by Sienna Mynx
“Perfect. Let’s help you relax. Practice some meditation and breathing. It’ll help you. I have to go out for a few things, but I’ll be back.”
Before Catalina could object the girl was gone. She got up from the bed and picked up her knife. She went to the door and locked it. She closed the shutters in the room and forced darkness. She lay down. Sleep never came. But she did feel a little sanity return after the visit. It had been a long time since she related to anyone, talked to anyone. She missed human connection. She missed Armando.
WHAT ARE YOU DOING in here!” Marissa pinched her brother on the arm. He snatched away from her piercing grip. “I told you to stay away from here! You’re going to ruin everything.”
Jasper rubbed his arm as if wounded. He then picked up an apple from the fruit basket and bit into it. He chewed slowly. Marissa stepped back and glanced to the stairs. She half expected the Battaglia princess to come down and catch them both. Catalina did not appear.
“I was going to pay the pretty lady another visit. I liked our talk earlier. I think we should talk it out a bit more.”
“If uncle finds out you’ve been here, twice, he’ll gut you Jasper! And then he’ll send what’s left of us both back to Armenia.”
“Where is she?” he asked.
Jasper looked up to the ceiling and so did Marissa. He spoke softly, however, the cottage was small and the walls were thin as rice paper. They’d be discovered soon.
“I’m not going to say it again. Get out of here and stay out.”
“Why do you care? She’s just some Italian cunt! She’s useless. She doesn’t know where Carlo is. How can she be locked up in here?”
Marissa took a step toward him. “That cunt upstairs is the widow of Don Armando Mancini and the sister to Don Giovanni Battaglia. She is the only one that can get us closer to Carlo. You will ruin everything if her cousin Lorenzo finds out that you’ve been sniffing around. He does know who you are. Have you forgotten? We stick to my plan!”
“I want to go back to America,” Jasper said through clenched teeth. He slammed the apple down so hard on the counter it smashed into juicy pulp. “Fuck Carlo. Fuck the agarka—whore. Shae’s gone. We’ll never find her. Even if we find this Carlo, we won’t find her.”
“No. Carlo ruined everything. He knows where she is. Besides even if we get uncle and grandfather to agree to let us go back we can’t live in Vegas. And that’s where we both want to be.”
“New Orleans is nice,” Jasper smirked. “That’s the place for me. I’ve seen pictures.”
Marissa snapped her fingers in his face. “Stay focused Jasper. I got us here because I know what I’m doing. We find Carlo and then we find Shae. We finish what we started with the agarka. That was always the deal.”
“Boring,” he yawned.
“You little fucking runt—”
Jasper sneered. “I saw a little village girl today,” he said and walked around the kitchen table. “I think I’ll play with her.”
Marissa was swift. She went at her brother before he could escape her wrath. She grabbed him by the throat. They were the same height and weight. He whimpered instead of fighting back.
“No killing. Don’t you touch any of the girls here. Any! Do you hear me?”
“Yeeess,” he wheezed. She let him go and he gasped and coughed while backing away.
“Leave and stay away. You won’t ruin this.”
“Is she really pregnant?” he choked out the question.
“Doesn’t matter.”
Jasper smiled. “Never had a pregnant girl before. I’ll be good. But you must do something for me Marissa. It’s not my fault. I have these urges. It’s not my fault.”
“What do you want?”
“After we find Carlo can I have her?” He pointed up at the ceiling. “For being good?”
Marissa folded her arms. “No. I have plans for her.”
Jasper pouted. “But—”
“What about the baby?”
“I will give you the baby to play with. All yours. Who knows? It might be a little girl.”
Jasper eyes stretched. “I never had a baby girl before. Are you sure it will be a girl?”
“How the hell would I know!”
“Sorry,” Jasper said.
“It’s okay. I had planned to make her lose the baby. Its what uncle wanted. For me to come over here and make her my special tea. But she is more vulnerable and needy pregnant. So yes. Your reward will be the little booger when it’s born. It has no father, and the Battaglias won’t want the runt.”
“Yes! Yes!” Jasper clapped and jumped up and down with giddiness.
“Good. Now stick to our agreement. I need you to stay away from her. You spooked her.” Her twin brother grinned and left after he plucked another apple from the basket. Marissa followed him to the door, secured the lock, and then returned to the kitchen to see what was there. She was going to take loving care of the princess, really good care of her.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
La Preda - What's left?
Naples, Italy
THE BLAST CAME HARDER than cannon fire. Wood splintered. Glass exploded. Marcello instinctively ducked with a hand to the wall. He didn’t see the Battaglia’s coming for him, but he knew they were close. The screams and shouts were followed by rapid-fire gunshots. In his head he heard himself shouting one word—move. And he did. Marcello tried one door after another. People in the whorehouse dove out of his path. The Battaglia’s were barricading the doors. He escaped them once but this time it would be much harder.
Marcello’s luck had run out.
“Marcello! Where are you going little puttana?” Umberto shouted from behind him. Marcello ducked to the next hall avoiding being shot. He kicked the door before him open. The women inside screamed. The frame to the door crashed inward under gunfire. He ducked as he charged inside. The screaming didn’t stop, and the bullets kept coming.
“Togliti di mezzo! Togliti di mezzo! Move! Move!” he shoved the women and men aside knocking several to the floor, stepping on them as he went for the nearest window. Two shots hit the wall as he threw himself against a closed window and crashed through to the other side. He landed with a hard fall to the ground from the second floor. The dirt by his head ricocheted bullets. Marcello rolled away from the spray of lead, ignoring the pain in his arm. It was broken. He was able to steal one final glance up to the window. Umberto grinned at him. And fired one more shot. This time hitting him in the leg. Marcello howled in agony. He got to his feet and tried to run for it but the pain when he stood was too severe.
“Cazzo!”
He went down face first. Marcello pushed up and ignored the pain. His life depended on it. He ran for cover the best he could.
How did they find him again? He’d been so careful. Lorenzo still had friends in Piazza Garibaldi. Lorenzo said that he didn’t turn the Armenians on to him and Federico. He was supposed to be protected until extraction. The plan was to remain in plain sight, closer to the tourists and the bay.
More gunshots fired. Bullets zipped past him so fast he felt the trajectory. He dragged his leg as he made his escape. The shops and cafes were an intricate maze and he knew all the side alleys by heart. Marcello passed a few people while bleeding from the leg. He didn’t bother to stop for help. He had to find cover.
And then he saw it. A young man taking off his helmet stood next to his vespa. Marcello wished he had a gun. He did his best to reach the man without dragging his leg and showing his weakened state. All he had was fear. When the guy turned his head, his jaw was met by Marcello’s left fist. His right arm was certainly broken. The man went down cold. Marcello jumped on the vespa and turned the ignition. He sped off. Steering with one hand was hard. He was careful of the roads he chose. He needed to get to Sala Blu. He had an ex-girlfriend in the area. As he sped from the corner alley with his luck changing he couldn’t help but laugh out loud.
Giovanni was pathetic! So were his men. Without Carlo or Lorenzo, Giov
anni was nothing. And Marcello refused to be on the losing side in the end. He veered onto the next street and was blinded by car lights. Marcello hit his brake and swerved the bike, but the car sped directly for him. Before he could process the next move, he took a direct hit and went flying off the vespa. He landed hard on the street. He rolled. The rough pavement pealed the skin from his bare arms and the side of his face.
In more pain that he ever imagined he gasped and blinked several times to keep from losing consciousness. Something was wrong. He couldn’t feel his legs and his arm was bent awkwardly beneath him.
The men in the car got out. He saw their shoes as they approached. The snake skin loafers with the golden tips stopped before him. He knew those fancy shoes. Umberto knelt, and Marcello looked up. A gun was pressed to Marcello’s temple.
“You’re dying,” Umberto said. “I can make it quick.” He smiled through his words. “Or I can make it last for days. Fix you so I can give you more pain. Do you believe me?”
Marcello nodded.
“Good, because you will tell me everything I need to know.”
Marcello closed his eyes. The offer was no choice at all.
THERE WASN’T ENOUGH alcohol in the world to quench his thirst. Lorenzo sat forward. He released a deep guttural grunt. There was pain. At the moment it centered in his skull instead of his heart. And the grip was unrelenting. He swallowed but his throat felt bone dry. He tried to inhale a deep breath, but his lungs didn’t feel as if they expanded. Drinking wasn’t the only thing killing him. Losing her, and his baby had taken the will for life out of him. He only survived on the hope of rescue. But every move he made was met by a counter move. He had to send Giovanni another message. A message. He had to do it. That’s what he told himself after he gave the order to burn the home that he and Giovanni needed most as kids. The desecration of Eve’s grave hurt him the most. She was his only saving grace from his cruel mother when he was a boy. He prayed silently for her soul to rest in peace.
Lorenzo pushed up stronger from the chair and walked into his bathroom. He put a cool rag to his face. He wiped twice to revive himself. When he finally lifted his gaze and faced the man in the mirror he didn’t recognize what he saw. The whites of his eyes were a rheumy red and his lids were heavy. His beard had fully grown in. Below his nose you couldn’t see his mouth or chin. His tangled hair reached his shoulders. He looked like a bad duplication of Michelangelo’s Jesus.
With disgust he returned to his room where he picked out a fresh shirt. He pulled it on and then retrieved the two guns he kept with him always.
When he arrived in the meeting room in his villa he wasn’t surprised to find Alik and his men waiting. Everyone stopped speaking when Lorenzo entered. He ignored the glare from Alik and turned his attention to the men who now swore loyalty to him.
Novo spoke first. He was once loyal to Armando Mancini and one of the few men spared when he tossed the Mancini rats dead carcasses into the ocean.
“Mondello, Bagheria, Palermo all of it is ours. We’ve finally heard from Giovanni.”
Lorenzo’s brows lifted to the news.
“Well not from Giovanni, but from his consigliere.” Novo cleared his throat. “He expects a call from you tomorrow.”
“Expects a call from me?” Lorenzo gave a deep throat chuckle. “Fuck him! I told him to call me! And last I check his time is up.”
“You will make the call,” Alik interjected.
Lorenzo’s gaze swung to his benefactor. The men glared at each other for a moment before Lorenzo found the strength to humble himself. “I am handling Giovanni.”
Alik nailed Lorenzo with a hard glare. He spoke in English to exclude others from the conversation. “Like you’ve handled him so far? You’ve lost your pets in Naples, you’ve lost my guns, my women, my product, all of it. Naples and Rome are gone.”
“This is the beginning!”
“This is the end!” Alik out shouted Lorenzo. “You promised me results and Giovanni has been a step ahead of you at each turn. How were you his underboss and so easily whipped? What use were you to him? What use are you to me? My time is short. I am not here for your revenge party. I am here for my guns.”
“You’re right. Forget Italy. Let Giovanni have it. He will soon have his hands full with the Carabinieri. Don Gambetta is dead. The Mafiosi recognized me as the new Don to Mancini’s territory. Giovanni is banished from Sicily. By taking Mondello from him I hit him harder than anything he’s done to you. Trust me.”
“That is the problem Lorenzo. I don’t trust you. Every move you have made has given you power, and I still don’t have my guns.”
“If I’m frozen in Italy, I’ve made sure through my men that he is frozen too.”
Alik chuckled. “No. He isn’t. He has a new alliance.”
“Bullshit. He has a dirt crew of rejects and hooligans.”
“He has now invited the Russians to a meeting. One that I am sure will focus on me.” Alik stood. “Giovanni was my ally because he believed the Russians killed his father. A lie you told. He knows the truth. Now he wants to give them weapons to hunt my people. That was never part of the deal!”
“How do you know that? How could you know that?”
“What? You think I rely on you for information? I have eyes and ears too.” Alik said. “My source is unshakable, and untraceable. Soon Giovanni will align with the Russians. He is shifting gears. He’s coming for me now. That changes this party.”
“The Russians hate la Camorra. There is nothing Giovanni could or would offer them to change it. He’d rather do business with the Africans.”
Alik was not appeased. Every man gathered tensed. From his count Alik had sixteen in the villa, twelve outside of it, eight watching over Catalina. Lorenzo had a total of ten that he trusted. He needed Alik calm and agreeable but Giovanni taking the side of the Russians against the Armenians was the nuke that could blast through all his plans. And he still had no idea where Marietta was.
“The Russians hate Giovanni. Even if they want to do a deal, they can’t be trusted. Besides we don’t need Italy anymore. We are going to where the guns are plenty and the people have no allegiance.”
“Where is that?”
“America. I know the Italians there. They can get you all the weapons you need. Cut the middle man out. There are shipping ports in New Jersey out of America that can send containers full of guns to these shores. What I am proposing is you do business directly with the Americans. Leave me and Giovanni to our war.”
The plan resonated with Alik. He didn’t appear as enraged or distrustful. The Armenian Mafia was mostly in the West Coast of America. They dealt in many things but not gun trafficking. Lorenzo’s bargain would give them another connection that would prove even more lucrative. Alik was indeed interested. He glanced to one of his men and translated the deal.
“How much?” Alik asked.
“Six and that includes pick-up and delivery. It’s a start. A nice start.”
Alik nodded. “Six million? Hmmm, make the deal, and do it fast.”
“I won’t pull that trigger.”
“Why not?” Alik took a step forward.
“Not yet. I still have to get my wife.”
Alik narrowed his eyes on Lorenzo. “I am not your kitten to be petted. I want what was promised to me.”
“And so do I. Marietta and the guns are a package deal. For us both. I’ll do as you said. I’ll make the call to Giovanni. And I will find out where he has her. You help me get to Marietta and I give you the keys to America.”
“Time is short.” Alik reminded him for the final time.
Lorenzo cut his eyes and walked out. “Shorter than you know.”
Roma, Italy
GIOVANNI TRAVELED BY train. It was the fastest and least conspicuous way to reach Rome. The Bratva had taken up shop there. And their moves went uncontested by the N’drangheta. All due to the new fearless leader that controlled nearly half of the criminal organizations grip on the worl
d. He was an ex KGB soldier and veteran of the Soviet-Afghan war. Ludwig Ivankov known to many as Tarzan, because of his stark white blondish hair and bulky frame and height, made most of his fortune as a global arms dealer second only to Giovanni. The two men had never met face to face. He was aware that during the time he was in his coma the bastard had made several attempts to get close to his wife. As did all of his enemies.
Tacchini shielded her from the displeasure of meeting with the Russians. Giovanni and Dominic rode through Testaccio under the cover of darkness. And nothing much had changed since Tarzan swung into town.
The meeting place would be in Russian territory. Caves that were once dug out for storage during Italy’s time of war were now the underbelly of the bar and club scene in Roma. There’s a market that was once popular to visit during the day but avoided by most at night. Tarzan and his men had set up their headquarters in the old slaughterhouse. And Giovanni had been told stories of what the crazy Russian did to his enemies back there.
Nico parked. Renaldo got out first and greeted someone Giovanni could not see. Dominic began to load his gun.
“Put it away. We won’t be able to bring it in,” Giovanni said.
“We’re not going in empty handed. The fucking Russian is a madman.”
“We are all madmen. Renaldo and Nico will be our cover. But to get into the slaughterhouse we go unarmed. It’s a show of respect.”
“Giovanni? This motherfucker respects nothing. He calls himself Tarzan for Christ sake.”
“Put the gun away, and let’s get this over with.” Giovanni got out and was assaulted by the stench of rotted meat, shit and piss. He held his breath and squinted toward his men. There was no one to greet them. Not at first. But as soon as Giovanni reached Renaldo three men walked out of the shadows. None of them were armed. That meant the men with the guns were in the darkness and ready to drop them at any moment.
“Don Giovanni. You’re awake,” a man said. He wasn’t sure who the man was. He was taller than Nico with muscles that extended to his neck. He had a beard and mustache but no eyebrows or hair on his head. His skin was ghostly pale. It gave him an odd look. Giovanni didn’t respond. Dominic was searched first. Giovanni was searched second. Both passed inspection. That seem to impress the men. The giant before him whistled. Six men jumped from the rafters. Giovanni looked up to see dark shadows above on the roofs with guns. The ambush was one of clarity. It was a good thing he decided to brave the night with his men alone.