by Sienna Mynx
La Famiglia, Copyright 2014 Sienna Mynx
Published by The Divas Pen LLC
Cover design by Reese Dante
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to The Divas Pen LLC and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from the author at [email protected]. This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
For more information on the author and her works, please see http://thedivaspen.com
Dedication
La Famiglia is the fourth book in the Battaglia Mafia Series. There are many blessings, trials and tribulations within family. As I the author delved into the Battaglia’s family history I could not help but to reflect on my own. I dedicate this installment to my wonderful, complicated, and often times loving family. Thanks to your faith and unwavering support I can conquer all.
La Famiglia
Table of Contents
Prelude
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Epilogue
Villa Mare Blu – 1972
Mondello Beach/Palermo - Sicily
Near Palermo, Sicily crystal blue waters nestled between two mountains washed over the beaches of a seaside town called Mondello. It was indeed a beautiful vacation spot for both Sicilians and tourists, under a Mediterranean sun that bloomed hot and bright in the sky no matter the season. The Battaglia family owned a portion of the beach at the foot of Mt. Gallo with homes called Villa Mare Blu. Many violent and unexpected events occurred during their holiday visits to Sicily. Often these events were centered on who Giovanni’s father was. Most were resolved without alerting the authorities because of the unshakable relationship Don Tomosino Battaglia had with Don Marsuvio Mancini. However, violence came and went without explanation in Giovanni’s young life.
Tonight would be more of the same.
“Svegliati! Wake up boy!” Tomosino bellowed.
The foot of Giovanni’s bed was kicked. Hard. Startled out of his sleep Giovanni sat upright with his hands flat at his sides. He struggled to capture his breath. At times Patri Tomosino’s angry orders dispelled the tranquility in Villa Mare Blu. But those moments were reserved for the adults who followed him. His father’s arrival in Giovanni’s room at the late hour was unsettling. Only recently were Giovanni and his mother released from captivity outside of Chianti. Eve had been banished as punishment for running away with the Don’s only son when he was barely twelve years of age. Rumor had it soon after his mother’s return that she was with child again. A new baby would explain his father’s generosity to bring them out of isolation and back to Sicily.
Giovanni didn’t care what his mother and father’s issues were. He was glad to have returned to this life, his friends, and the family. For him things were back to normal, except for the unexpected nighttime visit.
“See to him!” Tomosino leveled his pointer finger at Giovanni. “He will be your responsibility until your mother wakes.”
“Patri? I don’t underst—” Giovanni began.
Tomosino shoved a little kid forward. The boy looked to be no older than five or six. He was thin, frail, covered in bruises. A dark puffy swell had closed his left eye. The child shivered. Made the center of attention, he bowed his head in fright. He wore no shoes, only a pair of stained, soiled underwear.
“Who is he, Patri?” Lorenzo asked with evident disgust. Giovanni cast his line of vision to the other side of the room. There his cranky cousin, who often slept through most anything, was awake. Apparently Lorenzo could smell the stench off the child, for his nose wrinkled and his brow furrowed with disgust.
Tomosino stared down at the little boy. He seemed perplexed. Didn’t he know the origin from which the boy came? “Tell them your name,” his father said.
Slow and timid a small voice replied. No one in the room could hear what the child had whispered.
“Speak up!” Tomosino barked.
La picoletto lifted his head and turned his chin upward to answer. “My name is… Dominic Antonio Esposito, signor,” he replied.
Giovanni thought he recognized compassion on his father’s face. It was fleeting. After the introduction was had his father gave no further instruction. He turned and walked out. Alone in the room with Giovanni and Lorenzo the little boy wept silently.
“The kid smells like pig shit, Gio,” Lorenzo pinched his nose with one hand and pointed with the other. “Look at him. Did Patri dig him out of the trash?”
“Can’t you see he’s scared?” Giovanni replied. “Stop making fun of the boy.”
Dominic kept his gaze trained on the floor. Giovanni pushed up to his feet. He walked over to the kid, but had to kneel to earn his attention. Lorenzo was right. The boy smelled like he crawled through sewage, or lived in it.
“Ciao, Dominic Esposito. Sono Giovanni.” He touched his chest during the introduction and then pointed to his cousin. “And that there big mouth is Lorenzo. Tutto va bene—everything’s fine.”
The boy nodded he understood.
“Are you hungry?” Giovanni asked.
The kid peeked up at him and his swollen eye nearly opened. “Sí, Giovanni, very much.”
“Oh no! No!” Lorenzo shot to his feet. “Wake your mother, or I’ll wake mine!” Lorenzo huffed. “Have them take him out of here. They can feed him and clean him. I want to go to sleep and the little stinker isn’t climbing in bed with me,” Lorenzo said.
“Christo!” Giovanni shouted.
The last of his patience had expired. He’d shut Lorenzo up if he had to. He and Lorenzo were both the same height and weight. Giovanni had lost a few fights to Lorenzo in the past, but that was before he spent two years in Ireland fist to elbows fighting every dirty bastard who called his mother a whore and him a half-breed. The demand for his cousin’s obedience weighed between them as the silence in the room lengthened. And then he went unchallenged.
“Ignore him. Fresh clothes and a bath is what you need.” Giovanni looked around the room. He walked over to his chest of drawers. In his bottom drawer he found an old pair of shorts and a t-shirt he had been able to wear several years ago. It would be too big for the child but he imagined it could do for the night. He took Dominic’s hand and pulled him along. Silent and obedient Dominic went without complaint. He was a good learner, a good follower.
“How old are you?” Giovanni asked.
Dominic shrugged his small shoulders.
G
iovanni stopped. He stared down at the kid. “You don’t know how old you are?”
The boy shook his head no in response.
“You look five or six to me, maybe younger.” Giovanni decided.
Dominic smiled.
Where did his father find this kid, Giovanni wondered? How could he not know his age? Confused and a bit alarmed Giovanni set aside his concern and continued down the dark hall. At the opening to the bathroom he reached in and turned on the light. “You do know how to bathe yourself? Right?” Giovanni ran the water. He proceeded to strip the little boy of his soiled underwear and then tossed the wretched pair into the small trashcan near the toilet. He picked up Dominic who weighed nothing and set him in the water. The dirt on the kid looked to be imbedded into the cells of his skin. After watching the child struggle with a large bar of soap to cleanse himself, Giovanni took control. He had to release the dirty water and run it fresh from the tap to truly get to the business of cleaning him. It took over thirty minutes, and his arms hurt from the scrubbing.
“Look at you,” Lorenzo teased from the bathroom door. “Will you fix him a bottle or give him your tit to suck next?”
Giovanni sighed. He loved Lorenzo. However tonight was not the night for his bullshit. Whenever Patri’s presence or actions stirred them in the middle of night, out came his couin’s bravado. Lorenzo constantly wanted to prove his toughness Giovanni supposed. What Lorenzo failed to understand was that Patri didn’t bring the kid to their room to annoy them. He did it so Giovanni could make the child appear less scared and traumatized before the women saw him. In particular his mother who was known to be sensitive to the violence that followed his father. Cleaning the boy was an important job and his father trusted him to do it.
“Christo! Look at the bathwater,” Lorenzo continued. “I don’t care that you’ve cleaned him, he sleeps on the floor!”
“Go back to bed!” Giovanni threw the sponge at the wall and got to his feet. “Porca miseria! Go before I knock you on your ass!”
He challenged Lorenzo to say another word. After a tense stare off, Lorenzo mumbled a few curses and stalked off. He glanced back and saw terror in the kid’s eyes. The boy had put his back to the wall as if he thought Giovanni would turn his anger on him next. His good eye was stretched so wide it bulged and his breathing looked labored in his skeleton thin chest.
“Are you afraid of me?” Giovanni asked.
The child whimpered. He shut his eyes and began to tremble.
“Don’t be afraid, Domi. Can I call you Domi? That’s a good name for you. Eh?”
Fat tears coursed down Dominic’s chubby cheeks. Even the bruised eye swollen shut appeared to bleed tears. The child’s bottom lip quivered. Giovanni attempted to cheer the kid up with a goofy face. He made two or three of them consecutively, and then he laughed to alleviate the kid’s fear. “I’m not going to hit you, and Lorenzo is a jackass but I’m not going to hit him either. Come here. We’re done with the bath.”
Dominic shook his head no.
Giovanni faced a new problem. If his mother woke and found the scared boy she’d go crazy and his father would surely be enraged. He couldn’t lose control of the situation. Giovanni thought it over for a minute.
“I guess you haven’t had a good slice of pie in a while? Have you?”
“Pie?” Dominic asked. His tiny chest looked caved in from starvation.
“Yes, pie. Do you want some? How about a meat sandwich? We have some of the sweetest goat’s milk. Fresh.”
Dominic nodded. “Sí.”
“Come here.”
Dominic pushed off the wall and extended his arms. Giovanni retrieved a large towel and picked the child up. He dried and dressed him. The kid was quite cute when the dirt was scrubbed from him. He had a head full of dark curly hair and round brown eyes ringed in dark lashes. Giovanni decided to carry him out of the bathroom. Quiet, they ventured into the kitchen. And he made good on his promise. They ate. Dominic devoured the pie, the sandwich, the milk, the grapes, and cheese too. He’d never seen a kid so small eat so voraciously.
When he finished Dominic grinned up at Giovanni. “Tante grazie,” Dominic wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Giovanni leaned forward. “Where is your mama? Your papa?”
The question was greeted with silence.
“Do you know?” Giovanni pressed him.
Dominic didn’t answer.
“Tomorrow mio madre will come for you. Her name is Eve. She is very kind. She will take care of you. But she and the other women, my aunts, will want to know where you came from, who your parents are. Why you have the bruises you have. You are not to tell them. We wait until Patri tells us what to do and what to say. Do you understand? This is very important to remember.”
Dominic nodded.
“I need you to answer me, Domi. You trust me now, right? Say the words.”
“I understand, Gio,” he replied in the meekest voice.
“Good. Now let’s find you a place to sleep.” Giovanni stood.
“Can I stay with you?” Dominic asked alarmed.
The request threw Giovanni. “I have school in the morning. I need my rest. Don’t you want your own bed? We have one just across the hall.” For the past few months his father insisted they live in Mondello because of his business affairs in Palermo with the Mancinis. Both he and Lorenzo attended school. Dominic looked a bit worried. He glanced around the kitchen and then back to Giovanni with his good eye. “Per favore? Can I stay with you?”
“You can sleep with me tonight. How’s that?” Giovanni replied.
The kid nodded his head with eager approval to the offer. For the moment the sleeping arrangement would stand. Giovanni hoped his father would give them instruction soon. Suddenly he cared for the kid and feared for him as well. Whomever beat the boy this way wanted to end his life. Of this Giovanni was sure. He cleaned off the table and took Dominic back into his arms. He carried him to the room he shared with Lorenzo and put him in his bed. Lorenzo watched them but remained silent. As soon as the kid was under the blankets he was asleep. For the remainder of the night Giovanni stared up at the ceiling—lost in thought. Dominic was his responsibility. He would take care of him to the best of his ability. And then a new truth dawned on Giovanni. His father had saved Dominic’s life. That made his father a hero. Giovanni smiled.
A week later –
“Why go alone?” Lorenzo asked. “And with him? Do you have a fever in your brain?”
“I can handle it,” Giovanni grunted.
“Take us with you, Gio. The little shit is up to something,” Lorenzo said.
Giovanni walked across the freshly mowed lawn with his books thrown over his shoulder in his bag. Santo kept pace at his right side and Lorenzo to the left. Carlo remained a few paces behind them, his arm thrown over the shoulder of a girl. She looked trapped by Carlo’s advances and walked stiffly with her head bowed. Carlo whispered what Giovanni guessed were obscenities in her ear. Nothing would deter Giovanni from his mission. He and Armando Mancini had a deal and he didn’t need or want the rest of them to know the specifics.
“You sure about this, Gio? You will owe me,” Armando said underneath a snicker. He appeared from nowhere and now walked boldly with Giovanni and his crew. “Or do you need your cousin to hold your hand?”
“Let’s do it,” Giovanni answered. Armando was smug in front of the parochial school because he was Don Mancini’s son. Even Giovanni and his clan had to respect him. But down at the beaches it was neutral territory and war constantly raged between the young teens in both their gangs—privately.
Giovanni went for his bike. He ignored the barb, the questioning glare from his cousin and friends, the little voice in his head that warned caution. Armando and Giovanni were rivals from birth. However, Giovanni made a bargain with a devil for a single favor. And even in his young years as Don Tomosino’s son he understood why the devil was often necessary. He dropped his books in the basket to the front of h
is bike and hopped on.
“Gio! Wait!” Lorenzo insisted.
Fast as the wind, Giovanni began to pedal away. He glanced back once to see Lorenzo and his friends watching in stunned silence. He had only an hour before Del Stavio closed his jewelry shop. Biking through the small village and along the rocky narrowed cobblestone streets that led into Palermo proved to be a bit of a challenge. He, however, managed the excursion against the tailwind of his nemesis, who had made the trip so many times before. Armando knew of the short avenues to bring them there in thirty minutes as opposed to fifty.
Excited and a bit apprehensive, he set the bike against the store once they arrived. He looked over to Armando who cut him a deceptive smile. Giovanni wasn’t sure if his rival would hold up his part of the deal. He half expected to see Armando’s crew descend on him for a savage beating as punishment for traveling out of Mondello and into their territory. But Armando dropped the kickstand on his bike and went for the door of the jewelry store. Giovanni followed.
“Ciao! Armando and Gio! You’re here!” Del Stavio chuckled. “I am ready for you as promised.” He twisted his long mustache at the ends and then wiped his hands down the front of his apron.
“Can I see it?” Giovanni’s gaze bounced around the jewelry display case.
“Of course!” Del Stavio said grandly. “Armando asked that I do this in a hurry. I have it here.” He walked over to the counter and opened a dark purple velvet cloth. “St. William the patron saint of orphaned children. Here he is.”
Giovanni gazed upon a small ¾ inch sterling medallion with a beautifully crafted portrait of the saint stamped in the center of the medal. The medallion rested on a stainless steel chain. He touched the length and lifted it to the sparse light. The small silver disc gleamed and sparkled as it swayed from a length perfect for a boy or young man. Giovanni couldn’t afford gold from his allowance. But he imagined he couldn’t afford this as well. Del Stavio was the best jeweler and friend to men like his father. However, a custom piece could only be requested by one of the Five Dons of Sicily or their progeny. Thus, Armando had to commission it. After paying his allowance as bounty to Armando, the smug bastard agreed. However, a single favor to be asked at any time for this privilege was now expected of Giovanni.