by S. W. Frank
Selange sometimes wished for a sister and Shanda was the closest she had to one. Oh, man, thinking about Shanda and how she raved about Giuseppe made her sad. She hoped Giuseppe was okay, after-all who else was there to tease and get her mad? The thought of harm coming to Giuseppe was far too much to bear. She understood why he messed with her all the time, he was being a brother, putting her on notice that he would not let anyone hurt Alfonzo, including a woman. He was a good brother without even knowing it and she respected him for that. Yes, Alfonzo had to go and aid his brother. He’d come home, she trusted and believed with all her heart. That’s love which comes with faith.
“When you come home, can we go to the opera?”
His nostril flared and one brow cut a line to his forehead. She smirked and he gave in. He’d promised. “Sí, yes we can.” He gave her a long kiss then went to retrieve the duffle bag near the door. He glanced over his shoulder to remember her sitting up in bed with her brave smile and a wave.
Selange blew him a kiss then said, “Hurry back, I’ll be with you in spirit.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Giuseppe scowled as he gazed upon his bloody arm and the long cut from elbow to shoulder as the woman cleaned it with antiseptic. It would leave a memorable scar and each time he saw it, he would think of how he disemboweled the bloody Russian coward then spit in his face. The woman treating his wound was a nurse and a friend who lived near the ambush site. He managed to escape the bulletproof car after pretending to be dead as the Russian’s laughed and sprayed it with automatic weapons to ensure he did not survive. The sirens from the polizei sent them scurrying like rodents. Giuseppe managed to get out with less than a minute to spare. He hobbled to the sidewalk and at his back came an explosion and the car lifted into the air. The black smoke and flames filled the vicinity and he made his way here.
“Stitch it tight!” He seethed, thinking of his driver and two bodyguards who perished in the inferno. There should have been an escort at the airport. He had spoken with Alberti earlier and was assured there would be additional protection.
Something was not right. Alberti was always on top of these things. He asked the woman to use her cell and he called his mother. Thank the heavens, she was well. “Mama, where is Uncle?”
“He has gone to a private meeting.”
“Mama, do you know where?”
Sophie spoke in code, “Where it all began to meet the inner circle.”
“Mama, I am sending Octavio and others. Do not venture outdoors.”
“Yes, my son.”
“I will call you when I can.”
“Of course you will.”
“Love you mama.”
“And I love you.”
After speaking with his mother he contacted Octavio, gave him instructions and requested a chopper and several men. To drive to Reggio di Calabria would take at least three hours from Palermo. He could not wait that long. Fedrik he would deal with after. The man probably fled by now. Giuseppe would find him. Yes, he’d enter the man’s ugly home and let him bleed on his ugly floor. Giuseppe text Nico, his services were needed.
This was all done as the woman sutured the gaping wound and he welcomed the pain.
****
The cousins were on a plane again, flying over the expansive ocean. The firmament of what many considered the entry to heaven sat directly above. It was a place unknown and few had seen. This was the only universe Alfonzo knew; he didn’t want to see any other. He didn’t think about heaven or an after-life because he wanted to live. Everything he wanted was here and he’d continue to fight to stay. He decided he’d even fight the Almighty if it came to it. It really all depends on a person’s spiritual beliefs or lack thereof. He was a spiritual man. There had to be a higher power, how else could he have come this far without aid of some kind? Somewhere in his thoughts lie a notion he might soon run out of time. A man doesn’t live a violent existence and not eventually reap what he sows. That’s the truth of the matter and it’s only a question of when.
Beneath the hardened shell was a loving man. People only saw the exterior, an outer body that was confident, tough and a menacing sonovabitch. He was to some degree; the violent world was to blame. Respect hinged on a modicum of intimidation. Money, yeah it’s all good but put fear in a person and you’re treated with deference. He learned that from the hard streets where he grew up. It worked in business as well except there’s a sophisticated nuance he’d learned and it’s called charm. Oh yeah, be suave with the shit and keep an edge. Give your business associates expensive wine, know their daughter’s and wives names. Let them come to you for favors and grant the reasonable ones and when they’re indebted to you, give a subtle reminder who holds the cards if they step out of line by asking how their daughters or wives are doing with an icy stare.
Yeah, then you see the fear. It trickles with the sweat from their brows or forms a stain at the armpits. Innocent words are a veiled threat to the ears of cowardly men when spoken by men like Alfonzo. They hear an implication of something sinister, yet it’s merely a question and not by any means a threat to their family. A frightened man hears threats in everything. They are scared of a man when Alfonzo feared no one –nah –no way. People are flesh, and they bleed. What he feared was the dreams which left him powerless. They were the variable he could not control. In sleep the subconscious takes over and causes impotence during slumber.
He closed his eyes to rest. Six more hours and they’d arrive at the Aeroporto delo Stretto in southern Calabria where he had no idea what he’d find. This is the place where the Giacanti massacre occurred. The thought of going there was like coming face-to-face with the horror. He’d never visited the home, not once. He never wanted to, yet that home always found its way into his dreams once Sal was born. The dreams worsened after Aldonza and the night sweats were intense. He tried to drink away the nightmares; the shit didn’t work. The only effective medicine for his emotional ailment was Selange’s voice cutting through the gore. It soothed his torment with reassurance his family was okay. Man, his hands trembled thinking about her and his kids. He couldn’t fathom life without them. Nobody really understood how much hated killing, but he did so out of necessity. The bodies added to his résumé were the assholes that threatened his family or posed a risk to his life. The thought of anything happening to the people he loved had him seeing red. They weren’t going to end up slaughtered in their beds!
Perhaps, this was the therapy. Going to where it all started. He would look at the home, step through its doors and face the nightmare.
Sober.
Awake.
No Selange.
He grimaced. This was going to be some shit!
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Alberti sat where he always had, at the head of the table of the Circle of Protectors. This was the inner circle, those supposedly loyal to the Giacanti Clan, yet this evening, trepidation set in.
Before entering the family home, which was a shrine of sorts, he text Nico and left a message in the event his concern proved correct. He said nothing to Wax as the man waited patiently for him outside the door. This meeting was a special one, is what he was told in the message sent by courier.
They were to meet in Calabria at the Giacanti home where they’d met on occasion during matters of grave importance. Certainly this skirmish with Benaducci and the Russians was one.
The territories belonging to Benaducci and those who stood with him were redistributed fairly to undo the simmering animosity Giuseppe caused when he violated old promises by his father to leave certain areas alone.
By reaffirming his brother’s oath to the Konicia Clan, he thought this would pacify their displeasure at Giuseppe, thus everybody got what they wanted. He perhaps overestimated his influence or forgot the treachery of man. Some were greedy and others quiet foes. They sat and ate at your table and beneath the niceties they plot your demise.
He saw many things others missed, yet he did not see this coming until he roll
ed through the marker of the enormous Giacanti estate. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary to the naked eye.
The cars were familiar and the guards were men he’d seen before. No, that was not the cause of his concern. It was the quiet whispering in his ear something was not right. Yes, everything was wrong. But, he was here already with Wax at his side and another guard. These were the only two who accompanied him, the rest he’d left to guard Sophie and Amelda. A small convoy he sent to meet Giuseppe, yet he was unaware they were intercepted before reaching his nephew.
He looked down at the ring on his finger and smiled. Oh brothers we will meet soon he thought then emerged from the car and walked leisurely to the house. It was going home in his mind and this made the final hours so much sweeter.
This he reminisced as he sat there staring in the eyes of comrades and friends; feeling as the biblical depiction would have described the scene, a man waiting for a Judas to reveal himself. He heard the gunshots beyond the door and did not stand, neither did Peglesi. He remained seated and Alberti supposed he too experiences an uneasy feeling and brought along extra men. Yet, no army could have stopped the inevitable when betrayed by a friend.
The Minister of Finance anxiously watched the door. The others were drawing their weapons preparing to defend themselves against an assault. Alberti watched each of them and saw surprise in the majority of faces, except the Minister of Finance. Alberti asked the men to sit. They did. They were older men, certainly they expected trouble came to men like them or had they forgotten in their idle lives. He and Peglesi were calm.
“No one knew of this meeting, it was by special courier.” Peglesi stated matter-of-factly, speaking Alberti’s mind.
“Someone may have been followed.” The Minister of Finance offered as an explanation.
“The guards will handle it.” Alberti said, aware Wax and his man stood just beyond the door. If they got inside, they were the last line of defense and then they could take up arms. “Why was this meeting called?”
“I called for it.” The Minister announced, “I have concerns, they are about the Russians. We cannot fight battles across the globe. This is not the same world we were born into. We are older with families and careers to protect.”
Ah and so, Alberti had his answer. The Minister had been compromised. His ambitions and fear for himself grew. This is always the way. Greed or fear leads many astray. He smirked, “I see. And what did it cost to betray us old friend?”
The men turned, their eyes filled with anger.
“What do you mean; I’ve done no such thing!”
The sound of gunplay continued. There were many launching an assault. Alberti thought of his childhood. He should have died that night when the men came. It was his mother’s quick thinking which saved his life and he’d enjoyed a good one.
This evening the years were as if they had sped by and the boy who survived would finally meet the end as intended. He was aware of this as the gunfire entered the hall. The attackers infiltrated the barrier of men and were on the move.
Alberti lit the cigar he’d kept inside his suit pocket. He’d given up smoking. His wife worried about his health. He did so to appease his love, although he was fully aware there were far more dangerous things that he had to worry about. But, for her and his daughters he acquiesced. “Hmmmm.” He smiled as he sucked in the smoke, “This brand was the best.”
There came a thunderous jolt to the door. Wax and his man were dead. The senior men rose, their weapons pointed at the door. Alberti gripped the cigar between his teeth and slowly lifted his gun from his lap then fired a bullet into the side of the head of the Minister of Finance for his treachery. Then the door burst open and the bullets from the old men put down the first line of men who were unfortunate enough to enter the room.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The chopper landed in Calabria. There Giuseppe was met by several cars loaded with men. Despite the injury to his arm, he could still fire a gun and that’s all that mattered.
They rolled through the twisting and turning dark roads in succession; five cars, six men deep and each packing high powered weapons with armor piercing bullets. This is where he thrived, as did his father. They were men of action, not accustomed to sitting behind desks. True, he was Capo Crimini and with it armies of men at his fingertips. The soldiers were dwindling as a result of the usurpers who boldly rose against him. Alberti had done well in his absence, squashing the Benaducci Clan and their accomplices, yet there remained obvious dangers. Fedrik had the audacity to come into Italy and wage war on his shores and try to kill him. It is no telling what lay in wait for Alberti with men like Fedrik on their turf. They could flee to Russia, but the world was small unlike the small minds who believed in 1500 that it was flat until they were proven wrong.
A man not only traveled by boat, there were speedier modes of transportation to get a traveler to their destination. Russia was close and Giuseppe would boldly enter Fedrik’s homeland and cut the man to the floor.
They neared the southern end of Calabria and were heading inland towards his grandfather’s home. A strange meeting place, Giuseppe mused, and he wondered who the old man was meeting here in the sacred home?
****
The men were falling. One by one the old men dropped. They were brave and unflinching. It is Peglesi, Matteo’s father and Alberti’s friend who was the last to fall. It took several bullets to halt the valiant defender. When he slumped to the floor beside Alberti there was the hint of a smile on his lips as if in death he knew he’d taken many along to the hellish after-life with him.
Alberti could feel the stinging. They were like poisonous hornets in his chest and arms. He could not move and wondered why the shots had stopped. He wanted it over and did not want to linger here halfway between life and the eventual reunion with his brothers. Nico was left here in his stead to guard the family. One day the Giacanti name would be restored and the story of Semira known to the world. Her name would not be whispers or rumors, soon the world would have its proof and Alfonzo would be the man to do it.
For now, until these troubles subsided, the documents and jewels were guarded. The proof sat in Eritrea with his wife and daughters. His wife did not know of Nico and in the letter he told her everything about his sons. She would contact Nico. She would honor the wishes of the dead.
His eyes tried to focus on the figure kneeling. The voice was not Russian, an Italian. The blood in his eyes obscured his vision. The hornets were eating him from the inside out.
“Where is it Giuseppe Giacanti?”
Alberti closed his eyes and then opened them fighting the pull of sleep. He spat, his words a knife to the fellow Italian, “Death to the enemies of my family. Semira lives.”
The man pressed the gun to his forehead, “Return what is not yours. You are the bastard sons of a whore. You all are a disgrace.”
Alberti sneered, “You are a killer as well, look at your handiwork. We are both killers, what difference is there?”
“There is a difference. I am killing a thief, one who has items taken from a King. They are the property of the descendants of Italy not those of disreputable dogs like your kind.”
Alberti suddenly craved a cigar. He could taste the rich tobacco from Cuba and smell the flavored aroma clinging to the air. He saw Luzo, dapper and young; Carlo, strong and unafraid, as he led a frightened boy along the dirt road talking to calm his fears. His mind was drifting, they were a formidable trio. They survived and had sons. He saw Nico and Vincent as babies and then his daughters smiling.
The man with his threats could not reach him, he was going home. Then there was a sting. The man was bringing Alberti conscious with slaps. The man was angry because he was being cheated. He would not get information from a dead man and this one, he was the head Mafioso. The heir and patriarch of a ruthless family who sought to change the history of Italy with a shameful truth. The King’s bastard descendants could have no place alongside the respectable members of their s
ociety. They sought to alter the history books and the King’s legitimate families and historians would not allow it. They would get the proof and burn it and no one would believe these gutter men. They were scum and blight to Italy, every one of them.
He punched the old man and blood spew from his lips. It was the punch to the heart that brandished a smile. The old man’s eyes were steel. “You cannot kill me, I live on.”
Alberti only felt pressure to his chest. It did not hurt, the buzzing was worse. He saw his mother and father and sisters and brothers. They waited in their finest clothes. Their smiles were beams of light, and then he saw Semira and knew he was finally home.
A single gunshot echoed in the night.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Night. The part before dawn when everyone is asleep in their beds, dreaming is when Alfonzo and Nico arrived at the ancient home. In the thick of darkness, the stately mansion bespoke a time of Kings and Lords. There was the quiet of the wind and a chill that permeated Alfonzo’s bones. It was as cold as death to Alfonzo when he emerged from the vehicle near this ancestral home.