by Mynx, Sienna
****
Catalina stood with her arms out as Mira measured and stuck pins in the dress before going back to her pad to write down her measurements for cutting the fabric. Clara paced nervously in front of the women, not sure what to make of all the pins and tape she saw covering the dress. Wringing her hands she finally spoke. “No cleavage must show and the hem must touch the floor.”
Mira looked over at her and smiled. “I’ll take care of her.”
Catalina stuck out her bottom lip. “I want some cleavage to show. It’s my dress!”
“Hush you silly girl!” Clara clapped her hands together to silence Catalina.
Fabiana frowned at the older woman. She and Mira exchanged a look. Fabiana rubbed her hands together, and tossed her long hair before approaching. “Clara, how many weddings have you been the masciata over?” Fabiana asked. She draped her arm around the woman’s shoulder.
“I’ve placed Italian brides with their chosen mates for over 50 years.”
“Fifty years huh? Impressive. And in fifty years how many dresses have you made for these brides?”
“I beg your pardon?” Clara snipped disgusted. “I may not be a dressmaker like Signora Mira but I know what’s proper for Catalina, and what’s expected of her from Don Battaglia.” She announced.
“Of course you do. I wouldn’t dare suggest you didn’t.” Fabiana put her arm around her. She guided the old woman’s steps toward the door.
“Signora Mira as you called her, is more than a dressmaker. Just as you find yourself qualified to orchestrate this wedding from your fifty years of experience, Mira finds herself qualified to dress a bride from her many years of experience. Experience that I might add produced a multimillion dollar company on dress making alone. Now why don’t we let her get to it?” Before Clara could counter the argument Fabiana opened the door and pushed her out. “We’ll let you know when we’re done!” she said smiling nicely and closing the door.
Catalina laughed. “Thank you! She is such a pain in the ass!”
Fabiana turned with her hands to her hips. “Tell me about it. Don’t you have any aunts or cousins that could help you with your wedding?”
“Yes, but they don’t really like me and Giovanni.” she said softly.
Mira glanced up and then made eye contact with Fabiana. She knew of the relationship Catalina’s parents shared. Tradition with the Sicilians must have made them outcasts within their own family. “It’s okay sweetie, because you got us.” Mira winked.
Catalina nodded, eagerly. “Grazie Mira. I’m sorry for being a brat. It was weird seeing Giovanni with someone.”
Fabiana went back to the bed, sitting down. “Giovanni and Lorenzo never bring women home?” she asked.
Catalina shook her head. “Lorenzo had a sweetheart once, and everyone thought they would get married, but she broke up with him. She married someone from another family. This was before Papa died, but I remember it of course. Lorenzo was very upset.”
Mira lifted her eyes while working to see Fabiana’s face. She noted how tense her friend was and wondered again what had her on edge. “You okay?”
Fabiana nodded “I’m fine.”
Mira rose. “That’s it. Let’s get you out of this, tomorrow we will go to my store and get the things I need to redo the dress.”
“I feel like a porcupine.” Catalina laughed. “Can you get rid of the puffy sleeves too?”
Mira smiled. “That’s the first thing I plan to do.”
Fabiana shook her head. “There is no way in hell Donatella Versace designed that dress. I think Signora Clara is full of shit.”
“Fabiana!” Mira warned.
Catalina looked over to her, “Why do you say that?”
Mira began to work down her zipper. “Ignore Fabiana, she doesn’t know anything.” She reassured her. “Now go take this off.”
Catalina agreed. “Grazie,” she said rushing to the bathroom.
Mira turned on Fabiana as soon as the door closed. “Would you cut the wise ass remarks?”
Fabiana shrugged. “Please. You know that dress didn’t come out of the house of Versace. That woman is just controlling that child. She probably took one look at the dress Donatella sent over and the rest of her hair turned white. She replaced it with that tacky mess.”
It was what Mira felt as well. She could see where the inside label had been cut out. “I checked the inseam and material. It’s a store bought dress alright, which explains why it doesn’t fit. I think you’re right. Clara got rid of Donatella's dress and fitted her with that one.”
“Why the hell would Giovanni and Lorenzo allow the manipulating shrew near that girl?” Fabiana asked.
Mira shook her head, “She isn’t the only one controlling her.”
“What does that mean?”
“You heard her. She’s been given over to a matchmaker. Do they still arrange marriages in Italy? It’s almost 1990. They can’t be serious.”
“I think with certain families it’s a tradition. It’s none of our business. Catalina seems very excited about it. To suggest it’s barbaric or anything other than tradition is an insult to them. You remember that.” Fabiana cautioned.
“Catalina doesn’t want to disappoint her brother. You should have seen her reaction when I questioned her, and she couldn’t say she loved this Franco person, which to me….”
Catalina came out of the bathroom with the dress. “Okay here you go,” she said smiling, bringing it over. Mira accepted the dress. “Thanks sweetie, I will start on this first thing tomorrow.
****
Lorenzo handled the narrow, curving roadway in his car like a daredevil. The coastal villages zipped by as the speedometer climbed to the point of dipping into the red zone. Still he drove faster.
He also had a nasty habit of taping men. I hear he has tapes, very interesting tapes, of conversations he’s had with you.
Anger gripped him so tight he could barely suck down a breath. It was a lie. There was no tape. He remembered sitting in the bar drinking, bemoaning his existence and Giuseppe feeding his ego. When did the slug have a chance to tape him? Which conversation did he record? The one where he joked that Don Tomosino’s death was the only way he’d have his birthright? “No dammit! No!” he hit the steering wheel. There was no tape. The fucker was lying.
What he’d done because of his pride and jealousy of his cousin could destroy everything they’ve built. He could feel time and plausible excuses slipping away from him. His life was spiraling out of control, and he was powerless to prevent it. Making a sharp turn the car engine revved then sputtered. Lorenzo frowned, checking the gauges. He rarely drove the car and had it tuned regularly.
Soon he arrived at the Battaglia gates, avoiding a roadside stall in his favorite spots car. The men opened the gates and granted him entrance. No one came or went without a face to face. He drove up the drive and parked behind an American made motorcycle. He wondered which of the boys had bought the toy. Outside of the car with the door slamming shut behind him, he approached it.
“Nice, isn’t it?”
He glanced to his left. Carlo flicked his hand rolled cigarillo and smirked. “Been waiting.”
“Need you to have someone come pick up my car to have it tuned. The engine sounds funny.” He was in no mood for questioning from his friend or anyone. He just needed to get somewhere and cool off to think of his next move.
“What the fuck I look like, your errand boy?” Carlo asked, catching the keys tossed to him mid-air.
Lorenzo didn’t break his stride. He entered the house and beat a hard path to the lower rooms. He heard the soft sounds of laughter. He slowed and looked to the left. It was a woman’s laugh.
Smoothing out his hair he sucked in a deep breath and walked into a sunroom that led out to the open terrace. Seated around a table was Mira, Catalina, and Fabiana eating and drinking wine. Fabiana’s eyes lifted and locked on him. She rose from her seat and came to him immediately. “I was wondering when you�
��d come back.” Lorenzo pulled her in his arms grateful to feel her. She kissed him sweetly on the lips then offered him more. Amazing how calm he felt after one kiss from her. Fabiana withdrew. She turned and grinned at the women while holding his hand. “Mira and Giovanni brought back some wine from the vineyard. Do you want some? Have you eaten?”
Lorenzo looked at the ladies staring at him and then back at Fabiana, “Where’s my cousin?”
“Villa Rosso probably.” Catalina said.
The night dragged on without him. Laughter, wine, and the excited chatter of the pending nuptials from Catalina filled the evening. Several times she caught Lorenzo checking his watch. She wondered about this place called ‘Villa Rosso’ and why Lorenzo didn’t go there to summon Giovanni. He never did. Eventually he and Fabiana retired for the evening, and she was left alone with Catalina.
“Where is this Villa Rosso place?” Mira asked.
Catalina lowered her wine glass, her nose wrinkling. “Outside. It’s the cottage Papa built at the end of the garden trails. Giovanni lives there mostly. Sometimes for days.” Catalina gave an eye-roll. “I try to keep it nice, for him and the men, but he won’t allow me in there without his permission, and they make it messy always. The staff is never allowed there. It smells of whiskey and his stinky cigars.” She shrugged her shoulders. “He’s like Papa, likes to be there alone, no matter the state. Mama had a kitchen and bedroom made up in there so he's fine.”
“Days? You said he lives there? Not here?”
“When he wants.” Catalina smiled. “Don’t worry, he’ll come back. He always does.”
She felt a presence behind her, the deep blush to Catalina’s cheeks made Mira turn to see who had entered. The one Giovanni called Dominic stood in the doorway. He wore a look that Mira recognized. A mixture of love, lust, and shame. She saw that look in Giovanni’s eyes after he ravished her in the bed and caused the bite to her shoulder. Mira's gaze swiveled between Dominic and Catalina, and her brows lowered with concern. Dominic was staring at the young bride to be.
“Good night Mira. I have to talk to Domi.”
Catalina was out of her chair sashaying toward the door. Her dark curly hair swayed across her shoulders. Then she was gone.
“Stop Mira. Mind your own business. The man is too old for Catalina.” She reasoned, dismissing what she thought passed between the two. She sighed. What was she doing there? It felt ridiculous to be held up in this massive estate to only spend evenings in this man's bed. She understood he had work to do, but so did she. Maybe she’d talk to Fabiana about cutting this visit short. It didn’t mean that their affair had to end. She just needed her life back. Working on Catalina’s dress had sparked the urge to do more. She rose and walked out. As she approached the stairs she considered what Catalina said. The man wouldn’t disappear on her if it wasn’t serious. What if he needed someone to talk to? Uncanny as it was, she felt such a tie to him now. She couldn’t dismiss it.
Mira turned left instead of right, lost in her thoughts. Passing through two open rooms she stopped and looked around confused. The stairs had to be in the front of the house, so she tried to double back.
She heard a woman’s sigh. Mira stopped. It could have been the wind. The longer hallways carried drafts from all the open windows to the front of the villa. She listened and heard nothing. Glancing back over her shoulder the sound drifted to her ears again. A sweet mixture of soft sighs and moans that sounded feminine in nature. She stood alone in the hall. Curiosity seized her sensibility, and she began to trace her steps back the way she came. She stopped at a door drawn partially shut. She heard a crash and a giggle. It was Catalina. Silent and careful she positioned her left eye to the crack in the door and peered in.
Dominic advanced on Catalina who stepped back with a sly teasing smile. Mira pressed closer to the door to see, and it eased open a sliver. Dominic drew Catalina to him in a gentle manner with his hand to her hip. It seemed innocent enough if it weren’t for the glazed look of awe and desire on Catalina’s face. Mira held her breath. What was unfolding? Dominic said something. He had a deep timber to his voice that reminded her of a rhythm and blues singer—husky and sultry. Mira wished she knew the translation. Soon she needed none. Catalina threw her arms around Dominic’s neck and giggled. He spun her in his arms, and she hugged his neck tightly. What seemed like simple flirty play soon changed to an embrace of lovers. In one deft move Catalina was pressed up against the wall bookshelf. The couple kissed and clawed at each other’s clothing. The front of Catalina’s dress was yanked down and Dominic’s face was buried in her cleavage. Catalina responded by working on his zipper. Soon Dominic’s pants were riding at his hips, belt undone. Catalina’s right leg draped over the crook of his arm opening her for his thrusting cock. Catalina gasped clenching his shoulders, her head rolling back in pleasure. The bookshelf shook, a few books dropped to the floor. Dominic fucked her with slow measured thrusts. Mira covered her mouth. Dominic stopped his thrusts and lowered, sucking her nipple then going down between Catalina’s thighs. She dropped her leg over his shoulder and gripped the top of his curly hair to grind her sex against his plundering mouth.
Mira couldn’t tear away from the scene.
Catalina moaned in ecstasy. Her eyes opened and her head turned. She locked eyes on Mira who had inadvertently pushed the door ajar a bit to reveal the scene. Embarrassed Mira fled for the stairs.
Giovanni rose from his chair. He walked over to the bar and picked up a bottle. No matter how he digested the news of his cousin’s involvement with Giuseppe Calderone he couldn’t accept it. They’d taken an oath. And it meant more than words and blood, it was who they were. They believed in family and loyalty above all else. Lorenzo would not jeopardize it all to be some drug pusher. There had to be another reason for his lapse in judgment. But what?
He turned up the bottle and took a long swallow until his throat felt torched and his chest aflame. He wiped the scotch from his lips. His eyes fell upon his gun. He remembered when he first used it. How he felt. What he’d done. Could he use it again? On the man he called brother?
February 16, 1983
Napoli, Italy
“Count minchione!” Lorenzo shoved the nozzle of the gun so deep into the man’s mouth he gagged. Others stood around watching, waiting. “Figlio di puttana!”
Two Russians lie dead in the freezer, both with their throats cut and bullets to their backs. Giovanni still had blood on his hands, pants, and shoes. His chest bulked. He wanted a confession. He needed a confession. And though he should be nowhere near this bloodbath, he intended to see it through. Lorenzo knew this. Felt his need for revenge that ate away at his soul like a cancer. His cousin had found the bastards and tied them down in the bakery. He summoned him without the men. Fed the monster in him that made him Don Tomosino’s son.
Lorenzo glanced back to him. “He’s the one Giovanni, the one who pulled the trigger. He’s the one who took Papa from us.”
“He’s mine!” Giovanni said.
“No.” Flavio entered the freezer with Dominic and Carlo behind him. Giovanni was in such a murderous daze he didn’t hear the old man speak. He gripped the gun tighter. “Don’t do it, Gio.”
Lorenzo removed the gun from the man’s mouth. He glanced back at the men then to Giovanni. All of this unfolded as the Russian dropped his head, gagging and gasping for breath.
“Gio?” Flavio said, he walked over, stood before him. “Listen to me. Your word is law. You do not have to do this. Let the boys finish him off. Bring you his head, his hands, and his feet. But you must remain clean.”
“He deserves vengeance!” Lorenzo shouted.
“We all do.” Carlo spoke out of turn.
Giovanni breathed through his nose. He tracked the Russian with his eyes as the coward backed away on his knees.
“And he shall have it! That is why you are number two! It is your job to do this for your Don! Do you hear me!” Flavio snapped. He eased the gun from Giovanni’s hand. “L
ead these men, Gio, don’t become one of them to do it.”
Giovanni remembered the gunshots. How his father fell and blood pooled like a river of red draining from his body and running streams down the streets. He remembered the suffering of his poor mother, how confused and desperate she and his sister had become. Together they wept at his father’s bedside. Eventually his mama had to be medicated in order to be taken out of the room. He remembered Catalina crawling in bed with him shivering, begging him to make Papa well again. And he remembered the day they lowered his father into the ground. All of it boiled up into a storm that strangled his heart. He shoved Flavio from in front of him. He grabbed the two ice picks on the steel freezer and charged the man. The Russian didn’t scream, he didn’t beg for mercy. In fact Giovanni could have sworn as he charged him the man knew his fate and smiled. Without delay he shoved both ice picks into his eyes and pinned the murderer to the ground. Men converged on him and he managed to throw them off in time to get his gun, the one given to him by his grandfather. The one called ‘Danny-boy’. He unloaded the clip into the dead man.
Silence fell over those in the freezer. Giovanni stumbled back, rising from the darkness that had engulfed him. He saw the carnage, the one he’d committed and suppressed the gag in his throat. He’d killed men. He’d done it with his own hands. He’d become what his mother always feared. When he glanced up he could see the dark approval gleaming in Lorenzo’s eyes. He could see the satisfaction in Carlo’s smile. And he could see the profound disappointment in Flavio’s scowl. Unable to stomach it he turned and walked out.
Giovanni sucked down a deep breath. Lorenzo wouldn’t betray him. There had to be an explanation for all of this. His cousin was loyal. They all were. They had to be. He stared at Danny-boy. Otherwise he’d have the final word.
Chapter Eleven
Mira slipped on her gown. She looked at her frizzy hair and felt tired from the sight of it. She showered and tried hard to forget the scene she witnessed. Catalina and Dominic? What had she seen? Mira flipped off the light switch and walked back into the room. Catalina stormed into the room and paced by the bed. Her face was streaked with tears.
