La Sposa (2 page)

Giovanni heard his father grunt and
the cigar box to the top of the desk open and close. He could
imagine his father firing up his hand-rolled cigar and soon smelled
the bitter stench of tobacco. “Caruso has told me all about her.
You are not thinking straight. American Italians are pretenders.
They don’t deserve a seat at the table.”

“
Those men are of Sicilian blood.
Cousins and relatives of families we both respect. They aren’t
foreigners, Tomosino.”

“
Che palle! Bullshit!” His father’s
fist slammed down hard on the top of the desk. “We are your family.
The Camorra can give you more than the promise of false power in a
country that is not ours. And don’t distract the matter. We’re
speaking of her! You’re returning for her! I hear she’s pregnant
and run away from you. That you are wasting time and money
searching for her and not tending to business and this comes from
the Americanas you play mafia with. They are spreading these rumors
to the Dons of Sicily. Are you going to deny it? Because your
obsession for the puttana makes you weak!”

Giovanni drew back to the far
corner under his father’s desk. Careful to remain quiet and unseen,
he pulled his knees up to his chest, certain that he made a mistake
by choosing this time to play with his Papa. He could tell in his
father’s voice he was growing increasingly angry. And the talk of
America always made his father’s mood sour.

Unsure of what he was hearing, he
closed his eyes and prayed that the stranger hadn’t triggered his
father’s rage. It would be a bad thing if he did. And then Tomosino
laughed. “Va’al diavolo! Fuck it. Go back to America, for that
nigger whore and fake mafia. Leave your family and your
responsibility with your father struggling to take his last breath.
It’s your disgrace not mine.”

“
And what of your whore, Tomosino?
Evelyn right?” The man’s voice dropped threateningly low. “You have
a wife in Sicily and an Irish comate in your bed. How are you
different than me?”

“
My whore knows her place. That is
the difference!” Tomosino shouted. “At this very minute she is busy
with plans to welcome me home. She exists to please me. If you and
I didn’t have years of blood between us, I would cut out your
tongue and shove it up your man-hole for speaking her
name.”

Flavio cleared his throat. “He
meant no disrespect, Tomosino.”

The stranger gave a short laugh. “I
did mean disrespect. Just as you meant disrespect to me! Whatever
my reasons are for returning to America it is my choice. I don’t
want any part of the Ciaculli cleanup, or the military police that
are hunting me. My father understands this. I’m leaving until the
heat on us all cools down.” The man sighed. “Forgive me, Tomosino,
and I will forgive you. You are like my brother. I just can’t deal
with the hypocrisy. She’s not a whore, she’s more than that. And
she’s run away pregnant with my babies. Two babies. Little
girls.”

Tomosino’s leg kicked out and his
shoe connected with Giovanni’s foot. His father paused. Giovanni
held his breath. Tomosino pushed back in his chair and peeked under
the desk. “What are you doing under there, boy?” he shouted in
Italian.

“
Papa, I-I-I wanted. I wanted to
surprise you,” Giovanni answered, eyes unblinking with
fright.

“
Vieni qui!”

Giovanni crawled towards his father
and was yanked up to his feet. He blinked up into his father’s eyes
refusing to show any fear. After a second, Tomosino smiled. He
grabbed him by the chin and forced his face up to kiss his lips.
“You missed me? Couldn’t wait to see me eh?”

“
Sí.” Giovanni nodded.

Tomosino pulled him up to his lap
and patted his face. “I missed you too. This is my boy, the future
of the family. Children are important. Sons are important. The
woman who can carry your seed and give you a son is the treasure.
Keep that in mind when you attach false sentiment to that American
puttana.”

Giovanni glanced over to the man
who narrowed his gaze on him. Tomosino continued. “You have a son,
it should be enough.” Tomosino then hugged Giovanni to him with a
sharp bite of laughter. “Now go find Ma-ma. I will come for you
both.” He set Giovanni back down and he immediately did as he was
told. This time he got another look at the man who his father
argued with. He was the son of one of the Five Dons of Sicily—the
next in line according to rumors. He didn’t remember his name, but
he’d seen him once or twice when they visited Sicily; and Giovanni
sat at his father’s side while he conducted business. And he’d
never forget his face. He had striking features, bronzed skin with
dark hair with long side burns and piercing black eyes. According
to the girl cousins who whispered and giggled whenever he came to
visit Papa, he was handsome.

The man winked at Giovanni as he
passed. He hurried to the door where one of his father’s men stood
guard. The man opened the door and let him out. Giovanni went down
the hall to the kitchen, hoping to find his mother there. He
stopped at the sight of her. She beat a lump of dough with her
fist. Papa always wanted one of her pies when he came home. And it
had to be fresh from the oven when he sat down to his afternoon
dessert. He knew she’d be there preparing one.

“
Ma-ma?”

“
Gio? I told you, get changed out
of your school clothes.”

“
I saw Papa. He said he missed
me.”

Evelyn smiled.

“
I’ll go change.” He turned to
leave and stopped. He looked back at her. “Ma-ma?”

“
Yes?”

“
What’s a puttana?”

The smile on her face dimmed.
“Where did you hear that word, Gio?”

“
Papa. He said you were his
whore.”

His mother stood silent at first.
She then stepped around the kitchen counter and wiped her hands on
the apron she wore. “Come to me.”

He walked over to her and she
smoothed back the curls to the top of his head. “Promise me, Gio,
when you grow up to be your own man, and you fall in love, you will
cherish the woman you choose. And never take her love for granted.
Promise me you will never make her your whore.”

“
What is a whore?”

“
It’s a woman who has no family, no
honor, nothing but shame.”

“
That is not you!” Gio said
determined.

Evelyn nodded in agreement but her
eyes glistened with tears. “True. Because I have something a whore
doesn’t.”

“
What?”

“
A son, who sees me as his mother,
and respects me,” she smiled brightly. It was the tears in her eyes
that made his heart patter faster and faster in his chest. He
touched his mother’s cheek and she blinked. A few tears
dropped.

“
I will always respect you.
Always!” Gio said. “And if anyone calls you a puttana, even Papa, I
will make them take it back!” He dropped his hand from her face and
pounded his little fist into his open palm.

Evelyn chuckled. She drew him to
her chest and squeezed him tightly. “And that is all the love I
need.”

December 29, 1991 – Sorrento,
Italy

Mira reached for her robe and eased her arms
through the long sleeves. Black silk floated over her matching
nightdress. The garment, once belted tight to her waist, covered
her feet under its pooling hem. Its length swallowed her hands
beneath wide sleeves. The nights carried in a winter chill across
southern Italy. It moved in off of the Amalfi coast blanketing
Sorrento after sunset. Most remarked how unusually brisk the
weather had become for this region since Christmas. Mira loved it.
All of the beauty and sunshine of Italia during the holidays felt a
bit unnatural. What she would give to have a few snowflakes and
cuddle moments with Giovanni and Eve by a fireplace. She wasn’t
quite prepared for how bitter the cold felt with his absence.
Tonight the icy temperature seeped in through the windowpanes and
locked French doors. The marble floor in her bedchamber felt as if
she stood on a block of ice. She walked on her toes over to her
slippers and eased them on to ward off the shivers. It did little
to help. Cold clung to her bones making her rethink escaping the
warmth of her blankets. However, one more minute spent in their bed
alone and she’d scream.

In the past three days, Giovanni had rarely
called to check in with her. The conversations they did have were
brief. She knew it was business, but still his absence was the
final straw in a long day of disappointments. First domestic bliss
burned away to pre-marital disaster after she ruined the family
dinner in the ovens. Of course she knew how to cook, but Zia gave
her daily lessons on rolling dough to make fresh pasta, how to skin
and clean things from the sea she’d never seen before, and create
the tastiest sauces from tomatoes that were as bittersweet as
plums. All of it had to be done from scratch. Every lesson centered
on meals that were Giovanni’s favorite and proved to be laborious
to prepare. If she hadn’t been so frazzled she wouldn’t have over
baked and under boiled dinner. Something neither she nor Zia could
fix. And her troubles didn’t end there. Eve had a persistent cough
and a runny nose that kept her whiney and clingy for her mother
only. All of these demands were made of her while she worked
tirelessly on her wedding gown with an inadequate sewing machine
and less than desirable fabric.

Mira rubbed the tension from her brow. The
sweet ache of loneliness bloomed in her chest, adding pressure and
doubts to her fragile heart. She tried to avoid the news. To not
listen to the reports and speculation of whom she had become, and
why she hid from the world. She tried to ignore the gossip swirling
over Kei’s arrest and their mutual betrayal of one another’s trust.
She tried to pretend that every decision she had made since the
birth of her daughter was a solid one. But she was human. Wasn’t
she allowed to have these doubts?

Her gaze swept the empty space of her bedroom
and paused at the chaise. An open book rested on the antique
cushion and a half empty glass of grape juice was left next to the
chair on the floor. She chewed on the inside of her jaw struggling
with the questions that plagued her.
Why hadn’t Giovanni called
today? Was he safe? If he was hurt or in trouble how would she
know? What could she do?
The unfairness of it all is what
disappointed her the most. Love chose her. And despite her
cautious, critical nature, she had run blindly to this life in
Italy with this notorious family keeping her eyes purposefully
shut. Subsequently, she would have to learn to accept the good with
the bad.

And there was plenty good. Christmas was so
wonderful. The day after, she and Giovanni spent time alone with
Eve as a mother and father. Her daughter thrived under Giovanni’s
undivided attention until she collapsed with exhaustion from fits
of laughter and a day of grins after playing with more toys than
one child could imagine. They announced to the family a new baby,
hopefully a son, would be born and there was much celebrating. And
then came Mira’s time. Giovanni swept her away with wine for him
and passion for her. She was trapped beneath him discovering the
depths of his love for her in their bed. He made love to her
relentlessly before he received a call and informed her he had to
head to Bologna.
And
then he was gone?
She closed her
eyes and sighed. She could go downstairs to the kitchen and bring
up another prosciutto sandwich to give her comfort. Or she could
stand in her room and question herself until bitterness overwhelmed
common sense.

Choosing to do neither, she entered her
daughter’s room.

Eve rested on her side with her yellow and
pink blanket tangled around her legs. Had she grown? She had
definitely adjusted to the changes in her life the past few weeks.
To see her so happy and content in her new world released some of
Mira’s anxieties.

Since her return from Switzerland, it felt as
if someone had pressed the fast-forward button on their lives.
Suddenly she had a wedding to plan, and she didn’t even know where
the event would take place.

“
Sleep well, sweetie,” Mira smiled.
She pulled the blanket up over her daughter’s shoulder. She located
the baby monitor placing it in the crib, then took the other one
and walked out of the room. Leo was in the hall resting his
shoulder against the door across from them. Nico usually took the
day hours to keep track of her and Eve’s every movement. Even
behind the walls of this fortress her soon- to- be- husband had to
be sure they were protected; and she was almost certain her
activities were constantly updated to him. At first the security
felt welcoming, now she battled to push against the claustrophobic
feel of isolation.

She smiled at Leo. He wasn’t a tall man, but
what he didn’t have in height he had in muscle and attitude. He
averted his gaze refusing to look her in the eye as most of the men
did whether Giovanni was around or not. “Why don’t you go to bed,
Leo? We’re fine.”

“
No,
Signora
. I’m okay,
grazie
,” he said, with a curt nod.

She opened her mouth to insist but he looked
away. Mira noticed her cleavage was where his gaze flickered to and
then away. In her haste, she had tied her robe low on the waist.
The folds revealed more than she intended. She adjusted herself
immediately, embarrassed, and moved on. Instead of going downstairs
for another sandwich, she climbed the ones that led to the third
level of their home, where her sewing room was along a hall with
mysteriously locked doors. Catalina and Zia changed the subject
when she inquired about those rooms and she had decided not to
pry.