by Sienna Mynx
“Marietta, let her finish,” Mirabella said.
“Maybe we should discuss this privately.” Catalina mumbled.
“I understand. I had many of the same reservations, at first.” Mirabella smiled. “Don’t think of this as just a Mirabella event, or just a Fabiana’s event. Think of this as a Battaglia event.” Everyone stared at her waiting for her meaning. “Whenever any of you address the press you say Battaglia first. Are we clear?”
Everyone nodded his or her head in agreement.
“Good. Our work is a reflection of my family. Every garment, every shoe, every model that wears them strengthens the Battaglia family. Including you. We step out in front of the world and show them la famiglia. And it’s as colorful, vibrant, and layered with beauty as a peacock.” The others laughed and looked around the room at each other. Fabiana and Mirabella had made sure to celebrate diversity. She hired talent, and what came through the door off the streets of New York was a variety of colors. They were yellow, brown, pink people. None of it mattered. It felt good creating with people from all walks of life.
Mirabella continued. “We don’t follow the guidelines of the industry. We make them. That’s the difference between them and us. Of course the show is big, overwhelming, and a risk. What in life worth having isn’t?”
After nearly five years of loving a man unwilling to compromise, Mirabella had finally understood the way to achieve happiness and success in her life and marriage. On the eve of her biggest day, it was time to teach them all the same. Nothing is unachievable as long as they acted as a family.
“Kyra, are you ready?” Mirabella asked.
“Yes, Donna. Jamie and I have rehearsals and fittings tomorrow. We’re ready. Right, Jamie?”
“Honey cakes, I was born ready, the shoes are the candy. Kyra and I have brought the sweetness.” Jamie winked.
Mirabella and the girls laughed. “I agree,” she said. “This is huge. Everyone in Paris is coming.”
“The features they are running on you are almost daily in the States,” chimed in Kyra.
“It’s why we start red hot! Flash and sparkle! That’s Fabiana’s.” Mirabella said. “We end with class and sophistication. That’s Mirabella’s. It’s the fashion that they want to see. It’s what we work for.”
“Thank you, for your updates, Kyra and Jamie.” Mirabella smiled. “Marietta, what about you? Any concerns?”
“I agreed with Catalina in the beginning. But I thought we all accepted the bigger picture. I’m just ready for this to happen. For you to be out there again, sis.”
Mirabella went down the table and continued to hear of last minute changes, and preparations that needed to be made. Catalina forced a smile, but Mirabella could sense her concerns persisted. She was a worrier, like Fabiana. It’s why Mirabella was convinced that the show would be a success. Catalina and Marietta balanced the scales for her.
“I’m ready. Let’s see what we have.” Mirabella clapped her hands together.
Mateo picked up the remote and turned on the projector that dropped from the ceiling. Mirabella smiled as the video production team gave her a preview of her dream. It was happening. Fabiana would be so proud of her.
Nicosia Boxing Gym, Milano Italy –
The gym was in the heart of Bergamo. Buildings were huddled together along a cramped one-way cobblestone street. Storeowners leaned against their shop doors, and patrons dined at small tables on the sidewalk. The only discernable distinction for the gym sandwiched between a tailor and bakery, was the creaking signboard posted several feet above the door, flapping in the wind. Dominic and Lorenzo entered first, with Rocco and then Giovanni following. Three of his best men took up the rear. One remained outside.
This was no ordinary gym. Nicosia was the training ground for the toughest and meanest men in the Italian and Sicilian fighting circuit. It was owned and financed by Father Nicosia, an excommunicated Sicilian Catholic priest. Father Nicosia was the only man who Giovanni knew held the respect of the Camorra, Ndrangheta, and the Mafiosi. His gym was neutral territory in the heart of the triangle.
As for Nicosia’s sins against God, there were many that led to his excommunication. His final offense should have landed him in jail. The Papacy spared him that disgrace. Giovanni was told the Pope himself made the call. To be excommunicated meant Father Nicosia was officially excluded from participation in the sacraments, and performing the services of the Catholic Church. In other words, Father Nicosia’s soul was now more damned than any of the ruthless crime bosses he offered blessings to. The priest continued to wear his collar and practice his beliefs behind the church’s back.
When the Battaglia men entered the gym Giovanni didn’t see the fallen priest. Two men danced around the ring with boxer helmets on their heads, and bright red boxing gloves covering their fists.
“Is that him?” Giovanni asked as he stood observing between Dominic and Rocco.
“No. He’s over there, Gio.” Dominic replied.
He looked to his left and saw Carlo. He was with a younger man, lacing his glove. The boy was shorter than Carlo. He couldn’t be more than nineteen or twenty.
“Look at that runt. Probably has no hair on his balls,” Lorenzo chuckled.
“Name is Ciro. Remember?” Dominic interjected.
Giovanni nodded. One look at the kid and he wasn’t really sure he’d be a contender for this match or any other. Why the fuck did Carlo think so?
“Buona sera, Don Giovanni!” Father Nicosia appeared from the right in a dark suit, priest collar, and pectoral cross. He wasn’t tall like Giovanni and his men. He put his hands together and bowed his head a bit at Giovanni, and then clasped them behind his back. “Come sta?”
“Molto bene. E lei?” Giovanni asked.
“I’m well,” the priest who was the same age as Giovanni answered. He had long, dark curly hair that reached just beyond his nape. He tucked it behind his ears. Skin darker than most Sicilians, the priest had very piercing hazel-brown eyes, and a very athletic build like the men who trained in his gym. “I was told of this visit. You come to the triangle often but I rarely hear from you. Why is that, Gio?”
The priest was aligned to no one. Either you were in Giovanni’s world or you weren’t. And if you weren’t, Giovanni had no use for you. Also the Calderone war years ago made Giovanni an enemy of many people in this region of Italy. They may fear him and the Camorra, but they didn’t all respect him. The priest gave him a friendly pat to his arm. “It’s fine. You’re here now. Please, we have prepared for your visit. Maybe you and I can meet before you leave. I know of some opportunities in Genoa you might want to hear about.”
After a handshake Giovanni and the others were led around the ring to open bench seating that gave an elevated view to the boxing ring. Giovanni unbuttoned his blazer and settled down to the middle seat, with Dominic on one side and Lorenzo on the other. Rocco sat on the row beneath them. The priest nodded his head in respect and stalked off. Giovanni and his men tracked the priest with their eyes until he was gone.
“I hear he is now counsel for the Bonaduces,” Lorenzo whispered. “Don’t let him suck your dick, Gio. He can give a shit about the Battaglias.”
Giovanni accepted the information.
“Ciro has fought sixteen matches so far,” Dominic said. Giovanni’s gaze swung back to the young fighter.
“Sixteen?”
“Sí, He won two of them with knock outs, and only one was a draw. No losses, Gio,” Dominic said.
“Who were the challengers?” Lorenzo chuckled. “Preschoolers?”
Dominic leaned forward with his elbow to his knee to look around Giovanni and address Lorenzo. “Locals mostly. But since Carlo took him on he has had a few challengers out of Roma. No one noteworthy.”
“Figures!” Lorenzo gave a snort of disapproval.
“I’ve done some research, Gio,” Dominic began. “There’s a boxer in London who is undefeated in the IBF. He’s in Ciro’s weight class.”
&
nbsp; “Russian?” Giovanni asked.
“Asian,” Dominic replied. “Santo happened to mention wanting to see him fight the other day.”
The trainer blew his whistle. Ciro climbed into the ring. The sparring partner given to him threw shadow punches in the air while bouncing on one foot and then the other. The men met at the center of the ring. They bumped gloves and stepped back. Carlo was on the outside holding on to the ropes. He shouted instructions to his brother. Giovanni observed Carlo’s concentration more than his tutees finesse. Carlo behaved as if the boy was a son.
“How long has Carlo been keeping up with this one?” Giovanni asked Lorenzo.
“Not sure. It’s like he lives a double life. Always searching for the lost boys that belonged to his father. He only recently told me about this one,” Lorenzo answered.
“I don’t think the kid is his brother,” Dominic said. “Made a call. The mother was a whore and says she doesn’t remember who the father is. Carlo scared the puttana. When he was done with her she swore up and down the kid belonged to Carlo’s father. He’s been this way since he lost Carmine.”
Giovanni nodded that he understood. They were all kids in their hearts. Lost boys searching for an identity in their fathers’ shadows. Giovanni didn’t know a man who stood beside him or behind him that didn’t have a broken story to tell. It may explain why they were so willing to accept the darkness of their business. Carlo was one of the more ruthless men under his employ. There wasn’t a job he’d turn down. It was now, when Giovanni watched Carlo coach his bastard brother, that he saw some of the spirit he’d lost when he was sent away at fifteen.
“I’ve made my decision,” Giovanni announced.
“You have?” Lorenzo sat forward.
“How?” Dominic asked. “They’ve just started and we haven’t seen him with—”
“Sponsor the kid. Get him the best trainer. Make sure his papers are in order so he can compete outside of Italia. And keep that fucking priest away from the deal.”
Giovanni looked down at Rocco. Though his uncle didn’t turn to comment, he knew he heard him. Rocco’s words and warnings regarding his dirty business deals plagued him.
“Gio? Look at the kid. He’s scrawny, weak. My wife can throw a better punch!” Lorenzo wrinkled his nose.
“Look at Carlo,” Giovanni replied. The men all looked back at Carlo who had now gotten in the ring against the trainer’s orders. He stopped the boxing and was speaking sternly to his brother. He made the boy put up his gloves and showed him how to stretch out his swing. “In all the years we’ve known him, what has he been passionate about?” Giovanni asked.
“Killing, whores, drinking, and gambling,” Dominic chuckled. “In that order.”
“Now we see this. Carlo’s a good soldier, and he lost a brother because of the family,” Giovanni cut his gaze over to Lorenzo. “Do you not think this is something we should give him?”
Lorenzo’s face flushed. He rubbed his jaw. “Fuck it. The kid can be trained. I guess. I don’t give a fuck about this boxing shit. We have more important business.”
Giovanni looked over to Dominic. His young consigliere smiled with what looked like pride. “You’re a good man, Gio. I’ll make sure this investment pays out.”
“Basta. Now take me to my wife’s party. I want to see it.” Giovanni stood.
“I thought it was some women’s party and we weren’t invited?” Lorenzo frowned.
“I don’t give a shit. I want to see it,” Giovanni said and walked down the bench seats.
Lorenzo grabbed Dominic’s sleeve and stopped him from leaving. Giovanni and Rocco continued to the door. “I want to meet with you. Private. To go over some of my ideas for Mancini. Presto?”
“Sí, domani,” Dominic said and followed Giovanni out. Lorenzo hung back. He’d watch the sparring match and deliver the news to his best friend. After several minutes he smiled. Giovanni just bought Carlo a brother to play with. It wasn’t a business investment. It was bullshit.
**
“Attenzione! Attenzione! Everyone, please! Can I have your attention?” Marietta said. She tapped her spoon against the glass to quiet the staff. Mirabella glanced up at her sister. They’d laughed, eaten, and drank bottles of Merlot for close to two hours. She spent most of the night wiping tears of joy from her eyes.
“To my beloved sister. For four years the world has speculated, gossiped, and lied about who you are, and on your talent. They credited Carole Montague for your success. Diavolo!” Marietta made a gesture of false spitting to the left as her husband did often when pissed. Mirabella and the others roared with laughter. “She was never you! Together we will show the world who you really are: Donna Mirabella Ellison Battaglia. My sister, my mentor, my best friend, and the best damn fashion designer in the world! T'amerò per tutta l'eternità.”
“Cin! Cin!” Catalina raised her glass in tribute. Everyone raised their glasses and yelled. “Cin cin!”
“Speech! Speech! Speech!” Jamie beat her hands on the table. Several others started to beat their hands on the table and chant the words as well. Mirabella stood with applause.
“Grazie! Thank you all.” The staff quieted. “We have one day before we reveal to the world our talent. I say our talent because it’s you, all of you that made this event possible. Mia famiglia!” She paused and allowed the applause to settle down. “I want to give a special thank you to my sisters Marietta and Catalina. For two years you have worked tirelessly to bring my vision to life. I am nothing without you. I love you, I thank you!” she raised her glass. Everyone raised his or her glass in return. “Viva la Battaglia! Salute!” She drank her glass of wine down and giggled uncontrollably once done. Clearly she was intoxicated. Marietta poured her more wine.
“No, I’ve had enough,” Mirabella gasped between giggles.
“Girl, please. Let’s get fucked up! It’s our party! Drink!” Marietta chuckled.
Mirabella nodded and picked up the glass to take another sip. And then her vision focused and she noticed three men watching from the side door.
“Is that Giovanni?” Catalina asked.
Mirabella lowered her glass to the table.
“Oh shit,” Marietta said.
Several heads turned. Soon every eye in the room looked to her husband. She wanted to invite him to the celebration but decided against it. This was her night, and she kind of liked the idea of keeping him separate. Her heart couldn’t beat faster to have him appear from out of thin air. He strolled in with Dominic and Rocco trailing him with his cane. His focus was singular. It was aimed at her. Mirabella walked around the table to greet her husband properly. Lucky for her she managed her steps in her heels with grace. It was an accomplishment. She’d drunk so much wine she could have easily stumbled. Once within reach of him she threw her arms around his neck and pressed up against his chest. She loved the smell and feel of him, and loved it even more when she’d been drinking.
“Ciao, bambino,” she whispered. She kissed him so hard he went stiff as if to reject her enthusiasm. “Baciami,” she said and felt him soften under her persistence. Giovanni wasn’t prone to such acts of affection in front of strangers. Well to hell with appearances. She wanted to kiss her man. She was happy.
“That’s enough, Bella,” he said and brought her arms down from around his neck. She reluctantly let him go. She stared up into his blue eyes. Was he angry? He sure as hell didn’t look happy. “Remember where you are.”
She nodded and stepped back. “Thank you for coming, sweetheart,” she said in a deeply formal voice and then giggled. He didn’t crack a smile. “I thought you had a meeting?” she asked to mask her hurt feelings. Maybe the wine made her feel his scorn too deeply.
“The meeting’s over,” he replied. “I came to collect you.”
“Collect me? Did you?” she crossed her arms. She had half a mind to remind him that he wasn’t invited. But his unwavering stare broke down her courage.
Mirabella tossed her hair. “Do yo
u see? Do you see what we’ve done?” She gestured around. Giovanni glanced to the others. She put her arm around his waist. He eased his arm around hers. “What do you think?” she asked. Her head cleared a bit and she was steady on her feet.
“I’m very proud of you,” he whispered in her ear. “Have you been drinking in front of your staff?”
She blushed. His deep authoritative voice, mixed with the wine, diluted her commonsense. The words translated like that of a sexual proposal instead of chastisement because it started with a compliment. Mirabella walked with him back to their table. “Everyone, many of you have met him, and some of you haven’t. I want to introduce my husband, the love of my life, Don Giovanni Battaglia.”
A few people exchanged glances and Mirabella knew it was the title she used. To hell with propriety he was her Don, and theirs too if they continued to work for Mirabella’s. Of course many applauded, and soon everyone gathered did so as well.
“It’s time for you to come home with me,” he said softly in her ear. “You’ve had too much to drink. Let me take care of you.”
“Not yet, sweetie. Come. Sit, and let me get you something to eat,” she said. She double blinked to clear her head. He checked his watch, and then looked at her guests. Reluctant but supportive, he agreed. He, Rocco, and Dominic all joined them. Marietta gave up her seat so Giovanni could sit next to Mirabella.
“You must be very proud of your wife, Signore Battaglia,” Francesca her marketing manager said. “She’s brilliant. We have been starved for her talent and guidance.”
Giovanni stared at the woman expressionless. Marietta chuckled over the awkward silence. Mirabella cleared her throat. “Sweetheart, let me introduce you.” She went down the line. She introduced everyone outside of the family, including a few people Giovanni did know. He nodded and dropped his arm over her chair and rubbed her shoulder. People continued to eat and chat up each other over the tasks and responsibilities planned for the big day. A few celebrity names were tossed into the conversation. The entire affair went on with her husband gently caressing her shoulder. He only smiled when she glanced at him. And that wasn’t often. But he was there, at her side, and it meant the world to her.