Luzo: Reign of a Mafia Don (6 page)

“Buongiorno,” Alberti said. “Have we met before?”

It was Carlo who stepped down. Mass and height is the advantage he had over a teen that would probably sprout taller than he was now. The chest heaved; his voice a bass of emotion jarred a youth’s memory. “I have returned fratell
ino as promised when I left you here. I have come with our eldest. We are home again Giuseppe…we have come home to you.”

Alberti saw this man as the boy who had wrapped him in a coat to protect him from the chill. The rocks beneath his feet on a trail that brought complaints were patiently silenced by a boy with a face like the man as well. He sucked in air, hard and fast. This was his brother from the dreams he had as a child.

Sophie had stopped ogling the car and took a place beside her brother in observance of the trio. She witnessed for the first time a shiny liquid shimmer in Ernesto’s eyes. These men, who were they, she wondered and why had they caused Ernesto to become slightly teary?

“Anthony…you are my brother Anthony?” Alberti exclaimed and Sophie was given her answer.

Carlo seized the youth in a tight embrace. He put his chin in the young man’s hair. He had not felt such joy in a long time. “I have missed my fratellino. Never a day passed that I did not think of you. Santo fratellino I am alive now.”

Luzo had yet to join them. He waited until Carlo removed the watch, opened it and showed the teen the picture inside
with their famiglia before walking to their side. Alberti had tears streaming down his smooth cheeks. It was apparent he had lived a robust life of love.

Luzo tousled Alberti’s coiffed hair and he looked up.
“Mi dispiace I was not here for you fratellino. Signore Serano has done well. I hear you are very smart.”

Alberti nodded, wiping the wetness from his face. His eldest brother had a soothing voice. They both had strange accents, yet the
Sicilian dialect was flawless. He sniffled. The memories were distant, vague, almost dreamlike in quality, but he remembered another with a similar sounding tone holding him as a boy.

“You sound like papa. I do not remember him very well, but I see him when I see you.” Alberti could not forget his other father. He would be remiss if he did not show respect to the man who
loved him and taught him many things. “But, Signore Serano has been my papa since then.”

“Sí, Signore Serano will always be your papa a
lso. But, we are reunited and fratelli will never be forcibly separated again, capisce?” Luzo stated.

Alberti acquiesced.
He grinned. “Sí.”

CHAPTER
FIVE

Sophie prepared a festive meal in celebration of the Giacanti’s return
. As they were reacquainted with Alberti she listened from the cucina as she cooked about the Giacanti’s stay in France under assumed identities. She wiped her hands on the apron, and pushed back a wayward long curl that fell across her eye as she peered in the hot oven to check on the pies. Happiness filled the villa. The laughter filtering from her nephew Alberti, who was really a Giacanti made her smile. All these years she had never suspected who he was. Her brother Ernesto and his wife had announced they had adopted an orphan child. His name was Alberti Luca and that is what they called him in honor of his parents who had died during the war. Of course she was but a girl when Alberti joined their family. Having a small child underfoot to dote on eased a little girl’s misery after learning of the fate of her friends.

Wartime prepares a person for life’s hardships, yet it had not made the killings of the children less tragic. She remembered the funeral and the small caskets of five. Elation, indescribable joy is what danced in her
body that three of the Giacanti children had survived. They were here, masculine, pleasing to the eyes, robust and alive.

Later
as they ate dinner, Sophie occasionally glanced in Luzo’s direction. Carlo noticed. His ears appreciated the sound of a Sicilian family gathered around the dining table. Latin, Greek, Arabic, French and Spanish were all represented in the vocabulary. The accent was unmistakable, and he was proud to converse in the dialect. “Grazie for the meal Sophie, it is the best I have had in many years,” Carlo said.

Sophie beamed. “Really bello?”

“Sí, it was delizioso,” Luzo complimented after wiping his mouth on the soft napkin when the meal was done.

Sophie smiled. “You are both welcome. Tell me Salvatore…mi dispiace…I mean Luzo, did you miss Sicily?”

“I am glad to be home.” Luzo answered.

“Por favore, do not forget you cannot reveal who they are sorella. No one must know!” Ernesto reiterated loudly.

“I am not dense fratello,” Sophie replied, unafraid of her eldest by over nineteen years who treated her at times like a child.

Luzo sensed tension between the half-siblings and wondered if Ernesto had yet to forgive his deceased father for bringing home a child he had with his mistress Signora Mila. When she died a few months after Sophie was born due to a typhus outbreak, Ernesto brought the asymptomatic baby home. His wife of course was not particularly ecstatic, but soon warmed to the girl because she was outnumbered in a household of boys over the age of eleven. Sophie was treated like a princess. Having an a
ngelic face does not mean a child is saintly. Sophie became as rambunctious and wild as her older male siblings and packed a mighty right hook, as well. Sophie’s fist assisted in the expeditious loss of Luzo’s baby tooth when he was nine. Sophie had recently turned five. She was younger than Carlo, and Luzo recalled she had pummeled him, too.

Luzo could not believe the tyrant had become as gorgeous as the stars on the tube; actually she was more attractive in his opinion. But she had a flaw, everyone does, but Sophie’s was she sought to challenge men which is a form of emasculation for the less confident of the male species.

Luzo was highly self-assured; besides, he enjoyed challenges, especially women. “You have matured since we last played in the dirt.”

She smiled. The brilliance reflected in her eyes. “We had such fun.”

Luzo grinned and his teeth were even and white. “If that is your memory, but I recall being terrorized with rocks.”

Alberti and Ernesto laughed. Carlo did not.

“My sister was known for beating on the boys she liked,” Ernesto chided.

Sophie blushed. “Then I guess there were many.”

“Unfortunately, those she pummeled when young have held grudges and the reason she is unmarried now.” Her brother said.

“They are stupido bambini!” Luzo replied at the downcast eyes of a humiliated young woman that a brother would say such a thing in front of others.

“Grazie Sal…I mean Luzo.”

Carlo sipped more wine; he did not like his brother’s flirtation, although innocent, he knew where it would lead. Ernesto seemed not to mind and Carlo found this strange, since Ernesto’s ruthless butchering frightened many. Apparently, Ernesto had no idea Luzo was a wolf who masticated donnas before he spit out their carcasses.

Sophie rose and then circled the table. “Look at you Anthony…I must become accustomed to calling you Carlo!” She exclaimed with renewed energy as she squeezed his bicep. “You have many muscles. I am impressed. I cannot hit on you anymore.”

“No signora, you cannot. Nor will I tolerate disrespect.” Carlo remarked severely.

Her lovely eyes twinkled with mischief. “Your temperament has not changed I see. Carlo suits you. It is brusque and undeniably masculine.”

“
Aye, Carlo fits him like skin.” Luzo slapped his brother’s shoulder. “But, I love him despite his sourness. I am proud of my fratellino as papa would have been as well.”

Sophie giggled and put her arms around Carlo’s neck. She kissed his cheek and
caused his face to burn hot. “I will only hit you with kisses because you are alive and I am grateful to have amici together again!”

Carlo
may have deemed the kiss special had she not shown Luzo the same affection.

When
Sophie sat, she announced, “I leave for America at the end of summer. I will shout at the government’s treatment of its people.”

Ernesto grumbled. “Sophie, you will not go
. You know this!”

“I do as I please fratello. If no one speaks against these wrongs then they are cowards. Why are the colored treated as if they are not human, why are women for that matter?”

“Another country’s ills are not ours.”

“You have learned nothing from history Ernesto. Every people enslaved during the course of mankind’s existence, struggle
and yearn for independence. The Aztecs to Vikings; the Asian to the Greeks, German, Arab, English, Jew and African have cried for humane treatment by their brethren who use religion, wealth or color as justification to strip away their freedom. Over 500,000 Irish were killed by the English from 1641 to 1652 and another 300,000 were sold as slaves. Ireland’s population fell from over 1,500,000 to 600,000 in a single decade. Famiglia were torn apart. The British refused to allow Irish fathers to bring their children and spouses across the Atlantic. This led to a population of homeless women and their wards, and then they had the audacity to auction them off as well to solve their homeless problem. Then this Hitler comes on our time and invades shores where men have yet to learn. Many joined as he pilfered and burned humans like tinder, but he did not set fire to the self-hate within. So dearest fratello I have had enough of this world of uomini without conscience or honor. I have a voice and what good is it if not used to speak against wrongs when men sit silent? I will not sit under your thumb or mama in silence. You kill but you will not slay my voice!”

Ernesto pounded hard on the table with a heavy fist.
Plates and utensils rattled and he jumped to his feet. “Taci ragazza! Must you behave like a scugnizzo at my table and remind me we do not share the same madre?”

Sophie gasped. She rose
in humiliation and fled from the presence of their guests.

Luzo opined. “She speaks her convictions passionately. There is nothing criminal in talking against wrongs.”

Ernesto rubbed his chin, exasperated at his sister’s rebellious exhibitions. This behavior is why she had yet to yield a husband. In fact, his desperation was such he hoped she would find a match among one of the Giacanti’s. Yes, that would serve them all well.

“I do not intend to silence her Don Palazzo, but simply have her think before she speaks and offends. Words are weapons. I can control my reaction and not strike but another may
lack the self-restraint.”

Carlo laughed.
He had said something similar to his brother about sharing his pene with married women. He liked Sophie’s enthusiasm; she spoke like a passionate donna and he wondered if she was equally feisty in bed. “Sophie will undoubtedly beat the person to death if that ever happened.”

Ernesto chuckled. “Ah, that one…cara mia sorella. I love and fear for her if she continues with this activism.” He pointed to his son; Alberti would always be
his ragazzo. “Find Zia Sophie. Let her know the dinner was delizioso. Tell her to return at once and do not sulk, famiglia are those at the table. I must talk with your brothers privately, ora.” He then ushered his guests to a private room and closed the door.

Ernesto offered the brothers drinks, pushing whiskey filled glasses in their hands before settling in a chair to talk business.

“You will have to work your way back in to the society. Much has changed, but the old ways remain,” he advised.

Luzo nodded. His nose was inches above the beveled glass with the dark liquor. He sipped, leaned back and addressed the older Mafioso with authority. “I have heard Don Cigliari has ascended to the seat of the International Board of Directors which our papa founded. I have also heard he has exiled Don Monticelli.”

“That is correct.”

“Was Monticelli involved in what occurred?” Luzo asked.

“There have been rumors over the years, but nothing was proven. He has an alibi for that night, but fled to America which further fueled the belief that he may have.”

“Where in America does he live?” Carlo questioned.

“I have tried to track his where-a-bouts. He moves regularly and is shielded by the Mafiosi there.”

“He was a board-member, also a trusted friend of our father. I want him found.” Luzo fumed.

Carlo grumbled. “It is often friends who shove a knife in the back and dig in with force.”

Luzo wanted the name of the players. “Aside from the Board
, who else has risen within Sicily’s society?”

“Casentini, Reynoso, Provenzano and Trotta are the main families who have expanded their territories. Casentini’s reach has moved north as well.”

“I see.”

“We need soldati!” Carlo interjected.

Ernesto grinned. “The Giacanti commands sleepers who awaken when needed.”