by Sienna Mynx
“Fuck love. I hate Lorenzo.” He leaned in to say the words into her ear. “I will kill him, and when I do I’ll feel nothing.”
“Remember, I’m your better half. You can’t fool me. We all have regrets. It’s what we do about them that makes us human.”
He cursed and walked out of the bathroom. Mirabella cleaned up the blood and shed her bloody robe to put on his robe instead. She walked back into the room to discover she had pushed him too far. Sometimes holding up a mirror to see your demon is too hard of a task. He was gone. Mirabella sighed and picked up the things he left behind. She glanced over to the mirror and the crack in the center. When he cooled off he’d come back to bed. And she’d be waiting.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I morti non parlano - The dead do not speak
Naples, Italy
“MARCELLO. I LIKE THAT name.” The hand of a weathered goddess slipped down to his dick and gave a squeeze. Marcello relaxed and let her mouth greet his cock properly. He drank another swig of vodka from the bottle. The whores came from the farthest East now. They worked in factories and spoke little English. It made them easier to control. He preferred it that way. These were dangerous times and he had to be careful.
“I saw it. How Dominic disrespected you. I saw it,” his cousin Federico said. Marcello opened his eyes. He was too busy enjoying the oral copulation he was experiencing to remember he wasn’t alone. His cousin Federico snorted another line of coke.
“He’ll pay. They will all pay,” Marcello groaned.
Through the haze of smoke and the heavy bass of synthesizers in the electro bop music blaring in his club. Women danced for Marcello’s men. They wore nothing but G-strings. Most of his boys were drinking and gambling.
“He should have called by now.” Federico wiped the burn from his nostrils with the back of his hand and then dipped his finger in the cocaine to rub numbness across his gums. He dropped back satisfied. “Can you believe it? The fucking Puglia’s. I knew Giovanni was nuts. Who wakes up from a coma because his wife is fucking another man. Nuts!”
Marcello groaned as he neared climax. His hips thrust up and down in timing with the dick suck. He wished Federico would shut his damn mouth. But they were in a safe place. No one gathered gave a fuck about Giovanni. They may be Battaglia men, but they knew who the true boss should be.
“Eh, Marcello, you see that new one? The American who hangs around Leo.” Federico guided a woman’s head down to his groin. “Yeah, she’s nice. Fat ass, tiny tits, just how I like him. When Giovanni is dead I’m getting a piece of that black ass.”
Marcello picked up his gun that was next to him and pointed it at his cousin. “Shut your fucking mouth! Sei stupido o pazzo! Anyone hears you even think it, and it’s over. Do you understand me?”
“No one cares,” Federico raised his hands in surrender. The women performing oral sex both slipped away and out of the room.
“These whores can’t be trusted you idiot! Say it again and I will put you down!”
“No. Sì, sì, capisco,” Federico said. “I’m sorry cousin. You know I get wiped. I won’t speak out of turn again.”
Marcello lowered his gun. He glanced to the left. The signal from his lieutenant, Davide, was given. Marcello smiled. “Perfecto,” he said. He took down the last of the vodka and stood. Marcello zipped himself up, spit in his palm and smoothed back his hair from his face. Several of his men took notice as he walked through the room to the back office he reserved for himself. Under Giovanni he was invisible. Nothing. Here he was the boss. And if his plan worked he’d make it all the way to underboss.
“Is he on the phone?” Marcello asked.
“Sì, sì, we got him! We got him, Marcello!” Davide said and patted him on the back as a coach would do a prize fighter. Marcello sat down. He nodded for the men to leave. The door was closed, and the music muted. He picked up the phone and cleared his throat. “Ciao? Lorenzo?”
“Why are you calling?” Lorenzo asked.
Marcello smiled. “I told you, I’d call if I had news. I have news.”
“I’m listening,” Lorenzo said.
“The boss... eh, Giovanni. He gathered the families. New families. And guess who was invited to the party?”
Lorenzo didn’t answer.
“Santoro. Giovanni has made the biggest move of desperation. He’s pulling the Puglia old Don into la camorra.”
“How could that be useful to him?” Lorenzo asked.
“He’s desperate. We can all see it. Everyone knows he’s weak. We know you are the true boss.”
“Stop sucking my dick. Insolente, incapace figlio di una bestia selvaggia! The alliance with the Puglia’s is useless to me. I need to know why he does the things he do. What does Giovanni gain from being Santoro’s partner?”
“I can find it out.”
“Don’t call again until you do.”
The line went dead. Marcello slammed the phone down. He pounded his fist on the desk several times in a rage. The door opened. Federico arrived.
“What is it? How did it go?” he asked.
Marcello put his face in his hands. He had to get closer to the boss. How the hell was he going to manage that?
“WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR hand?” Nico asked.
“I cut it in the shower,” Giovanni lied.
Nico chuckled.
“Strange place to get a cut.”
“Accadono cose tremende—shit happens,” Giovanni mumbled.
“Yes. With us it does!”
He and Nico rode in the backseat. Behind the wheel was Renaldo and Umberto rode at his side. Giovanni used his good hand to wipe from his mouth to chin. His luggage was in the trunk. He’d left his wife and children alone. Again.
“You know... me and Renaldo will see this to the end for you, Gio,” Nico said with no trace of humor in his voice.
“Not this time. You and I both know that I need to be here for you to get there.”
Renaldo turned up the radio. He did so on instinct. If Nico and Giovanni were going to have a deeper discussion it wasn’t one Umberto could be privy too. Since Lorenzo absconded and Carlo was sent away, the inner circle was tighter than ever. Nico, Renaldo and Dominic were all that was left.
“Cecilia says Mirabella’s not been her best,” Nico began. “She says Evie is acting up, being very defiant.”
“You intend to sit here and tell me about my wife and kids?”
“I’m your friend first, Gio. I know they matter most to you. When you were down with that coma they suffered with you. Maybe even worse than you.”
Giovanni gaze slipped over to Nico.
“You barely gave them time to heal. Rocco died, and now this. The war is going to last for as long as it takes, but your family needs you now. A few days Gio, just them, focused on them. It could make a significant difference.”
Giovanni looked down at his bandaged hand. Some blood seeped through the binding. He’d barely noticed it was wounded because he’d been so deep in thought. Bella did a good job. He didn’t bother to thank her before he left.
“I’ll take them sailing. First, I want to see it.”
Nico nodded. The car veered off the road and down a dark unpaved one. The stench of the sewers were so pungent it seeped through the windows. Giovanni held his breath. They took the back way in. It was the trusted route of his men and gave them the cover Giovanni requested. When the car stopped Giovanni opened his door first. They got out and the others followed. He walked to the abandoned building and was greeted by six of his men. They were all dressed in dark clothing, barely detected in the night. One took the lead and led him up some iron stairs. Giovanni was flanked by his men, but he felt naked. He’d felt that way since he looked into Tacchini’s eyes and saw the truth of how easily he could be replaced, even with his wife.
The door was opened, and Giovanni passed through to step out onto the roof of the six story building. He went to the edge where a few waited with guns.
“Boss, your timing is
perfect. They’ve just started,” said Ernesto.
“Mostrami,” Giovanni said.
The man closest to him handed him night vision binoculars. Giovanni accepted them and held the eyepiece to his face. He saw the containers being emptied by several men. Most of the boxes removed revealed little. He panned left and zoomed in on several women huddled together. A few were weeping. The last shipment container was opened. Young women were herded out to join the cluster of others.
“Isn’t he one of mine,” Giovanni passed the binoculars to Renaldo. His enforcer scanned the faces of the men arriving and froze. He lowered the binoculars and then looked again.
“I think his name is Federico, a low-end earner.” Renaldo passed the binoculars to Nico. The enforcer took the binoculars and stepped closer to the edge of the roof. He too did a search of the scene before nodding.
“Federico is the cousin of Marcello,” Umberto informed the men.
“Someone want to tell me why one of my men, an earner, is down there helping Armenians traffic women into my Bay?”
No one could explain Federico being with the Armenians. Giovanni turned and walked off. “No one touches Federico or his cousin for now.” Giovanni said. Nico passed the binoculars to Renaldo and followed. When they went back down into the empty building Giovanni processed all that he knew.
“So, the Santoro’s aren’t the ones helping the Armenians slip in and out of the bay,” Nico said.
“No. Don Santoro isn’t guilty. Turns out the friend to my enemy is in my own camp.”
Nico nodded. “Marcello is one of Lorenzo’s boys. He and Carlo always used the misfits for side jobs. It’s how he smuggled drugs behind your back.”
“How many men roll up to Marcello?” Giovanni asked as he paced with his cane. There were times when he forgot he used it. It became his third leg. Holding it with his bruised hand should have reminded him of its presence. But he had too much occupying his mind.
“Fifteen, maybe more,” Umberto volunteered.
Giovanni cut Umberto a side look. “I want you to pull one of them. One that won’t be missed. Bring him here, to me. Tonight.”
Umberto nodded and left.
Renaldo walked over. “Do you want us to shut them down?”
“No. Send a tip to one of our moles that young girls are being sent in to the quartieri spagnoli let the polizia have them.”
Renaldo walked out. Typically, they would not involve the authorities. But the Armenians were not Camorra. They were invaders. And Giovanni would use any means necessary to stop the pollution of his Campania. He put a hand to his head.
“Do you have one of those mobile phones?” he asked Nico.
“In the car,” Nico answered.
“Vai a prenderla,” Giovanni gestured with his hand to send Nico after it. He then looked around the building. It was one of his, but he never had use for it. Dominic bought places like this for him to hide his money. He walked past an overturned chair and stood it upright. He went on. He used his cane to open a door that was half way closed. There was no electricity. But inside he found another chair and desk. Giovanni walked over and sat down. He set his cane aside and checked his hand. He would need to redress it soon. He felt as if some of the stitches had ruptured.
Nico returned with the phone. He set it down on the table. Giovanni gaze lifted to his enforcer. “Get the place ready. I will deal with our guest personally. And I want an audience. It is time we send the men another message.”
Nico nodded and turned to leave.
“Nico... find me an icepick.”
“Yes. Gio. I will find it.”
Giovanni picked up the phone and flipped the lid. He then pressed the power button. The LCD window lit and he knew it was on. He dialed home.
THE HOUSE SEEMS TO grow twenty degrees colder after sunset. Mirabella wondered if Giovanni’s absence contributed to the chill as well. She drew up the blanket then reclined back into the stacked pillows against her headboard. The lamplight gave her enough clarity to read each hand-written word scribbled in her mother’s journal. She turned the page. It was near three in the morning. Insomnia and her raging hormones chased away her nightmares and left her restless.
The phone rang. It startled her.
“Gio?” she answered before it rang again.
“It’s me.”
Mirabella smiled. “I didn’t expect you to leave in the middle of the night. We didn’t finish our talk. Do you have clothes? How long... are you headed to Rome?”
“I’m sorry Bella. I should never leave home without saying goodbye.”
“Is that why you called? To say goodbye?”
“It is not the only reason why I called. Proprio oggi ho capito quanto mi manchi—just today I realize how much I miss you. I understand how little time we’ve had together since... the shooting, my coma, Rocco’s death, all of it.”
“I understand. I’m just a little selfish because I miss you too.”
“Sailing?” he asked. “Let’s go sailing.”
“Really? Sailing to where?” Mirabella asked.
“Any place you want. A little vacation before I move out. I’ll cook for everyone, watch the kids, let you sleep late and we’ll do whatever you want.”
“Is that so?”
“You know this is my favorite time,” Giovanni said.
“What makes it your favorite?”
“Your body, when you’re pregnant, how warm you feel between your thighs, and inside.”
Mirabella laughed. “I thought this trip was for me to relax, and for you to be with the kids?”
“I told you, I will relax you... Bella, hold on.”
She waited as he had a muffled conversation outside of her hearing.
“I have to go now. I’ll see you soon.”
“Okay. I love you, Gio.”
“Ti amo. Sleep well, Bella.”
She hung up the phone. She had so little time with him, but this call, this one call made up for all of it. He felt like hers again. Mirabella closed her eyes and drifted to sleep imagining he was enjoying the same peace.
THE TRAITOR, WHAT ITALIANS call ‘un traditore’, dropped his head and gurgled an answer most could not hear. Giovanni heard him clearly. It was the wrong answer. In a blood-soaked Hanes tank-shirt with arms and muscles glistening in sweat he circled the man and asked the question louder so the room could hear.
“What have you given Lorenzo?”
“Not me. I did nothing.”
“Marcello?” he asked.
“Si.”
“My money?”
“Si... money,” the man groaned.
“My product?”
“Si... guns...” the man confessed.
“Where is he moving the Armenians through? Rome, Turin? Genoa?”
“I know nothing about it.”
“You work for Marcello?”
“Si, I do. I swear, I know nothing about Armenians. I only meet with the Sicilians.”
Giovanni arched a brow. He glanced to Nico. The Sicilians had to be what was left of Armando’s men. He found it interesting that those men would want to serve Lorenzo.
“Marcello works for Lorenzo?” Giovanni asked.
The man didn’t answer. Giovanni gripped his chin and turned his face up.
“I’ll only ask the question once and if you don’t answer I’ll give you pain. What will it be? Answer or pain?”
“Sì, Marcello and Federico work for Lorenzo. They have been, since Lorenzo left. They are his men. They... they say we all are. But... we don’t... it’s not us. Lorenzo. Lorenzo will come back. They say he will be boss.”
Giovanni patted the man’s cheek softly as if he were a well-behaved child. The act of tenderness sent the man into hysterics. He began pleading and begging loudly.
“Non è possibile, non ricordo nulla....”
Giovanni set down the hand drill he had in his hand that had left weeping bloody holes in the man’s chest, legs and arms. He picked up the ice-pick—his pe
rsonal favorite.
“Te lo giuro sulla mia vita, boss. (I swear on my life, boss) I only did what I was told. I swear I didn’t have a choice, my wife, my kids—” the man wept. Giovanni forced the man’s head to tilt back.
“We always have a choice,” Giovanni said.
There were rules in their life, traditions, oaths and values that were ingrained in him and his brothers by men who believed in criminal order. Now there were scavengers, hooligans looking for wealth or something bloody bigger than themselves to have faith in.
That is why evil prevailed. Why he was born into and had no doubt he’d someday succumb to evil in the end if he didn’t find a way out. And the way out was through blood. The others tried to remain as still and stoic as their bosses. The killing was brutal but swift in front of all. The only one among them smiling was Umberto.
Nico and Renaldo returned a few minutes later. Giovanni walked over to the table and picked up a towel. He wiped his hands clean as best as he could of the blood. He then slipped on his shirt, put on his watch and wedding ring. No one spoke. The silent tension in the abandoned building was louder than his victim’s screams. He plucked his cane that had often been near and started towards the door. Renaldo held the door for him and he walked out into the night. He didn’t need to give a lecture or a speech. He didn’t offer an explanation or level expectations on his men. After four hours with him in the building every man who witnessed the punishing conviction of their fallen brother knew clearly the price any man loyal to Lorenzo would pay.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I Gangster
Houston, Texas - America
“MS SHAE! MS. SHAE! C’mere!” Jilly shouted as high as her voice would pitch.
Shae looked up from her dinner preparation a bit alarmed. The girls had all gone on a trip with Doris and St. Luke’s Church to a theme park. Jilly refused to go. She wouldn’t leave Shae’s side unless forced.
