La Sposa (18 page)

“
Ah, that must have been difficult
to learn,” Lorenzo said.

Marietta felt her bitterness toward her
surrogate parents rise in her, but she maintained her composure.
“Teresa, the woman I thought was my mother, said my father had an
affair with a black woman. A whore. That she left me on the
doorstep. It was her Christian duty to raise me. And she did. She
named me Marietta. Just one of her lies.” She took another sip of
her martini and then braved a look at him. It was then, in the dim
lighting of the bar, the shadows personified his chiseled handsome
features. His blue eyes were like crystals under a ring of dark
lashes and thick black brows. He wore a dark suit and tie that was
tailored to his large frame perfectly.

“
So what makes you think that
Caruso is your father?”

“
Because my adoptive mother is a
liar. When I was thirteen I found this.” Marietta fingered the tiny
nameplate with her name engraved on it. Lorenzo leaned forward to
study it. “It was a child’s bracelet. I had it attached to a gold
chain so I could wear it around my neck when I was sixteen. Gemma,
a friend of the family, said it was given to me by my
mother.”

“
Ah, Gemma.” Lorenzo chuckled. “So
she knew your mother?”

“
She says she doesn’t. Everyone
claims she was just some faceless, nameless whore. No one will be
honest with me. Which makes me even more determined for the
truth.”

“
I still don’t see how this has
anything to do with Caruso Capriccio.” Lorenzo said.

Marietta nodded. “A few months ago I received
my adoption papers in the mail. It had Capriccio’s name listed as
the father. My lying parents told me that they took me in under his
request. They both swore they knew nothing about who my mother was
other than what they had already told me. So I came here to learn
the truth.” After opening up a bit, she expected the same. Lorenzo
continued to pour his drink and say nothing. Marietta tried another
approach. “I find you interesting,” she said.

“
How so?” Lorenzo asked.

“
Well, here I am pouring out my
family’s dark secrets and you aren’t the least bit curious as to
why.”

Lorenzo took another swig from his whiskey
glass. “Oh, I’m curious. You didn’t eavesdrop on my conversation
with Silvio, and then follow me here to unburden your soul. You
want something. And for some strange reason you think I can help
you get it. Am I right?”

“
Close.”

“
Maybe it’s time you tell me what
that something is.”

She looked down into her martini and decided
to make her move. Draw him in. Gain his trust and then get him to
lower his guard and let her in on the secrets men like Caruso
Capriccio carried. After all, the woman Isabella, said he was the
key. “You’re right Lorenzo I did eavesdrop. I know that you and
David have business that my court petitions would complicate. I
think I can help you, if you can help me.”

Lorenzo reached over and touched her chin,
turning her face to his. He did it so smoothly she couldn’t object.
She looked into his sapphire blue eyes, mesmerized. “
Cara
, I
don’t need your help. What belongs to my family will be ours. I
suggest you don’t get in the way of that, beautiful.”

“
I’m trying to understand this
place, the people, my family.” She cleared her throat and sat back
so his hand fell away from her chin. It landed on her thigh. She
looked down then back up into his eyes. “I have the impression that
you know people, things. That maybe you could answer some questions
for me.”

Lorenzo chuckled. “Depends,
Cara,
on
what’s in it for me?” He squeezed her thigh.

Emilio looked up from filling a mug of beer
and then away.

“
You’re a real charmer.” She
removed his hand. “Did you know my father? Caruso Capriccio? Can
you tell me anything about him and his time in America?”

“
If you want to talk about your
father and the things I know, I suggest we do it some place
private. This is how’s it’s done.”

A flash of caution passed over her pretty
face, but she masked it with a smile. He expected the little
fishing expedition to end there. Sure she was quite tasty, but he
had little time or patience to entertain her quest. Caruso
Capriccio wasn’t an interesting man, and there was nothing he could
really share that she didn’t already know. He waited a breath for
her to think of a quick comeback, and then looked at his watch. He
had a train to catch. Fun over.

“
Prego.
Let’s go to my
place.” She offered.

His brows lowered in surprise. “Your
place?”

“
Sure, it’s not far from here.
Besides, I have a nice bottle of wine I’ve been saving for the New
Year. You can toast it in with me.” Marietta slipped from the
barstool. She tugged down on the edges of the dress that gathered
tightly around her hips. She eased out of the cramped space and
waited for him to rise. He could catch a later train or summon the
jet. The offer was too sweet to pass up.

*****

As if in defiance of the hard life the
Battaglia men lived all year long serving under the
Camorra
,
every
capu
arrived with family and clan. They brought cases
of wine and envelopes of money ready to celebrate the New Year.
Mira had never seen so many of them at once. The hard predatory
looks in their serpent-like eyes passed over her, as they each
kissed her hand and greeted her soon- to- be- husband. She bravely
withstood her duty to receive them, but she knew the attention of
men. All of them wanted a close look at the woman their boss had
chosen as a bride. And their brief appraisals sent shivers of
caution through her. Giovanni trusted these men. Dangerous or not,
they were
famiglia
.

Melanzana
was a house of vast
dimensions separated by large rooms in vibrant pastel colors; and
long halls lined with priceless marble statues, oil paintings,
crystal vases, and golden antiquities on elegant pedestals. This
New Year’s Eve, over three hundred people crowded the lower levels
of her family home in groups separated by title, rank, family
affiliation. The
Camorra
branched out with second- in-
command leadership under thirteen
sotto capos
. Each of these
men remained fiercely loyal to her husband and top earners for his
empire. And under them, they ran smaller campaigns of crime and
corruption with hand- selected enforcers or earners taken from the
belly of society. Mira had learned that Giovanni owned and
controlled all of sanitation inside of Napoli, and received regular
payments from the Italian Republic for his services, but that was
about all she knew of his business affairs. What the men did for
Giovanni outside of the law remained a mystery. During the
holidays, she had put each of these men’s names and family names to
memory. Zia explained it as protocol for the event.

Zia and Mira worked out the logistics of who
would have what area as a gathering place for their men and family.
It would ensure no
capodecina
felt less important than
another. When Giovanni entered a room, one if not all of the men
seated would rise, kiss his hand and cheeks in respect. They would
pass off envelopes of money to Renaldo, who stood a step behind
him.

Mira observed from afar. Fascinated by how the
ruthless men were humbled and congratulatory to Giovanni for his
pending nuptials. When Giovanni looked up and saw her watching, she
immediately moved on. She greeted the ladies, wives and daughters,
making small talk. Most seemed impressed with her. A few did not.
They would whisper when she turned her back or left the room. It
made the loneliness of not having her best friend at her side sting
even sharper.

Food, music, drinks; all of it flowed and was
served. And the security was thick. No one drove through the gates
without being screened by Carlo and his men personally. And often
Zia, Catalina, or Rosetta would grab her hand and introduce her to
a family member who asked her about the wedding and if she was
ready.

Was she ready?

In the mix, she lost sight of Giovanni. Mira
knew the main course would be served in less than an hour, after
sunset. Giovanni didn’t eat unless his meal was plated by Mira’s
hand. When that tradition became routine for them she wasn’t sure.
Things between them happened organically, as did her acceptance of
the rules and discipline of their life.

After finding her daughter in the middle of
kids dancing in the sunroom to Rocco’s harmonica, she decided to
seek a quiet place of her own. A place where the stares and
constant fake smiles didn’t drain on her confidence so
much.

It meant she’d have to go upstairs. So Mira
climbed the elegant grey marble stairway and didn’t look back. The
high ceiling hall that led to the sitting rooms and away from the
bedrooms was empty, except for two men posted on either side. She
entered the first one she could find and welcomed the silence. Mira
approached the folding French doors and pushed them outward. They
gave way to a wrought iron balcony overlooking a charming gazebo
with wild blue roses growing along twisting vines. She leaned on
the balcony, and the evening breeze washed over her, blowing her
loose curls back over her shoulder.

She closed her eyes and inhaled. The rich
smell of stewed tomatoes and garlic sauces from the kitchens, and
baking bread along with the hint of wildflowers in the air filled
her lungs. It was such a lovely sample of what her new home became
for her. For a quiet, long moment, she relaxed and
inhaled.

At some point he joined her. She didn’t hear
him. In fact, his presence was only known when his hand touched her
thigh. He pressed his maleness against her backside. Stored in her
body were the lonely nights she spent without him while he was in
Bologna; or when she was working late on her wedding dress, was
such a need to submit, that a touch from him caused her breathing
to go deep. She flung away her last shred of resistance and pushed
her backside into his groin, while continuing to lean over the
balcony.

“
If you’re not my fiancé, you
should remove your hand from my thigh. He’s insanely
jealous.”

The warmth of his palm slowly rubbed upward,
drawing the material of her dress to her hip, and then eased under
her dress to cup her sex.

“
Mmm, Giovanni.” She stood upright.
“You are such a bad boy.” She grabbed his hand to stop
him.

He kissed her neck. And with the push of his
hand, he forced her to part her thighs a fraction so he could
properly cup her between her thighs. “Someone could come to the
garden and see us,” she sighed, her lips parted, her head tilted
back against his chest.

“
Il tuo piacere è il mio
.”
He answered, stirring arousal at her core by the slow concentrated
rub through her panties. A dizzying uprush of emotions surged
through her, and she found herself moving her ass in rhythm with
his caress. Seduced into releasing his wrist, she bit her bottom
lip to withstand. Swiftly, he penetrated her channel with his two
middle fingers. Mira gasped. She gripped the edge of the balcony
and rose on her toes. The fingers thrust in and out of her, teasing
her pussy with what could come. Before she climaxed in such an open
revealing space, she forced him to stop and turned to face him.
Giovanni reluctantly released her so she could accomplish the task.
She put her hands to his face and caressed his clean shaven
jaw.

“
I know you want me, but we have a
party and guests.” She smoothed down his tie, capturing her breath;
though she was drinking down deep gulps of air and trying to stop
the quiver between her thighs. “I-ah don’t need you distracted so
soon into the festivities.”

“
Why did you come up here alone?”
he asked in a voice deep and sensual.

She brushed her lips across his chin. “You saw
me come up the stairs?” She said in a soft whisper.

“
I followed you,” he answered, his
tone matching hers. She drew back and stared up into his eyes.
Beneath the beauty and admiration, shining like violet irises, she
could read the double meaning by his statement. He followed her
because he needed her, and also because it was expected for her to
not leave his side this evening.

Mira lowered her hands from his face. She
stepped back and bumped the iron railing. Giovanni pinched her
chin. He tilted her face upward so they could maintain their
connection. And then he ran his thumb deliciously back and forth
over her chin. “To me it looked like you were trying to get away
from everyone.
Come sta
?”

“
Molto bene
,” she replied.
“I needed some air.” She inhaled deeply closing her eyes, as if to
emphasize her point. Giovanni studied her face. He touched the side
of her throat tenderly, and his long thick fingers circled the back
of her nape. His thumb rubbed the center of her throat. Mira opened
her eyes. “You worry too much about me, sweetheart. Look at me. I’m
as happy as I ever was.
Sono tutto tuo
.” She told him she
was all his.

“
I can send them home, Bella. I’m
no fool. I see your discomfort. I know it will take time to get
used to all of this. Say the word, I’ll clear the fucking place and
it will be me and—”