Amoroso

by S. W. Frank

   

   

   

  Chapter 21

   

   

   

   

   

  Sophie received an unexpected telephone call. She nearly laughed to think Maria Diaz would ring her in the wee hours of the night, whispering like some patron saint faced with heretics. Luckily, for the sanctified woman she was awake, experimenting on a kosher recipe. The consideration for Yosef’s religious dictates regarding food was extremely a test of her love. There are strict rules to what Yosef can eat. Kashrut is the Jewish dietary law and a practicing Jew must adhere to the consummation of foods that are halakha or kosher. She was aware of this, and often contacted her close Jewish friend in Israel for meal suggestions.

  Sophie respected people’s beliefs and cultures. Sometimes she found many practices unusual, even oddly humorous. On occasion she smiled a lot wondering what a rabbi might say regarding Yosef who found a gentile alluring, engaged in criminal activity and then visited a synagogue. Then she reflected that Yosef’s transgressions were similar to her sins as a Catholic.

  There is a hell. She believed that is where she was going. Certainly, she’d meet Carlo there and what a reunion. She tingled below, thinking how gloriously wonderful to have sexually vibrant men who heartily ate pussy and made her feel young.

  Sophie put the woman on speaker to free her hands, tossing her thick hair over a shoulder, like a shampoo commercial of mature and beautiful Italian women.

  “Buongiorno, cannot sleep donna?” Sophie smiled; adding special seasoning to the duck slaughtered by an Schochet, and rubbed her palms over the meaty side listening for Maria to talk.

  “Sophie, did I wake you?”

  “Ne, I am a chef, we have odd hours. But, you would not know of that?” Sophie stated, however, she expected visitors but that was none of Maria’s business or Yosef’s for that matter.

  Maria missed the insult; she had greater problems than a competitive chef. “I am in need of advice.”

  Sophie’s sensual lips puckered. There are unpleasant discussions among women. Often those candid talks occur with someone considered understanding and trustworthy. The fact Maria reached out to her caused Sophie to discard her unfavorable judgment of the misguided and pious woman to serve as her confidant. “Of course.”

  “I need a fatal recipe for the heart.”

  Sophie ceased movement. “For you or another fowl?”

  “Another fowl.”

  Sophie’s nostrils flared angrily. “Are you injured?”

  Maria’s voice shook with emotion. “My heart has taken the brunt of injury and my faith is beaten low Sophie.”

  Sophie listened to the soft weeping and rolled her shoulders in determination not to add to Maria’s woes with panic or cries.

  Bruno that cazzo!

  Carlo considered Bruno duplicitous. Carlo frequently joked about Bruno’s pretentiousness. Yet, Sophie had never taken Bruno for a batterer. However, in hindsight there were signs. Sometimes the most outwardly brutish men treats their women impeccably in the public and privately.

  Dual-face men such as Bruno do not.

  Within the confines of their home, abusively is how they treat their women and children.

  “Is there an alternative, perhaps your son can speak with the fowl?”

  “No, Sophie! No, please do not speak about this to anyone, he has threatened my sister.”

  A sharp scoff emitted from Sophie. Aye, she wished she did not have to hold a confidence but there is an oath of women, men are not the only ones who can keep secrets from the opposite gender.

  “Ne, I will not.”

  “Gracias, gracias.”

  “Are you certain this is the course? To retract is impossible. Guilt can lead to confessions to the wrong people, capisce?”

  “Sophie I’m not a dunce.”

  “And the fowl’s family?”

  “They will believe the believable.”

  Sophie nodded. Maria had carefully considered and understood, to murder is a sin and once done she cannot whine to the polizei. Frankly, she admired the Maria’s restraint. Had Bruno struck her, he’d have a knife in the throat.

  “I will not give you a recipe, instead I will send by courier a dish he will love. Maria, do not appear nice, he may suspect. Remain offended by his behavior and seek to discuss it at the table while he eats. You take a portion on your plate to avoid suspicion, that is the time you broach the subject, watching him as you eat bread or drink wine. When he falls, call me and I will arrange someone to come and dress the scene, capisce?”

  “Yes.”

  “Maria?”

  “Confidences are never broken.”

  “I know.”

  “Bene, now you are one of us. Go to bed, rest. I assume the beater is out, eh?”

  “Yes, he’s gone to a meeting.”

  “There isn’t a meeting Maria. Your husband is likely with a slut. Ciao!”

  Sophie tapped the screen with a gentle finger. She sniffed her displeasure that after Carlo’s death, Bruno had flirted. Imagine she thought if she had taken the bait. Thankfully, she was not attracted to peacocks such as Bruno. She preferred the unmannerly out-spoken type; she found them to be more honorable inside. 

   

   

  ***

   

   

   

   

   

  Lorenzo rolled over on the hard floor, assuming a fetal position. His eyes flew open when his skin experienced a sudden freeze.

  “What the?” he sputtered and then shut his mouth when he looked at Chocolate.

  She shoved the cube of ice in his mouth and cut him loose. “Let’s go!” she ordered, standing like a sentry in modern clothes.

  Her tight jeans and simple sweater and that leather fedora were sexy as hell, Lorenzo thought. She shoved the knife in a fashionable leather knapsack while he stood.

  Lorenzo massaged the cramps in his legs, looking around the cellar, wondering where the guard had gone. Then he figured nature must’ve rung an alarm.

  He bit the ice, cracking it loudly and then asked. “Where to?”

  She rushed to a door beyond the boiler room, and went in. Lorenzo followed, grateful for freedom and the chance to breathe fresh air. She led the way, behind shrubs and stayed close to the ground, her ass in his face beckoning him on. Lorenzo smirked.

  The entire sneaking off the property took less than four minutes. Apparently, Chocolate had reasons why she required means to enter and leave without being detected, but that was solely her business, he was just glad she’d stuck her neck out for a john.

  They were a safe distance from the house of ill repute when he spotted his car.

  “You are going to be in a lot of trouble Chocolate,” he joked when she hurried to the driver’s seat and left him no choice but to ride shotgun.

  “No, this is my official termination notice, besides, I overheard what you said and made a call. There’s a woman you might want to speak with.”

  Lorenzo checked under the passenger seat. The schmucks hadn’t found his weapons, and he was glad to see the Cuervo and took the friend to his lips and killed the pain before it surfaced. He put the top back, slid in the seat and reclined all the to the rear to sleep, cradling glass between his thighs.

  “This lady nice?” he asked as the car began moving.

  Chocolate laughed. The sound was girly and cool. “Oh yeah. Had I known you needed an introduction to the Don, she’s the person to have sought out. You obviously know nothing about those people. They don’t trust outsiders –at all. Anybody that gets close to them are related or considered extremely loyal. There’s a whole history behind that. Attempted hits in public, one at a church even. So they don’t trust anybody. That’s why I was shocked to see the big man himself. He’s never visited the house before, well not to see any of the girls.”

  “Sou
nds like you might have wished he had.”

  “Heck yes. Those old pot-belly Mafiosi that can’t get it up half the time.”

  “Tell me more about their family,” he replied, curious to get her take on the people Grigori obviously trusted. Lorenzo listened as he rocked from side to side as the wheels traveled over rougher roadway.

  “There’s the Dichenzo and Diaz family. They’re all descendants of this greater than life Mafioso, Sergio Giacanti. But if you go to the heart of Sicily, the old will tell you they Giacanti family is direct descendants of Italy’s king and an African Princess, something like that. Anyway, you would never have gotten past go with Yosef. Oh my god, I couldn’t believe when I saw Don Alfonzo arrive. He would not have come to speak to you unless there is something relevant you said. When I contacted Sophie Dichenzo she told me how to go about it and she wants to talk to you.”

  “Dichenzo?”

  “Yes, were you listening? She is also Giacanti, and she happens to be married to Yosef, the one who gave you the eye patch.”

  “What?” Lorenzo was confused. “His wife asked you to get me?”

  “Uh, yes.” Chocolate shook her head. “She’s come to this place before, spoke to us women individually to make sure her husband wasn’t trafficking underage girls or holding women that didn’t want to be in the business. She also told us if we ever need anything to call her special number.” Chocolate merged the vehicle with the traffic on a busy strada with a sign that read Sidici followed by other symbols.

  “She probably wanted to view the selection.”

  “No,” Chocolate replied. “Not at all. When you meet her, you’ll understand. You’ve gotten a look at that Don, anyway, let me tell you, it has nothing to do with whether or not they’re mob or royal, these are people with some beautiful genes. Her daughter Amelda, the fashion designer, drop dead pretty.”

  “You are equally pretty.” Lorenzo complimented. He had seen the intense eyes of Don Alfonzo. Lorenzo believed below the surface of the intimidating figure existed a good-hearted man, someone who knew Vincenzo and was a friend.

  “Thanks.” She took a quick glance over her shoulder at him. “You know Lorenzo, you’re also handsome and as they say in Italian Bello.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah?”

  Her attention returned to navigating the road.

  Lorenzo watched her smile. He had not seen the lady or her daughter Chocolate referenced, but Chocolate was beautiful in her own right.

  “Yeah, you are very hot, too.”

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

  Chapter 22

   

   

   

   

  Nico’s eyes opened.

  Initially, he saw black, then gray and soon broken pieces of light.

  He twisted, disoriented, thinking he dreamt.

  He tried again and the action had restrictions. Turning, brought pressure on the opposing side of his limbs. He wiggled his arms and legs to test the hold and attempted to stand. The straitjacket was secured; he was chained around the torso and legs to a chair.

  Someone laughed.

  In the drugged haze, images began to form.

  A figure moved in the shadows and Nico squinted to focus on the face. There are signs are of a psychopath, and a sickening laugh is one.

  Clarity came.

  Nico was at home, and his thoughts immediately went to his daughter and Anna.

  How long was he out?

  He scanned every corner of the living room with eyes of a human hawk. He listened, equally focused for any sounds of Semira and heard only breathing from the idiot in the corner.

  The man emerged from his hiding place holding a weapon and eating a slice of pizza.

  “Nico, the infamous and elusive killer. I finally have the opportunity to look you in the face.”

  Nico used his tongue to push aside the bind, wiggling his jaw for ample space to respond. The action brought the man’s brows together. Apparently he hadn’t tightened the gag as securely as he thought.

  "I’ve been surprised only once in my life. You're the second," a master killer said to the dark figure with a lopsided sneer of a smile. "Use the gun. Dai, I smell your hate. Whatever I've done to anyone you love, I probably deserve the bullet. Take your vengeance assassino. Fretta!" Nico said wanting the deed done before he discovered the bastard harmed his daughter.

  The barrel of the gun pressed into Nico’s temple. Who stands fearless faced with death? A legend...a goddamn cold sonovabitch responsible for the execution of his father that's who -Nicolo Serano!

  “That is an easy death. No, you will not have an easy departure.”

  “Should I care?”

  “Yes. You probably do not remember everyone you have murdered.”

  Nico frowned. Sergio said something similar except murdered was replaced by fucked or something like that. Nico shook his head. The intruder must have gained access to the property around the time Sergio exited. He hadn’t reactivated the sensors yet.

  Then the man grinned as men surrounded Nico’s seat, holding down his shoulders and he saw why when Anna was brought to the center of the floor from the kitchen.

  He thrashed around, pulling forward; struggling against the bulky pair who together was triple his size and the effort led nowhere.

  Anna was shoved on her knees, whimpering, her sweet eyes running streams of fear and she looked to him like a father for help.

  “Anna…hush girl…it’s going to be okay.” Nico comforted as the barrel of the gun knocked at his skull and he heard his hair rustling. Yet, he persisted, wanting the bastard to shoot him and cursed the coward for forcing a girl to kneel while bound like a beast. “Shoot me stronzo –ora!”

  “Look Nico Serano, and feel the helplessness I experienced when I watched you kill my father.”

  “Vaffanculo!” Nico roared, 

  Then what he couldn’t do he realized is save everyone, even if he wanted to. The men were too large, shackled to a chair, with only his mouth blowing heat, he calmed and with the love of a dad he told the girl, “You are the sweetest of daughters. Te amo Anna, fight with me.”

  Anna tried and he fought with her to give her hope; aware they were outnumbered, weaponless and bound.

  Every kill done to protect family had inevitably traced back to the killer. In the struggle the only point he sought to make was he would not die immobile.

  Fight, he had told Anna because there was a warrior beneath her timidity.

  Die with honor.

  A single shot emanated. The whisper hiss of a bullet in the head bore through bone, tissue and skin. Blood splattered on Nico’s face and the mass pressing him to the floor did not lessen even when his body went limp.

   

  ***

   

  There's a sensation that sticks pins in the skin at night. Eyes on his babe resting and unable to sleep Alfonzo had that feeling in the comfort of his home. When flashes of light from his cell became a projector on the ceiling he lifted the device from his lap, hoping, nah -fuck that -praying the call wasn't anything bad despite the 4 a.m., status.

  "Yeah?"

  The voice of a man held rolling waves of underwater roughness. He'd been drowning; speaking is how he found air.  "There's been an execution kid. Everybody Vin loved...an entire generation of our famiglia is gone...my link to Vin...ah...ah...kid I can't do this anymore...Semira...I just want to hold her in my arms to keep me sane...do you do that sometimes with your children… hold them tight knowing you're one person trying to protect every fucking body you love?"

  That's the dreadful call, the one that stops the heart an
d worsens when the details are recanted on the brutality of the killings and the hurt resonating from a wounded enforcer, one whose been holding on so long by a string, Alfonzo had to provide reinforcement.

  There is peace somewhere in the mind of a man with roots deep in the ground and holds a strong faith in vengeance. "Hold still cugino...I'll be there..." Alfonzo said hurriedly sliding from beneath the covers, grabbing shit to throw on as he listened to Nico’s ragged breathing. "You have family, you got that Nico, you have family...I’m on the way and I’ll be there the way you’ve been for there for me, comprende?"

  When the connection severed, Alfonzo was already on the first floor, moving with determination. He rang Nico back and he didn’t answer.

  The next number he called was to awaken his Capo. He ordered him on shift at the house. He couldn’t leave without ensuring he had someone seasoned in charge.

  Alfonzo took a handful of the guys and they set out in two cars, strapped and uncertain of what they’d find waiting. On the drive, Alfonzo rubbed fatigue from his eyes.

  He hadn’t gotten much sleep, an hour at most before Nico called.

  The twenty-seventh had begun.

  Crazy, he thought, looking at the time. Four hours and twenty-seven minutes is what the timepiece read.

  Twenty-seven.

  That damn number wouldn’t get out of his head.

  Back in the day he’d rush to a hole in the wall spot to toss some big money on numbers, for Abuela. She’d play many combinations. Sometimes, she was lucky and hit, oftentimes she didn’t.

  Reclining in the seat, watching the skies that had yet to open and give a sign of its mood, he sighed. Maybe, it’ll rain. Maybe, the sun would wave hello or maybe there might be snow.

  There’s a lot of speculation on whether living to ninety is based on the state of a person’s health. Forecasters predicted the weather with science, but with people it’s a combination of factors that determine their life expectancy. Alfonzo believed longevity for people was simply all about luck.

  A person, who never smoked, exercised, and had no history of illness can die from cancer or get hit by a truck.

  “Turn on music!” he told the driver.

  He checked his piece, put the steel on his lap and absorbed the lilting sounds of a cello conversing with a violin. He never liked opera; neither did Vin. In the infancy of morning he listened. The change of tempo and the urgency was exactly his mood.