alliance because that runt Giuseppe missed dinner?” Lorenzo spat ou
t a burst of laughter. The humor drained from Enu’s face and his features hardened like stone.
“Are you fucking kidding me Eboo?”
“The name is Enu and I never kid. Yes, I propose an alliance because Giuseppe Calderone didn’t just miss dinner. He’s dead. You killed him.”
Lorenzo’s jaw went tight. He narrowed his eyes on the man before him.
“Giuseppe ran his mouth. The stupid fuck never knew when to shut up. He talked of you often. How you were his bitch.” Enu chuckled. “Didn’t like you much.”
“Feeling was mutual.”
“He also had a nasty habit of taping men.” Enu’s gaze flickered up and latched on to Lorenzo. “I hear he has tapes, very interesting tapes, of conversations he’s had with you.”
Lorenzo felt his hand tighten to a fist, but sat rigidly still. Was he bluffing? Did Giuseppe tape him the fateful night he spoke words that brought about his beloved uncle’s death. No. If Giuseppe had a tape of their conversation he would have leveraged it by now. It had to be a bluff. If this African knew of his part in Tomosino’s hit he would have played that card by now. At this point the bastard was simply feeling him out. “Giuseppe’s not my problem. But you have one. The same tall tales he told of me and my family he spread about you and yours. Said the Nigerians sucked his dick to pass their women and drugs through the triangle. He said you moolignons were under his command. And now Don Calderone knows of your deals. The war isn’t with the Battaglia’s. It’ll be at your door.”
The Nigerian broke the whiskey glass in his hand. He didn’t flinch at the glass slicing his palm or the blood splatter on the linen of the table. His dark irises went darker than coal. He snarled when he spoke. “You made a big mistake dismissing my offer of friendship.”
Lorenzo drank from the wine and set the glass back on the table. “Enjoy the raglione.” He said rising and walked out. He didn’t bother to look back. He needed to get home. Things were falling apart. And Giovanni would be on to him soon.
