by Sienna Mynx
Lorenzo froze.
Catalina stood over the sink mumbling. She worked her arms as if she were doing something, but no water ran from the tap.
“Catalina?”
Startled, his cousin whirled on him with a knife in her hand that was covered in crimson liquid. Blood. He looked to her arms and saw several cuts on both. Her arms were bleeding. Blood dripped to the white gown she wore. Her eyes were swollen shut from crying. Her hand held the knife as one would wield a weapon. She glared at him.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
Catalina shook her head no. But didn’t answer. Lorenzo locked his chair. He grabbed the table and forced himself to stand. “Put the knife down.”
Catalina held it out toward him. She backed to the sink. “Stay away from me. Don’t come near me! Stay away!”
Lorenzo dragged his leg as he approached her. He winced from the pain.
“Stay away!” she jabbed at him and barely missed his chest.
“Per favore, calmati. Give me the knife.”
“I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to do it!”
“Shhhh, piccoletta. It’s okay. It’s me. Give me the knife.”
She closed her eyes, and he grabbed her wrist and yanked her toward him. The knife dropped free of her hand and fell to the floor.
“I’m dirty, I’m dirty!” she wept.
Lorenzo couldn’t stand straight and hold her. He had to turn and brace against the counter. But he did so without letting her go. She wept in his arms. He saw a shadow from his left. He knew who it was.
“Boy! Boy! Come in here!” Lorenzo shouted.
The boy came out from hiding.
“Get me something medical. Bandages and ointment. Now!”
The boy nodded and hurried off. No matter how much it pained him, or hurt him to hold her, he didn’t let her go. She shivered in his arms.
“You are stronger than this, piccoletta. Aren’t you?”
She groaned.
“Listen to me,” he said and held her. He had no idea of what she’d been through. All he knew was Armando kept her locked away from him. He’d been waiting all day for Marietta to call him and tell him she arrived safely. “Listen to me. Hold on for just a while longer. Hold on and I will get us out of here. Okay?”
“You hate me,” she whimpered.
“No.”
“They hate me. Mirabella and Gio... She...”
“I know what happened. Marietta told me.” Lorenzo glanced over when the boy returned. The kid put a medical kit on the kitchen table. Lorenzo had to call upon all of his strength to get her to the table. But he did. She sat. He took the other chair and sat. He opened the kit. The boy wet towels and brought them over. First Lorenzo cleansed her wounds. “I did not kill Patri. My sin is I wanted him dead.”
She looked up at him. He could see her eyes, though a lot of her hair was in her face. “Why?” she asked.
Lorenzo opened the peroxide. He turned her left arm over so her palm faced upward. “Because, I was never enough for him. Even when Giovanni and your mother ran to Ireland. I did everything to be a good nephew to him. A strong one. It never satisfied him.”
“Patri loved you.”
“Patri loved Dominic more than he loved me. He gave him a name and called him son. I was just Isabella’s child.”
“No, Lorenzo, he loved all of you. I was there too. I saw how he kept you and Giovanni with him. And when Gio went to college, he gave you more responsibility.”
“But Gio came back. And I was still not good enough.”
Catalina howled in pain. Lorenzo inspected her cuts. Two were deep. He checked the kit and saw a thin needle and surgical thread. Apparently getting cut in the Mancini household wasn’t uncommon. “I have to stitch these two. Can you handle it?”
She whimpered and nodded.
He smiled. “That’s my girl.”
“So you wanted him dead?”
“I did. And then I realized I didn’t. But it was too late. That rat bastard Giuseppe killed him. And it was my fault. I knew the moment Patri took the first bullet, that I would never be able to live past this sin.”
“Then why lie about it? All these years?”
“Because, I just felt like Gio needed me. If I told the truth he’d have to kill me.”
“Ow!” she cried out.
“Hold on, just a few more,” he told her.
“You’re still lying. You wanted to take power from Gio!”
“I wanted to rule with Gio. I wanted us to be powerful together. I have never betrayed Gio. Never betrayed you. Patri... that is my only sin.”
“You had him killed!”
“I didn’t want him to die. I just found that out too late. I was drunk, and I was jealous of Gio and Patri reuniting, taking over without me. I was stupid. I was wrong. Now it’s different. I don’t want to protect anyone but my wife and child.”
Catalina wept. He wasn’t sure if it was from the pain of his stitching her arm, or the pain in her heart.
“I can never forgive you for shooting him. Never.”
“I didn’t shoot Giovanni.”
Catalina frowned. “So, Armando did it?”
Part of him wanted to say yes. He itched to do so. But he knew better. It would be a useless lie. An easily disproven lie. If he told Catalina that Armando was the shooter, then she’d try to do something stupid like run off or seek revenge. If he said it was Marietta, then that too could lead to disaster. He needed her trust, but to gain it he would have to lie to her once more.
“No, Armando was not there. I believe it was another enemy. I need to find out and prove it.”
“Another enemy? Non capisco?”
“Understand this. You are the daughter of Don Tomosino Battaglia. You are piccoletta. You bow down to no one. And you never turn on the family, or yourself. No more of this bullshit slicing your arms.”
Catalina sniffed and blinked at him. He wrapped her cuts with bandages. “You are not unclean. They are. Those who want to destroy us. They are the enemies. I need you to help me, Catalina. Help me fix what is broken between us. Be strong. Marietta will be calling soon with good news. Soon we will return home and make all our enemies pay inside and outside of the family.”
She nodded and he kissed her hand.
“Ti amo,” he said.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The Doctor and the Man
Sorrento, Italy
The music blared with obscene clarity in her ears. It was intentional. Thanks to the noise factor, a barrier was built between them she could not cross.
Dr. Sera Marchetti sat snug behind a seatbelt in the two- seater convertible Ferrari, and pretended she enjoyed American rap music. Her driver was, according to all the research she’d done, the second most powerful man in the Battaglia clan. A young consigliere with a boyish charm and legal mind. From the first moment she met him outside of her office, to this one, she’d been intrigued with the contrast. He looked like an Italian heartthrob movie actor or musician, rather than a consultant to a ruthless crime boss. And now she’s told he has issues?
Not surprising.
Dominic Battaglia sped along a cliff side two lane road with steep curves and low dives. If he was trying to scare her it was working. No one should drive as fast as he was. She stole another glance at him. Dominic wore leather gloves like a race car driver, and dark sunglasses that shielded his eyes. And soon he felt her stare. His gaze cut over to her and her initial response was to look away. There was something uncompromising about the way he took control. She would definitely have to follow his lead.
The car was all speed and grace. Where most would spin around sharp turns, it hugged the road smoothly with just barely more than an engine purr. Still, she held her breath and swallowed her lunch as she gripped the inside door panel. If another car swerved around the same curvy road, headed toward them, she’d squeeze her eyes shut and prepare to die.
The race to whatever finish line he was desperate to reach en
ded. He reduced speed. She could feel her heart beat again.
He glanced over at her. The dark lenses of his sunglasses concealed his eyes. “Hold on,” he said and sped up to take the next slope of the road she hadn’t seen coming. The Ferrari pitched forward and did a nose dive. Sera screamed. They bounced on the concrete and then zoomed down winding cobblestone lanes.
“Oh my dear God!” she grabbed her left breast. “Are you crazy?”
Dominic chuckled.
“Could you slow down please?”
Dominic stayed the course.
“Please? Slow down! Signor Dominic!”
He eased eased up on the gas. He turned down the music. “I’ve told you before, call me Domi.”
“Grazie! You could have killed us!” she said as she rubbed away the sting at the center of her breasts from the seatbelt that locked on her too tightly.
“You’re safe with me. Trust me,” he rasped.
“I don’t even know you!”
“Isn’t that the point of this? To get to know me?”
“So you’re saying everywhere you go you drive like a speed demon?”
“I like fast cars.” He shrugged.
Though he drove at a moderate speed through the village town and along narrow one-way streets, she couldn’t stop the panic beating in her heart from the memory. She was going to be sick.
“Are you okay?” he asked giving her a sideways glance.
“No. Yes. Oh forget it.” The sooner she got out of the car the better.
Dominic delivered them to their destination without incident. An illegal parking slot that would block any other car who tried to take the same road out. He threw open his car door and walked around the Ferrari. He came to her side of the car and helped her out. She’d never been more exhausted from a car ride in her life.
He helped her step away from the parking block onto the lower walk way. Sera wore white capri pants, and a blue and white striped shirt, with three inch heels that kept sticking between the smoothed over stones that covered her path. She tried to remain graceful and careful with each step she took. She reached inside her little purse and found a hair clip. As she walked at his side, she combed through her scarlet red locks and pinned them away from her face. He didn’t seem to notice. Others did. Women would glance her way, and men too. They all seemed to notice the red-haired lady with Dominic Battaglia in their marketplace. He continued in silence, staring straight ahead.
“So you from around here?” she asked.
“No.”
“Oh? Where are you from?”
“Sicily,” he said.
“You’re Sicilian?”
“That’s what they tell me,” he answered in a dry manner.
“They?” she asked. The answer was odd.
“Battaglias. I’m adopted.”
“Really? I wasn’t aware...”
She stumbled a bit, and he caught her by the arm. He steadied her and she smiled. He stared down at her shoes. “Why do you women wear shoes you can’t walk in?”
“Habit, to impress men, I suppose.”
“It’s not impressive. Bare feet with pink toes, that impresses. Not those shoes.”
Sera laughed. Her toes were painted pink. Dominic smiled. He had an easy nature about him. It was very subtle. If it wasn’t for his scary driving, she’d find him to be calm and unassuming.
“I’m curious, how old were you when you were adopted by the Battaglias?” Sera asked.
“Not sure,” he mumbled.
“Pardon?”
“They think I was four or five.”
“They think?” Sera frowned.
“Do you often repeat a person when he speaks?” Dominic glanced to her.
“Oh? I wasn’t aware I was doing that. You give one word answers. And I think I’m part deaf after that car ride.”
Dominic chuckled again. He removed his sunglasses and put them on his head. The dark coffee-colored lenses sank into the crown of thick cropped curls. He dropped his hands into the pockets of his slacks. He was only a few inches taller than her, but he had a powerful stride. Again, she cautioned herself about the draw to his physical presence. It shouldn’t matter. She was with him on a professional matter.
“My mother gave birth to me in a small village called Cefalu. There were no records on the blessed event. The Battaglias had to file the paperwork and give me my birthdate when they finalized my adoption.”
“Which is?” Sera pressed.
“Ottobre 11th,” he said.
“Really?”
“It’s not that uncommon,” he said.
“It’s uncommon, unless your parents were both dead and there were no other relatives. Were they dead?”
“Why ask that question?” he stopped. “You assume it was done nefariously? Why? Because they are Battaglias?”
“No. I only meant it’s strange that you would be... well... I guess I did make that assumption. Forgive me.”
He started to walk away and she caught up. She’d found a way to avoid the cracks and slips on the rocky road.
“How did they die?” she asked.
“Does it matter? They are both dead. The Battaglias are the only real family I’ve known. That’s all that has ever mattered to me.”
Dominic paused. Sera looked up and saw they had arrived at a ristorante with outdoor seating under a striped umbrella awning. Dominic knew the place well. They were greeted before they crossed the door. The other patrons who were curious didn’t look at Dominic. He seemed to be known. The stares in the ristorante were all focused on her. She again attempted to ignore the vibe she felt.
“Table for two,” Dominic said.
The young girl who was the hostess smiled and nodded for them to follow. They passed through a door and entered a very private dining area. There was a bar and table prepared for a visit of someone of great caliber. Sera watched as Dominic went straight for the bar.
“Signorina, prego,” the young woman said. She held out a chair. Sera sat and a glass was put before her. A jug of wine was given.
“We make it ourselves. The house vino. Merlot. Very good.”
“Grazie,” she said.
Dominic took a seat with something amber in a whiskey glass. Bread was brought to the table, and dinner was promised to come fresh from the oven soon.
“So let me guess? You come here often?” she asked.
Dominic blinked up at her from his whiskey. He held it in his hand, but didn’t drink. She found that odd. At first, he stared at her with no understanding of her attempt at a joke. Then he smiled. He nodded and smiled brighter.
“I come here often. Food is good. And we own it.”
“You own it?”
“Officially a family by the name of Pelle have owned this place for over a hundred years. But un-officially it belongs to Giovanni. This is Giovanni’s room.”
“Oh? This is for him?”
“And men who work for him,” Dominic said and set the drink aside.
“Well it’s beautiful here. I love it,” she said. The young woman returned with a big steamy pot and plates. Lunch was prepared for them.
“It’s strange,” he began. “You look so much like her.”
“Mirabella’s friend? Fabiana?”
He nodded. “I only knew her for a short time, but from what I remember, you sound like her too.”
“Is that a problem?” she asked and picked up her spoon. Dominic didn’t answer. She took a sip and the flavors exploded on her tongue. She’d never tasted anything liquid that divine. “This is fantastic.”
Dominic’s gaze lowered to the soup. He frowned as if just realizing they brought him a bowl as well. He didn’t touch it. His gaze was on her again, watching her lips move as she chewed a bit of bread. His hand went to the whiskey glass as he stroked it.
“I have a question?” he began. “It’s the reason I agreed to meet with you.”
“Okay,” she replied.
Sera had been seduced by the soup, and remain
ed famished. It was unprofessional of her to eat and speak with a client, but she couldn’t help herself. The aroma of this place reminded her of her of her nonna’s kitchen.
“Is it normal, for a person, to... see things. Shapes. Shadows?”
“See them how?”
Dominic paused on his answer. For a brief minute, she thought he wouldn’t say anything further. But he spoke. “What I say is confidential, meaning it’s between you and I?” he asked.
“No, it’s not,” she advised. “You haven’t hired me, or even accepted me as your therapist.”
His expression went serious and tense. “That shouldn’t matter. Confidentiality is expected. Especially if you are staying in our home, and dining with us.”
“Of course,” she quickly conceded. “And you have it. I guess that was my attempt to make you commit to more than this lunch.”
“This lunch is the only commitment I intend to make.”
The man had a certain calmness about him. He won your trust with those dreamy hazel eyes of his. But Sera knew the reputation of the Battaglia men, and they were never to be trusted. Talking with him was easier than she thought, because Dominic wanted it to be. If he didn’t, she’d learn nothing more than how good soup is in southern Italy. The staff arrived again with an antipasto salad with salami and mozzarella tossed in it.
“That will be all. Don’t return unless asked,” Dominic said.
The staff made a quick exit. The host made sure the door was closed shut behind him. Sera held her words. She found herself saying all the wrong things. It was best to let him lead. Dominic’s gaze didn’t waiver, not a blink. She set her spoon down and gave him her full attention.
“I’ve had a problem all my life,” he began. “Only one person knows about it, and he couldn’t help me. Though he thinks he has.”
“The shadows?”
“Yes. The shadows.”
“Can we talk about them?”
“So you can fix me?” Dominic chuckled.
“No. I’m just here to listen,” she said.
Dominic hesitated a moment and she feared that another door between them would close. But he finally spoke without looking her in the eye. “When I was a kid my father was... cruel. His drunken rage was so bad he used to beat me until I blacked out.”