ATONEMENT (Alfonzo)

by Frank, S. W.

  Alfonzo stepped close to Emilio’s face and the young man didn’t flinch which earned him another half a point in the respect category. “Treat my cousin right, one hint you’re not and we rumble. From now on when you got something important to say to me, don’t hide behind women. Approach me man-to-man, comprende?”

  “Sí!”

  Alfonzo grinned. He liked the kid but the dude had to man-up. Anyway, Emilio was going to have his hands full with Jessica, though. He must really care about the girl to voluntarily subject himself to that big mouth day after day. Alfonzo figured he’d made his point. “Bienvenidos a nuestra familia. Welcome to our family!” He said and then took his butt to bed.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Nico’s mouth remained clamped in a tight line as he walked swiftly down the busy London street. He’d recently enjoyed a few moments at the tea house where he and Ariana first met. He sat in the same spot and remembered the warm feeling he got when she walked through the door and strut straight into his life. He didn’t think he had any strong emotions; he’d yet to experience anything beyond tepid affection during his many brief relationships, until he met her. The pretty woman softened him, she sure did.

  He envisioned Ariana with the Harrod’s bag, pictured those incredible legs and arrogant smile then he smirked. Her acerbic wit rivaled his sarcastic humor and after one conversation he started thinking about marriage. She’s the only woman who could distract his thoughts and make him blush like a sappy boy. They were alike in so many ways, it seemed unreal. She was multi-lingual, loved eclectic music, open-minded, straight-forward, rational, ravenous in bed and had a penchant for bad-boys. Nico’s mind shut down, the list of attributes was long. He hurt her, forgot everything, literally became a man with amnesia the minute he touched Selange.

  He glanced at his watch, decided he had a few minutes to spare and called his boys. Their excited chatter prompted a longing for home. They told him their mom was still at work, doing the law thing again, except this time she set up her own practice down near Federal Plaza. It’s been two months since their split and she was back on her grind after a two year hiatus in so-called paradise. He couldn’t fault her though; work was his therapy, also.

  After making sure things were well with his sons, he hurried out the cozy tea shop cupping a hot beverage and scanned the storefronts. He came upon the one which read; SAPIENZA BAKERY, peered in the window, checked the time again then went in. The door chimed as soon as he opened it, none of the patrons paid him any attention, they were busy placing orders in their heavily British accents. He joined the short line and waited. His eyes roamed about, taking in the autographed pictures on the wall of the bakery’s owner with some famous customers. Nice, mementos, Nico supposed, but for him most cherished memories were private and not tacked to any walls except those inside his heart. As the line moved he kept one eye on the door. It was nearing noon and the man he waited for was never tardy. Like clockwork, the man came strolling in, his bald head covered by a faded blue cap with a logo of his favorite soccer team. He got on line behind Nico.

  Finally, Nico was at the counter being serviced. He ordered two dozen pastries and a specialty cheesecake item that required the clerk to retrieve it from the cooler in the storeroom. In the clerk’s absence Nico made his move. He turned suddenly, intentionally bumping the man and the warm brew spilled down the front of his outer coat.

  Nico apologized profusely, snatching napkins from the counter to dab at his chest. “Sorry ‘bout that!”

  “No…it’s fine, really.”

  Nico’s hand came quickly to the man’s open mouth and he shoved several capsules into it. His palm covered the man’s airway, forcing him to swallow. Nico’s eyes went to the door, on occasion a constable or two stopped in for lunch and he only needed thirty seconds more to get this done. That’s how long it took for the lethal poison to retard the muscles; making speech impossible, then organ failure, or more plainly, death. In twenty more seconds, no…eighteen…the man would die.

  There came a jerking response from the man’s body as the toxic cocktail shut down his circulatory system. Nico’s body remained angled posteriorly toward the camera in an effort to avoid facial recognition. In the video were two men, one turning to the other, a man falling, the other hovering above him as if asking, “Are you okay?” Nothing sinister in the words or deeds, a Good Samaritan through and through.

  He sported the beard to disguise his features, especially here in London where public streets and transportation were heavily monitored by security cameras. Once he stepped outside again, one of those cameras were certain to capture his likeness, a hunched, poorly dressed man with a wild beard, sallow white skin and sunglasses.

  Nico shouted to the clerk, “Telephone an ambulance, there’s a chap here with chest pain!”

  The young woman raced from the rear of the store clutching Nico’s order. She dropped them on the counter and scurried to the phone. Nico stayed over the man. A concerned citizen coming to the aid of someone in distress and not a calculated killer sent by Alberti.

  Nico never asked questions about these contracts, but Alberti volunteered background information. Mainly, because it involved Nico’s father and the Giacanti’s.

  The man lying motionless was a journalist, researching Sergio Giacanti and his rumored formation of the International Board of Directors as well as the deaths of its alleged members in a tragic inferno. He questioned the suspicious fire and suggested it was a mob rub-out. This was not the worst of it, he obtained copies of the death certificates of the men involved in the assassination. Men such as Carlo Dichenzo and ‘The Butcher’, Nico’s father. His investigation also uncovered information which might interest the Italian authorities and potentially spark a war among the families of La Costra Nostra. They’d seek retribution for the unsanctioned hit. What Alberti failed to tell Nico was the journalist stumbled upon Alberti’s true identity. He’d found the falsified adoption papers for a child fitting the exact description and age of one of the Giacanti children. A young boy believed killed in the massacre and traced the connection to a young newlywed couple, Nico’s parents. He suspected the boy they adopted was the youngest son of the infamous mob lord, Sergio Giacanti. Yes, he’d ventured dangerously close to the fire and Alberti could not allow this and other information to get out, therefore he sent Nico.

  The story had to die and so did the investigative journalist!

  Earlier, Nico went through the reporter’s unkempt apartment, removed his hard drive and research –but to ensure there were no loose ends, fire became the handy tool of eradication. At this moment a raging blaze occurred in the journalist’s flat. The cause of the damage, a careless neighbor who’d left a cigarette unattended in the cluttered studio below. In his haste to get to work the smoker forgot to properly out the cigarette and the ashtray toppled to the carpeted floor, burning and consuming everything above it. The inferno would leave no traces of the story. The only article appearing in tomorrow’s news would be notice of the fire and the reporter’s untimely death.

  Waking the crimes of the dead was a risky business, didn’t the journalist realize that? The dead often leave guardians, living, watchful and diligent who’d ensure certain secrets remained buried.

  Nico opened the man’s coat, simulated CPR for ten minutes then stopped when an ambulance crew arrived. Once the deceased was loaded into the vehicle, Nico wiped his brow and exclaimed in his best cockney accent, “Bloody hell of a way to start to me day.”

  The frazzled clerk thanked him for his intervention and as a reward; his order was on the house. He grinned, “Jolly nice, thanks. G’day.”

  She smiled at the strange bearded man in the dark shades as he gathered up the bag and returned to the cold of London.

  An hour later Nico sat on the high-tech speed train racing toward Sicily. Once there a car waited and in the backseat, Alberti and his ever present cigar.

  “Any trouble?”

  “None.”

  “Nico, you
never disappoint me.”

  Nico considered keeping the beard, that is until Alberti commented, “I pray you shave before Matteo’s wedding.”

  “Maybe, I kind of like it.”

  “Do not irk me Nico, this is an important day. Amelda expects us to look our best. She’s excited; do not spoil it with your rebellion.”

  Nico’s eyes flashed, “Amelda’s seen men with beards before, besides her eyes will be on Matteo.”

  “This is a formal affair and your untamed appearance will only serve as a distraction.”

  Nico found this ridiculous and changed the subject, “How many guests are expected?”

  “Two hundred,” Alberti replied, “distinguished guests and allies of our present and deceased family.” He paused, “There’s an addition to the bridal party coming tomorrow. I need you to be her security and chauffeur until her husband arrives. The other women will have their own private security. We cannot risk their safety during this joyous occasion. I need someone dutiful for the task and you are the best fit.”

  “Babysitting?” Nico chuckled at the joke. “You want me to tail behind a bunch of Mafia Princesses and their overbearing mothers. Have you gotten senile in your golden years, fratello?”

  Alberti’s eyes did not reflect an iota of humor, “Meet with Sophie tomorrow, she will give you the women’s itinerary. Do not take the assignment lightly. You’re entrusted with Don Alfonzo’s wife while she’s here.”

  The grin died, punched straight from Nico’s mouth. He reclined finding nothing amusing about this sudden surprise. He looked at Alberti. What dangerous farce was he playing, Nico questioned and most importantly what did the old man suspect? Pairing him with Selange was dangerous. Surely, it can only lead to disaster or temptation!

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The private jet landed in Milan. The darkness cloaked the beautiful city, yet the twinkling colors from buildings welcomed its latest visitor with sparkly confetti of lights.

  Selange’s luggage was loaded into an awaiting limousine. She could not see through the tinted windows the plush interior but knew the wealthy did not skimp on the smallest amenities. The limo was certain to have a well-stocked mini-bar, sweets and other non-alcoholic drinks. She wished Alfonzo and the children were her companions on the desolate flight instead of the somber bodyguard. Thank goodness he was returning to Bayamón, she’d prefer being alone then to have an illusion of company. Alfonzo told her the new guard would double as her chauffeur, it was all arranged. She hoped he was more affable than her former escort.

  She crossed her legs, looked around the spacious interior of the limo and smiled. Yes, just as she figured the rich traveled like Kings and Queens. She was somewhat nervous about being thrust among women she hardly knew. Her Italian sucked and like Alfonzo, she was an American and an outsider. But Alfonzo was their family, he traveled frequently here, got to know them and they loved him. She, on the other-hand met his family only twice and hadn’t formed any allies.

  The driver took off and the plane sat, refueling as it prepared to return to America. Selange laid her head against the soft leather seat and closed her eyes, drained from the extensive trip.

  She dozed and awoke when she felt the cars wheels bouncing over rougher terrain. She peered out the window and saw they were on a blackened street and the lights of Milan were far in the distance.

  “Driver, where are we?”

  The petition rolled down a crack and the harsh voice of a woman spoke, “Welcome to Italia, Selange Diaz.”

  Selange’s heart pound. “Why did we stop?”

  “Be quiet, I ask the questions, you answer!”

  Selange reached for the door handle, “What kind of joke is this?” The doors were locked and would not open from the inside, “Let me out of this car!”

  Selange could not see the woman’s face through the dark Plexiglas, but there was someone else beside her, another woman because she heard female laughter.

  “We will put a bullet in you if you do not sit quiet!”

  The panic rose, “What…what do you want?”

  “Answers.”

  “Answers to what?”

  A male voice, talked swiftly in Italian. One phrase she clumsily deciphered, ‘Rendono rapida’ or make it quick!’

  The woman asked, “Why are you here?”

  “To shop in Milan?”

  “You have one last chance to tell us why you have come or we will kill you and your children!”

  The mention of her children sent Selange into a rage, she pounded on the petition, “You touch my kids and I’ll find you in hell bitch…and put a bullet in your mouth for mentioning my kids…do you hear me?”

  “Answer the question and we will not harm you or them, now what is your business here?”

  The air became hot. The anger in Selange intensified. She banged at the hard surface with flattened palms, anxious to get to the cowards hiding behind it. No one threatened her family and lived. “Let me out of this car!”

  “Not until you tell us what we want to know.”

  Selange recognized the futility of her actions and took a deep breath and reached for her cell phone. The moment she did the petition hummed down. “Welcome to Milan, Selange. I’m Lucia, this is Renalda. We were having fun with you.”

  Selange was pissed, her nerves were on end. She hissed, “Bitches!”

  ***

  The second the limo stopped in front of the estate and the locks popped up, Selange flew out the backseat to the front passenger door and yanked it open. The first woman her hand’s touched got pulled out by the hair. Selange fists beat at the woman’s skull and the tormentor now became the frightened victim. She screamed for Selange to stop but her pleas went ignored, in fact the blows came swifter until Selange abruptly released her and went after her co-conspirator.

  The other woman cowered inside the vehicle, even tried to close the door before Selange got there, but it didn’t work. Selange caught the door handle and her wrath gave her strength. She held the door open with one hand, leaned inside and smashed the young woman in her mouth for her cruelty. Her knuckles retracted covered in lipstick and spit. The woman tried to grapple with Selange and lost. She shouted in a foreign language for aid from the driver who seemed reluctant to intervene. The loud whack of Selange’s hand across the woman’s face got him moving. He circled the car as Selange held the woman’s collar, slapping her repeatedly with such force the woman’s face turned scarlet. The driver’s hands took hold of her waist moving her backward –but Selange still held the woman’s coat and the shrieks came not only from the thunderous strikes of the crazed American, but also the stinging to her legs as she was dragged over the rugged pavement.

  Selange managed to break free from the driver’s grasp and bent over the woman and smashed through her poor attempt at blocking. “You sick bitch. You threatened me and my children. I’m going to beat you to death…both of you!”

  She actually started choking the woman when she was suddenly snatched high into the air and carried away kicking and screaming for release. The man who held her lowered her down but maintained an ironclad grasp. Every evasive maneuver Selange attempted could not loosen it. She failed miserably at an escape. Her energy became depleted and the impotent fury caused her to go limp. Suddenly, her stomach churned and she began to sweat profusely.

  Selange’s breathing changed into a ragged high-pitched noise and she gripped the side of the man’s coat. His hold was compressing her stomach. “Too tight, I’m getting sick.”

  He loosened his grip and quickly spun her outward to the side to let her catch the wind. That’s when she began to retch. Her heart beat like a locomotive as she vomited all over the ground. They kidnapped her and threatened Sal and Allie. Such an unimaginable torture, she puked again and believed she may have vomited out her insides. But of course she hadn’t, judging by the contents at her feet. The chunky mush contained colorful M&M’s she’d eaten; the one’s Sal put in her purse in case she needed a snack.
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br />   She recalled hugging the boy tightly and smiling. “Thank you hun and I’ll see you very soon. I’ll call every night before bed-time and you can call me or text anytime you want, okay?”

  Oh, the boy was his father with those blue eyes and tough demeanor. He smiled, “Mom, I’m not a baby. I got it covered when you’re gone. If you need to talk to me then it’s fine, I’ll take your call.”

  Yes, that’s exactly what Sal told his mom.

  ‘Oh, God and to think she would never see his face or Aldonza…or…’

  She heaved and someone pulled her hair away from her face and held it as she threw-up once more. She shivered hoping she was finally done. The vision of her children lying face-down in blood became a potent image and it brought agony to her chest. Her head flopped backward against the masculine figure both hard and soft. She inhaled the night air, took it in with one long inhalation. The images were rushing at such speed she screamed. She held the wrist of the unseen figure as the sight of her mom and Al crashed through and bowled her over. Their murdered bodies were twisted and grotesque. Her hands bloodied from the discovery. The post-traumatic effect palpable and fresh all these years later. She drooped forward sobbing as she tried to wake from the nightmare set in motion by two heartless young women!

  A male voice rose in anger. The man who restrained her chest began to vibrate and he bellowed, “Portare un panno e acqua!”

  There were words spiraling around in a heated argument. Then Selange was forced to drink water, it flowed down her throat, some of it spilling on the ground but it tasted good. She drank more. The sickness began to subside and her chest calmed. The images were gone; she was in control again. The rage and heartache diminished then she sniffled. The entire Giacanti family was murdered, weren’t they aware of the legacy? Her mother and new husband were murdered by a crazed killer sent on the order of a mobsters’ greedy wife, who wanted Alfonzo dead, didn’t they know that too? Weren’t they aware the malicious joke played to the wrong audience? They should’ve known and expected her reaction, or maybe traumatizing her is what they wanted. She despised their sick humor and most of all she was disgusted by them!