by Sienna Mynx
“Because Gio is strongest when we all are.” Dominic interjected. “Lately I’ve felt a disconnection in the family. We are cast to the wind now. You in Milano, Lorenzo gone, me splitting my time between the Campania and business in the triangle, this is not what’s best for us.” He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “It’s good that we will return to Sicilia and spend time with the family these next few months. We all need this.”
Catalina measured her response. She knew her working away from him became tiring, but they were never apart for longer than a few days or weeks. “I understand. But, Domi we’re changing. And that makes us strong.” She touched the tiny silver St. William medallion he wore on his neck. She kissed it. “Don’t worry. We’re going to be okay because you always see to it.”
Dominic nodded and returned his gaze to the night outside of the window. No matter how she tried to soothe him she knew he doubted her faith. Maybe now wasn’t a good time to tell him she wanted to move to Milan. No. She’d keep that to herself for the time being.
* B *
Near Sainte Maxime, Southern France –
Lorenzo could not look away. Marietta danced across Le Femme with her eyes trained on him. She wore a bright tangerine orange mini dress. The low neckline to the front of the dress reached her navel and parted her voluptuous breast. The dress hugged her curvaceous figure and rose up her shapely thighs when she wound her hips. It revealed her flawless slender brown legs with diamonds sparkling off her left ankle. Above her light beams spun and cast red, yellow, and blue rays across the dancefloor. Flashes of color washed over the gyrating bodies on the dance floor. Smoke clouded the atmosphere of the club. A thick white curl of it rolled out of his nostrils after a drag of his cigar. All the while he never lost track of his Marietta.
She knew the rules.
At any club of her choosing Marietta could dance for as long as she pleased, but never with another man. He had no tolerance for that bullshit. And she wasn’t the kind of woman to tease or push his buttons by flirting with others. Tonight she’d been quite happy. His femme fatale had chosen a dance club that played American rap and pop music. So he parked their yacht at Sainte Maxime and summoned a driver to take them to the nightspot. He and Carlo observed her from the corner of the discothèque. Marietta moved with the grace of a ballerina and the sexual tease of a street whore. It excited him when they were in private and irked him in public. But she was a free spirit that loved to dance. And he wasn’t in the mood to fight with her about such trival bullshit.
“She’s a wild one,” Carlo said. He took a sip of his lager.
“She’s tame with me. I can handle her,” Lorenzo answered. His reply may not have been loud enough to be heard over the music. The song switched to a loud thumping techno beat and Marietta squealed. She jumped on her feet in high-heeled pointed shoes. The bounce of her breasts drew the eyes of many men. Lorenzo groaned. He would indeed have to end her dancing soon. Marietta flung her long dark curly locks from side to side like a rock star. Once she opened up to him, trusted him, he got to know a remarkable, exciting, vulnerable woman. A woman he could trust. Who he felt he could actually love.
“You sure about that?” Carlo chuckled.
“Sure about what?” Lorenzo frowned.
“You can handle her?” Carlo’s gaze never left Marietta. He stared at her in a way that Lorenzo didn’t appreciate.
A man stepped to Marietta and she pushed him away keeping up with her sexy dance moves. The guy leered. Lust and possibly alcohol made his body language clear of his intent. Lorenzo lowered his cigar and his gaze narrowed on the scene. The stranger tried to touch Marietta again and she slapped him hard. The guy was stunned by her sudden attack. He stumbled back into a dancing couple. Lorenzo tensed. Marietta pointed to his table when the man looked to make a move. The bastardo glanced his way. He hesitated. Lorenzo and Carlo stared back. They both waited for the man to decide. In a flash either of them would be happy to teach the stranger manners. The tense pause held and then broke. The man turned and walked off. Marietta began to dance again.
Carlo laughed. “She can take care of herself. Maybe I should put her out in the streets with Ringo, teach him how to never make the mistake of trusting a motherfucker like Carmine did.”
Lorenzo smiled. He’d put an end to the night soon. Marietta had been drinking and if allowed to continue with her partying she could be a viper with her tongue. He’d hate to have to snap a man’s neck for not understanding her charm. But first he needed to hear the answers he dreaded. Why had Giovanni ignored him for so long? How was the family making it without him? “Tell me what’s going on with my cousin?”
“Gio has his concerns,” Carlo answered.
“About me?” Lorenzo scoffed. “Interessante. The one sent on a fool’s errand is indeed a fool. Why should he be concerned now?”
“He thinks you will defy him and return to Sicily, with her.” Carlo tossed his chin upward toward the dancing temptress. “Why is that, Lo?”
“You know I can’t speak on it,” Lorenzo grumbled.
Carlo rubbed his jaw. He fished out his lighter and picked up his cigar to relight it. Lorenzo took another drag of his own and considered taking Carlo into confidence. He had to keep Marietta’s identity a secret from her and the rest of the family. The secret kept her alive. But for how long was he expected to play this charade? And could he truly trust Giovanni to reunite the sisters? Especially when he had no motivation to do so.
“That’s not all. Things are not good, Lo,” Carlo began after a deep exhale. “In fact things are far worse.”
“Dica,” Lorenzo said.
“It’s Santo. He’s the capo bastone now. Giovanni’s left hand.”
“Where the fuck is Domi?”
“Oh he’s off trying to wash the blood from Gio’s money. Santo keeps the peace with the clans. What Tomosino created is fractured, what Giovanni wants to instill is the Sicilian way. The clans of the Camorra don’t like the power Giovanni has as capo di tutti capi. And now Gio’s dividing territory we bled for? The other families war over the business we’re dropping. Including the gambling houses.”
“Che cosa! Did you say the gambling houses? Those are my fucking gambling houses in Napoli!” Lorenzo slammed his fist down on the table. “Giovanni can’t give them up. It’s a power move that the lower clans would seize and destroy. What of our men? What will they do?”
Carlo nodded his head in agreement. “We aren’t in that business anymore. The men have other tasks assigned to them by Santo. Things that I have no insight into.”
“The drugs I understand. The whores, I can live with his decision, but I don’t agree. The gambling houses? He’s fucking out of his mind! What is left?” Lorenzo shouted.
“Dominic and Giovanni have opened the Donna’s company in Milano, it’s called Fabiana’s.” Carlo added, staring hard to read his reaction.
“Basta! Are we going to be fucking women making dresses like his wife?”
The comment against their leader should bring about scorn or worse from Carlo. But they’d been best friends since childhood. With Carlo he could speak freely, to a point. He wiped his hand down his face. “The triangle. What goes on there? The `Ndrangheta won’t give up Milano. No matter what Giovanni promises them. And I know the Bonaduces wait for a chance at revenge. He isn’t blind to this. Is he?”
“Santo and Domi have talked Gio into furthering legitimate investments. A few more vineyards, a couple more properties, a few land deals up through Tuscany. A resort and vacation place for tourism in Florence. I believe Santo keeps peace for Giovanni with the `Ndrangheta by letting the fuckers grow their product on land in Genoa.”
“Heroin?” Lorenzo asked.
Carlo nodded his head. “I hear the Nigerians are still sniffing around. I can’t prove any of it. Santo’s men are loyal.”
“Then why say it to me if you can’t prove it?” Lorenzo asked.
“There are rumors that Santo might
start his own clan. But those rumors never reach Giovanni’s ear, just mine,” Carlo said.
Lorenzo considered the information. His cousin’s trust of his inner circle was always a blind spot for manipulation. It’s how Lorenzo was able to get fucked up with the Calderones and go undetected by Gio. It was also how he’d been able to hide his part in Tomosino’s death from Giovanni for years. “If Santo played peacemaker with the `Ndrangheta without bloodshed then it stands to reason he’s cut a side deal,” Lorenzo said. “And we both know trafficking is all the `Ndrangheta cares about.”
He released a tensed breath. “What do we still own?” Lorenzo asked.
“All of the sanitation in the Campania. We have sixteen hundred businesses that pay us to run their operations all the way to Chiaiano. It’s mostly where I’m needed now. The export out of the bay is doing well. Everyone wants a piece of the action and Giovanni only allows a few. My boys and yours see to it. The factories are ours, legitimately so. Rocco’s grape and olive groves produce and we have a distribution deal in the works for our product. The guns from the Irish import in and out of Napoli to West Africa. Business is the same there.”
Lorenzo laughed. “So my cousin isn’t really letting go of all his bad deeds, is he?” he shook his head. “The Camorra is not la Cosa Nostra. The family respect we earned from the other clan bosses is only as strong as our grip on their fucking necks. We cannot survive if we continue down this path. Dominic should be advising Gio better. What is he thinking?”
“Gio is distracted. He spends a lot of time with the Donna. Lovesick. Like you and her.” Carlo chuckled. Lorenzo’s gaze switched to Marietta who was now dancing in the center of the dance floor with several people cheering her on. He grimaced.
Carlo continued, “The other day the bosses from the other clans met to voice their grievances and Gio received a message that the Donna had an episode. Do you know he left the meeting to Santo to close? He let the bastardo sit in his chair and play Don as he raced back to Sorrento to hold his wife’s hand. I hear she threw a bitch fit over some fabric she received out of Milano,” Carlo chuckled.
“Gio did this?” Lorenzo frowned not seeing any humor in the news. He knew Giovanni was devoted to Mirabella, but no woman ever came before their business. Not even their mothers.
Carlo gave a single nod of his head.
Stunned, Lorenzo couldn’t speak. To show fractured leadership was dangerous. Not only would they lose control within the Camorra, but become targets themselves. In their world weakness meant death. And death was the only way out of their destiny.
“We need you back. Giovanni needs you at his side not Santo, Lo. Think about it. You are the only one who can truly make him see what we stand to lose.”
“What the fuck can I do from here?” Lorenzo snarled. “You came to tighten my leash! And you never backed me with Gio when I needed it so don’t bitch to me now about the state of things.”
“You’ve been secretive for months. No! For fucking years!” Carlo shouted over the blare of the music. “Do you think I’m a fucking idiot? I know you keep secrets! That’s why Giovanni put a leash on your neck and I helped him tighten it because of your bullshit!”
Lorenzo glared but he held his tongue against the truth tossed in his face. Carlo had no idea how dark and dangerous the secrets Lorenzo kept were. Including his role in the assassination of Carmine. Lorenzo sat back and pounded his fist on the surface of the table for restraint.
Carlo spoke loud and clear over the music. “I don’t understand why the boss gives a fuck about your woman.” He kicked the chair in front of him. “You want my loyalty,” He pointed his finger at Lorenzo. And then his lethal gaze sliced away toward Marietta. “Explain her.”
Marietta danced with a married couple. She had a fresh drink in her hand. She laughed and spun around, never missing a step.
“She’s important. Trust me,” Lorenzo grumbled.
“Explain her!” Carlo shouted. “How is she important? Since when does your dick matter to Giovanni? Why were you truly going after David Capriccio? Why is my brother dead over this bullshit?”
Lorenzo struggled with entrusting the truth to Carlo. Carlo had always been unpredictable with the ladies. But even more he was loyal to the code of their lives. Which version of the truth would secure Carlo’s loyalty to him?
“What is it?” his best friend demanded.
“Look at her Carlo. Look at her again!” Lorenzo said.
Carlo’s gaze returned to Marietta. He watched her with a curious frown. “I see nothing.”
“Are you sure?” Lorenzo leaned in. “She’s American, she’s beautiful, she’s black and the same age as Mirabella. Look at her. Who is she?” Lorenzo asked.
The furrow that creased Carlo’s brow lessened and he saw the realization take hold of his friend. “The Donna? She’s related to her? Cousins? What?”
“She’s her twin sister,” Lorenzo said.
Carlo’s eyes stretched open. His gaze volleyed between Marietta and Lorenzo before settling on Lorenzo. “What the fuck? Are you sure?”
“Yes I’m sure. The Capriccios discovered the truth and tried to kill her. I stopped it. Saved her life. Carmine saved her life.”
“Why?” Carlo’s gaze returned to him. “Why did you fucking care? And why use my brother to protect her?”
“She’s the daughter of Marsuvio Mancini. They both are.”
“Not possible!” Carlo roared with laughter.
“It’s true dammit!” Lorenzo shouted over his best friend’s laughter. “Now do you see why Gio wants me to keep her away? Neither of the women know they have a Sicilian father. They were orphans, a junkie mother died and they were separated.”
His friend gaped at Marietta. If one was to look at her and Mira side by side the resemblance was unmistakable. Though they differed in skin color and Marietta had more curves, she had the Donna’s eyes, her smile, her manner in a way mirrored her sister. After digesting the truth his friend admitted he found it hard to unsee the similarities. Lorenzo settled on that answer. He’d rather end the revelation there, than to dig up his bloody connection to Tomosino, Giuseppe Calderone, and Carmine’s death.
“How long have you known? Does Armando know? How the fuck does Don Mancini have twin daughters like them? And the Donna? Our Donna? She belongs to him?”
Lorenzo chuckled. “No. She belongs to Giovanni you ass. That’s the point.”
“Right. Right,” Carlo nodded his head. “But Mancini’s daughter? Not fucking possible! It can’t be.”
Carlo kept on with the questions. Lorenzo waited until Carlo ran out of steam to enlighten him. “Marsuvio knows. It’s been a secret he kept for many years. Remember Fabiana?” Lorenzo asked. His chest went tight at the mention of Fabiana’s name. He released a slow breath. “She was lured to Napoli by Mancini to bring Mirabella to Italy. He put them up in our building. Remember that?”
“Yes, I remember,” Carlo said.
Lorenzo reached for his drink. He needed another. One big swallow and the burn in his heart lessened. “Gio met Mira and Mancini couldn’t stop their affair without exposing himself and the secret he’s kept for many years. Only Domi, Rocco, Giovanni and me know the truth. Giovanni wanted me to take Marietta away until Mira had the babies. He’s paranoid because—” Lorenzo looked up at Carlo. “This you can never say, never speak of.”
Carlo nodded.
He leaned forward so he wouldn’t have to shout the forbidden truth over the blare of the music. “Because Tomosino is the one that killed their mother. Patri found out about their mother and went to Mancini’s father for permission to put out the hit. Don Mancini agreed to have the black whore killed in America. It was done because of Tomosino’s desire to bring Marsuvio to power and strengthen the families after the First Mafia War.”
“Holy shit,” Carlo said.
“Giovanni fears if Mira learns the truth she’d blame him. Abandon him. And that’s the secret I carry,” Lorenzo finished.
“He fucking should be worried!” Carlo said. “A fucking Mancini? He married a Mancini?”
“Shut the fuck up! Don’t say it again,” Lorenzo warned. “No one can know. Especially Armando. He’d put a bullet in the sisters before he ever called them famiglia. And no fucking body lays a hand on Marietta or the Donna.”
Carlo nodded his head in agreement. “I understand. You can’t take her back to Italy or Sicily. Shit you’re fucked.” Carlo wiped his hand down his face. “To hell with it, Lo. Cut ties with her. Send her ass back to America. She and the Donna should never know the truth. I hear Mancini has one foot in the grave. Let the dirty secret die with him.”
Marietta came over to the table. She put her drink down and dropped on Lorenzo’s lap. Even her sweat smelled like the sexy scent of Shalimar she often wore. Lorenzo inhaled her and bit her neck. Marietta giggled. The soft round cushion of her ass pressed in on his groin. He could feel the sexual tension coil tight in his dick. He kissed her cheek. Marietta turned her face to force her tongue on him. She tasted of champagne. Her small hands rubbed over his chest and he chuckled at how excitable she could get when they had an audience. “Come dance with me, baby,” she said between the kiss. He stopped her.
“I’m bored,” she pouted.
“You’ve had too much to drink. No more dancing.” Lorenzo admonished. “It’s beginning to piss me off.”
She cut her gaze over to Carlo. She frowned. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
Carlo sneered. He didn’t answer.
“Go easy on him, Marietta. He’s here to do us a favor. To be our witness,” Lorenzo said.
“Witness to what? Forget him, take me to another club,” Marietta whined.
Lorenzo moved her hair from her brow. He lifted her chin with one finger. “Sei la mia rosa. I’ve decided on something today. I want you in my life. Per sempre.”
“What are you talking about?” she half-laughed. When he didn’t laugh in response her smile faded. “What do you mean? Forever?”
“I’m talking about marriage, cara. I want you to marry me.”
Carlo choked on his lager. Marietta sat upright on Lorenzo’s lap. She shoved him back against the chair with both hands pressed to his shoulders. She searched his face with her eyes stretched and mouth gaping. “Me?”