Associates (19 page)

“Do not scowl fratellino. We can disagree, that is diplomacy.”

As Alfonzo walked to the door, he stopped and faced his brother. “Your son’s christening is at ten o’clock.”

“Yes, I am aware of the time.”

“I just wanted to make certain you knew what time it is.”

The message was not lost on Giuseppe. Yes, he loved his fratellino, very much. “Lighten up, cazzo. See you soon!”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Nico smiled at his sons as they ate heartily, noticing they were bulking up. The teens had become almost as muscular as their father. They also let their hair grow to appease their mom.

Sophie as always had prepared a meal fit for a King on this Friday evening and he thanked her for her hospitality which she dismissed with a ringed hand. “I love having everyone here. It is my pleasure.”

After dessert, Nico informed Ari he had to go on another errand. She was disappointed, but cautioned him to hurry back. “You promised to be in the delivery room.”

“I’ll be a text away.”

“I’ll have that song on the ready.”

Nico grinned. Yesterday, a classic by Oleta Adams came on during a family outing and Ari said how much she loved it. She also said if she played it and he was at a distance, he’d better get his ass to the hospital pronto!

He’d laughed, but she was serious.

He wanted to stay, the due date was within days, but a nagging in his gut was making him uncomfortable. It wasn’t restlessness, but intuition. Timpico had died of a sudden heart attack. Rumors were spiraling, conspiracy theories abound, although nothing was proven. Nico was aware of the facts. Giuseppe sanctioned his demise, and although Nico didn’t agree with the timing, at least Giuseppe had the foresight to make the death appear like natural causes. Unfortunately, Timpico claimed to know the identity of the person responsible for Alberti’s death. He agreed to tell Alfonzo in return for the abolition of the pizzo, temporarily until his election. Alfonzo had not agreed. That would infuriate the families who depended on the illegal practice. Alfonzo could not trust the silver tongue politician, his ambitions were too great. Such men said anything to further their personal agenda, they are loyal to self.

Anyway, whatever information he did have about Alberti’s murder lie with him in the morgue. This meant, the dormant days
he spent with Ari and the boys showing them places of his youth, museums, the fishing villages and hidden eateries untouched by tourism were over. He needed to get moving on those leads before the trail went cold.

He flew north to his first lead.

Florence, the home of the Italian diplomat, political theorist and author Niccolo Machiavelli whose political treatise, The Prince was very controversial during its time of the 1500’s. It is also where the number correlated with an address. The unease in Nico’s stomach is one he had not experienced. He didn’t like the feel of it. In retrospect perhaps it was due to the vicinity to which he must go and the person who lived there.

North Italy.

The north of Italy is where elitism flourished. This is part of the country is where a former leader of the Northern League party once sought autonomy for Northern Italy. His idea was to divide Italy into two separate countries which he deemed, “the real Italy, where people worked and did not steal money or sleep all day,” to the north, from the Terronia, or “land of thieves,” to the south. The line to be drawn at Florence or Firenze as it is known.

This is also where Sabrina Deguardino lived, Nico’s biological mother.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The end of the week came. An uneventful climax to a tumultuous beginning. Alfonzo put Sergio up in a fresh apartment in Bayamón with a bit of spending money until he passed the employee training program. He wanted the guy to start from the bottom up. Let him prove himself, Alfonzo figured. If he’s really serious about being in the family, he had to first show he was willing to learn and work his ass off instead of getting a free ride.

The General Manager hadn’t complained about him yet and that was a plus. Yesterday, after work he brought the guy home to meet his family and the dude was on his best behavior during dinner. He did catch him staring at Selange a couple of times and a quick glance in his direction got the message across, ‘Don’t fucking think about it!’

Anita wasn’t impressed with his manners, in fact she said, “The man eats like he’s lived in a barn.”

Thinking about it made Alfonzo laugh as he carried the suitcases downstairs. Selange was ready. The children were staying at home. Allie and Sal had the sniffles and she felt it was best to let the kids remain with their Nana and Anita until they returned.

“Don’t forget to behave,” Selange said to Sal as she kissed him goodnight. “Dad I will be home on Sunday. Auntie Shanda will understand you’re not feeling well and when you’re better we’ll all go and visit, okay?”

“Okay mom.”

“I love you sweetheart.”

“Love you too, mom.” The boy said, tucking his head in the pillow and then drifted to sleep.

She made her rounds, kissing the other sleeping children and with resignation met Alfonzo downstairs. “Maybe, I should stay home. I don’t feel right leaving the children.”

“Go,” Maria said. “The children will be fine. I can handle a minor cold.”

“I know...but...” Selange could not explain the negative vibe she had. She’d been with the children all day, maybe, she was worn down and getting a virus, too. She hated the thought of bowing at the last minute, but what if she were sick and gave the baby the flu or something?

“Really, go. You are the godparents, how would it look if you do not show?” Maria said wisely.

“You’re right.”

That was two hours prior. Once in the air, they had settled in and Alfonzo stared at his phone, reading the stock reports. The stocks had begun to rebound and he supposed he had Bruno to thank for that. He chuckled about something and spoke to Selange who read. “Forty million dollars isn’t a bad haul for one night.”

Selange looked up. “Are you referring to the fundraiser?”

“Yep,” he said and put away the phone. “Shit, maybe I need to work for you or become a non-profit.”

“There were many generous donations this year.”

“Shit, generous is an understatement.”

She smiled. “Charming money out of rich people’s pockets is fun, especially when it’s for a really important cause.”

He reclined grinning. “It sure is.”

Selange looked at her husband and asked, “Have you heard the news about Shanda’s dad?”

Alfonzo’s head came up from the pillow. “No, what news?”

“He’s been suspended pending an investigation of alleged corruption.”

Alfonzo lay his head back down and shrugged. “Sometimes you never know about people.”

“I sent your clothes to the dry cleaners this morning.”

“Thanks babe.”

He should’ve caught it but he didn’t until she said, “I found Shanda’s letter in your pocket.”

“Yeah?”

“When were you going to tell me about it?”

“Never. I meant to burn the damn thing.”

“I burned it.”

“Thanks.”

“A million dollars, that’s a lot of money for a Deputy Commissioner to have in the bank, don’t you think?”

Alfonzo sat up and looked her straight in the eye. “Yes, it is. Any man who steps in my home and talks to my wife the way
he did or sends his daughter to do his dirty work is
lucky
to be alive.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For the ‘
lucky
’.”

                       
    ~

The house was dark. Too quiet for a residence. No snoring sounds or ticking of clocks, nothing except pictures and furnishings of the past. Nico walked through the dark room, the minor weight of his backpack a second layer of skin. His flashlight moved over the frames, one by one and in each image he saw Lou, young. As the scenery changed, he noticed what he missed upon first inspection. The man beside the boy staring at him was a face he’d seen. A face he knew from memory and his stomach jumped.

A protector from the circle.

One of their own.

The Minister of Finance who died with Alberti. He saw the body.

Nico then searched the house. All night he went through documents in the library and office of the empty home. He read newspaper clippings left neatly archived in a photo album hidden beneath a mattress in an upstairs room. He lost track of time, as he pieced together puzzles and realized what he discovered was far worse than he thought.

When the sun came up. He checked his watch. The christening was today.
Fuck
!

He stuffed the important items in his backpack and slipped from the house. Inside the car he went over what he learned as he drove. Niccolo Machiavelli, the Prince. It made sense. Dammit, he knew!

The car swerved left heading through the beautiful Tuscany landscape. Down hills he sped and up again to a large villa. Bellosguardo is one of the most prestigious addresses in Firenze. The gorgeous estate came into view, perched on the hill overlooking Florence. There is access from Porta Romana, Piazza Tasso and Ponte della Vittoria, perfect for a quick escape. He parked the car near the home of Filipo Chiavelli, an aristocrat and a man of political influence.

The significance of the book. Prince was code for Chiavelli’s lineage. Nico learned one of Chiavelli’s ancestors was a first cousin to the Queen of Italy. The reference to Niccolo Machiavelli he had not immediately seen until now. Damn, how stupid of him. He was losing his touch.

Sabrina Deguardino’s married name was Chiavelli.

Nico unzipped the backpack on the passenger seat. He sighed hard. The heaviest breath of his life. Today, near beautiful sprawling hills, he found the killer of his father. With a heart in turmoil he removed his weapon and the silencer.

‘
I am a son to no one. May I have peace in my final days for what I must do.’

Nico’s cell began to ring and he sat down the noise suppressor to answer it. “Hey sweetheart, everything okay?”

“I text you at five this morning.”

“You did?”

“Yes, I started having labor pains.”

Nico’s eyes were solemn as he watched the rolling hills. “I’m sorry I must have fallen asleep,” he lied.

“I need you here. The boys are with me. I sent Sophie home, she has to go to the christening and I don’t want her to miss it.”

“I know I promised to be there, Ari but I might not make it...hold on a minute, sweetheart." He put the cell on his lap, hit speaker and attached the silencer. His eyes stung and sadness blurred his vision.

“Remember the song.”

A car rolled by and he glanced in its window. Leaving the villa was the woman who birthed him. Her face was lovely and refined. A woman accustomed to tasteful things and pampering hands to massage away the lines of time. She was with her husband. Even from his vantage point, their posture was of the privileged class of some northerners who frowned upon the southern workers with disdain. He was Sicilian and she was his mother. What arrogance of a woman when they were one and the same.

The aristocratic couple was in his eyes, conspirators, killers, liars and cowards who hid in the north.

“I remember.”

She began to sing and the sweet melody rocked him like a child. He started the engine and followed the vehicle as the words floated to his heart.

‘You can reach me by railway; you can reach me by trail way
,

You can reach me on an airplane; you can reach me with your mind
,

You can reach me by caravan, cross the desert like an Arab man
,

I don't care how you get here, just - get here if you can
…

Nico closed the gap.

You can reach me by sail boat, climb a tree and swing rope to rope,

Take a sled and slide down the slope, into these arms of mine
,

You can jump on a speedy colt, cross the border in a blaze of hope
…

The weapon began to rise. He would kill the driver. The husband first, he told himself. Blow his brains out and let her witness the horror of death.

I don't care how you get here, just - get here if you can,