Luzo: Reign of a Mafia Don (3 page)

BOOK: Luzo: Reign of a Mafia Don
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He hurt inside.

Episodes of violence were the way he released the pain. It had been worse last year when he threatened a teacher with scissors. An apology was the punishment for his actions. Money can smooth tensions and indignations, but can do nothing if a boy refuses to adhere to rules. He was expelled a month later when he struck a student for taking the liberty of touching his prized pocket watch after he had placed it on the side of the washbowl to rinse his hands.

Nobody
was allowed to touch his papa’s watch. Inside were memories; a picture of his entire famiglia taken the Christmas shortly before their deaths; an image he cherished.

He removed his uniform jacket and shoved it
to a boy already holding his books. The crisp white shirt and tie were removed next. He did not want his guardians to know he had been in another fight. They were good people, kind and loving, but they were not his parents and he knew the difference. He did not mean to be unruly, but after fighting, he always felt better.

He walked ahead of the others who were visibly timid at being so near the shantytowns, but Carlo wasn’t. He marched through an unclean alley where other scruffier lads waited with the confidence of a bull. The boys were from the
Bidonvilles area. Most were extremely poor. They looked upon the students of the affluent schools with disdain, thinking them spoiled; when in Carlo’s case was far from the truth. Money does not spoil a person, entitlement and people do.

The
student’s paths crossed earlier when the toughest of the ragtag group, the blonde boy with pasty skin decided he would insult the sullen youth named Carlo when he walked by the school gates.

“Is pity for a foreigner
the reason you were accepted tar-head?”

“Meet me in the ghetto where you live and I will tell you!” Carlo had shouted just as the bell rattled the hour and he had to go inside.

This is the place the cocky boy shouted. Perhaps he thought Carlo would not show, but Carlo knew the streets quite well.

For a boy not yet fourteen, Carlo’s arms were the size of solid tree limbs. He was slightly shorter than the southern boy, but he
did not see this as a disadvantage. He saw opportunity. There was more surface area on his opponent’s torso to damage.

Carlo sneered as he kicked a discarded bottle out of his path. “Jest now!”

“You came, Carlo, is it?” The boy taunted. “I did not think you would venture this far from the belly of luxury.”

Carlo
hated the smug Parisian’s pronunciation of his new name made it sound worse.

“Of course I am here cazzo!”

There was laughter from the boy’s pack of hyenas. Cowards are always strong when supported by extended arms. Yet, the teen with Sicilian blood was not afraid.

“Foreigner. What is a
cazzo
, is it you?”

The evening had dimmed the sun, sounds of Parisian living was the background. The adults were unaware a group of ruffians had assembled to fight. Adults were always too busy, with this or that. Besides, what pastime did impoverished youth have after the wars?

The boy with the name Carlo Dichenzo was not destitute, his soul was. He could not forget the images of his mama, papa and sisters and soldati strewn about like discarded carcasses throughout their property. Anger set him on fire.

He charged the youth and the collective shout of boys was loud, but the cacophonous noise became camouflaged by old cars clanking and backfiring over the brick street.

He punched the smile from the Parisian. He knocked the arrogant youth to the ground, pummeling him with such force, bones broke like twigs. The shrieks were no longer loud. Fear of children when they realize a game is no longer merriment but has turned sour is a hush and gasps when blood appears from a nose and mouth.

The Parisian had nothing to say. Flat on his back, unable to dodge or deflect he cried like a bitch for mercy in French.

Carlo’s classmates, tugged at his strong arms. They managed to drag him back from the whimpering sap. There was fear on their faces when they looked upon their foreign classmate in a murderous rage.

They saved their French brethren. Their innocence was shattered and they came to not like the foreigner known as Carlo because
he reminded children of war which they sought to forget.

 

CHAPTER
TWO

 

 

 

 

“We cannot return home fratellino,” Luzo said for the umpteenth time to his surly brother. Several years in Paris without contact with their youngest sibling Giuseppe angered the wayward boy. He was troublesome, rebellious and not interested in studies, only fighting and guns.

“When will we return to avenge our famiglia?” he asked as they carried cumbersome bags of produce from the bustling market.

Foreigners had begun to stream to France
and visit places such as the Louvre. The Eiffel Tower had become a commonplace attraction which elitist inhabitants preferred to avoid. Mingling with art aficionados was more desirable he supposed. Luzo missed home, also. He did not speak of Sicily to his brother except when referencing what papa had instructed him to do. This is the time he reminded Carlo of the danger of retuning too soon. “Everyone believes we are dead. Papa’s enemies will have us killed if we enter the city. That is why we have assumed new identities. We must make allies Carlo and we cannot cloud our judgment.”

Carlo
snarled. “I do not like our names. I am not a Carlo Dichenzo.”

“Papa chose them. It fits you well. Carlo is a strong name.”

“We are Giacanti’s!”

“A name cannot change who we are.”

“But you are not a Luzo Palazzo, it is stupido. Your surname means palace.”

Luzo frowned down at the stocky youth of seventeen. In his father’s letter he had told his son to ensure his siblings understood the necessity of the pretense. The documents had been prepared in advance. Birth certificates, passports and different names for each of the siblings removed any links to their heritage. Sergio Giacanti feared if the rumors were true, each of his children would not
survive execution. Salvatore blinked away the sadness, his heart continued to ache. He could not stop thinking about his sisters. Perhaps if papa had not sent him away, he could have saved them from an assassin’s bullets. “There is nothing wrong with our names. Giuseppe is now called Alberti and he is safe. He is well cared for and we are also. Stop speaking selfishly. Have you not learned anything cazzo?” he asked with an impatient scowl and then walked swiftly ahead.

Carlo
caught up to his brother. “Mi dispiace fratello.”

“Va bene.”

Carlo chuckled. “I have met a girl.”

“Eh, a girl is all you can handle.”

Carlo socked his brother in the arm. “Unlike you I do not want wrinkled legs or aged micio.”

“Every woman is different. It is not simply the micio that attracts me.”

Carlo smiled at a pretty French girl as she passed with her mother. “The girls make this place tolerable.”

“Be careful fratellino you do not give them your seed or you will find yourself married at the point of a gun.”
Luzo teased. “With a mature and preferably married woman, I have none of those complications.”

“Ah, that is your secret.”

“I remain unattached.” Luzo boasted. “There are many micio to sample, I cannot settle on one.”

Carlo
grinned. “That will change when you have found love.”

“Perhaps.”

“A special woman will make your heart race. You will want to honor her and make her your wife or
mistress
,” Carlo prophesied as they neared their residence.

“You are a fortune teller?”

“Papa said the Giacanti men love hard.”

“That is what he said, eh?”

“He also said that is the reason his Zio went missing.”

Salvatore had heard this tale as well. Their ancestor was murdered over a gambling debt but
there were rumors it was during a dispute over a woman. “Perhaps that is your fate fratellino but not mine.”

“It is inevitable Luzo
Palace
that you will fall in love.”

“Ha,”
Luzo retort with a snort imitative of their teacher before halting at the door of the well-kept chatelet. “Beneath your brutishness you are a romantic
Carlo
Dichenzo
.”

Carlo
nodded. “I am not ashamed to admit I want what papa and mama shared. I also want many children...girls will be nice and I will name them Angelina and Cecily.” He eyed his brother. “Prometto fratello, we will find the men who murdered our blood?”

“Promet
to…I live only for that day.”

“My heart will lack mercy until such a day comes.”

“Mercy?” Luzo smirked. “You possess a merciless heart now fratello, even the saints among men are damned.”

“I have yet to meet a saint. Have you considered the irony for
a person to attain such glory in the canon of saints, the requirement is death?”

“You have nothing to f
ear; canonization is not what you will receive after burial.”

“A large body count shall suffice as my mark of distinction.”

“Ah fratellino, you are aware papa sought to avoid unnecessary violence.”


But he could not. He made many rich, assisted refugees and sought to honor his Nonna. A saint is what he is to me despite his wrong-doings. Altruistic deeds may be the cause of his murder. It is said, no good deed goes unpunished.” Carlo added. “Papa displayed a tender heart for us.”

“B
ecause he loved us cazzo.” Salvatore censured the youth. “We have a piece of papa and mama.” To ease the tension he teased his brother. "Unfortunately, you were shortchanged in the area of height. I believe you were the runt of the litter.”

“Vaffanculo, I am tall where it counts!”

Although Carlo had not inherited the Giacanti extra height, he was not by any means deficient in stature. In fact he was above average with an imposing muscular physique. It is his bulk which caused him to appear shorter. “A braggart is often an exaggerator.” Luzo chided.

Before Carlo responded the front door opened and the teacher’s wife gestured wildly with her hands. “
Quel est le délai?”


Je m'excuse,” Luzo answered. “The market was crowded with tourists and then a loquacious sinner delayed us further with talk of saints.”

 

CHAPTE
R
THREE

 

 

 

 

 

The brothers were of maturity. The years of exile neared its end. During their stay in Paris, they had not remained idle. Luzo apprenticed at a construction firm. His love of architecture and business sparked a desire to start his own company. His charismatic personality endeared him to others. Luzo’s knack for sound decision-making, yielded hefty profits for the company. This was attributable to his father’s teachings and he soon garnered respect from the owner and the elder gents during meetings.

He was young, but displayed a mature countenance
of experience, they both did. War within and knowing hardship had stolen the brother’s innocence.

They had moved out of their teacher’s flat. Luzo
’s preference for a residence was a location with the ambience of the ward; a short distance from the Louvre, Carlo however chose to live among the working class in the recently constructed flats in the rougher section of the ward. He found nothing enjoyable in the arts, except an affinity to music, which their mama had also shared.

The chest remained safe beneath the floor of the teacher’s home; a ledger is all Luzo took. As a child he knew his parents were wealthy, but
was astonished at the untallied riches they amassed. But, he could not access the monies, yet. He had no idea who his father’s enemies were. Tapping into his father’s coffers might bring wolves down on their heads and he could not risk anyone discovering his true identity or Carlo’s. A painting and a large diamond are what he sold via an intermediary on the black market. The proceeds are how he and Carlo were able to cover their expenses.

With other earnings from a latter employment, Luzo established Palazzo Enterprises, a development corporation which assisted in rebuilding post-war Europe. Over time, the business expanded, as did
the company’s good reputation. Quality workmanship, fair wages and competitive prices produced satisfied customers in government and the private sector. Young Luzo quickly rose in stature. Carlo’s interest in boxing brought him a different form of notoriety as a brawler.  During tussles on the street Carlo received a broken arm, busted ribs but the combat skill of a hell-raiser is why he never lost a fight and earned an impressive sum from this violent activity.

Luzo intervened
in his brother’s pastime to suggest Carlo consider removing himself from the blow of fists and elbows to become a promoter, take wagers and receive his cut upfront without being pummeled. Carlo actually liked the idea, thus his respect was gained with muscle, money and henchmen willing to do his bidding and a supportive brother as his financier. There were occasions an older brother’s clout was required to keep him out of jail. Then there are times when a short stay in the workhouse served a purpose. Carlo learned quickly, never assault someone in public or make verbal threats in front of witnesses.

BOOK: Luzo: Reign of a Mafia Don
8.97Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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