by S. W. Frank
Alfonzo twisted the cap while lowering to the chair. His foot slipped and liquid poured into his lap. The huge stain on his crotch resembled an incontinent person that pissed in his pants. He stretched his arm to grab a wipe from the dispenser on the counter, bumped the keyboard and scoffed. He wasn’t drunk, not even a buzz–for real but he was uncoordinated due to mental fatigue.
He bent over to dab at the stain.
• • • • • •
‘I was angry... disappointed because I believed you would never hurt Alfonzo. I suffered, and do you know why?”
“No.”
“Because, nothing is as important to Alfonzo as you. But, today there is a new fear; it is that you will do anything to make amends for your wrong because guilt appears on occasion, just as mine visits over Shanda.”
Alfonzo lifted his head, at the sound of the recording. He focused on the screen with such intensity, his eyes burned. His brother badgered Selange. When did this shit happen? When he moved closer to read the date, he slammed the bottle on the counter.
“That sonovabitch!” he exclaimed before hushing to hear more.
“You make me sick sometimes Geo. We were cordial. Then you go right back to being an ass. I try hard to ignore your jabs but I can’t anymore. Get out, please, just leave Geo.”
“I will leave when I am ready. I understand sickness visits when we are weak. I am not immune to lapses. Tell me about this post-traumatic stress disorder. Will you suddenly run to the kitchen shrieking, grab a knife and then stab me or does your symptom only involve sex with Nico?”
“My wife asked you to leave and you say what maricón and then you slap her with Nico when she and I have moved past that shit?” Alfonzo shouted at the monitor.
“You’re a jerk. PTSD is a serious disorder.”
“I am trying to understand these episodes to avoid becoming a victim.”
“Ah, do not get the Allie face. You have nothing to prove –to anyone. Alfonzo…the entire famiglia has forgiven you. I prefer to make sure you do not have a relapse. Now, tell me Bella, what are the full details of your bargain?”
Alfonzo had heard enough. He rushed upstairs and woke his wife’s ass up.
She sat forward rubbing her eyes. “Yeah, everything okay?”
“Why didn’t you tell me Geo was here fucking with you Mami?”
Selange wasn’t fully awake but the question served as cold water in the face. He had watched the tape and he waited for her to lie.
She didn’t.
“Because I knew you’d get upset.”
“What the hell is this about a side bargain?”
“I planned to tell you after you were well, but then I found out I was sick and I forgot.”
“Amnesia, huh?” He rushed to the dresser, stepped out of his shorts to don a dry pair. He fussed in Spanish. “Speak fast babe because I’m losing patience with this shit.”
“I offered to use a bank in Africa to launder the money for the people that wouldn’t let us out of the contract.”
He had a t-shirt perched over his head when she said that and he lost it. “You fucking did what?”
Selange climbed out of bed and nothing was cute about her actions, well intended or not. She went to grab his arm and he slapped that shit away, too pissed for any lovey-dovey.
“Al, calm down.”
He put on the shirt, and then hopped into sweat pants he had never worn. The sharp edge of his jaw resulted from his clenched mouth that stayed shut to refrain from saying something he might regret.
The anger in his eyes as he put on sneakers and bolted from the room had Selange scared.
“Al! Al!” she screamed, running to the closet to yank on whatever she found to chase after him. There wasn’t time to put on footwear. He was out the front door and she screamed in frustration. “These damn home surveillance tapes are conspiring to make me single or widowed!”
No way would she allow Al to kill his brother. What happened with Domingo affected him badly. However, when Al’s in a blind rage, the loco comes out and by then the damage is irreversible.
She flew out the door, shouting at the rear bumper as he sped out the driveway with another vehicle on his tail.
Damn Al, who’s chasing whom now, she panted as her long legs cut the wind. She jet across the lawn to the garage, ignoring the shouts from the slower moving men. They were definitely not sprinters.
The staff should have peeped by now; she didn’t sit idle when her man was in trouble. Marital squabble or not, when shit popped off in their relationship, the pact they had was to take a breather, but never leave mad. Therefore, she was going after him to hold that ass accountable for breaking their private agreement!
She removed the key to the Mustang. Hey, she shrugged, fancy didn’t mean special. Besides, she was in a New York state of mind, as the song goes.
“Scusa, but you cannot leave Signora,” a soft-spoken guard walking toward her stated.
She walked backwards to the vehicle, twisting her mouth in a ‘yeah that’s what you think’ attitude. Luckily, the car occupied the front row and she didn’t have to pass the imposing figure to get to it.
“Shoot me or follow,” she quipped and pulled on the handle, slipped inside and the auto remote starter left her nothing to do except, click her seatbelt, gas the vehicle and steer.
She screeched from the garage without obstructions with security on delay mode as the Mustang roared on pebbles.
Exhilaration shot from her brain to her toes.
“Ew, what’s this sticky shit on the pedal?” She wrinkled her nose, hoping the gunk wasn’t poo-poo and then fixed her eyes on the road. Then she laughed, when she thought of the huge wet stain on Al’s thighs.
Chapter Thirty
Giuseppe awoke to clinking noises. He sat up, tossed his legs over the side of the bed and listened.
Clinking of bottles resounded.
He hurried out of the bedroom to investigate. His ears strained to determine what direction the noise originated. When he heard the sound again, he strolled to the end of the hall and peered over the banister.
A woman fussed aloud and glass shattered.
A male voice escalated. “Statti! You will wake the Don with this racket.”
“I will not live in the home with trash!”
Giuseppe’s eyes widened at the heavily accented, familiar voice.
Kenya had taken over his home, fussing and rearranging items in his absence. He stayed very late at the office and even later between the legs of the reporter, who turned out to be an amicable bedmate.
Nico’s call, days earlier irritated Giuseppe, when the cazzo demanded a detailed explanation of what occurred.
“Vaffanculo cugino!” Giuseppe had shouted and then hung up. He refused to answer the stronzo; he had yet to soothe his wounded ego.
Tomorrow he would meet with his fratellino and then discuss his predicament. He found little reason to repeat the humiliation. The marriage to a Russian was a life of purgatory.
Kenya cooked dinner every day and left him notes telling him she had retired and hoped he had a pleasant day.
Cosa?
The girl behaved as if they were married. Certainly, she was a delusional bride from Hades.
He woke to nightmares every morning and strict terrors before bed by the presence of a Russian living in his home.
He peered hesitantly over the balcony, noticed a large bin filled with his liquor bottles and he snarled in a beastly manner as he descended the stairs, fuming.
He reached the bottom step and spotted Kenya’s tush in the air as she cleaned out his bar.
Gee, sat quietly in the corner, watching.
Had she put on weight?
She rose with a bottle of gin that he forgot he had.
“What are you doing Donna?”
“Dobryj vyechyer,” she replied with too much joy, but it was when she spun around, he choked. She was not hideous, anymore. Color had returned to her skin and the auburn highlig
hts shimmered.
The Russian girl was pretty.
“Cosa? Speak Sicilian or English!” He barked to cover his shock at the transformation.
“You are grumpy. I believe alcohol sours you. My Papa was mean, but meaner when he drank. I do not believe that is your heart. I will feed you foods that will help you cleanse your insides.”
Giuseppe could not believe what he heard. “I am soured by a girl who thinks she knows what is best for me. Put the liquor back and cease terrorizing my home, capisce?”
She pranced to his chest. Her head reached his neck. “I am a woman and your wife. You require a proper diet, now go to bed and allow me to put our home in order before your son returns.”
Giuseppe froze. “My son will never spend time with a lunatico. Stu’ pazzu!”
“Stu’ pazzu, to you lunatico. You are stuck with me, that is unless you kill Ivan and then I will go live with my sister.”
Giuseppe considered boarding a plane to do just that for his freedom. “In due time,” he stated and walked to the sofa, dismissing his guards with a wave. He took a deep breath as the glass clinking continued. He rubbed his temple. “Statti!” he shouted.
She leaned over the sofa and her hair hit his shoulder. “Have you eaten?”
“Sí.”
“Are you ill?”
“No.”
“When my Mama took ill, I would massage her like this,” she gripped Giuseppe’s shoulders, squeezing and rolling out the tension. “You are stiff. My fiancé Trev, he was very serious, too. I fell in love the moment I saw him. He was older, but he had –”
Giuseppe shrugged her off at the sound of a car door slam. “Yeah –yeah –yeah Trev was your love. Aye!” He rose and peered out the window to see his fratellino heading to the door.
He wore sneakers.
Giuseppe opened the door, happy to have a guest to distract from the misery.
Chapter Thirty-One
Alfonzo observed the light on as he strolled to the door. The man that greeted him was just the person he wanted to see.
“Buona notte fratellino,” Giuseppe said with a half-smile.
The power of Alfonzo’s punch sent Giuseppe staggering inside.
Alfonzo advanced, cracking his knuckles to relay his hands were fine.
Giuseppe charged. But before he found center mass, Alfonzo’s left hook sent him teetering sideways.
Then Alfonzo cracked his knuckles again to let Giuseppe understand that he was serious.
The moment his brother stepped up, Alfonzo knocked his antagonistic ass down on his knees. Gee stayed neutral. He was torn between his master and a caretaker that fed him sirloin steak.
Giuseppe rose. His swing went over Alfonzo’s head when his brother ducked.
Alfonzo was mad. He had taken Giuseppe’s shit for too long. The counter-punch by Alfonzo struck below Giuseppe’s ribcage. He wasn’t out to break his ribs, but cause pain.
When the bully coughed, Alfonzo stepped back to let him catch his breath after the kidney shot. He loved the fucker, but Giuseppe must’ve mistaken him for a bitch.
“You come to my home…disrespect my wife.” Alfonzo fumed, advancing on his big brother with sure footing. He socked Giuseppe’s chin up. “Talk shit now motherfucker!”
He sidestepped another of Giuseppe’s swings, but was caught with Giuseppe’s other arm and body slammed to the floor. They scuffled. Giuseppe landed a strike. The power rattled Alfonzo’s jaw and he bit his tongue.
“Hurt, eh fratellino?” Giuseppe panted as he grabbed on to Alfonzo’s shirt as they grappled, tearing it in the process.
Alfonzo elbowed Giuseppe in the gut and head-butt the sucker so hard that he felt Giuseppe’s pain. “She had cancer, you sonovabitch!” Alfonzo bellowed as he overpowered his brother and put him on his back, letting loose with a series of angry jabs.
Giuseppe blocked a few and managed to uppercut Alfonzo in the face. That didn’t stop Alfonzo’s rage, nothing but a force called self-restraint did.
Alfonzo suddenly backed off, looking at the blood on his knuckles as if he had never seen skin chafe. His muscles bulged like a fighter that recently sparred in the gym. He ripped away his black shirt and wrapped his hands as Giuseppe slowly rose to lean over his knee panting with exertion.
Then Giuseppe’s eyes shifted to something behind Alfonzo moving fast.
He spit as he shouted. “Statti Kenya! No, this is my fratellino!”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Nico observed the Mustang zip in front of his car. He recognized the woman behind the wheel. He slowed as a black SUV pursued at high speed.
Nico spun the wheel in that direction, abandoning his plan to check Alfonzo’s security to find out what was going on that Selange was leading the guards on a high-speed chase.
Nico shifted gears, shooting the car forward, gaining on the SUV. The car’s all-terrain tires rotated over the sediment. Kilometers later, the wheels wiggled on grass, in the hillside of Palermo.
He laughed, as he watched the Mustang drift around a bend, leaving plumes of dirt in its wake without smacking a branch. Adrenalin rushed through his body. He was a kid again, trying to catch Vin when they stole their parent’s cars to drag race with friends.
Selange handled that car like Al, and he snickered with pride seeing a woman maneuver as competently as some men do.
Al was good for that woman; in fact, they were good for each other. However, they all required a veteran. Someone sculpted into human stone to perform hard tasks and protect the family from killing each other. That's really, what Alberti wanted all along.
In and out of sentry trees that Mustang skated and Nico leaned back at cruising speed allowing her to lead, because he guessed exactly where she was going –Giuseppe’s villa.
He had Selange’s back if she ever needed his loaded gun to blast that arrogant stronzo.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Selange was waved through the checkpoints. Funny, she hadn’t slowed until she cut the wheel and applied the break, a kissing distance from her husband’s bumper.
She ran through the open door toward the bitch about to crack Al’s head with a bottle.
“That’s bar brawl crazy.” Selange hissed.
An angry woman moved as fast as the wind. Selange intercepted her hand in midair and Al ducked to the floor as his wife caught the hussy’s wrist and cold-clocked her with a fist to the temple that dropped her like a rock. Before Kenya napped, though, she passed Selange her bottle to hold.
“Oooh Mami, that was nice,” Alfonzo complimented with a wink and she smiled.
“Grazie Donna I wanted to do that for days,” Giuseppe announced. He gripped his nose, feeling for any broken bones.
Alfonzo was on one knee when he side-eyed Giuseppe. “You were going to let that nut hit me in the head. That’s foul bro.”
“I said statti. Did you not hear?” Giuseppe looked at Selange, relieved that she appeared healthy. “You are well, sí?”
“I’m okay Geo. But who the hell is she?” Selange asked, lowering her arm when she realized she had taken the bottle.
“That is Kenya…my wife,” Giuseppe announced.
“Your –what?” Selange and Alfonzo chorused.
Nico entered. He leisurely strolled around the people in the middle of the floor to take residence on the sofa. He surveyed the damage, glanced at the adult children and frowned in a replication of Alberti.
“I guess it’s official. I can’t retire anytime soon.” He chuckled. “Ah, this is a priceless moment, seeing you all act like fools.”
Alfonzo stood, fixing his jaw. “Geo started this shit.”
“You fib fratellino. You come to my home with your temper and do this.” He pointed to the many bruises.
Selange checked the unconscious girl. “Damn Geo, this is low even for you. How old is this girl?”
“Twenty-two and she is a Russian.” Then Giuseppe rose, putting his arm around Alfonzo. “I let you hit me. I wanted to see if you are a
ble to fight.”
“Sure you did.”
Selange’s inquiry silenced the room. “Geo, what the hell were you thinking marrying someone so soon? If the press or Nicole’s family gets wind of this, it’ll look bad.”
“It is a long story.”
“We have time,” they all agreed.
Before they settled down to hear Giuseppe’s ‘How I Met My Wife’ story, Selange went to fetch a cold cloth to put on the girl’s face and to clean the shit off her foot.
Kenya moaned when Selange applied a cold compress to her head. She woke with a dazed expression.
“Welcome to the family Kenya. Try to splatter my husband’s brains again and I’ll put you to sleep like the infant you are. ” Selange smiled sweetly.
The Prima must establish rules and that her name wasn't Donna. Her mother gave her a good name and Selange wasn’t a common title in the mob.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Alfonzo awoke to the sound of children.
His kids were home.
The little ones jumped around his head, performing their usual antics. They were as beautiful as the summer morning.
He smelled breakfast.
“Hmmm,” he sniffed in the aroma and for a moment believed, Anita was there.
“Meet you at the table,” he told the children and waved bye at Carlo who lingered to make goofy faces.
The boy was staying for the summer, maybe longer. Who knows, he'd take things one day at a time.
He showered, dressed and went past the bedrooms, and grinned when Sal exited into the hall, beat from doing nothing like most teens. He grabbed Sal in a headlock and let him twist out as he’d been taught.
Alfonzo hugged his son, not releasing his neck in order to give life lessons. “Treat women good hijo. No matter what, always treat them with respect, especially the one you choose for a wife.”
“Okay dad,” Sal replied. “But some women act like they like when guys treat them messed up.”
“Nah, nah, they just don’t know any better. They’re brainwashed. You know the story about Patty Hearst?”
“No.”
“Read…read and I mean a lot of different books until you’re old, hijo. The shit you’re going to come across from people who don’t read a broad scope of things will be an eye-opener.”