Atavus (14 page)

“Which one?” Alfonzo asked.

“The one who raised me,” Nico answered. Alberti was his biological father but The Butcher, was the man who fed and housed him.

“You are Il Santo Oscuro, the Dark Saint’s fratello?”

“Sí. That Nicolo is the reason you were allowed to leave my home without a bullet in your eye.”

“Blood doesn’t account for shit when someone’s actions against family are vile.” Nico retort.

“Yet you live thanks to the heart of the cugino you defiled.”

“My personal reasons for Nico to stand at my side are not your concern.” Alfonzo spoke in defense of his cugino. Many on the outside had little influence on his decision whether to kill or not. Despite Nico’s past foible, they’re relationship was far more complex than others surmised. Alfonzo's act of mercy had been his sign of love for Nico that the hard man had not been shown often enough in his life.  Deem him compassionate to a fault perhaps. Although, Nico was chiseled from stone, cold as winter, and breathed fire, yet Alfonzo had experienced firsthand Nico’s warmth. There was a fraternal affection for his protector that only he would understand. Nico had saved his ass too many times to die because his dick left his pants. In the ‘hood thugs had forgiveness for their brothers, and that’s what he did –forgave.

“You mafia motherfuckers speak about death as if every sin deserves a killing. You’d probably off your own mothers for the sake of twisted egos of honor. Don’t comment on my affairs or the blood ties with Nico unless you want the contents of your corroded stomach to spill on your hoes pendejo. The thugs I knew had more honor than most of you pompous gangsters.  Several mistresses, bastards without father’s present are in the world over. You have a few mutts scattered about Europe and last I checked your sins were super long!”

Nico checked the perimeter without moving. Alfonzo’s defense of his actions steeled his resolve about their family. Standing strong when he had been wrong wasn’t as hard knowing Alfonzo’s trust in him was renewed. He’d burn Lucifer’s dwelling to protect his cugino. That is what he had always been sworn to do.

Torino nodded. The Don who wore the leader’s ring spoke truth. He found there is a measure of a man in his words, Alfonzo’s held wisdom acquired in hardship. These attributes were lacking nowadays with instant gratification and the ability to hide behind devices catfishing people. The son of Luzo was his own person, brash, yet honest and he gained an elder’s respeta.

“Put aside your animosity Don Giacanti, save the weaponry of emotion for your enemies. Whatever, financial impediment that is occurring are in the banker’s house, not here with men such as us who are children of ghettos. Of course, I have made my requests known. Open the doors to me as Luzo promised, keep your life on the path that it is, but that is not my desires.”

Alfonzo was exasperated. Torino had a one-track mind. Now, he beseeched with promises made that he was not privy. Luzo, his dastardly father always arose in conversations with these seniors and he wondered what more lay beneath the mind of a father he hadn’t known.

Thankfully, his mother had detached from the complex Mafioso or who knows what sort of childhood he may have had in in the constant turmoil on Italy’s soil. He missed America more and more.

“The cartels are violent without cause.”

“Their violence has a cause,” Torino rebutted.

“Killing women and children isn’t a cause, it’s cowardly.”

“They are the casualties in wars.”

Alfonzo’s eyes flicked blue lights under the moon. “Then what gain is there to have wealth and not the comfort of enjoyment of familia if our women and children are slaughtered? Who carries on our legacies, the euro or the dollar? They are hollow and made of wood with splinters that can lead to infection.”

“You cannot cure violence Don Giacanti.”

“But I can practice restraint in its use.”

“Ah, what we do is not always right as you previously highlighted. These donnas, our bambini are our symbolic hearts. We believe that
who
we are protect
what
we love, but it does not. An accident or an illness may visit our villas and what protection can we offer then? In your country, unarmed boys with dark skin are shot for looking suspicious or wearing hoods on sweaters. Their famiglia must bury many each month and those who should protect them are powerless to halt the genocide because the self-interest of their nation is commerce and land, not its citizens. There is violence giovani. However, the deadliest form is that which ‘so-called lawmen’ or purist use to cleanse what has always been dirty –men. The odds of a fatality are higher for Giacanti sons at the hands of a proclaimed lawful person than in Italia.”

   Alfonzo conceded the uncomfortable reality. As a Latino, he experienced the bias and his sons were certain to as well, nevertheless, to allow a ruthless faction of dealers into his ports was inviting those same officers into his home.

“There are no assurances with some of these cartels. They operate in worship of money, not honor of familia.”

“There are assurances Don Giacanti that they will not encroach upon our soil unless entry is granted, even then they are watched. You see in Italia we take care of our citizens, foreigners are not allowed carte blanche to roam.”

“I am a foreigner.”

“Sí, but you are a Sicilian’s son and a Giacanti. You will have safe passage in many countries if you aligned with allies and were not so stubborn.”

Nico’s eyes darkened. He was reminded that there are words; potentially harmful and unsubstantiated that was concealed in a book. Alfonzo had joked about how Selange kept her head in one every chance she got. Nico needed to find a way to talk to her, urgently now. The old man was speaking riddles of a generation passed down. 

“Think it over Don Giacanti. See the wisdom in embracing an ancient brotherhood,” Torino concluded. Nico trailed the pair as they began walking up the grassy knoll to the awaiting cars.

This thing of ours…the translation of La Costra Nostra was only one secret famiglia, there were many including, La Protezione.

Chapter Sixteen

Giuseppe bolted from the auto, across the tarmac, moving hurriedly and felt the air brushing his rough cheeks from the invisible currents. The stairwell was down for him to climb without holding onto the railing although they were steep. His bulk shook the jet floor during his entrance.

He passed the cockpit door, going right to the cabin where the fellas and Harold waited in their seats. Looking at the sap, he felt nothing but anger and was glad the bruises were below his face.

The greeting he gave wasn’t a word but hard knuckles to the stomach. “Vaffanculo!” Giuseppe shouted before striking the piteous figure again. “You idiota write these things about la moglie and think you will not suffer?”

Harold couldn’t talk back. The injuries weren’t the reason; he’d learned to keep his mouth shut.

Giuseppe grabbed him up by the throat, tossing to what should be a comfortable seat, but the impact hurt. Harold slumped there, head against the window, exhausted from being a human punching bag.

“Clean your face,” Giuseppe said tossing the man his handkerchief and then retrieved his cell. “I am calling my wife, capisce?”

Harold wiped the perspiration and spittle from his skin, nodding profusely.

“You will smile and tell her you were drinking when you posted the childish rant. However, you apologize and have issued a retraction to that effect.”

Harold sniffed. The blood taste in his throat was gross.

“Get him water!”

The guard did Giuseppe’s bidding, passing Harold the finest bottled water he’d ever seen or maybe thirst makes any liquid appear glorious. He unscrewed the cap with shaky fingers and gulped loudly like a dog.

“You will also say you came to personally apologize but she was not here and you and I have civilly discussed her career.” Giuseppe glared. “You will remain her manager if that is what she wants and you were assured I will not interfere in her career decisions. Do you understand what I have said cazzo?”

“Yes…yes.” Harold quivered.

“You are to say what I have told you and we will show my bella how civil we are, sharing drinks and smiles. You must say I am also generous enough to fly you anywhere you want to go for your troubles. We will re-enact that skit. Your performance and ad-lib must remain top-notch.
Un errore e farò tagliare fuori la lingua!”

The last statement was made with a sinister scowl and Harold guessed it wasn’t good. He nodded. Anything the Don wanted him to say, he would say. Harold hoped he would be allowed to live.

“First you must go to this uh…site that you see as your friend and write that you were drinking and apologize for your stupidity attempting to joke.”

Harold’s cell was tossed to his soiled lap, where the stench of urine had mixed with ventilated oxygen. His hands quivered so bad, that he wondered if they were under attack. Once he finished, Giuseppe snatched the cell, read the message and laughed.

‘Drank 2much n swung from chandelier, then badly joked about a nice pianist n her spouse. I’m stupid n sorry. No more drink4me
.’

The tweet went viral, in fact it had Harold’s phone ringing. He could not answer; he was occupied in the role of his life, directed by and co-starring Don Giuseppe Dichenzo.

Chapter Seventeen

“I vote, sí,” Gabriela said first.

The other women were quiet, contemplative and patient until their turn to vote. Missing from the meeting was boisterous Amelda who said, “Ne,” in absentia.

Adrianna appeared indifferent. She stroked the fur of her Maltese, making them wait out of pleasure, angry that Sophie refused to let her feed the dog at the table. She answered, “Ne,” out of spite to show she did not always agree with her sorella.

“I say yes,” Selange voted. Nicole should sit at the table, regardless of her perceived disinterest. The woman was married to Giuseppe and that alone should trump everything else.

Sophie agreed. Nicole was her daughter in law; la nuora had rights that Sophie sought to uphold.

All attention focused on Ari who’d break the tie. Ari pulled a face. She didn’t care either way; she only attended the ritualistic gathering to eat. The damn women took things too serious, sometimes. Last night she worked up a hearty appetite after sexing Nico when she arrived home from that long trip. They were up until four in the morning, fucking so hard she believes she called him a fucking god, that dick felt so –good.

She smacked her lips after swallowing the spicy chicken with a tangy honey that had her nearly gnawing the bone.

“So, Ari, what’s your vote?” Selange asked with confidence she’d say yes since they were friends.

“No,” Ari smirked at her. She liked observing that pretty face crest-fallen. Heck, she presented a business proposal to Selange that could bring in some big cash and she didn’t hesitate to say she‘d pass.

“Oh crap, it’s like that Ari?” Selange asked.

Ari reached her lacquer colored nails to the ornate serving tray for another delicious piece of chicken. “Sophie, grazie, this is delizioso.”

“Grazie,” Sophie replied between closed lips, upset at Ari, too.

“I can change my mind Selange.”

“I thought you said you like Nicole,” Selange said with imploring eyes.

“I do, sort of.”

“Okay, then don’t make it about anything else,” Selange challenged.

“It’s called a bargaining chip, honey. How bad do you want Nicole sitting her tush with us?”

Selange ruminated. Ari wanted her to participate in a racket she devised. Had Selange been a thief, her idea would be appealing. Sometimes, she forgot Ari was an embezzler. The woman was so good at her side craft, that Selange had begun to double check her books. She liked Ari, but damn the woman was crooked as hell.

“Not that bad.” She gave Ari a dimple smile, calling her bluff.

Ari wrinkled her nose and laughed. “We need to talk; I have this other thing I’m working on. If I say yes, would you at least listen without making those faces like Semira smelling poop?”

Everybody chuckled.

“I promise I’ll listen.”

“Okay then I change my vote to a yes and also thank Sophie for this wonderful damn chicken.”

Selange clapped. However, Nicole’s inclusion did not have an official seal of approval. Maria was the deciding factor, and she had yet to arrive.

They waited twenty minutes.

Maria finally joined the members. She appeared frazzled. Bruno’s eldest son vanished, which she did not share in her apology for her tardiness.