by Sienna Mynx
“I’m going to be back as soon as I can. I promise.” He kissed her brow.
“I love you,” she said.
“I love you too,” he answered.
Later in America –
Catalina set down her portfolio bag. She hadn’t gone over the sketches that she and Teddy selected for Mira to review but she intended to over a nice hot cup of coffee. Speaking to Mira earlier was the boost of confidence she needed. Some of the business managers had been giving her a hard time over her naiveté. But she held her ground. What she didn’t know, she’d bluff her way through to get whatever job was at hand done. And thankfully, today, Mira connected the dots. They laughed when she shared office gossip, and made plans for some of the changes Mira would want once her company was under her control.
“Just getting in?” Theodore Tate asked, charging inside without knocking.
“I was just about to call you. I hate to do this, but I’m going to have to cancel lunch today.” Catalina removed her coat and put it around the back of her chair.
“Canceling on me before breakfast? I’m hurt.”
“Sorry. I spoke to Mira.” Catalina chirped. “She’s better. You know, from her miscarriage scare. And she has so many ideas for us.”
“Why don’t you tell me about it while we walk down to Jason Deli, and I buy you the best coffee in Manhattan?” Teddy asked, pushing his hands down into his pocket.
“You know I can’t. I just arrived. And Domi has instructed his men to escort me everywhere. I’ve already sent them out to get breakfast while I work.”
“Yes, those two tough guys scare the shit out of the staff. Even our Mayor isn’t as heavily guarded as you.” Teddy laughed. Catalina smiled. “Before you get started on your day, can I ask you a question?”
Catalina pulled back the chair and sat down. She scooted in close to the desk. “Sure.”
“This weekend, I’m having a party. It’s at my penthouse. Invite only. Celebrities, politicians, and people I’m sure you’d love to meet. Would you do me the honor of attending?”
“Party?”
“Yes, it’s necessary that I do these things for my clients. Our clients. A tradition that Fabiana started. I continue it to keep the investors happy. Many know of Mira’s return and tongues are wagging. It would be good to have you there, representing her.”
“How exciting,” Catalina smiled. “I have to clear it with Domi. To make sure it’s okay.”
“That surprises me.”
“What surprises you?”
“Catalina, you’re smart, sweetheart. Hell, you’re such a beautiful vibrant young woman. I expect... You come off so independent and self-assured. I’m not trying to offend but women here don’t usually ask their boyfriends for permission to go to the bathroom.”
Catalina felt the pinch of criticism and didn’t like it. She leaned back in her chair. “I think we have a bit of a misunderstanding between us, Mr. Tate…”
“Teddy…” he winked.
“Mr. Tate,” she answered firmly. “Dominic isn’t my boyfriend. He’s my fiancé. And I don’t inform him of my actions out of fear or because he controls me. I do it out of respect because I love him. No man,” she looked him up and down. “No man gets the respect my Dominic deserves. Not even my dearly departed husband.”
“He’s a lucky man.”
“And you won’t be. If anyone, including those men he brought from home to protect me suspect you have interest other than business.”
Theodore touched his chest. “I guess we do have a misunderstanding. I wasn’t trying to encroach.”
“Good. Then it’s settled. I’ll call Domi and ask him if I should attend your party. And I’ll let you know.” She picked up the folders out of the tray and flashed him a smile to leave. Theodore drew in his bottom lip. “Anything else?”
“Let me know if you change your mind about lunch, Catalina,” Theodore said, hurrying to the door.
*****
Lorenzo hung up the phone. One call to Melanzana and he’d learned plenty. Giovanni was back, but he’d left again for Chianti. He found that strange, considering he’d just brought Mira home from the ospedale. It served him well. He had time to deal with Carlo; and possibly get things under control, before they both faced Giovanni with an explanation for David and Carmine’s deaths.
The doctor walked out of the room. “You say he was in a car accident?”
“That’s right.” Lorenzo answered.
“Looks to me like the car ran over him. He needs to be in a hospital. He’s a tough guy but those ribs may need to be professionally set. I did the best I could.”
“He’ll live,” Lorenzo said.
The doctor shook his head. He reached in his bag and removed two pill bottles. “I figured this would be needed. I stitched him up, but once he’s sober he’ll be in a lot of pain. Have him take these, and these to help with his breathing. At this point, he needs rest and no alcohol.”
“Grazie, dottore.”
The doctor looked towards the kitchen. Marietta was in there singing with the radio. She found a station that played American rap songs. The doctor glanced to Lorenzo for an explanation of the black woman in his company. Lorenzo glared and the doctor thought better of asking. He returned to the room. Carlo was awake—sort of. He stared blankly at nothing. The past three days had wrecked him. His left eye was completely swollen shut and the right was bloodshot red from possibly a popped blood vessel. The bruising to his face was peppered with red, purple, and yellowish swelling. According to the doctor, the tight wrapping around his chest was all he could do. Lorenzo hoped it was enough.
“Should we talk about it?” Lorenzo asked.
“Thought you were going to send me to hell?” Carlo answered, in a thick voice.
Lorenzo chuckled. “And leave me here to face Giovanni alone. I don’t think so.”
“Does he know about Carmine?” Carlo’s gaze connected with Lorenzo’s.
“He knows Capriccio is dead, and so is Carmine. It’s all he knows. He’s pissed we haven’t been to see him. I couldn’t deal with Gio until I found you.”
Carlo nodded. It was the closest Lorenzo would get as a thank you. “Where is he?”
“Your brother?” Lorenzo asked.
Carlo cut Lorenzo a hate- layered glare. “Don’t call him that. I’m not worthy.”
“Fuck man. I’m sorry the kid died. If I could have prevented it, you know I would have.”
Carlo nodded that he believed him.
“But we got to get this right. Now, I’m thinking we need to stick to the same story.”
“Story?” Carlo frowned.
“About Carmine. How Capriccio killed him.”
“He did kill him.”
“Yes, but Gio will want to know why Carmine was with David Capriccio in the first place.”
Carlo’s eyes narrowed. “I want to know the same thing.”
Lorenzo shrugged his big shoulders. He cast his gaze around the room and delayed telling the story. He’d thought long and hard on how to play this out. But Carlo and Gio had a knack for seeing through his bullshit. He needed to make sure his story was plausible. His best bet was to stay as close to the truth as possible without telling the truth. “The woman with me, she’s David’s sister. Several days ago, David tried to convince me she stole from Giovanni. He wanted me to kill her. Turns out she’s not really David’s sister, but someone else. Her history is complicated. I wanted to settle things with David for the deception, for her. Carmine was to sit on him. A simple job. We give it to the cugines always. But David was trying to steal from Gio and thought he was trapped. So he attacked Carmine. That’s the entire truth. Giovanni would be pissed. My mixing my feelings for Marietta with business.”
“Yeah, doesn’t sound like you,” Carlo said, with a look of distrust.
“Doesn’t it? I’ve done it before. Haven’t I? Fabiana.”
“Right. Fabiana. Giovanni would need to be told something. What do you propose?”
“What the fuck for?”
“To explain this shit!” Lorenzo gestured to his state. “He is going to hear about the bloodfight we were in. The three men you killed in the ring are tied to him now. He’s going to be pissed but it will lessen the punishment if he understands why.”
“Fuck it! I’ll take my licks. I’m not going to serve my brother up as an excuse.”
“Why the fuck not? You did as an excuse to punish yourself. And I need you strong. Santo is riding next to Gio, closer and closer. If we aren’t careful it could cost us. A lot.”
“Where. Is. He?” Carlo asked, and he knew he was asking about his brother.
“Andello has him on ice. For you to decide what to do with him.”
“Call my sister. She’ll collect him and bury him.”
“You don’t want to go to…”
“Just do it!” Carlo shouted.
Lorenzo rose, satisfied that his plan would work. He paused and looked to Carlo again. “Marietta is my woman. You show her respect, always. None of your bullshit with her, Carlo. I… I care about her.”
Carlo’s smile was void of humility. “Aren’t I always tender with the ladies?”
Lorenzo shook his head and walked out. “Don’t fuck with her, Carlo. I mean it.” He tossed back. Marietta walked out of the kitchen, smiling.
“Dinner is ready. I fixed your plate. You serve your friend. I’m not your slave.” She shot him a sexy smile and he smiled in return, following her into the kitchen.
Chapter Fourteen
The First Mafia War
Giovanni decided to take his private jet to Florence. With Dominic at his side, he intended to get to the bottom of Mira’s connection to Mancini. After they landed, the drive to Chianti was a silent one at first. He spent most of the time thinking of Mira and how they met. And soon, his thoughts drifted to his cousin.
“Have you heard the news of Carmine?” Giovanni asked Dominic.
“No. What news?”
“He’s dead. Some business with David Capriccio that Lorenzo is responsible for. Santo tells me that his people believe the two are connected.”
“What does Lorenzo say?” Dominic asked.
Giovanni’s jaw clenched tight. “Lorenzo doesn’t say shit.”
“Come again?”
“I haven’t heard from him since I had to take care of Mira. No phone call. No explanation. Nothing.”
“Let me handle it, Gio.”
Giovanni scratched his brow. “When the fuck were you going to tell me that you left my sister in the States?” His gaze slipped over to Dominic to gauge his reaction.
“She and I will be married soon. When you say it’s appropriate, Gio, I plan to officially propose.”
“Is that right?” Giovanni asked.
Dominic gripped the steering wheel tightly. “What I’m saying is, she’s my woman, Gio. I make the decisions on what’s best for her. I respect you. But I won’t answer to you about Catalina. Ever.”
“Now you’re giving me orders?” Giovanni chuckled.
“No. I’m just being the man you raised me to be,” Dominic answered.
“Bullshit.” Giovanni gave a snort. He couldn’t help it. He looked over to Dominic and smiled. He did raise the kid. Since he was dropped off in his room when he was six by Patri, he’d had to take care of him, always.
“I will hold my tongue. I trust you with her. I may never understand why you chose your sister to fall in love with. It makes you weak, Domi.”
“Aren’t we all weak for the women we love?” Dominic asked.
Giovanni cut him a lethal silencing glare. “Understand me, if anything ever happens to her, anything, I’ll cut your throat myself. No more forgiveness, Domi. One shot at this and that’s all.”
“She’s worth it,” he said.
They continued to ride in silence. The sun began to descend behind the mountains and the roads were covered in shadows. When they reached the farm, it was near night. Giovanni and Dominic defied Rocco’s rules and drove through the gates of the vineyard, up to the door of the cottage. He’d placed a call before they left to tell Rocco they were coming. The lights to the front of the farmhouse were on.
Silently, they left the car and went inside. They found Rocco in his favorite chair smoking a pipe, something strictly forbidden by Zia. He rocked slowly. His gaze flickered up at their arrival and then shifted away. “What is the trouble that brings you here?”
“You don’t seem happy to see us?” Dominic answered.
“I knew you’d come.”
The men exchanged looks. Without being asked, they both sat. “What do you know, Rocco?” asked Dominic.
“That Lorenzo made a big mistake by fucking with Mancini and bringing that woman here. Once some doors are opened, they can’t be closed again. É tutto.”
“Woman?” Giovanni asked with a touch of irritation. “What woman?”
“You saw her, he brought her to the wedding.”
Dialing back in his memory, Giovanni recalled the black woman with Lorenzo. For some reason, he couldn’t remember why Lorenzo said she had accompanied him, only that her presence irked him. “What of her?”
“She belongs to Mancini, that’s what!”
“His puttana?” Dominic asked.
Rocco chuckled. “Not even close.”
Giovanni frowned. “Why did he bring her to the vineyard?”
“Why does he do any of the things he does? He wants to cause trouble. I called you and warned you about this!”
“Stop with the hysterics old man.” A momentary disgust seized Giovanni. “What the fuck do I care about some woman Lorenzo keeps? How is this trouble for me?”
Rocco cast his gaze away.
Dominic interjected. “Rocco, we aren’t here about Lorenzo. We came to ask you a few questions about Mancini.”
“Why?” Rocco asked. His gaze volleyed between Dominic and Giovanni. “The truce has upheld between our family and the Mancinis, even after Tomosino’s death. Why now?” Rocco’s gaze switched to Giovanni and a frown deepened the wrinkles in his face. “I don’t understand.”
“This is about Bella.” Giovanni reached in the front pocket of his shirt. He removed the baby bracelet. Rocco picked up his reading glasses from the lamp table next to his chair and put them on. Giovanni handed it over. Rocco stared at the bracelet, and his eyes slowly lifted above the rim of his glasses to Giovanni.
“Is this some kind of joke?” Rocco demanded.
“That bracelet belongs to my Mira. Her birth name is Mirabella, and it was given to her when she was a baby. I’m told that her mother gave it to her, but do you see the Del Stavio insignia on the back? This was given to her by her father.”
“It can’t be true,” Rocco said.
“It is true. Mira is connected to one of the Five Dons of Sicily. Dominic returned from America with more news. He learned that the man who knew Mira’s mother was called Manny Cigars, and he is Mancini. I need to know what you know about Mancini’s time in America. Everything you know.”
“It can’t be Mira,” Rocco shook his head. “It’s not possible.”
The icy clutch of annoyance gripped Giovanni’s chest, making his anger relevant when he spoke. “What is it that I’m missing here old man? What do you know about my Bella?”
Rocco removed his glasses. “Is Mira an only child?”
Giovanni and Dominic exchanged a look.
“She thinks she is.” Dominic answered. “In America, I learned that two daughters were born to Mira’s mother. But we can’t confirm who the other child is, and if she lives.” Dominic said. “We know that Mira’s mother died, when she was barely two. That h
er mother’s boyfriend worked for Mancini and he is not the father.”
“Then this is Mancini’s work,” Rocco sighed. “He did this. He brought them both here,” Rocco said. He stared at Giovanni. “He brought them here and gave them to you and Lorenzo.”
“You aren’t making any fucking sense!” Giovanni seethed. “Both? What both are you talking about?”
Rocco handed Giovanni the bracelet back. “I am sorry, son. The story I have to tell isn’t mine. It’s your father’s.”
“What does Patri have to do with my Bella?”
“Unfortunately, too much.”
“Not an answer. How are either of them connected to my Bella!” Giovanni shouted.
“Gio, wait.” Dominic sat forward.
“Answer me!” Giovanni stood. “Now!”
Rocco nodded that he would. Not out of fear. What he saw on Rocco’s face was shame, deeply painful shame. Giovanni felt his heart seizing in his chest. He tried to remain calm but he couldn’t. This was his wife they were talking about. And Rocco was holding back on him. In their world, that could be costly. “Start talking,” Giovanni paced. “Dica!”
“Siediti,” Rocco said calmly.
“I want fucking answers!”
“Sit down.” Rocco said more firmly. His gaze lifted and leveled with Giovanni’s. With no other choice, he lowered to his chair. Rocco rose from his. He went to a desk and opened the drawer. He removed a bottle of whiskey. “Zia won’t let me have it. The best way to hide something from your wife is in plain sight. Before I’m done with what I have to say, we will finish the entire bottle and she’ll never know.”
Dominic and Giovanni waited as Rocco shuffled around and got glasses for the three of them and brought them all over. He set them on the coffee table. He poured a shot for them and then himself. He plopped down with a weary sigh. After taking a hit, he took another.
“I will start at the beginning.” Rocco lifted his glass and reclined. “It was the Ciaculli massacre. Afterwards, everyone in Sicily called it the First Mafia War. The beginning of the end!” Rocco toasted them.