by Sienna Mynx
Her thoughts drifted to her sister and her dead mother. She wanted to know more about her mother. She wanted to know everything. Marietta arrived at the end of the hall. She turned the corner and immediately doubled back.
Mirabella was in the kitchen.
Her twin stood in the open door of the refrigerator stuffing her mouth. Marietta watched her from the darkness. When Mirabella turned sideways her large belly protrusion was seen clearly through her long white nightgown because of the interior light in the fridge. And she chomped, chewed, and stuffed her fat cheeks with food. It was so comical.
Marietta watched her eat, swallow and then grab at more food and eat. Before Marietta realized it she was smiling. From the moment she met Mirabella the fashion designer had been nothing but smiles and pleasantries. At first Marietta thought it was phoniness. But it wasn’t. Mirabella was her other half, her better half. The one who grew up loved by their maternal grandparents. The one who didn’t have the scars to jade her view of the world. Who would Marietta have become if she grew up on a farm and had love as a kid? Maybe she’d be confident, rich and famous like Mirabella. Maybe her sacrifice of blood and tears as a kid was so Mirabella could be the best of them. As she watched Mirabella she suffered a gamut of emotions most akin to love. A connection and bond she wanted to explore.
Marietta opened her mouth to say Mira’s name when the Don appeared.
“Bella! What the hell are you doing down here?” Giovanni barked at her.
Mirabella whirled around with her eyes stretched. She swallowed. “I-I-I got hungry.”
“Then why didn’t you wake me?” he shouted at her. “I woke up and found you gone. You came down the stairs all by yourself!” he continued to yell. Marietta narrowed her eyes on the Don and clenched her fist. How dare he speak to Mirabella that way? And why on earth would she stand there and take it? Instead of her sister putting his ass in his place she grinned.
Mirabella set the bowl of pasta down on the counter. She stepped to her husband and touched his face, forced him to kiss her. She spoke to him softly and her husband turned his face away. Mirabella took his face in both hands and made him look at her. She spoke again to him in such a low tone Marietta could not hear her. But she could see the affect her words had on the evil bastard. Giovanni actually smiled. Marietta had never seen the man smile since she met him.
“You will be the death of me!” he laughed.
Mirabella hugged him. The Don kissed the top of her head. He held her in his arms and rubbed her back. And then the couple began to kiss. It turned Marietta’s stomach. She drew away. She returned to her room determined as ever to get justice. She would tell her sister the truth about the bastard she had married. As soon as possible.
* B *
Cowardice lived in every man. Some fear love, others rejection, many fear failure. Varo was a man who feared everything and trusted no one. Everywhere Lorenzo and Carlo went men with guns accompanied them. The bastard had to stop to pee and three men went with him to watch his back. Lorenzo shot Carlo a look and he shook his head in disgust.
As Lorenzo considered his options lady luck took pity on his ass. They were brought to a remote location. Both he and Carlo piled into a jeep with Varo and he drove off with them alone. Lorenzo glanced back at Carlo. He too wore a surprised look. Could Varo the cowardly bunny actually have grown some balls?
“I can not let my men see me negotiate with you. It is a matter of respect and strength. We will need privacy to discuss my terms.” Varo glanced over to Lorenzo. “But please understand me. My men are everywhere. You have seen them. No? You will not leave the countryside alive if anything happens to me.”
“We’re not here to make an enemy. Your interests are mine. I am curious though, how does Mottola service you? We have tight control over the Neapolitan clans. Nothing exports from the bay of Naples without my cousin’s knowledge.”
Varo chuckled. “Well those times have changed. Haven’t they? Giovanni Battaglia allows the `Ndrangheta to move in and out of the bay. Mottola works through them and a cruise ship company. The problem is my shipments are small and all of them must come through the Turks.”
“Ah that can be problematic.” Lorenzo conceded.
“It’s timely,” Varo said, shifting gears and picking up speed as the jeep raced onward.
“What does Mottola gain from this?”
“Pledged assistance with his desires to take control of the clans in the Camorra,” Varo smirked. “The Russians are looking for revenge against Giovanni. Many of his Russian enemies are my comrades in this war with Yeremian.”
“But I thought you were liberating your people from tyranny of Soviet influence? Now you’re partners with them?” Lorenzo asked.
Varo laughed. “Yes, I am. During occupation many Armenians were dragged off to Russian prison camps. The men I call brother hate the Soviets, just as I do. They don’t know I deal with them. Your arrival reaffirms their belief we only deal with the Camorra.”
And thus Lorenzo finally understood the depths of Varo’s cowardice. Mottola was a shield. He remained strong and fearless if his men believed that he armed them without selling his soul to the Turks, or Russians. All of it was bullshit. Lorenzo kept his face blank. Inside he fumed. He knew this pursuit of Dominic’s and Giovanni’s to legitimize the family made them weak. And now he had proof. But the war with the Russians was Lorenzo’s fault. He misled Giovanni into believing that the Russians killed Tomosino. This disaster truthfully should be laid at his feet. “What about Santo? Does he assist you?”
“Santo? Never heard of him. Mottola is very secretive. He trusts no one in the Camorra. It’s wise for him. No?”
Lorenzo found it hard to believe that Santo was totally blameless. He knew somewhere in this the bastard had to be dirty. But that was a mystery to solve for another day. He settled in his seat and let Varo fill him in on his operation. The night was blinding. He had no idea how Varo travelled through the blackness with the aid of his headlights only. Soon they arrived in front of a stone cottage that looked abandoned. Varo parked.
“Here is what I want you to see.” Varo hopped out of the jeep, taking his assault rifle with him. “Come.”
Lorenzo and Carlo followed him inside. And what they found stopped them both cold. Varo lit lanterns and revealed more. “All of this came to you through Mottola and the `Ndrangheta?”
“Not all, a lot. Some of it we stole. None of it can give me victory. I want a decisive strike. I need something to bring Yeremian to his knees. And this is what Mottola struggles to find for me.” Varo set the lantern down. He cleared off a crate and removed a paper from his back pocket. He spread it out flat to show Lorenzo what he desired. As Lorenzo stepped to his side he glanced to Carlo who understood it was time for them to act.
“See here,” Varo began. “The missile launchers, the kind with a scope. It is what the Americans give to Afghanis. I need to be able to do long distance strikes.” Varo said, his voice alive with excitement.
Carlo eased out a short rubber tube from his deep pocket. The only weapon they brought. Lorenzo moved closer.
“We have these.” Lorenzo’s finger pointed at the image. “We send them down the coast to Africa. I can get my hands on them easily. For a price.”
“Name it!” Varo said.
“Your life,” Lorenzo smiled.
Varo frowned. Carlo attacked. He wrapped the black tube around Varo’s neck with each end tightly gripped in his hands. He clenched his fist and crossed his wrist to apply bone-crushing pressure. Varo dropped to his knees. Lorenzo stared down at Varo and watched his eyes and tongue protrude. The scoundrel clawed at his neck, desperate for a breath. Carlo denied him the privilege.
Most believe it is quick and clean to administer death by strangling a person. Not true. It took close to ten minutes for the grimy bastard to die.
Once done Carlo released Varo and he dropped over, face first, dead. Carlo heaved down deep breaths, his eyes wild with excitement, his fac
e covered in sweat. He stuck the band back into his pocket and spit on Varo’s lifeless body. “I thought he’d never shut the fuck up.”
“Do you see all of this?” Lorenzo looked around. “Now we’re in the business of arming a civil war!”
“We trade guns. What the fuck do you think these people do with them?” Carlo tossed back. “We’ve always armed slugs like this. It’s none of our business.”
“That’s not what I mean. I can give a shit what is done with the guns I give a shit that we are connected this way. Mottola has drug us into the middle of this shit with the Russians. Everything is at risk. What if the Soviet or Armenian police forces trace these guns to us? Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Carlo pulled back his sleeve. “We got ten maybe fifteen minutes before his clan breaks down that door. So what do we do now?”
“His head.” Lorenzo kicked the box of guns next to him. He knocked over a few other boxes and read the writing scribbled on top. “We can’t carry him out of here. We need to bring Alik evidence. Find something to take off his head.”
“Fuck you,” Carlo said. “I killed him you take his head.”
“Find me something!” Lorenzo shouted. The quick search revealed a case of knives and saws. Why Varo needed them Lorenzo didn’t care. “Get us a few guns, and wait outside. I’ll be out soon.”
Carlo walked out. Lorenzo had never dismembered a body. They usually tied weights to their ankles and dropped them in the sea. He was surprised at how easily Varo’s head was dispatched from his shoulders. He shoved the bloody prize in a burlap bag. The disgusting smell of blood and excrement singed his noise and burned his throat. He staggered out of the front door of the cottage hacking for air with bloody hands.
“Carlo?” he wheezed and looked up. Lorenzo froze. Carlo stood with a small army of men holding a gun on him.
“Shit,” Lorenzo said.
13.
Catalina groaned awake. The knocking on the door persisted. She felt hung over with the need for sleep. “Okay! What is it?”
“Buongiorno, telefono,” Carmella said. She brought in the newspaper she told her to fetch for her before retiring for the evening.
“Oh, okay. Grazie,” Catalina took the paper and tossed it the side of her. She reached for the phone while rubbing her eyes. She hadn’t heard it ring.
“Pronto?” she answered.
“You went to Belina yesterday!” Dominic shouted from the receiver.
Catalina shot straight up in bed. “Domi?” she gasped.
“Christo!” he shouted. “Are you fucking insane? Ammazza!”
“Stop yelling at me,” Catalina said, with a nervous chuckle.
“You think this is funny?” Dominic asked.
“No. No, of course not,” she quickly added.
“Leonardo said you took Lorenzo’s wife to Belina and dined up in the private rooms with Armando Mancini’s men. Is that true? Is it?”
“Let me ask you a question? What business is it of yours? You don’t want anything to do with me remember? I can go where I please.” The answering silence in the phone made Catalina rethink her words. She knew Leonardo would tell Dominic before Giovanni. To tell Giovanni would bring her brother’s wrath down on her, and Leonardo. She wanted Dominic’s attention and now she had it. Catalina settled back into her pillow mildly satisfied.
“Calm down, sweetheart. I only had lunch there. The men looked at me, a few of them tried to flirt with me, but none of them dare approached. Besides Belina is a friend of Ma-Ma’s she wouldn’t let anything happen to me. Gio doesn’t even have to know,” Catalina said with a smile.
“You are not to leave Villa Mare Blu again until I return. Do you hear me?” Dominic said.
“You going to punish me if I do?” she teased.
“Che palle! Non comportarti da baggiana! Maledizione!” Dominic shouted back.
“Stop cursing at me! Calm down!” Catalina said.
“Don’t you leave the fucking villa again!” he continued.
“You lost that right when you dumped me! You can’t tell me what to do!” Catalina said.
“Do you hear me? Say it! Say the words, Catalina,” he said in a voice as sharp as the edge of a blade. “Or I swear to Christ I’ll come back and—”
She rolled her eyes. “I won’t go back to Palermo until you return. When is that, Domi? When will you be—”
The phone line disconnected.
“Love you too.” Catalina kissed the phone and smiled. He’d be home soon. Her rebellion would eat at him until he returned to her. This time she’d make him beg her for forgiveness. One thing she could always count on was Dominic’s devotion to her. She hung up and reached for the paper. When she read the front-page byline she squealed. She jumped from bed and grinned happily, turning in circles and dancing around the room.
* B *
The night had been a hard one on her. No matter how Mira slept she ached. And the spotting returned. She had to change herself twice. She woke Giovanni and told him the news. He called the doctor. Now she lay in bed waiting. She didn’t know if she’d be able to bear the next few weeks trapped this way.
“Buongiorno, Donna.”
The greeting caught her by surprise. Mira’s gaze flipped up. Marietta smiled at her. It was the warmest, friendliest smile she’d ever received from Marietta. A bit confused Mira smiled in return.
“Hi there, please come in,” Mira said.
Mira tried to fix the covers around her. She knew she looked a hot mess. Her hair hadn’t been combed from the root in two days. The tangles couldn’t be brushed into a ponytail. It was hopeless. So she wore it mostly under a scarf to keep it from her face.
Marietta however looked beautiful. She wore a cream summer dress with spaghetti straps. Her curvy figure was perfectly outlined in the thin material and the hem stopped mid thigh, inching higher when she walked. To be so petite she had curves like a dancer. She had thick thighs, a round shapely ass, flat stomach, and perfectly pert tits. She wondered if Marietta worked out.
“Am I disturbing you?” Marietta asked.
“No. I’m waiting on the doctor. Sit. Please. Talk with me,” Mira said.
For a minute it looked as if Marietta wouldn’t accept her invite. But that moment passed. She walked to the edge of the bed and sat on it. “You look funny,” Marietta said.
“Funny?” Mira asked. She touched her face. “Funny how?”
“Tired. Under the eyes,” Marietta said. “Did you get any sleep?”
“Not much. I am tired. But I guess that comes with the territory.” Mira smiled. “How are you feeling? Catalina said you were sick after you had lunch together?”
Marietta waved off the concern. “She and I got off to a bad start. That’s my fault. I’ve never been good at making friends.” Marietta peeked up at her from under her dark lashes. “I didn’t have many friends when I grew up. I feel really bad about how I’ve treated you. Especially with your hospitality and everything. You really have been nice. I was hoping we could start over.”
“Oh, forget about that. I knew you’d like me eventually,” Mira winked. Marietta frowned and looked away. Did she say something wrong, Mira wondered? An awkward silence settled between them. Mira tried again. “So, did you have fun yesterday when you went to Paler—”
“Do you know much about your mother?” Marietta blurted.
Taken aback Mira couldn’t respond. Marietta was quick to explain her question. “I’m sorry. Forgive me. I’m curious. Yesterday when I was with Catalina I told her I was adopted and didn’t know my birth mother. She said your mother died when you were young. Is that true?”
“Yes, it is. She died I think when I was two,” Mira said.
“You think? Why don’t you know for sure?” Marietta asked.
Mira felt her smile waver, and a deep pang of regret stab her chest. “My mother had a complicated life. She ran off from home, returned with me as a baby, and then left me behind when I was only a toddler. All for…
she died shortly after. She was… she was a drug addict.”
Marietta stood. She walked around the bed and began to pace. “Did she die from the drugs? Are you sure?”
Am I sure? It was a very uncomfortable topic. Who the hell does she think she is? Mira watched her pace, uncertain of the point for the line of questioning. Part of her wanted to tell Marietta to mind her own damn business and stay out of hers. The other half of her truly did want to be friends with Lorenzo’s wife. Maybe the story of her mother would help Marietta cope with whatever seemed to have her agitated. Marietta stopped pacing and looked at her as if she expected a response.
“I believe so. It’s what my grandparents told me when I was old enough to understand her death. I never pressed for details.”
“But what was she like? Did they tell you that? Do you have any memories of her at all? A picture?” Marietta’s eyes stretched. “Do you have her picture?”
“I beg your pardon?” Mira frowned.
“Oh fuck this shit! You need to know the truth,” Marietta pointed an accusatory finger at Mira. “You walk around here clueless! You don’t know shit about her. About who I am. Who we are.”
Alarmed Mira pushed back into her pillows. Something wild and angry was now in Marietta’s eyes. She didn’t trust her. Not at that moment. The door opened and Giovanni walked in with her tall dark African doctor. Both men stopped at the sight of Marietta. The look she gave Giovanni was as lethal as the one she aimed at Mira. And without a word she stormed out of the room.
“What the hell was she doing in here?” Giovanni demanded.
“Oh stop it, Giovanni. We were just talking. She was upset,” Mira said. She then looked to the doctor. “Ciao, dottore Buhari. Good to see you.”