by Lili Porter
“So I take it she’s no longer angry with you,” Raffaelo said, almost sounding disappointed from Paolo’s point of view.
“Let’s talk about that when this is all over, Pop. I don’t need the distraction.”
“Believe me, we shall talk about it,” Raffaelo said firmly as he tapped his fingers on the tabletop.
“She’s such a lovely girl, Paolo. It’s so amazing to see a star like that in person. And she has a good heart. I can tell,” she assured her middle son with a wide grin.
“Your mother, she can be President of the Karisma Montgomery fan club here in Italia,” Raffaelo said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Paolo smiled as his mother waved her finger in dismay. “Stop with the sarcasm, husband. Despite your reservations, you like her, too,” she said.
“What’s not to like, Cristina? She’s a wonderful human being, and very easy on the eyes,” Raffaelo said. “When this is over, son, you will listen to my concerns with your ears and mind; not with your heart…or that other part of the anatomy that seems to get us men into trouble,” Raffaelo said.
“What, your mouth?” Cristina asked as she smiled and winked at Paolo, who had to raise his glass to avoid showing the smile.
“Good one, Mama,” Paolo grinned. Then he turned his head toward the door and his smile slowly faded. Both Raffaelo and Cristina looked over their shoulders to see the Bianchis walking in; the rotund, heavy jowled Vittore, with his wife, the matronly and unsmiling Carlotta, and tagging behind was the simpering Maria Elena.
For Paolo, his mood instantly got worse and the tension quickly filled his body and the air around him. This couldn’t get over soon enough. Time to put his game face on.
***
Karisma stood on stage, beneath the lights directed on her, microphone in hand. At every concert, Goldust performed one song made popular by another artist, as their way of celebrating the diversity of music. She was particularly excited for that night’s song. “Thank you!” she shouted to the boisterous crowd. “I wanna slow it down a bit with this next song. It’s one of my favorites.”
Chris struck a chord and the crowd went crazy.
“Everybody here knows this one!” He played the introduction solo. Then she began to sing the first verse.
“Ave Maria
Gratia plena
Maria gratia plena”
And as she sang the song, the crowd, which had been in a party mood, soon calmed, as Karisma guided them through Goldust’s musical arrangement.
“Ave, ave dominus
Dominus tecum
Benedicta tu in mulieribus
Et benedictus
Et benedictus fructus ventris…”
She wore another Nia Simone design that night, a white chiffon gown, that looked very much like the halter dress that Marilyn Monroe wore in Some Like It Hot, with the only difference being its floor length. Her naturally wavy hair was parted down the middle and hung wild and free. Her makeup and signature red lipstick were flawless. She felt amazing, completely connected with the crowd and happy with her world, rumors and nasty talk and all. She had her man and she had her career. She had it good! She would quit the pills. She could do it.
Chris stood near her, strumming his guitar, as it wept behind the haunting tones of Kari’s sultry voice.
“…Ave Marie ee eeyah…”
***
Maria Elena wore a pale peach mini dress over her golden complexion. Her long locks combed in her usual straight style, she flipped the hair to the front, smiling slyly at Paolo. She approached with her parents flanking her, as if still protecting their little girl. Paolo and his father stood and greeted the Bianchis.
“Don Vittore, how are you on this beautiful evening?” Raffaelo asked.
“Tonight, I am a happy man, Don Raffaelo. This is a wonderful day for our families,” he said, with a small, satisfied grin on a face that had been weighed down by time.
“Indeed,” Raffaelo said, nodding his head softly. “And you, Carlotta, how have you been?” He leaned in and kissed her cheeks.
“Very well,” she said, but her voice was not good at covering up her distrust despite the friendly nature of the meeting.
Soon, everyone had said their greetings and sat down around the table. They placed Maria Elena next to Paolo and he kept his distance, acting as if he didn’t even know her. It wasn’t so far from the truth. He couldn’t even say who her best friend might be or what her favorite color was.
“Young Paolo, it is good to see that you have finally warmed to the idea of marriage. We have all waited a long time for this long overdue day,” he grinned while trying to stifle a cough. He pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped his mouth.
There was an awkward pause and Cristina spoke up. “You look nice this evening, Maria Elena,” she said.
Maria Elena smiled. “Thank you, Donna Cristina.”
Carlotta chimed in, boasting like a proud mother would. “Doesn’t she, Cristina? She looks very pretty. Don’t you think so Paolo? Doesn’t your fidanzata look radiant?”
Paolo gazed lazily at Maria Elena, not at all impressed and moved his gaze back to Carlotta saying, “My fidanzata? Hmm. Why yes. My fidanzata is quite ravishing.” He took another sip of his drink. “Would you like some wine, or perhaps something stronger?” he asked the Bianchis.
“None for me,” Maria Elena said, stopping him with her hand, giving him a suspicious look.
“Ah, that’s right. You can’t drink,” he said, looking at her coyly, showing he wasn’t buying into her game. He appreciated her response, which was to avert his gaze and stare at her father with narrowed eyes.
“It was a shock to hear Maria Elena on the news, announcing her pregnancy to the world,” Raffaelo said suddenly. “Not bothering to tell us first that we were going to be grandparents.”
The Bianchi’s all looked up at him. “Si, she had no choice, Raffaelo. She tried to tell your son, on more than one occasion, including two nights ago at the stadium, but was humiliated, and sent away. That is no way to treat the woman who will be your wife,” Vittore said, chastising Paolo.
“No, and I will never treat my wife that way. She will hold a place of honor and respect with me,” Paolo retorted. The fact that they were clueless as to his meaning gave him a bit of perverse pleasure, made the entire thing more bearable to endure.
“Good, then we can always feel confident that you will be a good husband to our daughter,” Carlotta piped up.
“Is that what you want, Paolo? To be a husband to Maria Elena?” Raffaelo asked. Of course, he knew the answer to that one. Ready for it, he looked to the Bianchis and not Paolo. He wished to see every second of their reaction.
Paolo took a swig of the scotch, looked at Maria Elena, and said frostily, “I’d rather go to hell.” Short. Precise. Blunt. Dead serious.
The Bianchis were immediately incensed, all talking at once with Paolo and his parents taking great interest in their animated response.
“No pretend pregnancy will embarrass me into marrying you, Maria Elena,” he interrupted, as they looked at him in outrage. “I’ve already told you all that this marriage would never take place. It still won’t. Going to the media, taking your case to the public, won’t change my mind. So now you’ve had your five minutes of fame. Be happy. That’s more than most people get.”
“Listen who’s talking! A man with a fan club! Parading around his whore in public!” she shouted.
“You come unhinged so easily. It’s so easy for someone like you to throw around the nasty insults, isn’t it? Sei triste e patetico.” You’re sad and pathetic, Paolo said looking at her with disgust.
“How dare you!” she screeched, her body shaking and her hands all clenched up, tight enough to whiten her knuckles.
Vittore, who had been stuffing himself liberally and noisily with the bread and olive oil placed on the table, was so shocked and angry that he couldn’t talk or say anything to defend his daughter. He was coughing viole
ntly and he didn’t seem to be able to get it under control. Carlotta, however, had control. “Maria Elena, a lady conducts herself as such at all times,” her mother reminded her quietly, pretending to be well mannered.
“Mama, the time for restraint is over! Do you hear him? He has no intention of marrying me, media attention or not! Why are we even here? He won’t change his mind!”
“No, Maria Elena. I am sorry that things have not worked out as you had hoped. But embarrassing him in front of the world was not the way to go about things. If you thought that it would work, I hope you now see how wrong you were,” Cristina said.
“But we…” Maria Elena began. Carlotta quickly put her hand on her daughter’s arm and squeezed it. It immediately shut her up, but it didn’t go unnoticed by the Montovanis.
Raffaelo and Vittore were glaring at each other. “Then that is it. Vittore, my family has given you monetary compensation for the embarrassment that this has caused you. We’ve discussed this. But you’ve waged a war against us in the media, my friend. This disappoints me. We were better than that. This was not the way to handle this. It was between our two families, but you have brought the world into it. I am sorry,” he said, rising with his hand on the small of Cristina’s back.
She looked at the Bianchis and said, “I am very sorry that we could not come to an under—”
She was cut off by Carlotta. “Oh, you Montovanis pretend to be civil and reasonable, but it is a lie. You invite us to dinner for what? To call my daughter a liar to her face? We spent thousands on a wedding we had to cancel! Are you sorry for that? Her heart is BROKEN! No, it’s we Bianchis who are disappointed in you! It’s we Bianchi’s who will take the high road now. Maria Elena, you need to accept Paolo Montovani’s decision to back out of this counterfeit engagement. You will find a much more suitable husband in the future,” she said with fire in her eyes.
“But what of the child?” Raffaelo asked with a healthy dose of sarcasm.
“That question will be answered in seven short months,” Carlotta hissed through thin, pursed lips.
“Donna Bianchi,” Paolo began, “everyone at this table knows there is no child. I haven’t touched your daughter in nearly a year. If she could count, perhaps she would see that if she were pregnant, it is not with my child.”
“Do not speak of me as though I’m not here and insult me! I will have a child! Your child, and we both know it, Paolo!” Maria Elena charged.
“I’ve had enough,” Paolo said, nodding toward the door and taking his mother’s elbow. “Let’s take our leave.” His eyes were cold as ice as they bore into Maria Elena, who recoiled at his chilling gaze.
“Raffaelo!” Vittore barked in his gravelly voice. Raffaelo’s dark eyes flashed at his one time friend who stood leveling a sausage like finger, almost jabbing at Raffaelo’s chest. “You have hurt my daughter. You have angered my wife, and made an enemy of me. We came here under false pretences. You fooled me.”
“Your daughter has fooled you if you believe that she’s expecting a Montovani heir. But somehow, Vittore, I suspect you know the truth. That crazy little act your daughter put on for the public was orchestrated by you; I have no doubt of that. She was very convincing. Just not enough to convince a Montovani. Now, we end this today, as prolonging it will only lead to our mutual assured destruction.” Raffaelo picked up his glass from the table and raised it to Vittore. “Salute,” he said, looking the other Don in the eye.
Maria Elena looked on, angry tears of defeat burning her eyes and blurring her vision.
The Montovanis walked away, followed by their enforcers. Paolo buttoned his jacket as he passed a table where two spirited couples seemed to be enjoying themselves. He nodded at them and the four stood up, moving toward the Bianchis.
***
The crowd was silent, riveted by Karisma’s lush vocals, entranced by her onstage presence and beauty. She simply stood and sang, nothing more, vulnerable and beautiful.
“…Ora pro nobis peccatoribus
Ora pro nobis
Ora pro nobis peccatoribus…”
Her eyes began to water slightly, as they always did when she sang such a beautiful song. Consumed by the powerful feelings of wholeness she had, she closed her eyes and felt every lyric she sang coursing through her body. She was in tune with every strum of the guitar to her right. She owned the crowd, as usual, but there was a distinct feeling of oneness that was palpable in the large stadium.
***
A smallish man, one of the Montovani enforcers dressed as a woman, walked up to the table, throwing a clear plastic bag over the Don’s head and placed the gun to his temple, shooting Vittore in the head before he could register what was happening. The Don slumped over onto his horrified wife as his brains drained crimson onto her lap.
By now, Cristina and Don Raffaelo had made their way to an awaiting car and pulled out quickly, as the driver left the scene with the Don and Donna securely and safely in the back seat of the dark sedan. Paolo had remained behind, standing near the door as the fake diners, his enforcers, ambushed the four Bianchi henchmen who had stayed in the restaurant to protect their boss and his family. Every diner in the restaurant that night had been a Montovani assassin.
Daniel appeared from the kitchen like a malevolent phantom, moving fleetingly toward the hysterically screaming Maria Elena, pulling her by the arm, lifting her from her seat. Carlotta was in shock, splattered in blood and cradling Vittore’s head as she yanked away the bag that caught and held her beloved’s last breath. Desperately and nonsensically, she tried to plug up the hole with her finger. Her clothes stained with the blood of her dead husband, she was wrenched away from the table by Ghost Boy, who injected her neck with something that burned. Her shock quickly turned into loud wails, uncontrollable and truly heartbroken.
As she began to lose the ability to speak, a piece of fabric was stuffed into her mouth and tape wrapped around it. She was rendered helpless and promptly dragged from the eatery, eyes frantically searching for her beloved daughter. She saw Maria Elena, who was also gagged and covered in the blood of her father, being forced into submission by Daniel, who held her arms together behind her back, wrapping them with duct tape.
From Daniels pocket, he, too, pulled out a syringe and stabbed Maria Elena’s jugular vein, pressing down on the plunger to release its contents into the young woman’s body. In an instant, she fell down and Daniel picked her up, carrying her past Paolo.
Outside, the women were thrown into a trunk, and the lid closed on them. The driver sped off quickly with his human cargo. Lying dead in a black sedan on the curb were four Bianchi enforcers, killed before the restaurant massacre commenced.
Paolo’s phone rang and he pressed the talk button. “We got him,” Davit said, from the other end.
“Prego,” Paolo replied, and killed the call. He turned to his men and nodded, “Let’s get out of here.” Four Bianchi’s gone in a matter of minutes, Vittore, Carlotta, Maria Elena, and their son, Vittore, Jr. Problem solved.
***
“…Nunc et in hora mortis
Et in hora mortis nostrae
Et in hora mortis nostrae
Et in hora mortis nostrae
Ave Marie ee eeyah!”
Completing the soulful serenade and ending the song in her flawless upper register, Karisma looked on as 75,000 concertgoers erupted in frenzied applause. Satisfied with her heartfelt performance and grateful the audience appreciated it, a sated Karisma Montgomery took a well-deserved bow.
26
A visibly upset and grief stricken Carlotta Bianchi stood on the walkway of the Saint Dymphna Istittuzione Mentale. Behind her were the Montovani family enforcers and lawyers, standing as erect as a mighty fortress, protecting her, but mostly warning her of what would happen if she didn’t say what was expected of her.
As the cameras snapped and the bulbs flashed, she looked out at the sea of expectant faces. She opened her mouth to speak and then closed it quickly, her lips quivering
from the pressure of holding back the tears she’d continued to cry since last night.
Finally, she began. “My family was attacked last night. My beloved husband, Vittore, and our only son, Vittore Junior, were killed and my daughter and I were kidnapped and taken to an abandoned warehouse.” She paused and breathed in before continuing, not taking her eyes off the top of the podium as she spoke. “It was there that even more atrocities occurred. Both my daughter and I were injected with some horrible drug. As a result, she has suffered awful hallucinations.” She paused, looking down fearing she might begin crying again. After a few long seconds, she continued. “I couldn’t hold or comfort her. I couldn’t move. My beautiful daughter didn’t know what was happening and every time she looked down and saw her father’s blood on her hands, she would scream.”
Again, there was a pause as Carlotta unraveled the tragedy of her family to the press.
She had begged for the lives of her children, Vittore Jr. and Maria Elena only to find out that Vittore Jr., too, had been taken from her, killed when his car volleyed over a cliff and exploded upon ground impact. And now, her daughter’s mind was gone. It had been stolen when she was injected with the potent mind-altering drug.
Reporters started to ask questions, but Carlotta could only repeat what she’d already said. There was nothing else that she could say. She was broken and defeated. “Has Maria Elena ever used drugs in the past?” she was asked.
She paused. “My daughter had been using drugs for the past several years. The attack on our family has put her in a place where she can no longer function as a productive and sane member of society. After the deaths of her father and brother last night, it was too much. She is lost to me. Her recent accusation about being pregnant is just one of the many things that have led to this moment. I apologize to the Montovani family and to the lovely and talented Karisma Montgomery, who was made victim of my daughter’s false allegations. I ask that they will accept my apology on behalf of my poor sick child.” She began to cry. “I am sorry. This is all so very hard. Please respect our privacy during this very difficult time.” She broke down again.