La Famiglia

by Sienna Mynx

  “Sí, Donna,” said Cecilia.

  “Sí, Donna,” said Rosetta.

  After a few minutes Mira and Zia were out of earshot. It was only then that Rosetta turned her attention to Cecilia. If Cecilia ever told any of them what she’d done she didn’t know what Mira or Giovanni would do to her. Cecilia stared up at her silently. Rosetta relaxed. Cecilia was just a simple country girl. Rosetta didn’t see any malicious intentions in her silent stare. But she had to be sure that Cecilia remained quiet. She was so close to having everything she wanted.

  Rosetta cleared her throat.

  “If this is going to work you are to tell no one what happened the day you fell at the church,” said Rosetta.

  “The day you pushed me?” Cecilia asked.

  “No one!” Rosetta narrowed her eyes. “If you think I pushed you, then what do you think I’ll do if you accuse me?”

  Cecilia lowered her gaze. Rosetta watched the courage drain from Cecilia’s face.

  “Catalina came to visit me soon after. She asked me,” Cecilia glanced up. “She asked me if you had anything to do with my accident. You haven’t fooled everyone, Rosetta.”

  Rosetta was stunned. Her relationship with Catalina had improved. She even thought they were friendly now. When exactly did she go to visit Cecilia?

  “I told her nothing,” Cecilia quickly added. “I didn’t do it because I fear you. I don’t want the Donna or Gio embarrassed by your behavior at their wedding.” Cecilia took a step forward. Rosetta locked eyes with her and clenched her fists and teeth. “I told Catalina I slipped on the top step. Because I did slip, I let my guard down with you. That will be my one and only mistake.”

  “Really?” Rosetta smirked.

  “Yes. I want no trouble with you, Rosetta, or the Battaglias. I only need a job to help feed my family. It’s important.”

  Rosetta relaxed. She believed her. Cecilia was not a real threat. Not now that she had the Donna’s trust, and apparently Catalina’s. Let the stupid fool wipe Eve’s butt and runny nose. Rosetta had bigger things to do. Satisfied that her message was clear she smiled. “Catalina works out of Milano and lives with Dominic in Napoli. So I am the one the Donna trusts. Do we understand?”

  Cecilia nodded.

  “Good. Welcome back. I’m sure Evie will be glad to see you.” Rosetta turned and walked out. The smile she wore broadened. As long as their stay in Sicily was temporarily she could withstand the return trip home. Everything she’s ever wanted was now within her reach.

  * B *

  “Papa mangiare—eat!” Eve hit Giovanni’s hand and opened her mouth. In her free hand she held her pacifier away ready to be sucked. He lifted the fork from his plate with a small portion of gravy and pasta. He then fed her once more. The laughter at the table mixed with eager conversation about the return to Sicily. Most of the men in his Camorra clan were Sicilian. And since the tensions with Mancini were elevated he intended to take many of them on the visit. Tonight however, his attention was split between Eve and the business conflict Santo and Dominic were barely managing.

  Eve grabbed the fork and tried to scoop more food. With his assistance she managed control. His little firefly was very independent like her mother in that regard. Giovanni kissed the top of her curly head after feeding her a mouthful. Once satisfied his daughter dropped back against his chest pushing her pacifier back in her mouth as she chewed.

  She had grown an inch. Mira showed him her height marks on the inside of the door. The other day Giovanni learned she wore a thing called ‘training bloomers’ and could go to her little pink plastic toilet without soiling herself. When he arrived home early one evening she took his hand and led him to the toilet to show him. He was very proud.

  Bella returned with Zia. His wife and aunt carried trays of fresh baked bread and meat for his men who ate with the family. He watched as she dropped several on their plates and joked with them. When her gaze lifted to his he winked and she flashed him the sweetest grin. Bella was in her best of moods today.

  The evening would be perfect if all of the family were present. Lorenzo’s absence was felt. Especially since he’s had several intense arguments with his cousin because of his exile. Lorenzo had the balls to threaten to return. Under Dominic’s advisement, Giovanni dispatched Carlo to ensure Lorenzo continued on the path agreed upon.

  The empty chairs for Dominic and Catalina kept drawing Giovanni’s attention. More and more lately they too had been absent and in his thoughts. Giovanni struggled with their independence and growth as a couple. Soon Dominic would press him for a date they could marry and he’d have to honor his word and grant it. How could he ever make them understand why it broke his heart that his brother and sister had chosen this path? Mira had begged him to open up and explain his confliction to her, but the words constantly failed him. For now he walked the tightrope of complacence and disgust.

  The good news was Dominic handled his role as consigliere beyond Giovanni’s expectations. Youth be damned, Dominic Battaglia was his left and right hand. A brother to him, a confidant, a constant in the turbulent waters of their joined lives.

  And Mira often shared with Giovanni news of Catalina’s achievements since they opened her design factory and boutiques in Milano. They were happy. Their happiness made his beautiful wife healthy, thus enough happiness for him.

  “Papa?” Eve turned up her face. She said something that sounded to be a mix of Italian and English. He couldn’t discern the meaning of her question. He gave her a nod as if he understood. Eve plucked her pacifier from his hand and stuck it in her mouth. She turned in his lap and he pulled her up against his chest so she could rest her head under his chin. The love of his lucciola was always so genuine and pure. And when he held her in this way a calm went through him unlike anything he’s ever known outside of Mira’s love.

  Giovanni smiled.

  Fatherhood had changed him. And it was all thanks to Mira. They were solid. Rocco’s fears were unfounded. Mira vowed to him that their family would always be her first and only priority.

  Three Months Earlier - March 2, 1992

  Milano, Italy –

  The enforcer stepped forward and unchained the locks to the entrance of the building Giovanni now owned. His name was Renaldo Cracchiolo. He was a silent lethal presence that shadowed Giovanni’s life on every mission. Renaldo entered first but held the door open for his boss to pass.

  “Careful of where you step, Bella,” Giovanni said.

  His hands held her gloved ones and he walked backward over the threshold to lead the way. She wore sharply pointed heeled boots and designer jeans that fit nicely around her shapely slender legs. It was the damn boots she wore that kept him nervous over each step she took. She was pregnant after all, and should probably dress more matronly for comfort. His wife would not be told what to wear. Period.

  Underneath her magenta red leather blazer she wore a white button down blouse that clearly defined the gentle swell of her small round belly. It wasn’t as profound at three months pregnant, but the baby bump, her enlarged breasts, and thick dark hair that dusted her shoulders enhanced her natural beauty. Around her eyes he tied a blindfold of the silk scarf she wore around her neck after their plane landed. She’d been bubbling with questions and a bit irritable over his secrecy. Giovanni loved to surprise his lady. But this secret was the only one he struggled to keep.

  He let her hands go.

  “Where are we?” she asked in that soft inquisitive voice of hers he loved.

  “Guess?”

  “How can I when I’m blindfolded?” she chuckled.

  “Try and guess,” he teased.

  She removed her gloves and lifted her chin as if sniffing the air. The temperature inside was considerably warm. The place smelled of sawdust and fresh paint thanks to the round the clock workers sent in to prepare the building. The Nigerians who dealt in unsavory business behind the walls of his property had been eradicated. The entire building had been scrubbed clean. It felt pur
e enough for his wife’s dreams.

  “A new building. I smell paint, fresh paint,” she said.

  “Is that all?” he asked.

  “Stop teasing me,” she laughed. “I have no idea where we had to fly to and drive to that has new paint.”

  “You’ve been on me for weeks about this, and you can’t guess?” Giovanni replied.

  Her nose wrinkled. “What are you talking about? Guess what? For all I know you’ve bought another tower to keep me locked away in,” she teased.

  He laughed. Giovanni had noticed that he often laughed when it was just him and her. Giovanni’s gaze swept the open space of the boutique. According to Dominic and Catalina the walls were to be stark white. This aided in making the workspace open, clean, and it inspired creativity. The floors were done in blood red Italian marble tiles, which was his idea. He liked the contrast.

  The building had three floors above them and one beneath. Catalina assured him that the layout was similar to Mirabella’s in New York. To confirm it he had the man, Theodore “Teddy” Tate, send him the floor designs for her American business.

  “Well? Can I remove my blindfold? Let’s stop with the games I have to pee,” she said after a lengthy pause. Her tone and mood had shifted from excited delight to irritability.

  Giovanni smiled, not the least bit affected by her aggravation. “Go on. Take it off.”

  She untied the knot to the back of her head. When the blindfold lowered and her gaze lifted the frown lines melted off her face. She blinked and turned in awe. Dress mannequins, clear racks for clothing to be hung, a changing room, and all the things that women would find appealing as furnishing for a high-end boutique awaited her.

  “What have you done?” she asked.

  He watched with Renaldo at his side as she walked around smiling, touching, and then laughing over one thing then another.

  “Is it mine?” she asked.

  “It’s yours. And this isn’t all.”

  Before he could anticipate her next move she flew into his arms. Giovanni was bowled back from the surge of excitement. His wife squealed with tears in her eyes. She hugged his neck so tight he felt choked and restrained. “Thank you! Oh my God! Thank you, Giovanni! I can’t believe it. It’s beautiful. When did you… how?” she let him go. She jumped up and down in her heels and he held her hips to keep her steady.

  “Bella, calm yourself,” he chuckled, but he meant it. The last thing he needed was for her to trip in those dangerously high-heels she wore.

  “What’s upstairs? Is upstairs ours… did you do this upstairs too… is it mine?” she queried.

  “Yes… It—”

  She grabbed his hand and started toward the elevator to the back of the boutique. Bella talked so fast he could barely catch on to what she was saying. She spoke of break down rooms typically used to do dress runs for her models before and after fashion shows. Offices needed for her staff and sewing rooms for the business of cutting, stitching, and weaving her designs in-house for special clients. All of it was information overload. But he nodded with a sly grin and let her have her fun.

  They visited each floor and she pointed out how similar the layout was to her office in New York. When they reached the fourth floor it dawned on her how he had done this exactly in the fashion of her New York office.

  “Catalina! You and Catalina did this. Didn’t you? Did Teddy help? Was he involved?”

  Giovanni had to hold her to slow her down. She felt soft, warm in his arms. “I told you, Bella. I am the man to make sure your dreams come true. Teddy did nothing. It was all me.”

  She shook her head. “Of course, honey, it was all you.”

  “You give up nothing for loving me. Right?” he boasted.

  “Right,” she reassured him.

  “You will have everything you wish as we build our life together,” he said.

  She nodded. She hugged him with her face pressed against his chest. “This is what we dreamed of when we came to Italy—Fabiana and me. This is our dream. We were going to build our own fashion house in Italy. Start our lives together and then take over Europe. From Milano to Paris we’d leave our mark. We had so many plans. So many.”

  Giovanni lifted her chin. “It’s time you’ve seen your final gift. Your office.”

  “Really? So you designed that too huh?” Mira’s mouth took on a decidedly sensuous curve. Those curious brown eyes of hers ringed in long thick lashes stared up at him with undiluted love.

  “I do everything for you,” he replied.

  “And for you,” she teased.

  “Give me a kiss, my woman,” he said, unable to resist her mouth so close to his.

  “Why don’t you take it, my husband,” she whispered. She brought her lips just a centimeter away. “You know how, don’t you?”

  He caught the corner of her lower lip between his teeth. She released a silent cry of surprise over the sting of the nip. With a tiny sigh in her throat she returned his kiss. Letting his tongue glide deeper and sweep fully in her mouth, he enjoyed the melting sweetness of her tongue as it rolled over his own. The round hard swell of her tummy carrying the future of their family brushed his lower abdomen. Desire speared him—strong, seductively insistent. When she guided her hand to his groin and squeezed he had to force himself to let her go. Giovanni shook his head and smiled.

  “Something wrong?” she teased.

  He took her hand and walked her toward two glass doors. There had been a single request made to Dominic. One he wanted his consigliere to see to personally, and he was stunned by the execution and presentation of his gift. However, his surprise was no match for Mira. She walked into the office staring up at the portrait in silence. Three years ago just before they met, Mira had taken publicity photos for her debut in Milano. One in particular was of a very fetching, seductive pose of Mira and Fabiana back to back. Maybe it was done for fun, or to advertise their partnership. It was Theodore Tate who provided the still image to Dominic and Giovanni for them to have immortalized in a realistic portrait. Italy remained one of the greatest places to find talented artists and Salvatore Gilucci painted this personally for the Battaglia family. Today was the first time Giovanni had laid eyes upon the portrait.

  Mira’s slender figure was nicely defined in an alluring black dress that stopped mid thigh. She appeared both seductive yet professional in her pose. Her thick hair was straightened and reached just beyond her shoulders, tucked behind her ears to reveal teardrop black jeweled earrings. Her smoky dark eye shadow, and extended lashes made the side ways stare she gave the camera lens suggestive. Fabiana was just as striking in the portrait. Her scarlet red hair cascaded to her shoulders. She wore an identical sexy fitted dress but hers was white with matching stilettoes that only added to the beauty of her legs. She too cut the camera a sideways glance with a seductive smirk to her red lips. The yin and yang power team stood back to back with arms crossed. Both women were fiercely composed.

  “I remember this. We took the picture two months before we… before we traveled to Italy.” Mira put both hands to her brow. Giovanni remained close out of concern. When her shoulders shook he realized she was crying. He embraced her from behind.

  “You two made quite a team,” he said. He hoped she shed tears of happiness. That was the only emotion he wanted to evoke. Giovanni glanced up at the painting and was riveted by the artist’s ability to capture his Bella the way he saw her. The portrait was seven feet tall and four feet wide. Against the stark white wall it commanded attention.

  “I love you so much, Giovanni. For doing this. For doing all of this. For being my best friend and knowing what I need. I thought… never mind what I thought,” she sniffed.

  “You thought I wanted to change you. I do. But never for the worst, Bella, only for the good of our marriage and our family. We need you.” He kissed her. “I want a wife, a mother to my kids. And for that to happen I want you to be whole. This is who you are.” He glanced back up at the portrait. “Mirabella Ellison Battag
lia. I don’t fear that woman. I love her too.”

  Mira turned in his arms. There was so much emotion in her weepy eyes he couldn’t discern which one she settled on. “I will keep my promise. Not a day before we are ready will I return full time to my career.”

  “And I promise to be ready when we decide you do,” he smiled. He kissed her.

  She ran her hands over his arms, up to his shoulders and neck. He dragged his mouth from hers to look into her face. Beneath her long lashes her pupils were large, her plump lips parted, she had that dazed look in her eyes when she wanted him to make love to her. “Ti amo,” he whispered against her mouth.

  “Ti amo,” she breathed in response. The sexual tension they shared mixed nicely with the way her touch to his neck and the side of his jaw soothed him. After a moment of mutual reflection Mira eased her hands down his sides to circle his waist. Giovanni stole a glance behind him. Renaldo knew better than to enter unless summoned. No one was on the floor. The room was carpeted but emptied of furniture. Giovanni’s gaze switched to the portrait. The first time he saw Bella she was as fiercely independent as that woman staring back at him in the photo.

  “I want to celebrate, baby,” she said and kissed his chin, beneath his neck. Her hands glided around his waist and rubbed up his back slowly. “Here.”

  “Now?” It was as much a question as it was a warning. She was still in a delicate way. The miscarriage scare was just under two months ago. They enjoyed sex regularly but always in a controlled manner, their bed. There he could reign in his desires and balance her comfort against his insatiable appetite.

  “Yes. Now,” she said. “Let’s christen my office.”

  Mira shed her leather jacket. “You will have to undress me. I have trouble bending forward you know,” she teased. She kicked her boot at him in a playful fashion.