by Mynx, Sienna
Giovanni sat up, and then forced his legs to hold him as he stood. A light wave of dizziness gripped him but he barely swayed. He walked to the French doors in the room and drew them open. Out on the balcony he let the bright sunrays sober him, and his gaze lowered. Flavio was being helped out of the Villa Rosso by two of his men. The old man’s arms were draped over the shoulders of the men who assisted him on both sides. They handled him with care. Out of respect for his position and authority, they afforded him the dignity that even Giovanni would have forgone.
Flavio’s head lifted as they drew closer. He looked up at Giovanni. For a moment the exchange between them softened Giovanni’s heart. The man was the closest he’d had to a father since his own father’s death. The moment passed. Then he and Flavio knew there would be no reprieve.
Giovanni turned and went back inside slamming the doors to the balcony shut behind him.
Epilogue
Eight months later
In the middle of October a blanket of snow coated the roads, fields, hills and her five-bedroom cottage. Mira had found it to be a winter paradise at times, but that feeling was fleeting. Tonight the chill of an approaching winter seeped in through the windowsills and under the doors. She rubbed heat into her hands and rose from her favorite chair. In a thick, wool lined maternity robe and furry moccasin boots that reached just above her ankles, she opened the door to the patio at the back of her cottage and stepped out into the twenty degree weather. She didn’t mind the cold. She loved the protective cover it gave her. It was after eleven and her little bambina was up standing at salute in her belly. She couldn’t sleep and during nights like this she didn’t try. Hugging herself, she smiled and looked out at the faint dark outline of the mountains.
The baby kicked. Mira put her hand under her belly where the tenderness could still be felt. “You will go to sleep tonight, honey,” she said.
Last month she found out she was having a girl. For reasons she didn’t understand she felt the divinity in this blessing. Her baby, their baby, was created out of love. Six months ago she didn’t believe it, but now she did. She’d had a lot of time for reflection. She learned a lot about her heart, and herself. This baby was his gift to her, the life that came out of so much pain. Now she had peace.
“Mira what are you doing out there in the cold?”
Her head turned. Kei stood inside shivering. He wore a deep scowl of impatience.
“Sweetheart? You’ll make yourself sick.”
“Go back to bed.”
“Join me.” Kei teased. Mira shook her head laughing. She turned and locked eyes with him. The man became sexier on nights like this. Not since Giovanni had she let any man between her legs, and Kei tried often. The swell of her breasts and hips kept him groaning when they passed each other close in her kitchen. She considered it more than once, but still she couldn’t go there. Even if she wanted to purge Giovanni from her heart, he was constantly between them. His child kept her chained to him.
“I don’t think so. We’re friends, remember?”
Kei crossed his arms over his tightly muscled chest. His dark black hair was parted at the center and blew lightly from his strongly handsome face. He only wore a white t-shirt and silk pajama pants. Sex with Kei was always a spiritual experience. He worshipped a woman’s body and taught her things she never knew possible. With Giovanni it had been different, more of a ravishment. His love overwhelmed and overpowered her. Now with her hormones raging she wondered what lucky woman was in Giovanni’s arms now.
“I’m glad to see you up and walking around.” Kei said. “You feeling stronger?”
“I am. I think it’s the herbal massages you give my feet.” She winked.
“I can give you more than that.”
Mira rolled her eyes. “I know. You keep telling me.”
Since she was in her last trimester of her pregnancy, he insisted on staying with her. The doctor said she was to stay off her feet because her blood pressure kept elevating. That was easier said than done. Living in isolation could be so draining. It was necessary. At first a trip to Switzerland seemed like the perfect place to refocus, start again. But Kei’s plan took on another life. Angelique’s body was identified as Mira at the scene. Kei used influence Mira didn’t know he had to make sure the reporters believed it. They actually had a funeral for her. Celebrities, dignitaries, people from all walks of life came to pay their respects. She wept through the service. Her funeral was the last time she saw Giovanni.
To her surprise he appeared among the mourners. Giovanni Battaglia had flown in to New York. If the press hadn’t made such a big deal over it, she might not have ever known. She watched him linger near a closed casket with dark shades. His face showed no expression, but she knew his pain, love, regret would swirl deep in his blue-violet eyes. The sight of him and his men moving out of the church, disappearing into a waiting car nearly broke her. She desperately wanted to call him and share the truth. She couldn’t.
The State Attorney General’s office and the F.B.I. had erased her identity. They grilled her over what she knew of the Battaglia’s, and she told them very little. They even asked her about the Calderone war. Apparently several members were gunned down, including the elder Calderone, and his nephew Angelo was in hiding. She knew nothing, only the love he had shown her in their brief affair.
Kei said she would have probably returned to him if she hadn’t discovered she was pregnant. Mira was inclined to believe him.
“You are so stubborn.” He disappeared inside and returned with a heavy coat that he draped around her shoulders.
“It feels great out here,” she smiled.
He stepped to her side and looked up at the moon.
“You sure you have to stay? Maybe you should go back.”
“I’m staying until the baby is born.”
“I can warm you some milk. Is the little one up at it again?”
Mira took his hand and pressed it to her tummy. “Feel.”
Kei’s eyes stretched. He looked up at her stunned. “She’s a fighter.”
“Like her father.” Mira chuckled. When she looked back at Kei, she saw his frown. He had made his feelings clear months ago. Mira declined his offer of marriage and his request that she let him into her bed. Her baby was all she needed, not a man. And she surely wouldn’t do that to Kei when she knew he wanted a wife, a future she would never have.
“C’mon, let’s go back in.”
He captured her hand. Mira stopped. He brought her palm to his mouth and pressed a kiss there. “I’m still very much in love with you Mira.”
“I know Kei, but…”
“No buts. We have all the time in the world. I’m here for you and the baby. You know that.”
“Yes.” She pulled on his hand and then returned inside.
“Then you should consider my proposal.” He came inside and closed the door. Mira lowered slowly into her chair. “Let me give the child a father.”
“My baby has a father.” Mira reminded him.
“That man can never exist to the baby. You know this. He’s dangerous, and he thinks you’re dead. What would he do if he knew you were here keeping a baby from him?”
She had nightmares over what Giovanni would think of this betrayal. To him it would be the ultimate destruction of their trust to deny him his child. “Doesn’t matter. I won’t replace him in her life.”
Kei sighed. “You know me Mira. I won’t give up. I won’t.” he turned and walked away.
Mira heard the door close down the hall. She pushed up from the chair and wheezed. Walking through her cottage she went to the bonus room that she kept locked whenever Kei visited. He never questioned her about it. This was her room. She removed the key from the inside of her robe and opened it. Once inside she locked the door and turned on the light. All over the room were sketches and drawings she’d done of Fabiana. Her best friend remained her muse and she designed clothes with her sketchpad with her lovely face and figure in mind. There were
other drawings. Each depicted her time in Italy. She had drawn Bellagio, and the lake view from outside of her bedroom window, the vineyard in Chianti, the wedding dress she made for Catalina. She’d even sketched the faces of Rocco and his wife. Her entire story could be told in pictures.
There remained however one sketch she never uncovered, one she only visited on the rare nights her loneliness couldn’t be replaced with TV or a good book. She flipped the sheet back and uncovered the portrait.
“There he is sweetness,” she said. She softly touched the canvas, tracing the tips of her two fingers over the sharp outlines of his face. Her baby kicked again and she chuckled, “I know, I know, momma wishes it too. He made his choice, and we made ours.” She rubbed her belly. It was still painful to look upon Giovanni, but she did so anyway to remind her of the love they shared. No man would be a father to their child but him. Never.
“Ti Amo.” She whispered putting her fingers to her lips then pressing them against the picture, “Ti Amo.”
****
Giovanni sat in the leather recliner staring into the flames dancing around in the large fireplace. A lot had happened in six months. Vengeance came at a bloody price. Without Flavio’s counsel he slipped deeper into his grief, and madness. The first casualties were Angelo Calderone’s twin sisters. They were both married and in their early twenties living in Napoli. Executed. The shock of the killings forced Don Calderone out of hiding. He was gunned down in Genoa at the funeral. Killing the capus in the Calderone family had become a sport for his boys. They ran them down between Turin, Venice, Firenze to the back streets of Roma. And if they showed any allegiance to Calderone they were dead.
He took a drag from his cigar. A dark smile curled his lips as he recalled one man begging him for forgiveness. There was no mercy for his Bella. There would be no mercy for them.
Angelo remained on the run. He had hopes to rectify that soon, but even Lorenzo and Carlo kept coming up empty in their pursuit. For now he took possession of everything Calderone owned, family property they’d had for centuries, businesses both legitimate and otherwise. Since he stomped out the Nigerians, the Irish were dealing with them again, and the men in the Cammora bowed when he entered a room.
It was enough.
Yet he wanted more.
He’d adjusted to being feared, hated.
Giovanni let a curl of smoke escape his mouth and drew it in to his nostrils before exhaling again. He had gone to America for his Bella. Dominic thought it unwise. The Polizia di Stato, Interpol, and the U.S. F.B.I. wanted him for questioning. He obliged the insult just to attend her funeral and he was granted the opportunity to say goodbye. But his heart refused to let go. Seven months had dragged on, and he missed her as if she had just left him yesterday. The women in his bed only made him bitter and resentful.
Things were different now.
He was different now.
Dominic had accepted the role of consigliere. It was unheard of to have someone so young and inexperienced in such a coveted position. But Dominic had paid the price. He knew ordering him to put the bullet in his mentor had taken a toll on Domi. He could see it in his face, and the weeks that followed with Dominic drinking more and more. Lorenzo was his left hand once more. As underboss, his cousin more than redeemed himself. Whatever jealousy made him turn to Giuseppe before was gone. They were inseparable by the shared pain of losing Fabiana and Mira. Dominic and Lorenzo both proved to him that they knew when to lead and when to follow. A trait the old man Flavio never quite understood. They followed his orders to the letter, and he rewarded them. The blood he shed set back all efforts to legitimize the family. He didn’t give a fuck. He cared about nothing. The gambling houses were open, the whores were back in business—and business was good.
Giovanni reclined further in his chair glaring at the dancing embers of the fire. His retreat had worried his aunt so much that she and Rocco had left Chianti and moved in. And still that wasn’t enough. Catalina had convinced her new husband to move in as well. He let none of them get close. He preferred the emptiness. He wasn’t a man that deserved anything better.
Some nights when the booze didn’t get the best of him he could sense her presence. Hear her voice. And on some nights he could feel her warmth under the covers of the bed. He had found the ability to dream without nightmares of his father’s murder. In his dreams she was his donna, pregnant with his child, loving him unconditionally. Giovanni liked those dreams most of all.
The door opened.
“Gio? Are you in here?” Catalina’s soft voice echoed behind him. She would have to step further in the room to see him seated before the fireplace.
“I said I was not to be disturbed.” He answered dryly.
“You missed dinner.”
“Lascilo,” he mumbled.
“You really have to stop this, Gio,” she placed a tray on the small table he used to set his bottle of wine or whiskey on that he drank from often. “I want you to start attending dinner. Zia and I have discussed it. You can’t go on like this.”
Giovanni took another drag from his cigar and ignored his sister.
Catalina folded her arms and sighed, “Franco wants to help. He’s asked Domi to let him.”
“Domi knows that Franco is to have nothing to do with my business.”
“Gio, he’s my husband, and he wants to help.”
“Esca!” he shouted.
Catalina threw up her hands in defeat and marched out. Giovanni extinguished the fiery end of his cigar in the plate of pasta she had prepared for him. He reached for the bottle of whiskey and managed to stand. Drinking from the bottle, he walked past his bed to the open balcony. It was a bit chilly in the evening, but he preferred the cold. He stood under the largest moon he’d seen in a while. He smiled. Somehow he felt her in that moon. “I’m not done with them yet, Bella. They’ll all pay cara. All of them.”
He turned and walked back in to his room to settle for the night.
