Luzo: Reign of a Mafia Don (5 page)

BOOK: Luzo: Reign of a Mafia Don
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The banker scoffed. “The contract was rescinded. Investors have fled in droves. There is mention of war and they seek to put their money in armaments. A sure profit, thus my commission is still owed Monsieur Palazzo. You cannot retract what has already been agreed upon.”

Luzo had forgotten about the cigar, consuming its papery skin and snuffed out the embers in the heavy ashtray.

First
Carlo had barged in his office and now a secondary annoyance appeared. He did not appreciate the tone of the banker or his disrespectful behavior. Carlo was his brother; the Frenchman was nothing.

Luzo
thought of his papa’s demands for civility. Basic etiquette had been set aside in this modern age of invention. He had heard of this, in fact he set the wagon loose and received the out he needed to focus his attention elsewhere. He would not build another building or restore any more bombed and shelled castles belonging to spoiled aristocrats. Also, he did not care for the radical politics of the candidate for President of the Republic. Before he became bombarded with donation and endorsement requests he sought to exit France. Leave the political conflicts for those who cared, the French.

He had little faith in people. Armaments were in his investment portfolio, technology as well. This is where he looked for the stronghold to clamp tight an empire for the future generation of Giacanti and not political squabbles. Politicians are useful, but they’re also disposable commodities. They come with an expiration date, term limits
was Luzo’s impatience.

An improved computer
system used by the American Census Bureau led him to research a company called Remington Rand which had built what they called the UNIVAC computer for the government in ‘51. They had begun manufacturing commercial systems for a payroll application and he sought to purchase one for the company offices being renovated in Sicily.

His ears were piqued by things of usefulness, expedience and accuracy. Thus a fraction of his profits from Palazzo Enterprises
were used to invest in technology. A Filipino scientist Gregorio Zara had applied for a patent for a photo phone signal separator network. Further research revealed the idea would be used to invent a two-way television telephone or videophone.

Amazing.

Looking to the future, Luzo saw the possibilities of such a device. Expensive is a pittance to the profits he could make from a large percentage of such shares.

He had not informed anyone of this, not even Carlo. He would only say, “I do not care about science fiction. I care only to avenge our famiglia.”

Luzo cared as well, more than he could express. It was a festering sore in his heart to be away when his family needed him most. Guilt can eat reason, and although he was aware a boy’s presence would not have changed the course of tragedy, illogical thinking at times caused him to believe he may have saved his family…at least his sisters.

He s
ought to continue his papa’s visionary aspirations of legitimacy and erase bad deeds of the past. Many influential people had done this in history. There was such a man, a Roman-Catholic Senator who had begun speaking of his ambition to become President of the United States. The media had not questioned the actions of his father who is rumored to have circumvented the Prohibition laws. Luzo had heard his father speaking about the Irish-American’s purchase of the distribution rights to one of the largest whiskey manufacturers in Europe during that era.

The
Irish politician’s family acquired part of their fortune from the operation of saloons. Some people had speculated, the cloak of legitimacy allowed the politically connected businessman to get by the eye of the law during the Prohibition Era. Americans are somewhat naïve, his father always said. Give the gullible and self-righteous a gangster to hate. Thug, ruffian and names of that sort are attached, yet an Ivy League educated fellow with a pretentious smile is the craftiest criminal, who remains loved and respected. Oftentimes, victims never suspects a robber sits among the wealthiest sipping wine at the table.

These were thieves
in fine clothes such as the banker.

The banker slammed his hands on the desk. “Are you listening?”

Only Carlo was allowed to confront him in such a manner; they were brothers and shared a darkened heart. Unfortunately, for the banker he had a chance to experience firsthand the scorched crust around the edges of a charming man.

The letter opener which sat next to the ashtray was lifted and thrust straight in the arrogant
ribcage. The banker grunted, clutched and pulled at the instrument as he stumbled back in shock. Luzo watched with cold uncaring eyes, thankful the nuisance had finally shut-up.

No one demands money from a Giacanti or barges in where he sits with family unannounced. His family was slaughtered, one by one in their homes, safe havens supposedly from danger or harm. This thing he possessed in his head called fear, did not allow Luzo to trust. An action or words whispered in closed rooms against him were building in France led by this banker. His account was short; only the arrogant dolt dropping to the floor had access.

“Die, already,” Luzo grumbled with impatience. He stood when the banker silenced and struck the floor.

Luzo walked calmly to
the office door and pulled it open. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, staring with squinted eyes at the competent secretary stood his brother. He had not gone. Carlo held firm to his word, always honorable.

“The hour is late, Mademoiselle. You may leave.” Luzo smiled at the secretary.

“Oui,” she said and quickly gathered her purse, and exited under Carlo’s uncomfortable glare.

Luzo locked the door once she scurried home. “Must you do that?”

“Cosa?”

“Intimidate people.”

“I was not aware standing quietly is frightening.”

“We have a situation fratell
ino.” Luzo informed Carlo.

“We?” Carlo asked, still leaning on the wall. He peered around the
door frame, looked inside Luzo’s office at the banker lying near the desk and asked, “Has he fallen asleep or have you frightened him to death by sitting?”

“Cazzo, I need you to take his hat and keys. Dispose of the car near the shantytowns and then return.”

“Am I supposed to walk back?” Carlo responded. Wondering what sort of plan had him trudging in the evening in his new clothes when he had an engagement with a seamstress named Vivian, lovely, curvy and downright pleasurable to the pene.

“Your humor appears at the oddest time. This is a grave situation.”

Carlo grinned. “Perhaps you should have considered the
consequences
.”

“There is nothing to consider when dealing with a thief.”

“Agreed, I detest their lot.”

“Let’s end this chat. I do not want blood to seep in the floors.”

The glint in Luzo’s eye was similar to the beacon from lighthouses leading fishermen to shore. But the human SOS signal requested aid. This was the first time Carlo had seen Luzo even slightly frazzled; perhaps because he murdered a privileged aristocrat and being hauled in front of a magistrate in his expensive duds was unsettling; either way, the deed was done.

Carlo pushed off the wall. “I will handle this. I think a fitting way for Monsieur Pompous to have allegedly died is in disgrace.”

“You take too much pleasure in wickedness, but then go on tangents about honor.”

Carlo laughed. “I did not kill him. I am being honorable by helping my murderous cad of a brother. That is my duty as well. Besides,
I anticipate the reaction of the snobs as news spreads about the son of a respected parliamentary official without finances or his trousers being discovered murdered where the courtesans prowl will be the talk of Parisian high society.”

And as Carlo predicted, the scandalous demise of the banker was the talk of Paris for days. Not an iota of suspicion filtered Luzo’s way.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

C
HAPTER
FOUR

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Who are those men
at our home papa?” Alberti asked as he rode beside the man he knew as father, Ernesto Serano.

His f
iery-spirited young Aunt Sophie sat in the backseat flipping through a fashion magazine. The models had similar poses and wore muted colored dresses, matching hats and gloves, smiling with their legs crossed at the ankle, demure and boringly plain. She looked up when her nephew said visitors awaited. She leaned over Alberti’s seat to get a better look as they neared the modest villa. Her attention went from the dark strangers to the automobile on her brother’s property.

She squealed, “Bellissimo, stop. I must see Ernesto!”

Ernesto’s green eyes darted to his youngest sibling. Since completing culinary school in France, she had traveled to America without permission and found trouble. He had to contact a relative in the states to pay away the charges. She was immediately sent home. This occurred a week ago and now Sophie talked incessantly of America’s segregation policy being unfair to coloreds and immigrants. The untamed teen had gone abroad to learn recipes only to return a feminist and activist.

She had planned to return to America to protest, but her mama had forbidden.
Approaching twenty-two Sophie refused marriage to many of the eligible sons of mafia families, which did not bode well with their mama. Her unladylike behavior worried an aging matron. She did not want her adopted daughter to end up in prison in another country or an old maid. Sophie was stunning, but the penchant for guns, cars and her bold speech were distressing, even to her brother.

Today while waiting for the train carrying his son, Alberti to arrive, Ernesto had an unpleasant encounter with a local Don.

The Don had commented on Sophie’s attire. An innocent compliment nearly ignited a killing.

A h
armless compliment such as, “You are very lovely Signora Sophie. I like the color of your dress,” resulted in the sarcastic and inflammatory reply, “Grazie, when next I visit Milan, I will buy a dress for you…uh…I mean your wife Don Casentini.”

The Don turned red. Had Ernesto not intervened with an apology, Sophie may have received a backhand slap for the affront to the Don in the presence of his Capo.

“Out of respect for your famiglia, I will accept the apology Ernesto.” He then turned to Sophie and said, “I see there is not a ring on your finger. I expect a marriage is forthcoming, sí?”

Sophie noticed her brother’s scowl. For peace she smiled prettily. “I expect many things Don Casentini. However, what I expect I may not receive. Life holds surprises, does it not?”

The Don’s expression was unreadable. “You are a lovely woman. I am certain there is an eligible bachelor within our families that is well-suited for you.” His eyes narrowed. “I will consider the choices. We will talk again, and I hope pleasantry will escape your pretty lips, capisce?”

Ernesto frowned. “No disrespect Don Casentini, but my sister is free to choose who she likes. In time I am sure she will meet her match.”

The loud train entered the station. Ernesto had taken hold of Sophie’s arm. He could feel the tension in the air. The gun concealed under his arm was warm from the heat of his body. The Capo smirked. He and Ernesto had never been on good terms. This disrespect by Sophie had further brought animosity.

B
y divine intervention a girl shouted, “Papa…papa!” And the mafia men’s attention focused on the passengers disembarking from the train and the young girl hurrying in their direction holding her fitted hat in place.

Alberti stepped from the crowd with his luggage during that time. A reunion occurred all around. Many young people returning from university had arrived home to spend the summer with their families. Laughter replaced egos, temporarily.

But, Ernesto understood what Sophie didn’t. Powerful men such as the Don were full of themselves and trouble was on the horizon. 

Thus, Ernesto’s mood had taken a blacker turn on the drive to his home to meet with the sons of the deceased Sergio Giacanti. This day of reunion was also one of sadness. The young boy he had raised as his son would soon learn the truth about his famiglia.

Sophie rushed out the car to run her hand along the sleek body of the Ferrari 250 GT Berlinetta. Her ooh’s and aaaah’s of admiration brought a smirk from Luzo. Carlo remained impassive. The lines of the gorgeous young woman had raced his heart. He had never seen anyone as beautiful in person as the brunette in the green prim dress. The simple attire could not hide the curves of her hips or the fullness of her breasts. Another revving of the heart engine occurred when the teen with black hair and the masculine face of their mother approached with his guardian.

“Buongiorno signori,” Ernesto said as he handled the keys.

Buongiorno,” the brothers replied in unison.

Alberti’s eyes never faltered from the men. Their faces were familiar. Yes, he saw their relation. The man with blue eyes inspected him from head to foot. Alberti had grown in height, he was not muscular like the man standing near his companion, but he was not thin either.

BOOK: Luzo: Reign of a Mafia Don
2.19Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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