La Famiglia (28 page)

She dropped her head back and sighed. At last the journey was over. Marietta was exhausted. It was close to one in the morning. The dress felt so tight and restricting she began to feel her skin itch. And her feet hurt from the high heels she wore all day. Her wedding day had been spent being shuffled from one destination to the next. Lorenzo got out of his side of the car and came around to her door. He reached in to help her step out.

Marietta purposefully held back, waiting for him to do so. He’d taught her many things these past months. One of which was to always allow him to treat her like a lady. He opened doors for her everywhere they went. Escorted her in and out of every store or restaurant they visited.

She placed her hand in his hand and let him guide her from the car.

“Benvenuta in Mondello, cara,”
he kissed her brow.

“
Grazie,
Lorenzo,” she replied.

Two men appeared out of the darkness. Both were armed with large mean looking guns. They exchanged looks and then swept her appearance with hard eyes. Lorenzo took her hand and they walked toward the villa. In the dark she could see the purple flowers blooming under moonlight that paved the way. The place wasn’t as grand as the one she visited in Sorrento or as exquisite as the villa he took her to in Bellagio. But still it had a majestic appeal to it. They entered a dark quiet house. Lorenzo cast his gaze to Carlo. And they exchanged a nod that she figured had meaning. Carlo turned and walked back out of the front door. A man from Lorenzo’s crew followed them down the hall to a room. It was a large room. A sheer curtain circled the bed. Once the luggage was brought in Lorenzo closed the door and watched her. She walked around admiring everything.

“I love the bed,” she ran her hand over the sheer drape. “This is sexy.”

“So are you,” Lorenzo said. He eased off his suit jacket and dropped it on the chair. There was a knock to the door. He opened it to allow additional luggage to be hauled in. Marietta drew back the drape on one side of the bed to give them easy access. She felt giddy with excitement over her wedding night. She then went to the large window and stared out at the sea in the distance. Her hand covered her throat. She froze. “No! No.” she spun around looking on the floor. “Oh God please no!”

“What is it?” Lorenzo asked with evident alarm.

“My necklace. It’s gone. Oh God no. It can’t be. It’s gone, Lo.”

“Where did you last see it?” Lorenzo asked before she bolted for the door. He caught her and blocked her escape.

“I don’t remember,” she said with tears dropping, she sobbed hard, barely able to formulate words. “Let me go, I have to check the car. I have to find it!”

“Marie? Slow down. You stay here and I’ll go look for it? Okay? Just calm down, sweetheart.”

She put both hands to her mouth. He kissed her brow. Let me check the car and tell the boys to look for it. We’ll find it. Why don’t you get changed for me?” he asked with a sly smile. She couldn’t bring herself to smile back. Her heart was seizing in her chest. If she lost her necklace she didn’t know what she’d do.

“Please find it, Lo. It… it means a lot to me.”

He winked and walked out. Marietta closed her eyes and put her hand to her heart. It beat so fast in her chest she feared it would go into cardiac arrest. “He’ll find it. I know he will.” She calmed herself. “Please God it’s all I have. Please let him find it.”

* B
*

Armando walked the halls of his family home prepared to retire for the evening. A light from his office was on and the door was half ajar. The hour had extended well after midnight. No one should be in his office. He stopped before it and eased the door open slowly with his hand. His father was inside going through his papers, opening and slamming doors, in desperate search of something.

He had wanted to confront the old man, but decided to wait and formulate a plan to get the answers he needed. Ignazio delivered some disturbing news earlier. Armando worried that the hunt for his surrogate sister Isabella, and the mission to track the American women with the Battaglias was all tied to something his father wanted to keep hidden.

Don
Mancini glanced up and saw him watching.

“
Avanti.
Come in,” his father commanded.

“Why are you up at this late hour?” Armando asked. He scanned the disarray to his desk.

“Where is it?” Mancini wheezed. “Where?”

“What are you talking about?” Armando frowned. “Where is what?”

“My gun. Where the fuck is it? You had it removed from my room. I can’t find it!” Mancini slammed his hand down on the desk.

Two days ago Ignazio said his father fired the gun in the house when he was gone. He had the gun removed from his room for safety reasons. There were times when his father had rage issues over his feeble state and confinement. Those times were often the most unmanageable.

“We discussed this, Papa. The gun…”

“Give it back to me.” Mancini sneered. “Now!”

Armando walked over to the wall cabinet and unlocked it. He brought out the gun. He turned with it in his hand and he could see the anger softening on his father’s face at the sight of it. “I have a question,” Armando said before he returned it.

Mancini nodded.

“Dr. Buhari? You had a meeting with him two days ago. A meeting I was not invited to attend.”

“I meet with doctors all the time,” Mancini replied.

“But he’s not a doctor for you. He’s a doctor for a woman. A pregnant woman.”

Mancini didn’t respond.

Armando continued. “I’m told he gives you updates on Giovanni Battaglia’s wife. That he now works for us? In secret.”

Mancini stared at the gun.

“What are you up to, Papa? If you want Giovanni dead or his bride, just say so.” Armando said.

“And you will handle it? Is that so?” Mancini asked. “Like you’ve handled the Isabella situation? That
puttana
makes a fool of us each day she lives. And still you are no closer to killing the bitch!”

“We are looking for her. She slipped away from us in China. I have no idea why she went there in the first place. Or why she is our enemy now. But we will find her I assure you.” Armando walked toward him. He kept the gun at his side. “Now, what of Giovanni’s wife. Why do you care to know about her pregnancy?”

Mancini scoffed. “It’s none of your concern.”

“It is, Papa! All of it is my concern!” Armando shouted at him. Mancini leveled a lethal gaze on him and Armando swiped his hair back from his face. He tried to calm himself.

“You are never to touch Mirabella.” Mancini seethed. “The business I have with her doctor is none of your concern.” Mancini stood upright. He reached for his cane. He was absent his oxygen mask or tank. His breathing was harsh. He walked around the desk with slow measured steps. He held out his arthritic hand to his son. Armando passed his father his gun.

“I can’t run this family on secrets, Papa. First you want Isabella dead. And then you want me to track down Lorenzo and his bride. Now—”

“Bride!” Mancini doubled back on his cane. “What is this bride shit?”

Armando heard it in his father’s voice: shock, hurt, confusion. He found it even more confusing. He rarely saw weakness in his father.

“Answer me, boy!” Mancini roared. “Who’s a bride?”

With a sly smile Armando delivered the news. “Yes, Papa. Yesterday Lorenzo married the black whore—”

Mancini struck Armando with the butt of the gun. The blow to the side of his face knocked him to the floor and blood sprayed from his mouth. Darkness descended on his mind and threatened to extinguish all conscious thought. The pain was so searing he lay there unable to speak. His father stood over him. “You let him marry her? You did this to spite me! You let him steal her from me!”

At first Armando just moaned. It took a
long a moment for him to recover. As he lay dazed on the floor his father shouted English obscenities at him. Whenever his father was enraged he stopped speaking in Italian and cursed like an Americn mad man. Armando’s hearing dulled. There was a slight ringing in his ear. He stretched his eyes and focused. He had to get up, recover. His father was sick, his mind all but rotten and gone. He had no idea how far the old man would go if allowed to continue in this state. He struggled and managed to speak. “You’re fucking crazy, Papa. You told me to just keep an eye on them, to keep my distance. Why would I give a shit if they married? Why do you?”

He looked up and his father had the gun aimed down at him. Armando stared into the barrel of the gun. And the hard rage in his father’s eyes felt like the icy betrayal he’s felt over Mancini’s callous treatment of him and his mother through the years. It was then he had to question his father’s true motives. Maybe it wasn’t revenge against the Battaglias his father sought. Maybe the mission of his to kill Isabella and learn more of these American women was all a product of his diseased mind.

Mancini lowered the gun. He dropped his head. “I can take no more of this. I want you to take her. Bring her to me. I want them both. Before I am dead. Before—”

“Who?” Armando asked. He held the side of his face and tried to sit up. But his vision blurred and a wave of dizziness overcame him. He kept swallowing blood in his mouth and he felt it dripping from his nose.

“Marietta. Bring her to me. She will be told the truth. And after Mirabella has the babies and is well enough we will storm the doors of the Battaglia’s home and take her. They are mine. They belong to me!” His father slammed his chest. “We will tell them both the truth,” Mancini said.

“What is the truth? Why don’t you start by telling me?” Armando asked.

Mancini looked at him with tears bordering his eyes. The question aged him. His father looked as if he would top over. Although Armando bled from his mouth and nose he struggled and succeeded in rising. Violence was part of his relationship with his father. He held no grudge for his father’s actions. He helped him to a chair in the office. “Do you need your oxygen?”

“No.” Mancini waved him off. “Sit.”

Armando went to the desk and grabbed the Kleenex and put it to his nose to stop the bleeding. He sat with the swelling on the side of his face rising with heat and pain. “What’s the truth, Papa? Why are you so determined to help these Americans? Is it because of their mother? The one you left Mama for?”

Mancini looked up surprised. He cast his gaze back down in shame.

“Let me tell you a story, Papa. When I was a little boy I found Madre crying. I couldn’t console her, Isabella had to. She then shared the story of your life in America. She said you had a whor—woman in America. A black one. That you were going to leave us for her.”

“Her name was Melissa,” Mancini said. “And she was special to me. Your mother forgave me for my weaknesses. I hurt your mother. But what became of Melissa was far worse. I couldn’t have them both. I couldn’t save them both, from me,” he repeated and shook his head. “So I made the only choice I could. I chose your mother and
la Cosa Nostra
.”

Armando didn’t think it a choice.
Don
Marsuvio Mancini could never marry or be with a black American woman here or in America and carry on the Mancini name. First their faith would never grant him the divorce. Second his grandfather would have put a bullet in him for the insult. But the choice explained his father’s attitude. Possibly this was guilt for leaving the American. He wanted penance for her daughters. But why did he want Isabella dead? “Where is the woman, Melissa?” Armando asked.

“Dead. She died when they were babies. She was murdered because of Tomosino Battaglia. Slain in the gutter because of what she was to me, what she will always be to me,” Mancini confessed. “I buried what was left of her with her family and then I left America for good.”

Surprised Armando sat forward. This was the piece of the puzzle he needed. It explained the Battaglia connection. “So we need revenge on Giovanni. For what Tomosino has done?”

“You don’t understand boy. Revenge is the very least of it. We need much more than revenge. Isabella is blackmailing me. That is why I put the contract out on her life. For the insult,” his father spat. “She learned the truth, a secret buried so deep I would have never known if she didn’t come here to toss it in my face. A secret her real father Flavio taught her.” Mancini glanced up and shared the rest of the tale while looking Armando in the eye. “Flavio convinced Tomosino to hire Capriccio and the dirty bastard killed her. Tomosino convinced my father her death would bring me back to the
Mafioso
, bring me back to my son and wife. And it worked. I am here now. I have been ever since.”

“Why not tell me this?” Armando’s voice choked on emotion. There were so many emotions in him at that moment he couldn’t settle on one. Thankfully the pain to the side of his face was a persistent distraction.

“For the reasons you and I both know. If my love for Melissa was revealed I would risk dishonor to the family and put all that we have built in jeopardy.
Omertá
brought me back.”

“There is more to it. Isn’t there?” Armando cringed. “Why would Tomosino involve himself in the affairs of the
Mafioso
? What did he gain?”