by Sienna Mynx
“Name it?” Mira asked.
“You agree to nothing without discussing it with me first.”
“Okay, and the other thing?” Mira asked. She looked up at Marietta who sat silently next to Lorenzo. She looked to her husband again. “What else?”
“If I say the visit is over, we leave. We do so without question.”
“That’s all?” Mira teased him with a smile.
He cut his eyes unable to smile at the moment. Mira pulled on his hand gently. “I can do whatever you ask. Without question. I swear it.”
He tossed open the door and reached back to help her out. As soon as she emerged from the car she could hear the fast approach of men. Mira looked past her husband to the tall man with silky hair that dusted his shoulders. He locked eyes with her and then switched his gaze over to her husband.
“Giovanni? You got my message?” the man asked.
Mira was now shoulder to shoulder with her sister. Their husbands stood on either side of them. The man glanced over at the others in their group and then addressed Giovanni again.
“What message?” Giovanni answered in a flat tone.
“Then how did you know?” Armando frowned.
“Know what?” Giovanni asked.
Armando wiped his hand back over his head. He glanced to Mira and then Marietta. “My father isn’t well. They don’t expect him to make it through the night. He’s asked for you both. I thought you came because of my request.”
Mira glanced to her husband. She had no idea Mancini was ill. She looked to Marietta who stood next to Lorenzo holding his hand. There was no emotion on her face. “Can we see him?” Mira asked.
“You must be Mirabella?” Armando said. He extended his hand. Mira looked to Giovanni and his agreement was reluctantly slow. She extended her hand and shook her brother’s. “Armando Mancini. I’m your brother,” he said with a sly smile. He then turned his attention to Marietta. “Ah, and you are Marietta. My long lost sister.” He took Marietta’s hand and kissed it. She pulled it away.
“Come with me. It’s time.” Armando said.
Mira was helped up the stairs by Giovanni. She knew his hands pained him so she tried hard not to hold too tightly or draw attention to them. The inside of the Mancini villa was quite lavish with marble floors and a wide-open foyer under a huge crystal chandelier.
“I can escort the ladies from here,” Armando said.
“I won’t be separated from my husband,” Mira replied.
“Me either,” Marietta echoed.
Armando looked them both over. He smiled. “Certainly.”
The men came forward and patted Lorenzo and Giovanni down. Armando started off. “Come this way,” he said.
They walked to the back left of the estate and then went up the stairs. With each step Mira felt her stomach muscles clench tighter and tighter. She only remembered recently that Gemma was supposed to be with them, but when she looked back she only saw Marietta and Lorenzo following.
Mira cleared her throat. “Can I ask what is wrong with him?”
Armando glanced her way. “He has pneumonia. He’s been living with an iron lung for several years now. The doctors have done all they can.”
They arrived before a closed door. It opened and Carmella stepped out. She carried a tray with her that looked to have been someone’s half eaten dinner. When she looked at Mira and Giovanni she froze. Mira glanced to her husband for a reaction. He stared directly at Carmella. The woman shyly looked to Armando who seemed dismissive of the awkward moment. “Ciao, Giovanni, Donna,” Carmella nodded to Marietta and Lorenzo.
“Is Papa awake?” Armando asked.
“He is. He’s awake.” She said. “Scusi.” She quickly made an exit.
“I will let him know you are here,” Armando said. Mira nodded and he disappeared inside the room.
21.
The respiration sounded labored and phlegmy in his chest but he felt stronger. The sharp contrast between his pathetic reality and his numbing state was possibly due to the heavy regimens of morphine the doctors had introduced into his bloodstream. Death had never been a consequence of his in life. He had done so many things and overcome so many obstacles that he truly believed himself invincible. Until now.
The door opened as his eyes closed. The morphine made it so much easier to accept his fate. “Turn off the light he mumbled,” slipping deeper into the numbness.
“Papa, you have visitors.”
Mancini opened his eyes and his vision cleared. His son stood over him. “What visitors?” he eased up on his pillows and Armando made sure to adjust the stack behind him.
“Your daughters.”
He tried to focus on the words his son spoke but his mind fogged over. He almost believed that his son said his daughters had come.
“Did you hear me, Papa? They’re here.”
“Who?”
“Mirabella and Marietta. They want to see you,” Armando said. Mancini double blinked. His head cleared, as did his hearing. He wheezed instead of answering. Taking the time to practice his breathing he couldn’t help but smile.
“You brought them?” he asked.
“Yes, Papa. I brought them.” Armando smiled.
He walked away from the bed and opened the door. Mancini waited for what seemed like an eternity for his girls to step through. First came Mirabella. She looked as beautiful as her pictures. Her hair was straight with bangs that covered her brows. She wore pants and a blouse. His daughter Marietta appeared. She was a bit fairer but equally as beautiful as her sister. The girls looked at him in the bed and didn’t speak. He’d lived this moment in his head many times over the years.
“Come closer,” he gestured.
The women stepped further inside and their husbands appeared next. Mancini’s weak beating heart froze. He hadn’t anticipated the audience. The look from Giovanni and Lorenzo indicated there would be one whether he wanted it or not. He smiled at his girls.
Marietta stared at her father, taking him in. He was older than she remembered, and much more fragile. Yet his eyes told the true story. She looked to her sister and her gaze swung back to Mancini. The three of them all had the same eyes. Though their father’s eyes were cast under a brooding brow the resemblance shared by the three of them was hard not to see.
He wore a dark cranberry red smoking jacket trimmed in black. And his thinning gray hair was combed back over his balding scalp. A hint of his fading youth was evident by the dark streaks of hair that hadn’t turned silver. He breathed with assistance, a tube connected to his nose and hooked around both of his ears.
“I have waited a long time for this moment,” he said.
“Papa, this is…” Armando began.
“I know who they are, boy. My baby girls,” he glanced from one to the other.
Marietta stepped closer. The lump in her throat was so large that she found it hard to swallow, but she opened her mouth to speak anyway.
“You think we came here for you. We came here because Gemma told us everything.”
Mancini’s smile faded. “Gemma?”
“She told us how you tricked our mother, raped her, turned her out like the stable of whores you imported into America. Except you made her your dirty little secret.”
“Gemma told you this?” Mancini asked. He glanced to Lorenzo as if the accusation lied there.
“Yes! Because it was Gemma who hid me from you all these years. It was Gemma who put our mother on drugs right under your nose. It was Gemma who helped her run away from you more than once!” Marietta fired off. She felt a hand touch hers and she saw it was Mira. She gripped her hand for support. Mancini didn’t deny a word. He just absorbed all she said. It was a good thing because if he denied a word of it Marietta wasn’t sure what she’d do next.
“Gemma told us after we were born you deposited our mother in New York and promised her you’d return. You didn’t. You left her behind for your Sicilian family.” Marietta tossed a look to Armando who observed from t
he corner in the room. “And even if I were to believe there is a heart in that rotten chest of yours there is no way I will ever believe it beats for me and my sister.”
The man swallowed back a rising coughing attack. Marietta was surprised at how harsh it sounded coming from him considering his fragile state. Mancini put up his withered left hand like a stop sign. Marietta glanced back to see Armando had stepped closer. Mancini closed his eyes and breathed in slow. “Hear my side of things, cara,” he pleaded softly. “Alone?”
“No.” Marietta said.
“We should talk to him alone,” Mira said. Marietta looked at her surprised. Mira looked back to her husband. “If it’s okay with you, Giovanni?”
He glanced from his wife to Mancini. A blind man could see Mancini was dying and the sight of him this way did affect Marietta. But not more than her anger and hurt. Nothing the bastard said could make up for how badly she hurt.
Giovanni approached Mira. He kissed her and whispered something in her ear. Mira let go of Marietta’s hand and hugged her husband. She kissed him on the mouth more passionately in front of everyone. Marietta wasn’t sure how but something had changed with the two of them. They were again wrapped up in their private world. Invincible. She glanced to Lorenzo who winked at her. Fighting back her tears she went to him and he immediately wrapped her up on his big arms. “It’s your father, Marie,” Lorenzo whispered. “Cut the bullshit tanturms. This is the moment you wanted. Take it, cara.”
She looked up into his eyes. “I love you, Lorenzo. I don’t need him.”
“I love you too.” He kissed her brow.
Mira let go of her husband and the men all left the room. She looked over to the dying man and felt nothing but pity. The horrors her mother endured because of him broke her heart. Still she couldn’t hate him. And she was so tired of her sister’s angry outbursts. Marietta didn’t appear to have coping skills. Whenever she was hurt or backed in a corner she fought to hurt everyone around her. And that too broke Mira’s heart. She heard the story of her suffering with the Leones. It would take a long time before those wounds were healed.
“Mirabella,” Mancini said softly. “Marietta, I have so much to tell you.”
She glanced back to the bed. He lifted his hand. Mira stared at it for a moment. She knew Marietta watched her. If there were any steps toward forgiveness to be made it would have to be by her. She accepted his hand with hers. He brought it to his lips and kissed it softly. “Mirabella,” he said as he brushed it over his cheek. “You look like her.”
Mira removed her hand from his. She found her voice but it wavered. “Tell us your story. Why did you take my mother and abandon her?”
“Lisa, was everything to me,” Mancini smiled. “The first time I saw her she was at a piano, playing, singing like an angel. Did you know she could sing? She loved music. Loved to dance.”
Marietta broke. She put her hands to her face.
Mira wasn’t expecting her to fall apart so soon. She prayed she held on. “Go on,” Mira said to their father.
“She was young, very young. And I had no respect for that. I wanted her because she was different, innocent, and not the least bit interested in me.” Mancini wheezed. “Now that you tell me Gemma is at fault. It all makes sense to me. Gemma and I have a very bad history. And I should have never trusted her around Lisa.”
“Is what she said true? Did you rape my mother?” Mira asked. Marietta stepped closer to the bed. At last her sister calmed enough to join the conversation.
“Rape?” Mancini shook his head. “What I did was far worse. I didn’t take her by force. I took everything from her to make her mine. Every option she had, until…” he wheezed. “Until she had no other choice. So yes, I’m sorry.”
“I don’t understand how she didn’t put a knife in you,” Marietta said.
Mancini nodded. “Your mother was very… forgiving. I know that sounds bad. I can’t… I don’t have the strength to make it anything more than what it was. She shared her life with me. How she grew up, what her dreams were. She was so beautiful. She changed me. I loved her,” he said.
“How? How did my mother love the man who abused and destroyed her?” Mira asked. “It doesn’t make sense. I don’t think she loved you at all.”
“She did. I have proof,” he coughed. “Bible,” he said.
They both looked to each other in confusion.
He pointed. “Psalm 51.”
Marietta stepped around them and picked up his bible. She opened it to remove an old Polaroid. Her mother and Mancini posed in a picture with her mother smiling.
“Be merciful to me oh God, because of your constant love. Because of your great mercy wipe away my sins! Wash away all my evil and make me clean from sin…” he began.
Mira cut in and began to recite the psalm for him. “I recognize my faults; I am always conscious of my sins. I have sinned against you—only you—and done what you considered evil.”
Mancini nodded and finished the psalm. “So you are right in judging me. You are justified in condemning me. I have been evil from the day I was born. From the time I was conceived I have been sinful.”
Marietta dropped the Bible. She wept. She stared at the photo of her mother, clasped the image with shaking hands. She wept. Mira shook her head sadly. “My grandfather used to recite Psalm 51 in his prayers at night. My grannie said he felt a lot of guilt for my mother, for sending her away, for her death.”
“Your mother taught me that psalm, when my guilt became too much,” Mancini said. “I was raised in the Catholic church but never learned the principles I should have. Whenever I came to her, weak from the burdens my father put upon me, with the blood of my friends and ex-associates on my hands, she’d tell me to pray. And when I refused she’d pray for me. She’d recite that psalm. That psalm is for forgivness. She forgave me. It was who she was. Pure, loving.” He coughed. “Until I corrupted her. I took so much from her.” He wheezed down a breath and Mira looked at him with concern. She didn’t know what to do to make him comfortable. He then stabilized and began again. “That’s why I left her behind in New York. I forced her out of that hospital. I took her there to set her up. To keep her from returning home. I knew if she did I’d lose her. But my life had other demands. I had to come back to Sicily.”
“You left her.”
“When I tried to find her she had run away. Capriccio told me she was back in Virginia with her parents. I could have come back, and forced her to return to New York but I knew it was time to let her go. So I believed him. I swear I didn’t know. I still don’t know how Cappricio and Gemma separated you girls. When I learned the truth Lisa was dead. I was told you were dead, Marietta. And you were with your grandparents Mirabella.”
Marietta walked over to the bed holding the picture. “Did she want me?”
Mancini smiled. “She loved you both. I named you. I remember when they told us we were having girls. I returned to Sicily, had bracelets made for you. I had every intention of being a father to you—at least I thought I did.”
“Did you know there was a contract on her life?” Mira asked.
“No. Why would my father do such a thing, he didn’t believe in hurting women or children? It’s not our way. I can’t even think that Tomosino would. It’s not our way.”
“He didn’t see her as a woman, a daughter, a mother, he saw her as something to be discarded like you did!” Marietta said.
Mancini closed his eyes. “I didn’t know it was Gemma. But now that I think on it Giovanni was right.” He opened his eyes and looked to Mira. “I never tried to know what happened to Lisa. I’ve been hiding from the truth of her death for years.”
“What did you think happened?” Mira asked.
“When Capriccio called me and told me that she was dead…”
“Wait? Capriccio told you?” Marietta asked. “Not Gemma?”
Mancini nodded. “Capriccio said he had contacts in Chicago who told him she and an infant were dead. I have no idea w
hy she went to Chicago. It had been two years and she had cut off all communication with me. I came immediately, but there was no body for my baby girl, just Lisa’s. And I took her home and discovered you were alive, Mirabella. I asked your grandfather why she left you behind. He said she was back on drugs. I told him of your death, Marietta. He cursed me. Said I should stay away from you, Mirabella. But…” he smiled. “Your grandmother, she understood.”
“Understood?” Mira frowned.
He nodded. Mancini pointed at the cigar box over on the chair. “There. The box.”
Mira stood. She walked over and opened it. Inside she found momentos of her childhood. Pictures from elementary up to her thirteenth birthday before her grandmother died.
“Your grandmother sent me cards, and pictures over the years. When they stopped I knew it must have meant she had died,” Mancini said.
“Why did you come for me?” Mira asked again. “If you had your life in Sicily and your new family. If my mother was dead and you had given me to my grandparents. Why come back?”
“My guilt was with me everyday. You have to understand. I didn’t think I failed just Lisa, but Marietta too. I thought she was dead.” He looked over to Marietta. “I thought you were murdered with your mother. I had no idea who had you, Marietta.”
“His name was Octavio Leone. And he pretty much abused me from the moment he could,” Marietta said.
“And if I could rise from this bed I would get you justice. I swear it.” Mancini grunted.
“I don’t want your justice. It’s too late!” Marietta said. “I don’t want to know why you abandoned us, why you tossed our mother aside like garbage. I want to know why you think now we owe you anything!”
Mancini nodded. “I’m dying. I’ve been dying for years. I want forgiveness.” He reached for the drawer and Mira thought to help him. But he removed the folder without assistance. “I’ve kept them hidden, until now,” he said. He removed from the folder two original birth certificates. He smiled at them and passed them to Mira. She stared down at the little stamped prints of her and Marietta’s feet.