The Crimson Benediction: A teen mafia romance novelette

by Ella Bilgrim

  “Melody Geneva. My name is Alex. Alexander Romano,” he sighed. “I’m here to oversee your safety. Your family is on the Mafia’s radar as your father is auditing financial documents for a non-existent nonprofit organization from an offshore account in Florida that’s tied with the Mafiosi here in Italy.” Alex continued in a matter-of-fact tone.

  Melody rolled her eyes. Was he joking? She didn’t think so. The morning’s events took their toll, and Melody fainted into strong, protective arms.

  * * *

  Melody woke to the indistinct sounds of passersby. Her eyes were heavy, and they fluttered like butterflies, as she tried to open them. She was seated on a bench with her head on Alex’s shoulders. She jerked involuntarily and would have liked to sprint off far away from the man who had probably saved her life.

  With his young, boyish looks, tousled hair, and dog tags, Alex could be three years older than her.

  Alex’s eyes were closed and Melody quietly stood up, surveying their surroundings. She recognized the Accademia, certainly at Sala dell’Albergo.

  Melody whirled around and saw the famed portrait of the ‘Presentation of the Virgin’ in the Temple by Titian. In the adjacent corner was the ‘Annunciation’ by Girolamo Dente splashed against the dark wooden panels. She looked up only to see old-blue, carved ceilings, gilded and painted friezes of the Gospel and of the Apostles.

  Slipping Alex’s jacket from her shoulders, Melody placed it on the bench and decided to run back to her family, but just then Alex grabbed her by her wrist.

  “Ignoring me won’t make me forget that I saved your life earlier,” he stood up to look at Melody with an unflinching arrogance and haughty smile. “Look, I should explain,” he started. Despite wanting to run away, Melody also wanted answers, so she cocked her head to the side with one raised eyebrow, prompting Alex to go on.

  “My father works for the CIA and is currently investigating an underground crime syndicate here in Italy,” he spoke in a low voice. “We should speak elsewhere... you never know who’s listening.“ Seeing Melody’s half amused, half frightened smile, he added, “and before you roll your eyes again, he’s with your dad right now. Scott Geneva is with Senior Accountant William Rogers, real name Rafael Romano, a.k.a. my father, at Restaurant Arsenio D'Amore, just next to the Accademia.”

  What a moment ago was amusement, suddenly turned to trepidation on Melody’s face and she recoiled at Alex’s touch as the sudden pang of dread and realization kicked in.

  “You know my father?”

  “My father knows your father,” Alex corrected. “He went undercover as a senior accountant in your dad’s firm to siphon financial audits from that nonprofit your father is working on.”

  “I don’t think my father would do something like that,” Melody argued, still reeling from shock.

  “No, he didn’t know,” Alex said as he surveyed the room. “Alright, let’s go and stay close to me.” Melody jogged to keep up with Alex’s long strides. “Alex, about my father, I need you to explain it to me one more time, he didn’t know – and he adores Mr. Rogers – your dad, for Pete’s sake.”

  Alex continued his walk and found an alcove where they could talk privately. He opened a door, revealing an open room with a balcony overlooking the Grand Canal.

  “We can talk here,” he said.

  “From the beginning…” Melody pleaded.

  “From the beginning,” he mused, to which Melody nodded.

  Alex sighed and started, “Twelve years ago, my father captured Mafia leader, Giuliano Bellini, in Sicily in an underground operation where he posed as one of them. It was during their initiation ceremony, a crimson benediction – involving a holy ritual, a blood pact, and an oath to the association – that led to the Mafioso’s arrest.”

  “How did your father get in? When did they find out?” Melody asked.

  “It’s an invite-only organization,” Alex pointed out. “The Bellini Mafia specifically choose some people to join. My father got in as their auditor. They cut his palm and dripped the blood into a goblet to be spilled on a picture of a saint. To be baptized, they have to burn the picture. To burn the saint was to burn my father’s soul if he offended them. He joined them alive and the only way out is dead - that’s the promise.

  “Everything went to hell when INTERPOL came on the scene too early. Someone tipped them off from the inside. So, my father’s operation had to end there,” Alex said.

  “Some of the Mafiosi got away, didn’t they?” Melody questioned, wringing her hands together until they hurt.

  Alex nodded and continued. “They were after my father but got my mother and brother in the end.”

  “Alex, I’m so sorry…“ Melody trailed off.

  “To burn the saint is to burn the one who wronged them,” Alex shrugged. “They figured they would put my father through hell if they had my mom and my little brother.”

  He paced the room as he spoke. “They came to our home and set it on fire. Dad was working late and I was asleep at the back of the house. He came home to find it ablaze and managed to get me out, but my mother and brother? It was too late. The smoke got them before the fire did.”

  Alex exhaled to steady his breathing and Melody reached out to find his hand.

  “I’m really sorry, Alex,” Melody spoke, lowering her head.

  “My father was barely there when I was young. Now, I get to travel with him on his missions,” he smiled. His hair fell gently across his face. His deep gray eyes seemed blue for a moment, and relieved.

  “My father picked up some information that the Mafia was smuggling illicit artifacts into Florida,” he sighed heavily. “He also traced some of their offshore accounts there and had no choice but to join the company where your father was.”

  “What are they going to do to him?” Melody tilted her head back upon hearing about her father.

  “Nothing back in Florida – a little observation, I guess, until it would be out of your father’s hands, but things got complicated when they learned you had come to Italy,” his brows furrowed. “Their headquarter are in Sicily, but they took the trouble to visit Venice to find you.”

  “Out of the frying pan---” Melody began.

  “---and into the fire,” Alex concluded.

  Melody suddenly realized that their fingers were still entwined and pulled away to break the contact.

  “Oh, um…” she blushed. “Should we head back to where our fathers are?” She took a few tentative steps towards the exit.

  Alex shook himself off and followed her. Their meeting the previous day was playing on Melody’s mind, and she had to ask him a question.

  “Alex, the relic yesterday, was that real?”

  “It was forged to look like a monstrance, but still it was real,” Alex pressed his lips. “Anyone who pissed them off seems to get burned in the end.”

  * * *

  “So, Alex. Do you travel a lot?” Melody broke into the silence hanging between them.

  “Probably here, there, and every country favored by the Mafiosi - or the young and the privileged members of their organization,” his wolfish grin came back. Melody noted a little sarcasm there.

  “It sounds like you don’t like traveling then,” Melody pushed on.

  “If you knew half the things I’ve done to survive when traveling,” he laughed. “It’s not exactly travel, following insanely rich, criminal folks around the world and sleeping in a room with your dad.”

  “Sounds isolating,” Melody said.

  “That’s the appeal,” Alex drawled. “What about you?”

  “Oh, four years ago, my mom died of cancer,” Melody said, keeping her voice even. “It changed me – changed my dad and my little brother too,” she continued. “Then we found my mom’s journal and everything changed again.

  “I saw you before,” Alex said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “We were back in Florida for a job, when I helped in the theatre production you volunteered yourself
into last year. I was the tree,” he reminded her, striking a pose she assumed was meant to be the one he’d used on stage.

  “No!” Melody laughed.

  “Nah, but I was backstage watching the show,” Alex recalled. “I remember someone prompting you to sing for the children.”

  “Wow, you saw me fail, huh?” Melody said, nudging his shoulders playfully.

  “I sucked, right?” They laughed.

  “You have quite a voice, Melody.” Alex smiled. “Who taught you to sing?”

  “My mom,” she replied, her voice a little softer now. “I guess she wanted me to be aptly named.”

  They wandered across the Accademia and into a section of a room under renovation. They passed by ornamental statues and Renaissance paintings underneath the protected sheets.

  “Why are we heading this way?” Melody asked.

  “It’s easier and faster,” Alex wandered by the halls and dragged his fingers across the sheets. It came up dusty. “We have to exit via the back,” he said firmly, allowing no argument.

  There was an old wooden staircase that led back to the exit window and into the courtyard of the Accademia. They were both walking up when a sudden loud crack filled the air, and the stair gave way beneath their feet. “Ah!” Melody stumbled down, but Alex, fortunately quick on his feet, reacted instinctively and grabbed her by the waist, pulling her into his arms. They stood holding on to each other for the longest time and Melody wasn’t sure whether her thumping heart was from the near-accident, or proximity to Alex.

  “Thanks,” Melody could feel her cheeks burning and pushed gently against Alex to break their connection. “Hope your dad will give you a raise for saving me, boy.”

  “Ha-ha,” Alex quipped. They scaled the wooden stairs of the Accademia, with the scene of the Grand Canal stretched before them. Melody turned to find him staring at it, enraptured by the sight.

  “I’m sorry that this wasn’t the vacation you expected or the one your mom had in mind,” he murmured.

  “It’s a different adventure, that’s for sure,” she quipped.

  “And, I’m sorry in advance that we have to jump from this balcony,” Alex took something that looked like a grappling hook from his jeans and gave Melody an ‘are you ready?‘ look.

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Brace yourself, bella,” Alex grinned as he grabbed her around the waist and flung them both off the balcony, steadily descending to the ground.

  * * *

  Green vines hugged the patio of the restaurant Melody and Alex walked into to find their fathers.

  “Nobody’s around,” Melody whispered.

  “Good for us,” Alex replied, as they spotted the men and walked towards their table.

  Melody could see how despondent her father was and guessed that Mr. Rogers, no, Mr. Romano had told him the truth behind their accounting work. Thomas, however, seemed oblivious to the urgency of the situation and ate alternating spoons full of his spaghetti alle vongole and choco lava cake.

  Thomas saw his sister and the stranger walking towards them and mouthed to her, You’re dead. We’re toast.

  The men, having noticed their presence, stood up to greet them. Melody ran and hugged her father who looked instantly more relieved.

  “Pumpkin, I’ve tried calling you three times!” her father exclaimed. “Why didn’t you call me back?”

  “Dad, I’m sorry! I was caught up, but Alex here - ” she trailed off and gestured to Alex but stopped when she saw the intent look Mr. Romano was giving his son.

  Like Alex, he was tall, lean in physique, and his dark hair was curly, with a slick cut, and a few streaks of gray. His strong jawline was framed by a thin, clean mustache and goatee, and he looked like an older version of Alex.

  “Err, hello, Mr. Romano,” Melody held out her hand.

  Rafael beamed at her with a quick glance at his son, before taking Melody’s hand in both of his. “Charmed, bella. You may call me Rafael. I think you’ve already met my son,” he nodded in Alex’s direction.

  “I told her everything,” Alex murmured, and Rafael nodded in acknowledgement.

  “Did something happen to my daughter?” Melody’s dad interjected. He ran his fingers through his hair, clearly apprehensive.

  “My son managed to disarm the men, Scott, and we’ve dispatched some agents to take care of the situation in the boatyard,” Rafael calmly replied. “But, please, let’s all sit down and discuss this.”

  What about Thomas? Melody mouthed to her father. Alex reached over to Melody to reassure her.

  “Yes, your brother has to know what’s going on as we’re preparing your trip back to Florida,” Rafael paused and cleared his throat before he continued. “He also gave me this,” he said pointing at the reliquary Melody had acquired the previous day.

  “I brought it with me and had to hand it over, okay?” Thomas said, still chewing a mouthful of chocolate cake.

  “We’re going home?” Melody asked. Her father pulled her close to him, wrapping his arms around her. “What happens when we get there?”

  Rafael sighed, “It’s for your own safety, Melody. After landing in Florida, the state might give you 48 hours to get things in order before being brought in for questioning.”

  “But my father didn’t do anything wrong!” she exclaimed.

  “No, he didn’t. He’ll provide details to authorities regarding the account we’ve traced,” Rafael answered.

  “What about it?”

  “The donations given to Good Will Inc., the account your father is working on, were traced back to a shell corporation operating in Sicily for money laundering activities,” Rafael explained. “It’s been activated lately in line with the increase of antiquity smuggling in Northern Italy – mostly, in Rome, the Vatican, and here in Venice.”

  He paused and mused, “I posed as an accountant at your father’s firm to trace it from the ties in Florida . They were good at hiding it,” he said dryly. “They changed servers, I mean, they diverted the transmissions from one server to another, but in the end, the accounts trace back to one organization.”

  Alex shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Someone is working behind the scenes and is clearly building the Bellini legacy,” Alex clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white.

  Rafael’s gaze hardened; his lips pressed. “Yes, they pushed through in churches and nonprofits as mafia-linked partners. They’re raiding the economy by winning…” he made quotation marks with his hands, “…favors.”

  “And if the partners can’t fulfill on their promises, they’ll end up like this poor bloke here,” Alex gestured at the reliquary.

  Melody shivered.

  “By winning the less privileged, the masses, it’ll be easier to win businesses, like multi-service companies,” Scott agreed. “Start from the grassroots, they make up quite the percentage in the economy,” he added.

  “And the Mafia will make more money by putting up a kind face,” Rafael said. “Clearly, they have help from the inside. That’s how they’re always one step ahead,” he sighed. “I’m truly sorry that your trip has to end here. I’ve called my men to help you out of the country.”

  Alex and Melody exchanged furtive glances and aching, apologetic smiles.

  “Is it just me or is there usually nobody at all around at this hour?” Thomas asked, breaking the hanging silence of the group. “It’s lunchtime.”

  Rafael and Alex tensed and gaged their setting. Rafael dialed his phone, a sudden realization dawning on him. “Damn!”

  The sound of a gun cocking grabbed their attention, as several men in black suits entered the restaurant.

  “Mr. Bellini is expecting you,” a Mafioso said.

  * * *

  The men led them inside a beautiful mahogany Riva water limousine with darkly tinted glass.

  Scott put his arms around his children as the gang prodded them inside while Rafael and Alex were cuffed.

  “I suggest you don’t call for backup, Raf
ael,” the Mafioso sneered. “Right now, they‘re preoccupied” he cocked his head and smiled, “elsewhere.”

  “Antoine, how nice to see you again,” Rafael said calmly and even managed to curve his lips into a faint smile. “Nice scar.”

  “No need to bother with pleasantries, Rafael. The young master needs to see Mr. Geneva,” Antoine said, failing to hide the venom and bitterness in his voice. “So, if you don’t mind, we’ll take the family from here, and you and your...,” he glanced quickly at Alex before fixing his gaze back on Rafael, “...spawn, have to be whisked away into oblivion.”

  “There’s a mole in the INTERPOL, ain’t it? I’ll find the rat,” Rafael said grimly.

  Antoine shrugged. “We have eyes and ears everywhere,” he said, “and they enjoy our protection.”

  The midday sun made the boat ride hot and uncomfortable. It took them 30 minutes to reach the stairs of the Church of San Simeon Piccolo, which was strangely devoid of the usual crowds packing in the rungs of Santa Croce. The imposing dome of the church loomed overhead signifying their impending fate.

  They entered the church and made to walk down the nave. Inside San Simeone Piccolo, Melody could make out numerous altar rooms heavily guarded by Mafiosi men. They passed by several marble reliefs with neoclassical religious depictions – some a bit more macabre than others. A henchman greeted them at the altar and led them wordlessly to a passage leading to an underground crypt.

  Antoine lit a single candle and prodded everyone to head inside the sepulcher.

  The cool darkness welcomed them until their eyes adjusted to the candlelight, which shimmered and revealed what seemed to be an obscure, rustic macabre altar in the center of a small, octagonal chapel beneath the church itself.

  Melody began to shiver in the damp cold of the room, and much to Alex’s frustration, he couldn’t reach over to warm her up.

  More lights were lit as the group entered the crypt.

  Melody could make out frescoed paintings on the walls and ceilings tinted with palettes of reds, ochers, and whites. They depicted elaborate ornaments and scenes from the Passion of Christ, the Bible, and what looked like the Last Judgment.