La Sposa

by Sienna Mynx

  “I remember Patri talking about the bombing in Ciaculli, just outside of Palermo.” Dominic interjected. “Several police officers and military officers were trying to defuse the bomb, before it went off. They failed. That bombing turned the parliament against the mafia. Right?” Dominic said.

  “Very good. See, Gio. Do you see this?” Rocco wagged a crooked finger at Giovanni. “This is why Domi should be consigliere. He knows, and remembers the important things.” Rocco tapped his index finger against his temple. “He is better than Flavio in that regard, the scheming porco!” Rocco chuckled bitterly. “You were right to slit Flavio’s throat. You were wrong to cast Domi out. You need someone you can trust. And in our business, Gio, trust is hard to find.” Rocco reached for the bottle and poured himself another.

  Giovanni held his tongue.

  “You boys never understood why Tomosino hated drugs. Well, he didn’t always. He just didn’t understand the drug trade. Why pollute your own people and make it impossible for them to be the mules you need them to be to stand up your empire? That’s what the heroine trade was when it spread through Sicily. A pollution. Men were no longer men and women either; they were something else, slaves to something that made them disloyal and weak. The Mafiosi went against principle and drew unwanted attention to themselves because of it. Before the heroin trade, the polizia, the military, and the republic, bowed to the mafia. There was no law above us, or below us. The Five Dons of Sicily were the most powerful men next to the Pope.”

  “And drugs changed that?” Giovanni asked.

  “Yes. Things changed. Tomosino made up his mind to cut all ties and to continue to build the Camorra from Italy. Here, he could rule without the Five Dons of Sicily’s permission or influence.”

  “This I know,” Giovanni said.

  Rocco smirked. “Yes, I’m sure you think you know.” He reached for the bottle and Giovanni stopped him.

  “Continue, Rocco. No more drinking. What is it that has you so afraid of this discussion?”

  “You.”

  “Me?” Giovanni gave a hollow laugh. “Why are you afraid of me?”

  “I’m afraid for you,” Rocco said. “You are so like your father. I see you with Mira; I saw what happened when you lost her. Your weakness is your heart. Where his love for your mother made him cruel and careless, yours made you into the Capo Di Tutti Capi. The lives you took without a blink, Gio, have washed our name in blood. Even here in Chianti, we are looked upon with scorn. It will take years to undo what the Calderone war has done to our reputation.”

  “If I hadn’t sought justice, the families in the Camorra would have unraveled. They needed to see my strength.”

  “Yes. But did they need to see your weakness too? Did they need to know that Mira is the only reason your heart beats?” Rocco asked.

  Giovanni sighed. The truth was a bitter pill to swallow. It was true. He had lost respect and gained fear. His pursuit to legitimize the family was a hard battle to be won. But he was determined to do it.

  Rocco continued. “Do you think it’s a coincidence you found a woman that is outside of our life? Same as Tomosino? That even now when you know there is more to her you can’t bring yourself to distrust her? How many young girls have been thrown at your feet that you have rejected? How unshakable was your leadership before Mira was given to you?”

  “Given to me.” Giovanni let go a nervous chuckle. “She wasn’t given to me. She’s my destiny.”

  Rocco’s brow arched.

  “How does Mancini fit into this?”

  “Mancini was your father’s best friend. He kept us tied to Palermo, though our influence was limited. The Ciaculli bombing was because of a feud over a lost shipment of heroin. Against Tomosino’s advice, Mancini’s father Salvatore and the other Dons put a hit on the Calcedonio in 1962. The Grecos wanted justice, and the fighting extended from the shores of Sicily to Italy. They’d strike, and then the Mancinis would strike back and so forth. So, in the small city of Ciaculli in 1963, a bomb was planted. An anonymous tip led the polizia to the bomb, but it exploded before it could be diffused. Seven of them died. It was the beginning of the first anti-mafia efforts in the history of Sicily, which eventually spread here to Italy. Before this heroin bullshit, we fought each other like men over territory, property, trade. After the bombing, the Sicilian republic wanted to stamp out the violent tyranny of the mafia. They turned on us. Hunted us. In a matter of weeks, over twelve thousand men were arrested. Several fled to Canada, America, and South America. Mancini was one of them. He left the bullshit to us to clean up.”

  “Who was the anonymous tipster?” Dominic asked.

  Rocco chuckled. “No one knows. I’m still unsure. That’s not all, Giovanni. I can stop right here son, and we never speak of it again. But if you make me tell you the rest of the story, you risk your marriage. And that is probably what Mancini wants. Do you understand?” Rocco said.

  “There’s more?” Dominic asked, confused. “More than Mancini being the father of Mira? How is Giovanni responsible for that?”

  “Much more.” Rocco nodded. “Lorenzo came here a few days ago. He had a woman with him.”

  “Yes, you told us,” Giovanni started to rise.

  “She has the same charm. Hers is a necklace, but it’s the same.”

  Giovanni froze. He looked to Rocco, unsure of his own hearing. Rocco smiled. “Her name is Marietta and she’s here trying to find out what happened to her mother. If that bracelet belongs to Mira, then this woman is Mira’s sister.”

  “How is that possible? What the hell is Lorenzo up to?” Dominic asked.

  “What did Lorenzo and the woman say about Bella?” Giovanni demanded.

  “I don’t think they know who Mira is to her. They came here for information on Capriccio. I tried to steer them away, but I could see it wouldn’t die. Lorenzo is trying to impress the woman.”

  “This isn’t a coincidence, Gio,” Dominic said.

  Giovanni nodded. “I agree.”

  “Do you want to know why it’s not a coincidence?” Rocco asked.

  Giovanni sat back. “Yes.”

  “Mancini went to America and left our cousin, his wife, behind. She was young, and with a boy child the same age as you. Armando. It infuriated Tomosino when she came to him, begging for help to bring him home. Tomosino tried to solicit Mancini to return, but he was stubborn and refused. Why return when Sicily was so turbulent and his own father so hell-bent on war? Mancini’s bloodline to the Mafiosi, made him the next powerful Don of Palermo. This meant he could never be anything but what his father wanted him to be. So, Tomosino brought Mancini’s capodecina Caruso Capriccio. It was Capriccio that explained why Mancini was so intent on staying in America to Tomosino and Flavio.”

  “Mira’s mother.”

  “And he couldn’t bring her back here to Sicily if he already had a son and was married, among other things.” Gio added.

  Rocco nodded. “She was black. He couldn’t even make her his whore in public here. But in America, he had total immunity. Your father was furious.”

  “That he’d choose Mira’s mother over our cousin? Why would Patri give a shit, considering he did the same thing with my mother?” Giovanni said.

  “It was more than that. The anti-mafia commission had hit us hard. Mancini was the only one capable to control his father. We needed him on our side.”

  Giovanni cut his eyes away in disgust.

  “Mancini kept the young girl with him always. Treated her like his wife so I’m told. And it wasn’t easy to do considering the prejudices in America were as bad as they were in Sicily. Eventually, Tomosino lured Mancini back to Italy. He made one last attempt to bring him in line. Mancini refused. He told us that the girl was pregnant with twin baby girls.”

  No longer able to sit through the telling, Giovanni stood. He paced away. When he turned his gaze back to Rocco, he saw the old man had taken to drinking straight from the bottle.

  Rocco wiped his mouth with the bac
k of his hand. “It was the final straw for your father, Gio. Tomosino met with the other Dons of Sicily. He told Mancini’s father the truth. That his son had done the unthinkable and chose that woman over his wife, son, and his birthright. And then he struck a bargain. If the Mancinis’ agreed to abandon the heroin trade, he’d let him in on the commercial transports he ran out of Napoli. In return, he wanted them to bring Mancini home—for good. It was a matter of pride for the old Don, and Tomosino resented how flagrant Mancini was about abandoning all they had built between the Camorra and the Mafiosi. They decided in that meeting to take care of the problem. The black whore in America could easily be dispatched—babies too.”

  “No.” Giovanni shook his head. “It’s not true. My father wouldn’t put a hit on a pregnant woman.”

  “Wouldn’t he? How far did you go for revenge, Gio?”

  Giovanni closed his eyes to the sins of the Calderone war. He said nothing.

  “It is true. He gave Capriccio the order to kill her. That’s all I know. The babies, how they were separated. What happened, those details, you have to get from Mancini himself. Giovanni, if Mira is his daughter, then he knows she’s his daughter. And he also knows that she doesn’t. He set your meeting her in motion, just as he brought the other daughter here and put her in the path of Lorenzo. I could only guess his motives. Twenty years later, to seek revenge this way, makes no sense.”

  “Are you sure Mira’s mother was murdered by my father’s order? IS THAT WHAT YOU ARE TELLING ME?”

  “Yes. That’s what that bracelet means. Mancini gave it to them. It’s her legacy. It’s the only way she could ever connect her birth to him.”

  “Gio…” Dominic started.

  “Shut up! Both of you shut up!”

  Giovanni wiped his hand down his face. The woman he loved, the mother of his children, was tied to him in blood and destiny. The secret between them could destroy everything they shared. “I could lose her if she ever found this out. She would never understand her mother being slaughtered by my father. None of this. She’s lost her best friend because of me. She’d hate me.” Giovanni staggered to breathe. “She’d hate me.” He closed his eyes, remembering how she ran from him before. How he spent days and nights in misery without her. The punishment seemed so severe, considering his only crime was loving her with all his heart. “What did you tell Lorenzo, about the Marietta woman?”

  “Nothing. He doesn’t know she’s connected to Mira. I don’t think. For some reason, Capriccio has claimed her as his daughter. The stupid fuck put her in his will.”

  “There has to be more to this story, Gio. Let me keep digging.” Dominic volunteered.

  “No. No. This is between me and Mancini. I want you to call Santo and tell him to pull Lorenzo in. Now.”

  Dominic rose and went to the phone. Giovanni turned his attention to Rocco. “Lorenzo and I both will go to Palermo. We will get the answers from Mancini himself.”

  “That’s a mistake.” Rocco warned. “At best it’s a trap, at worst it’s his way to Mira through you. Don’t poke the bear.”

  “I’m going to put a fucking bullet in the bear! I won’t risk my marriage and family on this bullshit story you just gave me. I remember Mancini as a child. They weren’t adversaries. He and father were friends. Something is missing here. I’m going to get the answers.”

  Later –

  Sweetness in the dark, it’s what making love to her was. That strange, almost sad little murmur of surrender escaped her when he thrust deep, then deeper. Lorenzo could not get enough of her. He buried his face in her hair as he kept moving, squeezing her ass in his hands, and moving. She forced him to roll and was now on top. She rode his cock with such wild freedom, he lost his senses. And that was them; such uncharted passionate battles waged during their lovemaking, that the headboard banged noisily against the wall. He flipped her for control. She was his. And he would not tolerate her dominance any longer. Summoning all of his strength, he pinned her left leg down to her shoulder and pumped hard and fast, squeezing his eyes tight and halting his breathing.

  “Lorenzo! Stop! It’s the door,” Marietta said.

  Dazed, out of breath, he kept moving. Kissing her face and neck.

  “It’s the doorbell,” she said, pushing at his shoulders.

  “Shit!” he cursed. Withdrawing from her tight heat, he struggled to capture a breath. He found his robe and covered his naked sweaty body. “Don’t move, Cara! Stay just like that,” he said to her.

  Marietta blew him a kiss from the bed and rolled over. He shook his head, smiling. Damn woman had his nose wide open. The doorbell stopped ringing. Now some stupid bastard pounded on his door with his fist. “Who the fuck is it?”

  He glanced at Carlo’s room and saw him reaching for his gun. Lorenzo had left his upstairs. If it was someone stupid enough to bring a weapon, then why ring the doorbell? Lorenzo reached the door and snatched it open. Before him, stood Santo and two of his men. Santo looked him over and then gave a snide smirk. “Can I come in?”

  “Fuck no. What the hell do you want?”

  “Giovanni is returning from Florence. He wants to see you.”

  “I’ll call him!” Lorenzo made to slam the door in Santo’s face, but Santo’s hand went up.

  “I’m to bring you in personally. And the woman.”

  Lorenzo paused. “Woman?”

  “She’s here isn’t she? You smell of pussy,” Santo chuckled.

  “It’s fucking close to ten at night.” Lorenzo seethed.

  “He wants you there. The both of you. Shall I wait outside or come in and join?”

  “Out!” Lorenzo shoved the door and Santo’s hand dropped. He closed the door in his face. Carlo staggered out of his room, holding on to the doorframe. “What is going on?”

  “Go back to bed. It’s too soon for you to be on your feet.”

  “What the fuck is going on?” Carlo growled.

  Lorenzo looked up at Marietta, who was coming down the stairs with her hair wild about her head. She tied her robe tight. The damn woman didn’t listen to anything he told her.

  “It’s Gio. He wants me to come in.”

  “And he sent Santo?” Carlo frowned. “What the fuck is that about?”

  “I don’t know. I intend to find out.” He turned his gaze back to Marietta. “He’s requested that I bring you.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “Get dressed. It’s not a request we can refuse.”

  “In the middle of the night? Lo...”

  “Do it, Marietta! Just do it, damn it!”

  She frowned at him and then turned and hurried back upstairs. Carlo watched her as well.

  “So, Gio knows about Carmine and Capriccio. His patience has run out. Is he pissed because you kept her instead of seeing to business?”

  “Looks that way.”

  “How do you want to play it?” Carlo wheezed, leaning against the doorframe. “Should I get dressed and come with you?”

  “No. He sees you in this state and it will only further piss him off. I’ll have to deal with it alone.”

  “You sure about that? Sending Santo is a bad sign.”

  Lorenzo shrugged. “As sure as I can be.”

  *****

  Mira sat up. She carefully drew aside the covers and left the comfort of her bed. This night had proved to be quite lonely. Eve was with Zia sleeping, and Giovanni was gone. She walked over to the window to open the drapes and allow in the moonlight. Sometimes the moon helped her sleep. She thought of sketching the full moon that greeted her and decided against it. She would have to go upstairs to fetch her pad and pencils out of her sewing room. Instead, she’d try a book to put her to sleep.

  Before she turned away, she glanced down to the front of the estate’s circular drive. That’s when she saw cars arrive. Two. The first to get out of the car, was the creepy man named Santo. Why she didn’t like him she wasn’t sure. It was just a feeling she got whenever he was in the room. Out of the next car exited Lorenz
o and a woman. Mira stared down at the woman, a bit confused. Once the stranger looked up at Lorenzo and her face was bathed in moonlight, she recognized her. It was the black woman from the wedding.

  The trio all walked towards the doors to her home. At this hour? With Giovanni gone?

  Visitors this late made no sense. She turned to get her robe to see what it was about, but stopped herself. She promised Giovanni she would stay off her feet for the next couple of days. The doctors said it wasn’t necessary, but he insisted. She believed his little show of carrying her into the house and up the stairs to their room was his attempt to limit her activity.

  Mira smiled. She loved her man, but he could be a challenge. She walked back to the bed and got under the covers. She turned off the lamp. In the morning, she’d greet Lorenzo’s friend. Now she would claim sleep.

  *****

  “They’re here.” Dominic announced.

  “Bring her in.” Giovanni turned from the bar. He’d only arrived a few minutes ago. He expected them to already be here. It pissed him off that Lorenzo saw no hurry in honoring his request for a showing. Disciplining his cousin would come after he sorted out the mess he now faced. Part of Giovanni remained unconvinced. His wife was a black American woman. Not some bastard child from a Sicilian Don. It was ridiculous. Giovanni’s glass froze half way to his lips when the woman who could be his wife’s sister entered the room. She was the same height and build as his Bella. Her skin was lighter and her hair darker, curlier; but they shared an undeniable likeness about them.

  “Gio, this is Marietta Leone Capriccio.”

  “Ciao, Don Battaglia,” Marietta said.

  “Marietta. Have a seat.”

  She did as he asked. Lorenzo chose to stand. Giovanni walked around to his desk and sat on the edge of it. He swirled his wine in his glass. “So, you’re American?”

  “I am,” she said.

  “But you speak Italian?”

  “I learned it from my parents.” Giovanni’s brows lifted. Marietta corrected herself. “From my adoptive parents.”