by Emma Nichols
Over my dead body. “How are you, darling?”
“I’m okay.” He looked away. “It’s getting tougher in here.” He closed his lips tightly together and leaned closer to the screen. His eyes widened, and he pressed his mouth to the mouthpiece. “The new regimes are entrenched.”
He was referring to the fact that the prison governor and guards couldn’t be bought easily. The same was true of the police now. Times had changed. She smiled inwardly, the thought of his suffering lifting her spirits.
Keep to the script. She frowned, hoping her eyes conveyed tender concern.
“They are treating you well, though?”
He rubbed his ribs. They wouldn’t leave visible scars, though part of her wished they would. Retribution came in many forms and from many directions, and since she couldn’t exercise revenge on him, it would be sweet justice if someone else did. The unified image they had presented to the world, and the pretence she had endured in the name of loyalty to him as his wife, she would no longer tolerate. She would support the Amato business, always. That was the code she had signed up to. But they were working in a new era now, with new rules, and this was a game Stefano wasn’t aware he was playing. If she had her way, Stefano would spend the rest of his life in prison, thinking he had control when he hadn’t, but she was under no illusion that if he had good reason to get to her, he had the means, and he would make the call. For the foreseeable future, she needed him.
His muscular frame dominated the screen between them as he leant forward. “You look distracted.”
She shook her head and put on a smile she hoped would absorb him.
His eyes narrowed.
“Do you need anything, amore mio?” She didn’t care, but she had to ask.
“Send Alessandro to me, bedda.”
Her mouth went dry. She pressed her lips together and nodded.
Alessandro having direct contact with Stefano could confuse the chain of command further. Stefano would big up the boy’s ego, and she didn’t need Alessandro thinking any more of himself than he already did. Fuck! She
smiled, forcing her grin to stay in place. He looked away from her. She cleared her throat. “Tell me what else you need?” She softened her smile, and he stared intently into her eyes. She maintained the warmth in her expression despite the tingling creeping down her spine. She swallowed and wetted her lips seductively.
“I only want Alessandro to visit,” he said. “There are things he needs to learn that only I can teach him.”
Shit! She blinked. He was smiling at her, and the tingling intensified and moved into her legs. She rubbed her forehead.
“I’m glad he has you too, bedda.” He pressed his palm against the window.
His hands looked too big, too harsh. They reminded her of Alessandro’s. Stefano’s hands had stolen the lifeblood from many men, but that was expected in his job. Her hands weren’t clean either. Whose were?
The thought of his hands touching her made her stomach cramp. She placed her hand opposite his, and the Perspex seemed to become less dense. He was closer than she wanted him. His heat, his touch couldn’t reach her, though she imagined it did, and her stomach flipped. “I wish you weren’t stuck in here,” she said softly.
He returned the handset and stood.
With shaky legs and using the table to assist her, she slowly rose from the seat, and the other woman’s perfume left the room with her. She inhaled short, shallow breaths as she followed the guard to the prison entrance. Her heart thundered. Get me out of here. The guard opened the steel doors to the outside world, and even though the air was humid, she inhaled it deeply and lengthened her stride.
6.
A haze of warm air hovered lazily over the lower parts of the city of Palermo and car headlights ghosted past the shadows of the buildings. The night sky seemed to expand at the outer reaches of the city and darken to near-blackness as it reached out into the stars. Maria smiled at the view that seemed more alluring at night.
She heard the door close and the sharp clip of multiple leather and metal soles on the highly polished wooden floor. She didn’t turn to face the three approaching men. She knew exactly who they were and why they were there. Instead, she kept her focus on the white, round cotton cloth in her hand. Tending plants is so much easier than this. Dealing with her idiot brother-in-law’s behaviour was an annoyance she could do without. She took a deep breath and tamed the rage she wanted to launch at him. He wasn’t worth the effort, but he was a loose cannon, and she couldn’t afford for him to start a bloody war with Alessandro Amato. And now she had to assert her authority in a way that Vittorio would respond to.
The footsteps stopped, and Maria half-turned to see them stood just before her large, solid mahogany desk. Vittorio looked skittish and out of control. Beads of sweat seeped through his skin and slid down his temples and neck towards the blood-stained collar of his otherwise well-pressed, white shirt. His slight sway and reddened nose told Maria he’d been drinking too much again. If he wasn’t her sister’s husband, she would consider taking a hit on him herself.
Giovanni Grasso stood stiffly to Vittorio’s right-hand side. Maria acknowledged him with a small nod. He would be as pissed with Vittorio’s behaviour as she was, though his flat features obscured any thoughts he might have about Vittorio’s current state. He looked the epitome of calmness, loyalty, and focus. Angelo, Giovanni’s younger brother, stood closer to Vittorio on his left, allowing Vittorio to lean on him lest he should fall over.
“Did you know the orchid has been around for a hundred million years?” Maria asked, her voice soft. She caressed the dark green, rubber-like leaf with a cloth before she threw it in the bin and pulled out another clean one. “And yet, it’s a highly specialised pollinator: extinction of the
insect means extinction of the orchid.” She leaned closer to the vase on the window ledge and traced the symmetrical face of the blood red flower with her fingertip. It resembled the silky flesh of a woman’s sex, open and inviting. With tenderness, it becomes pliant and responsive to the touch.
She rested the delicate soft petals lightly in her hand as if caressing them.
Show a plant love and it grows. Treat it badly, you destroy it. So intricate, so striking in every way. Discipline is about taking control of your urges.
You cannot take that which is not willingly given to you. Did Vittorio not realise that a lack of discipline was the quickest route to the grave? “The orchid is designed to attract a mate who will pollinate for them, you see.”
Vittorio’s right eye twitched violently, and he stretched his neck upwards. He tilted his head side to side before returning to a static stance.
His arms hung down either side of his body, and he picked at the skin around the thumb of his right hand, something she noted he did when intensely uncomfortable. He looked down at his hands. Blood crusted darker in places across his knuckles and dirt and grime contaminated the open wounds. He was nothing more than a streetfighter and a poor reflection of the Lombardo clan. What in the hell did Catena see in him?
“They live in symbiosis with fungi, did you know? Very clever.”
Maria picked up the water bottle that sat next to the plant and softly squeezed the trigger. A light spray rained onto the leaves. She watched a trail of water slide the length of a leaf, lingering at its tip before it dripped onto the window ledge. She wiped the water away with the cloth. “Many are so beautiful. Some consider the orchid is parasitic, but they are not.
They never take what is not theirs to take. They don’t harm another for their own gain.” Unlike you, Vittorio. She placed the bottle back on the ledge, positioned the handle at an angle of precisely forty-five degrees from the window to the right side, and threw the soiled cloth into the bin.
This wasn’t the first time she had had cause to address Vittorio for his indiscretion with respect to the Amato family, and most likely it wouldn’t be the last. Maria walked slowly from the window to the front of her desk. She ran her fi
nger along the carved and polished lines in the wood that defined the desk’s outer boundary, then continued another three paces until she encroached on Vittorio’s personal space and forced him to look up at her. Pesto rose from the basket at the far side of the desk and growled at the men. She clicked her fingers to silence him.
Vittorio glanced towards Pesto. He blinked several times, his vision appearing unfocused. Maria stepped closer, and he shuffled a pace backwards. Angelo stiffened his arm around his back to steady him. Vittorio shrugged the assistance off and clenched his jaw in a mild act of defiance as he regained his balance.
Maria saw the raw graze blotting his clean-shaven cheek and the swelling and purple shading around the socket of his right eye. She winced at the smell of alcohol and the bitter, rancid hum of cigar on his breath.
“You lie without opening your mouth, Vittorio. It’s a weakness we can’t afford in our business.” She pointed to the trickle of blood on his face.
He wiped the back of his hand across his misshapen nose. “I…”
She flashed him a look. He should know better than to speak unless invited. Maria shook her head. “You reek.” She stepped back, plucked a handkerchief from her pocket, and held it to her nose. “You’re a disgrace.”
She looked at Giovanni, who shrugged almost apologetically, but he was not Vittorio’s keeper. “Now, tell me. How the fuck did Don Stefano’s nephew end up in the hospital two hours ago?” She clenched her jaw and waited for him to answer.
Vittorio looked to the floor at her feet. “I didn’t mean to hospitalise him. He must’ve hit his head when he fell.”
She considered Vittorio’s excuse. His manner was far too casual. He lacked respect. Alessandro Amato had come off a darn sight worse in this exchange. She didn’t care about Stephano’s nephew. The ramifications that would be sure to follow were what concerned Maria. Patrina would want revenge, and she always got what she wanted. “Severe concussion and under close observation, Vittorio. That’s one hell of a fucking fall.”
“He was hitting on our territory, Maria. Bragging. He’s making us look like dicks. What was I supposed to do? Just let him walk over us?” He wiped at the stream of blood that trickled from his nose.
Maria looked to the painting on the wall of the Madonna with baby Jesus cradled in her arms. Family was everything, but her brother-in-law wasn’t her family. “What do you suggest I do, Vittorio?”
Catena could have done so much better than this pathetic excuse of a man, a man that couldn’t be trusted in a business where trust was golden was a liability. Respect was their bond. And he knew nothing of either. She would have to face Patrina to repair the damage caused by his stupidity, which would have been difficult enough before their split. The family didn’t
need this kind of inconvenience, and she didn’t need any more of a fight with the Amatos than she already had with Patrina.
Vittorio remained silent, seemingly unable to find an answer.
“This is not the way we do business with anyone, and it is especially not the way we do business with the Amatos.”
Maria noticed Giovanni tense. Was he expecting her to order him to terminate Vittorio? She looked back at Vittorio and took a deep breath. This was Catena’s husband, the man her sister was in love with. He had developed an uncontrollable shake in his hand that mirrored the twitching at the corner of his right eye. He looked an unholy mess. “You’re still drunk, Vittorio. Look at you.” She waved her hand at him, and he flinched. “You do not lay a finger on an Amato again unless I say so. Do you understand me?” She turned, too disgusted to continue to face him. Her hands shook with the restraint she had executed. “Go and tidy yourself up.”
Pesto growled as Angelo escorted Vittorio from the room. As was expected, Giovanni waited.
“Want me to keep an eye on him, Donna Maria?”
Maria nodded. “Can you make sure a box of Dom Perignon gets to Patrina today?”
“I already sent it.”
“Good.”
“It was returned.”
“Shit.”
“All the tops of the bottles were smashed, Donna Maria.”
“Fuck. That idiot. Yes, guard him, Giovanni. Anything he does, let me know. He so much as shits in the wrong toilet, I need to know. And for fuck’s sake, teach him how to behave. We can’t have a loose cannon in our ranks.”
“Yes, Donna Maria.”
“I need to invite Patrina to lunch at The Riverside on Monday.” She glanced at the wall clock. The fact that it was 10:58 p.m. was of little concern to the matter of honour that was at stake. “Will you see if she can make it?”
Giovanni nodded. “Give me an hour. Donna Maria?”
She looked up to see his eyes full of concern and a smile of genuine affection. “Yes, Giovanni?”
“Are you okay?”
No. “Any progress with that kid you spotted?”
Giovanni cleared his throat. “I’ve been watching him. The boy has skills.”
“What do we know about him?”
“He’s Adrianu Di Salvo’s youngest. You remember his parents and older brother were killed, must be eight or nine years ago, leaving him and an older sister? His name is Roberto.”
She blinked as she recalled the time. What she remembered most was her father’s disgust at Stefano’s sloppiness. The man is losing his way, her father had said. There was often collateral damage, with the end justifying the means. Everyone knew the rules. But Amato had been wild and careless, and their close relationship with the Amato family had become strained. It had come as a surprise within the community that Stefano had gone down for the hit and was another sign of the changing times. There was a tangible shift in the power they had once enjoyed.
Legitimate business was the best way forward, her father had said. She agreed with him but clans like Amato made legitimate business difficult to achieve.
“What does he do?”
“He coordinates a gang of pick-pockets from what I’ve seen. And delivers pizza.”
She smiled. “Pizza?”
“He handles a scooter well.”
“He must know the city.”
He nodded. “He seems popular… There’s something else.”
She frowned. It wasn’t like Giovanni to be evasive.
“His sister, Simone. She works at Café Tassimo. She’s worked for Patrina since the death of their family. She brought up Roberto. Patrina has helped. Blood money.”
Maria bit her lip and made a soft sucking noise through her teeth.
“Is Roberto not working for Amato?”
Giovanni shook his head. “No. He looks to be operating independently.”
“He’s just a kid, right?” Independently operating could get him killed.
“There is something about him, Donna Maria. He’s street-smart for sure. He’s never seen doing a job, but he collects the proceeds. It’s only
small stuff, but he seems to be well respected.”
“Why hasn’t Patrina picked him up?”
He shook his head. “Maybe it’s just a matter of time.”
“If you think he’s worth it, test him. See if he wants to wash cars for us. When you’re happy, I’ll see him.”
Giovanni smiled. “I’ll bet this kid can fix cars too.”
She smiled. Giovanni was a good judge of character and abilities, and he was already convinced of the boy. Taking Roberto on could cause an issue with Patrina though. Not my problem. The thought still settled in an uneasy feeling. Would she ever get used to not giving a shit? Patrina would make it a problem if she found out, and Maria would need to deal with the consequences. She swallowed down the bitterness. The business was her life now, and not for the first time in the past three months of her tenure as the donna, emptiness filled her. “Let’s find out what his interests are.”
Giovanni’s lips moved slowly into a half-smile. “Yes.”
“Goodnight, Giovanni.”
“Goodnight, Donna Maria.” He bowed his head and tur
ned away.
The door clicked closed, and Maria turned to face the window.
Patrina’s image came to her again, and an electric pulse fired through her.
She cursed the involuntary response. How long it would take for that old stimulus to die out? Self-betrayal was irritating. It showed a lack of control.
Three months without sex was a long time, though. She rubbed her hands vigorously up and down her thighs to dissipate the energy. She needed a distraction. She picked up her phone and dialled. She was just about to end the call when it was answered.
“Donna Maria,” Rocca said.
“Capitano, good evening.”
“How can I help you, Donna Maria?”
Maria hesitated. It was too late for second thoughts. “I am…
struggling to sleep at night.”
“You need to see the specialist?”
Maria bit down on her lip. “Yes.”
“I will make arrangements. When?”
“Saturday?”
“Saturday.”
Maria ended the call. She squeezed the phone in her hand while the surge of discomfort blossomed in a sheen of moisture on her skin and then
dissipated, leaving her with a feeling of disgust. Is this what her life had come to? Paying for sexual gratification. Not much had changed since Patrina then, though at least she was the buyer now and not the bought.
Keeping a distance from the world, a life spent in isolation with no lover to come home to or share a life with, wasn’t what she’d hoped for. Her heart ached. A woman—a wife—wasn’t an option. It was bad enough being a Catholic in a society that frowned deeply on such an arrangement. But a mafia boss? Not a chance in hell. A scream burned inside her chest, and she buried it.
The unexpected click drew her attention to the opening door. She smiled at her mother who had not long returned from her evening at the opera. “Bona sira, Matri.”
“Bona sira, Maria.”
The delicate sound of her mother’s stiletto heels seemed in conflict with the serious tone in her voice and the deep frown that made her eyes look too heavy for the rest of her delicate features. The sound should be heavier and her pace quicker, if it were a true reflection of her mother’s obvious disquiet. Her mother’s efforts to conceal the innermost workings of her mind might foil the men that surrounded them but not Maria. She always noticed incongruence. It was a skill that served her well. It had become second nature to her to pick up on the suppressed emotions and the unarticulated concerns of others. Her mother was no different from the rest, hiding her true feelings inside a calm exterior. You need to see beyond that which your enemy wants you to know, her father had often said. “Look into their eyes, Maria. Deep into their soul. You will sense the truth there. You will know who to trust.” Deep affection moved through her, molten, bathing her in warmth. She leaned forwards and placed a kiss on her mother’s cheek then smiled.