Distilled Duplicity

by Louise Furley

  He’d tried to talk to Kiri at the banquet, don’t know why, she was just a kid, yet he was drawn to her. But she stuck that little chin up in the air and scurried off.

  He only saw her briefly during the years after that. He’d tried to approach her, speak to her, but she shrugged him off like yesterday’s newspaper-wrapped fish. Which was fine. After the vicious, almost deadly beating her brothers had dealt him when he was a young teen, he’d sworn vengeance on the entire family.

  Besides, shortly after the banquet he was sentenced to a wheelchair, and Ignacio had hidden her away somewhere only bringing her home for the holidays.

  Heaving a sigh, Naithon said, “Fine. What do you want from me?”

  A smile creased his brother’s face. His features so much heavier and darker than Naithon’s it was hard to see any resemblance between the brothers. They had different mothers.

  When Naithon had been being beaten and assaulted in prison, images of his own wretched family and the Delduccis had courted him. The visions tried to make him seek revenge the minute he was released. But, he had stepped back, biding his time. Maybe the time had come?

  Refilling his wife’s wineglass, Misolav said, “We’re gonna have a meet.”

  Chapter Five

  Before the meeting could be held, Kiritina Delducci was called home from her school in Italy. Her brother had been murdered. Murdered. Duce was dead.

  She couldn’t wrap her mind around it. He’d been so full of arrogant, bullying, wicked life. Torturing and killing dogs, and stomping on people until they moved out of the way or were crushed out of existence under his malignant heel.

  It had been close, but she had gotten away from his clutches. A few visits on the holidays when she was home he had tried to break into her room, but Ignacio finally put a guard at her door. Her virgin price would bring big bucks.

  She’d had only a brief time to enjoy her independence at college. Ignacio thought she was taking business courses so until she married, she could help run their rum distillery, Maestá d’oro, Majesty’s Gold.

  Their latest liquor brand was labeled Maestá Primeo, Majesty’s Prize. If he knew she was taking photography, graphics and creative art design, he’d have pulled her right out and brought her straight home.

  Ignacio had already arranged a marriage deal brokered with Rueford Montoblanco. Another mobster who owned a city north of Chaleur. Rueford had claimed her the first time he set eyes on her, she’d been eleven or so, and he’d wanted her then. He was thirty-five at the time. She was almost twenty now, he was forty-four, and chomping at the bit to have her.

  Kiri was trapped. Ignacio threatened the lives of innocent people, and to crush his thumb harder over her, he said he’d accuse her of stealing from him and have her thrown in jail if she didn’t acquiesce to his demands she wed Rueford.

  Rueford was a barrel-chested, husky man with crinkly red hair and lewd blue eyes that never left her body whenever he was around her. She’d had to be quick to hide when he tried to corner her during the few holiday visits she had come home.

  An unsmiling butler opened the door, the chauffer left to park the car. A wreath crossed with a wide black ribbon covered the door, the drapes were drawn, the inside sorrowful, dark, depressing. Kiri carried her suitcase up to her room.

  After freshening up, she traipsed down the wide, curving staircase, her shoes clopped lightly on the sapphire carpet. The mansion was done in mostly shades of blue and yellow. As she moved through the hallways, the colors of the rooms darkened, the furniture became more substantial, masculine.

  She found her father and brothers in the den. Her mother had left the family a long time ago. She’d gotten a boyfriend and never looked back, leaving her young daughter in the talons of lawless, sick men, along with an older sister, Melonie, who despised Kiri.

  Thankfully, her father had sent Kiri away, to an all-female boarding school tucked securely deep in the mountainous Alps of Northern Italy.

  Currently, she was interning with a scene photography company. Kiri had a knack, a gift if you will, for creating faux food, or a scene such as furniture in a room, and photographing it so it jumped vibrantly off the page, or the TV, for the ad for the restaurant or house.

  She was building up a following, last thing she wanted was to leave Italy and come back home, to…here. Dread weighed heavy on her heart.

  Sucking in a long, deep breath, she exhaled slowly. Smoothing the full patterned skirt that landed above her knees, she straightened her shoulders, lifted her head and stiffened her spine.

  The dark cherry brown hair was doubly French-braided down her head, then threaded together in a long double-braid that fishtailed into two long pieces. It was a slick, sophisticated style for the simple, shy girl. She stroked her fingers down the braid, a calming gesture, the loose ends fluttered at her hip as she graciously entered the room.

  Her two brothers, Piero and Janero, looked up at her entrance. They reclined on easy chairs with cocktails in their hands.

  Her father, Ignacio skulked in a corner, one hand stuffed in a trouser pocket, the other clenched a drink. He didn’t turn from the window he was staring out. Ignacio’s hair was still full yet thinning on top. His nose slightly bulbous, chin not as severe as she remembered it.

  Piero resembled his father with dark hair and eyes, but Janero had the burnished cherry brown hair like hers, he kept it short and it waved naturally. They also shared the same green eyes.

  Ignacio, Piero, Duce and Melonie had midnight hair and shadowed eyes. Ruthless savagery resided in all four of the Delducci males. Kiri was never anything other than a sexual toy or a dollar sign to them. Melonie was mostly ignored.

  Taking another deep breath, Kiri splayed a hand over her flat stomach hoping she could still the quaking inside. “Papa,” she said quietly, moving further inside the room. Her father didn’t glance in her direction.

  “Hey, ya, Kirs,” Janero, the youngest of the three brothers rolled off his chair and loped over to her. He reached one arm around her and pulled her in for a hug. His cologne was piquant and overpowering. She pushed gently from his embrace. Smiling, Janero said, “What can I get you to drink, little sis?”

  “Ah, uh, just a cola, please.” Her eyes on her father, she saw the bleak despondency sloping his shoulders. He seemed as unaware of her as he was of his glasses sliding down his nose. “Where’s, uh, Melonie?”

  Janero answered on his way to get her soda, “She’s upstairs planning the…funeral.” His eyes darted to his father who hadn’t moved a muscle. “Staying busy is her way of coping, with…it. She’s handling his…death, uh, better than the rest of us.” Janero brought Kiri’s drink to her.

  Piero nodded a grim greeting, his face black with wrath. Slamming his hand on the chair arm, he shouted, “It was the Adranokovs, goddammit!”

  Kiri’s heart clenched at his vehemence, she stepped back. “How do you, uh, how, I mean, what happened? How did Duce…pass?”

  “Pass?” Piero leaped from his chair and stomped to her. It was all she could do to hold her ground. “He didn’t pass,” he snarled with sarcastic fury. “He was motherfucking murdered you dumb bitch!”

  “Geesh, Piero, she didn’t do anything, don’t yell at her.” Janero smiled somewhat kindly at Kiri, he explained, “He was set up.”

  “Yeah,” Piero grated with fury. “He received a message from someone identifying themselves as one of the Adranokovs’ crew. The message said he wanted to meet with Duce and some other businessmen regarding some new weapons pipeline. Set a place and time to meet. When they reached the meet they were ambushed. The bastards killed them all.” His fists clenched, jaw grit so hard Kiri could hear his teeth grinding.

  “Of course the Adranokovs denied any involvement in it,” Janero said. “But, hell, we know what thugs and crooks they are.”

  “Yeah, and pa says we have to wait until we’re stronger in number before we can retaliate against those smarmy gypsies,” his tone indicated what Piero thought about wai
ting.

  “Oh, um…” Kiri had no idea what to say. Setting her untouched soda on a table, she stammered, “Um, so, did they…shoot him, or-”

  “Or?” Ignacio screeched from his corner. He grabbed up a sheaf of papers off the desk and stalked over to her. “Here, look you bloodthirsty, nosey little bitch,” and he grabbed a fistful of her braid and shoved the papers in her face.

  Rubbing them over her face as she fought to get away, he roared, “Wood chipper, honey, yeah, they stuffed your brother down a fucking wood chipper! Nothing left of him except blood and his…ring. The ring we all wear.” He held up his hand for her to see the ring she was well familiar with.

  He ran out of steam, stood back, threw the photos in Kiri’s face and stomped back to his corner, grabbed his drink and slugged it down in one gulp.

  She was stunned, shocked, sickened. Tears in her eyes, she stared down at the photographs scattered at her feet. One showed the wood chipper, another the DNA tests, another focused on a streak of blood on the inside of the chute.

  Wiping at the tears, she stared at the other photos, there were several close ups of Duce’s bloody ring lying garbled on the ground where the chipper had spat it out. The family crest clear as a bell.

  Piero threw himself back in his chair with a huffed growl, sprawled out in festering rage and grief. Janero made himself another drink and sucked it down.

  Lowering to her knees, Kiri gathered up the pictures, then getting to her feet, keeping her eyes averted from the grisly images, she set them on the desk and moved slowly, carefully to the door. Her father’s harsh voice stopped her.

  “You’re done with school, missy. No more playing for you. Tomorrow you start work at the distillery. The tasting room needs polish, you can start renovating it so it attracts decent folks instead of the bar scum we’ve been getting. And you will help Melonie serve.”

  “But, I-”

  His face darkened red, eyes narrowed with rage, spittle flew out with his words, he barked each word short and hard, “You will start work tomorrow at the distillery. We all need to absorb…Duce’s tasks.” His shoulders slumped.

  As he turned his back on her, he decreed, “You will design and work at the distillery while planning your wedding to Rueford Montoblanco. Enough of your stalling, delaying. You will marry him by the end of next spring. If I have to have you taken somewhere and forced to do it, keep you locked up until it’s a done deal, I will.”

  His back was turned completely to her, shutting off any protests she would make.

  Chapter Six

  Months later, Kiri was still adjusting to the work her father had foisted upon her when Piero came storming into the Molten Gold Rum Tasting Room. There were only a few customers at the tables, but seeing the fury on his face, she hustled over to get him out before he exploded.

  She had enjoyed decorating the tasting room and creating the flyers and ads for it. She came up with the idea to infuse the various rums with slivers of gold and silver, amethyst crystals, turquoise and diamond chips. The chips imbue each individual brand of rum with a different slight coloration and sparkle, making Maestá d’oro Rum unique.

  Kiri had set up crystals and flowers, cedar and smoked oak chips in various designs and photographed them. Their ads popped right off the magazine pages, she’d made the rum appear alluring, vivacious and alive. Customers thronged to the new tasting room.

  Business had jumped dramatically since she’d taken over. The large round room was comfy with a white-bricked fireplace that was alight with orange flames. Tables were covered with cheerful blue, and a few sunflower decorated tablecloths, along with soft golden lighting.

  Old cask barrels sprung with bright flowers, even the displays of the rum bottles were colorful and pretty, the counter that stretched the back of the room welcoming and pleasant.

  Kiri had strewn rose petals and lilacs here and there, their soft fragrance refreshing and relaxing. Customers came more for the inviting ambiance than the rum, and the view out the back was spectacular.

  People found Kiri shy but engaging, honest and creative. They enjoyed talking with her. Although she wore as conservative and loose clothing as possible, kept her hair pinned up, men came to watch her pour the rum into the tiny glasses and mix in different chasers.

  Customers left Melonie’s section as soon as Kiri came in and set up, they flocked to her part of the counter or tables. That did not help the ongoing jealousy and blistering hate Melonie held against her sister since the little bundle of attention-stealing joy erupted into her life. She had resented Duce’s polluted incestualized interest constantly on their baby sister, and not on her.

  Kiri hurried over to her steaming brother.

  “Piero, what’s wrong? Here, come into this alcove.” She glanced at Melonie who was serving a customer.

  Melonie shrugged, she was used to all her brothers’ explosive, sometimes not even provoked tempers. An imagined slight would set them off and heads would roll. Literally. Duce had been proficient with machetes, and like a hit of ecstasy, he got a buzzing high using them on people that angered him.

  Kiri clasped Piero’s arm and rustled him gently into the alcove where they couldn’t be overheard.

  “Huh,” he huffed, arms bowed, nostrils flaring like a bull, fists clenched, his usual stance. “It’s those fucking Adranokovs, Kirs.”

  Keeping her voice low and calm, Kiri uttered quietly, “Hush, now, Piero, the customers, your language.” She glanced out at the room. A matronly woman with pinned up grey hair and a flowered dress was glaring at them.

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he growled and huffed.

  Sighing with weary patience, Kiri asked, “What have they done now?” Skirmishes had broken out after Duce’s death. One of the Adranokovs’ crew had been ambushed and murdered. His body was found in an alley with a knife pinning a note to his chest. The note claimed retaliation for Duce’s death.

  The Delduccis swore up and down and sideways they’d had nothing to do with it. Ignacio Delduccis had told them to back off. With Naithon’s assistance, the Adranokovs had grown too big and too powerful, the Delduccis had no chance to survive a potential war.

  “Donnie, our third cousin was found today.” He took a breath, arched his neck and glared at the ceiling, then closed his eyes. Lowering his head, his voice gripped tight, he said, “That’s the last of them, Kirs. There’s only you, Janero, Melonie, me and Pa left of the Delducci clan. The others were gunned down last week.”

  Fear hitched her breath, she swallowed around it. “But, why? Why the killings?”

  Piero angrily shrugged his shoulders humped in despair. “Who the hell knows? They think we’re taking out their people. Misolav Adranokov was grazed by a bullet yesterday. Another inch and he’d have no left eye.” Kiri shuddered with the picture her brother drew.

  “They claim a note was left on his car proclaiming we did it for revenge. Hell, Kirs, they’re wiping us out. Even the workers are afraid. If something isn’t done soon, we’re history.” A heavy sigh rolled down his big chest, chin lowered, he stuck his hands in his pockets and stared at the ground.

  One more thing to worry about, Kiri thought desperately. Her wedding to Rueford loomed on the horizon, he’d been coming around every other day now. Nudging her into corners with his barrel chest, putting his beefy hands all over her, playing grab-ass. A shiver of grossness rippled through her. Her future husband repulsed her.

  So far she had balked at choosing a wedding gown or wearing Rueford’s ring, but Ignacio had hired a planner to make all the decisions and choices. If only she could get out of the arranged marriage. But, her sigh drooped her shoulders, saddened her eyes. There would be no rescue for her. Ignacio was callous enough to make good on his threats.

  “What are we going to do?” Fear stuttering her voice, Kiri clutched her fingers together, twisting them roughly in her agitation.

  “Ah, I dunno.” Piero let his gaze fall on her. He seldom looked directly at her as if she was too insig
nificant to give his attention to. Growing up, every time he got close enough to touch her, big bad brother Duce would knock him upside the head.

  Duce was possessive of his baby sister, ‘Incest is best only with the eldest’ he always chimed.

  Piero went on, “Pa’s worrying himself sick. He’s lost weight, his hands tremble all the time now. He’s scared, Kirs, we all are.”

  Her lips bunched. Again, there was nothing constructive or comforting she could say.

  “Ah, well.” Piero clapped her shoulder once. “Pa just sent me by to warn you to keep on your toes, watch your back. He’s put guards up all over the plant and the house, but,” he raked a hand through his unruly dark hair. “Those Adranokovs are wily, sneaky, mean motherfuckers. Filthy gypsies. They wanna get us, they will, ya know?”

  Appalled and distressed over his foul language in the tasting room that she had struggled and sweated over making elegant and refined yet soft and pretty and comfortable, she bit her tongue to keep from rebuking him.

  She had plans on redoing the patio out back and having light lunches available, make it family friendly. Parents would not want to bring their children to an establishment where the owners were blustering and cursing all the time.

  A chill prickled up her spine at his words of warning though. They all could be in danger. Everyone knew how deadly the Adranokov men were. She’d heard horrendous stories about the youngest one, Naithon. Youngest but the most lethal. She glanced anxiously around, what if a customer was there to assassinate them- no, surely not in broad daylight.

  “Anyway, I gotta go, got a delivery on some, uh, sugarcane-” he broke off, shifty gaze sliding around the room. There were undercover cops and spies everywhere; he shut his mouth before he spilled their illegal activities. “Pa’s called for a meeting on Friday with the Adranokovs hoping he can put an end to this trouble.”