Battaglia Mafia: La Famiglia Part 9

"Did he suspect?" Mancini shot his son a glare. "I told you to be discreet."

"He didn't suspect."

His father inhaled the oxygen with one hand to the mask pressed over his mouth and nose. He used the other shaky hand to remove the images from the folder. Armando studied his father's reaction. Mancini's eyes narrowed, the blood drained from his already pasty pale face. Armando lowered his gaze down to Lorenzo's woman. She was a black woman, with wild curly hair, probably American. Very pretty, if you were into that kind, and Armando wasn't. She wore a bikini on a boat. It looked like she danced with a gla.s.s of wine in her hand.

Mancini lowered the mask. "Marietta? Bella mia," Mancini whispered to the image with affection.

"You know her?" Armando asked.

His father traced his finger over the woman's image. Armando thought he saw the makings of a smile on his face. "It's her. I see it. Mama mia, I see it." Mancini said. "I've found her. She's alive."

"Who is she?" Armando asked.

Mancini took his time. He shuffled through one image to the next. The last picture showed an excited Lorenzo Battaglia lifting the woman in his arms. She held to his neck and kissed him. That image alone dissolved the smile on his father's face. He actually glared with what Armando thought to be rage. It was only then the dots slowly connected. The day everything changed for his father. It was the day Giovanni visited and Isabella soon after. First Giovanni marries a black woman and now Lorenzo has a black one as a plaything. It was all connected to Isabella and his father somehow.

"Giovanni Battaglia is here. In Mondello?" Mancini asked.

"He and his wife have returned to Villa Mare Blu," Armando answered.

"He brought Mirabella here?" Mancini asked.

"Who? Is that her name? Mirabella?"

Mancini took a deep breath of oxygen before he answered. "Where is Lorenzo? Is he still in France?"

"Those pictures are a few days old. Now that we found him we are tracking him. He's still near France. Papa? You know both of their names. Who are these women to you and Isabella? You have to tell me what's going on."

"These women are the daughters of a friend of mine, from my time in America. And they are in danger with the Battaglias."

Armando listened.

"You find Isabella. And put a bullet in her after you bleed her out, cut her throat first." His father's gaze was leveled and unwavering with murderous intent. "I want Isabella to beg for her life before you end it. I want you to tell her it is on my order that she dies. Do you understand me? Make it your number one priority in life." Mancini looked to the image on the bed. "And then you will bring me Marietta and Mirabella," he smiled. "If Giovanni gets in the way you deal with him too."

"If that's what you want, Papa." Armando started for the door. He fumed silently. The time his father spent in America wasn't a total mystery to him. Isabella had shared things when he was young. She spoke of a black mistress his father had taken up with. Disrespected his mother and the family by making his wh.o.r.e his priority. She even showed him a picture she found in his father's office. He glanced back at Mancini who was again staring at the photos of Lorenzo and the one he called Marietta. If these women were the daughters of that American c.u.n.t who made his mother weep for years then he'd gladly kill them too. Armando smiled and left his father's room.

Mancini turned to his drawer. He pulled it open. Inside he found a leather binder, worn, tied together by a leather string. He'd had his sister Maria locate it with his things in the attic after he learned that Marietta was alive.

Carefully he untied the leather string and opened the binder. Inside he had a copy of the girls' original birth certificates. He even had their little feet stamped on the back as identification. Twin girls. His little brown baby girls. He also located the old and fading Polaroid of their mother.

"Lisa," he sighed.

November 1964 Philadelphia "Awww! See that was painless! Now I have a picture of us to keep until you come back." Lisa smiled up at him. Manny Cigars wiped the loose tears that glistened on her cheeks. He kissed her nose, her lips, and her brow. He captured her face in both hands and pressed his brow to hers, closing his eyes for strength. She dropped the Polaroid camera and photo. Her slender short arms wrapped around his neck. Her lips upon his restored his faith. It wasn't the end. He'd find a way to have her and honor his father's wishes. She tried to pull him down on her but he refused.

"I can't," Manny said.

The look of hurt over his rejection cut him to the core. What could he say to convince her that it also hurt him to leave? His pride wouldn't allow him to summon the words.

"Manny, why are you doing this?" He tried to turn away. She grabbed his sleeve and forced him to remain at her side. "Take me with you. I won't be any trouble, I promise. I'm clean. I don't use that poison anymore. You said you forgave me. If you go again I'll die."

"You won't. I've already gutted the f.u.c.ker who put you on that s.h.i.+t."

"Manny-"

"Shhh..." he kissed her. "Stop pleading. The answer is no. I can't take you to Sicily and you know why."

He let her go. She moved off his lap and sat upright, fixed the front of her dress. She cried silently. He hated to see her cry. He pushed up from the sofa and stepped away. He couldn't be next to her. If he was next to her he was weak. And Manny Cigars was anything but weak. Not even for a woman.

Lisa stood. She wore a paisley dress and her round tummy was barely defined. Her hair was brushed smooth into a large dark afro puff situated behind her head. "Will you come back this time? Or is this it?" she asked. "For once can you please be honest?"

He wanted to hit something, gut something, crush bone and marrow. Release his frustration anywhere but here. She was backing him into an emotional corner and he hated it. Hated himself for failing her. Hated her for loving him. The situation was killing him. He had no control. "My father has summoned me. I'll go and see to his wishes. And then I will return. We will have twins. Baby girls. Do you think I will abandon my children? Abandon you?"

"I trust you," Lisa said in a sad hollow voice that drew his gaze her way. She stared down at her tummy, ran her hands over the swell. "You're all I have left, Manny. You and my babies. If you say I should stay then I understand. Gemma is going to move in with me. Capriccio will help us." Her gaze lifted to his and he was snared in the pools of love stirring like amber waves in her irises. "But you have to hurry, Manny. Promise me you will be back before our babies are born. Promise me and I will believe you. I'll stay clean. I'll wait for you. And we'll be a family."

He nodded his head. "I promise. With all my heart."

He didn't speak English with anyone but her. Never felt the need to. But with her he practiced and perfected a small vocabulary. He also taught her words of his own. Lisa walked over to him and he opened his arms. He held her and they stared out at the city. He kissed her again only to say goodbye. But with Lisa one kiss could never be enough. His love for her overwhelmed him and before long he was stripping her of her clothes and making love to her. She was so young when he corrupted her, forced his way into her life and made her his. By isolating her and filling her head with lies, something remarkable happened. She gave him her heart, and he discovered he gave her his.

Mancini made the young girl a woman, his woman and no other woman, not even his wife drove pa.s.sion through him like Lisa. He needed to make love to her once more so he could remember the feeling of this moment. He would be gone for a couple of months. He swore it to himself as he pushed away all doubts.

Melissa woke. She felt her babies kick for the first time. When she turned over to tell Manny he was sleep. She stared at him for a long moment. The man who once scared her, who had caused her so much pain and shame in the past was now her deepest love. She had no future without him. The thought of him not returning was too much for her to bear. She feared her addiction. She feared for her children without his protection.

Melissa drew back the covers and kept her hand protectively over her stomach as she pushed up from the bed. Manny didn't wake. Naked, aching from the s.e.xual healing he put on her heart she tip-toed out of the room.

She found the Polaroid. The one she convinced him to take. Manny didn't like having his picture taken. Most of the men like him didn't. She smiled at the image of them both. Lisa kissed it. She found his suit jacket and stuck it in the pocket. When he got to Sicily this time he wouldn't stay long. This time he'd come back to her and they'd have a normal life. She was clean, drug free, she was even thinking of doing some sewing again. Capriccio told her she could sew and design the costumes the girls who worked the clubs wore. Her dream was to some day open her own dress shop and design clothes. Everyone told her she was good at it. Gemma especially.

The future had promise.

"What are you doing?" he said behind her.

Lisa looked back at him. "I'm getting your things ready for you. The sooner you leave, the sooner you will come back. Right?"

He stared at her. He didn't answer. She tried to act like it didn't matter. And then a smile broke on his face.

"Ti adoro, s, nothing and no one will keep me from returning."

Mancini set the Polaroid of Lisa next to the picture of Marietta. He saw his beloved in his daughter clearly. All of these years he believed Marietta was dead. He suffered such guilt and shame for his actions. He abused everyone and everything he loved because of his loss of Lisa and their babies. The past was the past. There was little he could do about it. But he had every intention of changing the future.

He smiled.

"Marietta, I will meet you soon."

Catalina pulled a fresh cotton white s.h.i.+rt down over her head and eased her arms into the sleeves. She then reached for her grey leggings to slip on. The private train car was unusually cold. She wished she had a pair of socks for her feet. The journey was half over. For Catalina there was only a small part of travelling by train that she enjoyed. When the train was disa.s.sembled and then rolled on a ferry to cross the Straits of Messina, and then put back together on the other side. It was how one travelled from Italy to Sicily.

When she was a little girl Dominic would be in charge of bringing her to Mondello after she was released for school break. Patri wanted her well learned at an all girls Catholic inst.i.tution and her mother agreed. She suffered the strict discipline of the church while praying for the day Dominic would come and rescue her.

And he was so handsome too. Barely eighteen, Dominic's long lashes, piercing brown eyes, and boyish charm made Sister Clara smile when he arrived.

Sister Clara never smiled.

At twelve things changed. Catalina began to notice how his handsomeness affected others, especially girls her age. All her friends would gather by the window with her to wait for him to walk up the cobblestone streets and pa.s.s through the tall iron gates. It was innocent then. He was her brother. She liked the attention of being la piccoletta of the Battaglia family. She bragged to friends that her brothers, Giovanni, Lorenzo, Dominic, and Carlo, would bury anyone who defied her. And that Dominic was her guardian who treated her like a princess. She loved him as a brother, then. But soon it changed in her heart. She loved him as much more.

Often when vacation time came she and Dominic traveled separate from their parents to Mondello, Sicily. Always on a train. Dominic would wake her early in the morning once the train brought them out of Naples through the city of Rome. They would leave the train car and go up on deck while the ferry crossed the straits. It was a unique experience to watch the sunrise. And it might explain why he chose this method of travelling. The train held such sweet memories for them both.

Dominic sat near the window in nothing but his slacks. His jaw was tight and his lips pressed into a thin grim line.

"Domi?"

With no discernable emotion on his face he turned his gaze toward her. She smiled. A half smile crossed his lips to rea.s.sure her. Of course he said nothing. When Dominic was deep in thought he rarely shared those thoughts. Catalina put her hands to her hips and studied him further.

Should she force the conversation or give him some s.p.a.ce?

Something was off with him. And it sure as h.e.l.l wasn't their s.e.x life. He nearly broke her back earlier by f.u.c.king her on that uncomfortable bunk. He was so full of l.u.s.t and repressed pa.s.sion thanks to their short separation. Catalina tolerated the demands he put on her body. The train car they traveled in was larger than most, but s.e.x here felt awkward and impersonal. Dominic returned his gaze to the window. The tiny silver medallion of St. William gleamed from the stainless steel chain around his neck in the darkness, beneath his collarbone.

"Dica? You worried about something?" Catalina asked.

When he didn't respond she threw up her hands in defeat. She wouldn't press the issue further. In fact she had something of her own to discuss. The idea of pus.h.i.+ng Giovanni for permission to marry had her on edge since they left Milano. It was too soon. She couldn't focus on being a wife when she had so many exciting things happening for her. But how could she explain this to Dominic?

"Come sit with me." Dominic gestured to the bunk he sat on. Catalina walked over and he took her hand to pull her down. She snuggled up against him.

"I'm worried about Gio and Mira," Dominic confessed.

Catalina sat upright. "You are? Why? Something wrong with the baby?"

"No. And it's babies remember?"

Catalina laughed. "How could I forget? Gio brags to everyone about the sons he will have."

Dominic gave a weak smile, and then he chuckled. "Yes. He's happy Catalina. But"

"But what? Finish." Catalina insisted.

He closed his eyes and dropped his head back with a deep sigh. "I can't get into it. Never mind it. You know me, I worry about the family constantly. Gio is so stubborn. It's hard to get him to see reason when it comes to his wife."

"But why worry now, Domi? We've been through so much. Now is the time to celebrate. Everyone is happy about the babies, and Mira has her company back. Why worry?"

"Because Gio is strongest when we all are." Dominic interjected. "Lately I've felt a disconnection in the family. We are cast to the wind now. You in Milano, Lorenzo gone, me splitting my time between the Campania and business in the triangle, this is not what's best for us." He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "It's good that we will return to Sicilia and spend time with the family these next few months. We all need this."

Catalina measured her response. She knew her working away from him became tiring, but they were never apart for longer than a few days or weeks. "I understand. But, Domi we're changing. And that makes us strong." She touched the tiny silver St. William medallion he wore on his neck. She kissed it. "Don't worry. We're going to be okay because you always see to it."

Dominic nodded and returned his gaze to the night outside of the window. No matter how she tried to soothe him she knew he doubted her faith. Maybe now wasn't a good time to tell him she wanted to move to Milan. No. She'd keep that to herself for the time being.

* B *

Near Sainte Maxime, Southern France Lorenzo could not look away. Marietta danced across Le Femme with her eyes trained on him. She wore a bright tangerine orange mini dress. The low neckline to the front of the dress reached her navel and parted her voluptuous breast. The dress hugged her curvaceous figure and rose up her shapely thighs when she wound her hips. It revealed her flawless slender brown legs with diamonds sparkling off her left ankle. Above her light beams spun and cast red, yellow, and blue rays across the dancefloor. Flashes of color washed over the gyrating bodies on the dance floor. Smoke clouded the atmosphere of the club. A thick white curl of it rolled out of his nostrils after a drag of his cigar. All the while he never lost track of his Marietta.

She knew the rules.

At any club of her choosing Marietta could dance for as long as she pleased, but never with another man. He had no tolerance for that bulls.h.i.+t. And she wasn't the kind of woman to tease or push his b.u.t.tons by flirting with others. Tonight she'd been quite happy. His femme fatale had chosen a dance club that played American rap and pop music. So he parked their yacht at Sainte Maxime and summoned a driver to take them to the nightspot. He and Carlo observed her from the corner of the discotheque. Marietta moved with the grace of a ballerina and the s.e.xual tease of a street wh.o.r.e. It excited him when they were in private and irked him in public. But she was a free spirit that loved to dance. And he wasn't in the mood to fight with her about such trival bulls.h.i.+t.

"She's a wild one," Carlo said. He took a sip of his lager.

"She's tame with me. I can handle her," Lorenzo answered. His reply may not have been loud enough to be heard over the music. The song switched to a loud thumping techno beat and Marietta squealed. She jumped on her feet in high-heeled pointed shoes. The bounce of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s drew the eyes of many men. Lorenzo groaned. He would indeed have to end her dancing soon. Marietta flung her long dark curly locks from side to side like a rock star. Once she opened up to him, trusted him, he got to know a remarkable, exciting, vulnerable woman. A woman he could trust. Who he felt he could actually love.

"You sure about that?" Carlo chuckled.

"Sure about what?" Lorenzo frowned.

"You can handle her?" Carlo's gaze never left Marietta. He stared at her in a way that Lorenzo didn't appreciate.

A man stepped to Marietta and she pushed him away keeping up with her s.e.xy dance moves. The guy leered. l.u.s.t and possibly alcohol made his body language clear of his intent. Lorenzo lowered his cigar and his gaze narrowed on the scene. The stranger tried to touch Marietta again and she slapped him hard. The guy was stunned by her sudden attack. He stumbled back into a dancing couple. Lorenzo tensed. Marietta pointed to his table when the man looked to make a move. The b.a.s.t.a.r.do glanced his way. He hesitated. Lorenzo and Carlo stared back. They both waited for the man to decide. In a flash either of them would be happy to teach the stranger manners. The tense pause held and then broke. The man turned and walked off. Marietta began to dance again.

Carlo laughed. "She can take care of herself. Maybe I should put her out in the streets with Ringo, teach him how to never make the mistake of trusting a motherf.u.c.ker like Carmine did."

Lorenzo smiled. He'd put an end to the night soon. Marietta had been drinking and if allowed to continue with her partying she could be a viper with her tongue. He'd hate to have to snap a man's neck for not understanding her charm. But first he needed to hear the answers he dreaded. Why had Giovanni ignored him for so long? How was the family making it without him? "Tell me what's going on with my cousin?"

"Gio has his concerns," Carlo answered.

"About me?" Lorenzo scoffed. "Interessante. The one sent on a fool's errand is indeed a fool. Why should he be concerned now?"

"He thinks you will defy him and return to Sicily, with her." Carlo tossed his chin upward toward the dancing temptress. "Why is that, Lo?"

"You know I can't speak on it," Lorenzo grumbled.

Carlo rubbed his jaw. He fished out his lighter and picked up his cigar to relight it. Lorenzo took another drag of his own and considered taking Carlo into confidence. He had to keep Marietta's ident.i.ty a secret from her and the rest of the family. The secret kept her alive. But for how long was he expected to play this charade? And could he truly trust Giovanni to reunite the sisters? Especially when he had no motivation to do so.

"That's not all. Things are not good, Lo," Carlo began after a deep exhale. "In fact things are far worse."

"Dica," Lorenzo said.

"It's Santo. He's the capo bastone now. Giovanni's left hand."

"Where the f.u.c.k is Domi?"

"Oh he's off trying to wash the blood from Gio's money. Santo keeps the peace with the clans. What Tomosino created is fractured, what Giovanni wants to instill is the Sicilian way. The clans of the Camorra don't like the power Giovanni has as capo di tutti capi. And now Gio's dividing territory we bled for? The other families war over the business we're dropping. Including the gambling houses."

"Che cosa! Did you say the gambling houses? Those are my f.u.c.king gambling houses in Napoli!" Lorenzo slammed his fist down on the table. "Giovanni can't give them up. It's a power move that the lower clans would seize and destroy. What of our men? What will they do?"

Carlo nodded his head in agreement. "We aren't in that business anymore. The men have other tasks a.s.signed to them by Santo. Things that I have no insight into."

"The drugs I understand. The wh.o.r.es, I can live with his decision, but I don't agree. The gambling houses? He's f.u.c.king out of his mind! What is left?" Lorenzo shouted.

"Dominic and Giovanni have opened the Donna's company in Milano, it's called Fabiana's." Carlo added, staring hard to read his reaction.

"Basta! Are we going to be f.u.c.king women making dresses like his wife?"

The comment against their leader should bring about scorn or worse from Carlo. But they'd been best friends since childhood. With Carlo he could speak freely, to a point. He wiped his hand down his face. "The triangle. What goes on there? The `Ndrangheta won't give up Milano. No matter what Giovanni promises them. And I know the Bonaduces wait for a chance at revenge. He isn't blind to this. Is he?"

"Santo and Domi have talked Gio into furthering legitimate investments. A few more vineyards, a couple more properties, a few land deals up through Tuscany. A resort and vacation place for tourism in Florence. I believe Santo keeps peace for Giovanni with the `Ndrangheta by letting the f.u.c.kers grow their product on land in Genoa."