Amore
Amore
Copyright © 2015 Sienna Mynx
Cover design by Reese Dante
Published by The Divas Pen LLC
First edition, March 2015
Printed in the United States of America
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from the author at [email protected]. This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
For more information on the author and her works, please see www.thedivaspen.com
Villa Mare Blu - 1972
Mondello Beach / Palermo Sicily
Rage and hurt should never exist in a young boy at once. Blinded by tears, fifteen-year-old Giovanni Battaglia stormed down the stairs of his seaside home in search of sanctuary. The cellar welcomed him. It was a dark paneled, windowless cavity that only the men in the family frequented to smoke hand rolled cigars and guzzle homemade whiskey.
Hurt lashed his heart once more when he too recalled the room’s prior personal use. Often he’d sneak Carmella inside through the cellar doors for a lover’s kiss, and adventurous sex. The whore!
She was never his.
She betrayed him.
She was dead to him now.
Dead.
Dead.
Dead.
The chair flew from his hands and smashed into the wall. It splintered with two of its legs breaking. He threw everything within his reach. First went an oil lamp with a glass ball shade, and then a cedar box of cigars that had recently been delivered to his father. Bottles of aged whiskey flew from his hands. Each plucked out of the open crates and tossed as if they were bowling pins. Wet streaks of pungent liquor and kerosene splattered over the walls. Shattered glass shards littered the concrete floor.
It hurt to love.
That’s what
amore
was—pain. He loved his mother and couldn’t protect her. He loved his father and couldn’t please him. He loved his girl and she betrayed him.
Giovanni Battaglia failed at love. He wanted to destroy something. He needed to destroy someone. He needed it more than he needed to breathe. Killing Armando Mancini was his intent. Even now he didn’t know if he succeeded. Still he wished to do more harm. To himself and everyone that betrayed him.
“Hai una faccia tosta!”
A voice boomed like a blast from a cannon behind him. Giovanni whirled on the intruder. He squinted in the shadowy darkness for clarity. Breathing was hard when angry. He exhaled deeply through flared nostrils. He stumbled backward and tried to remove any trace of tears from his face. But his actions were all the more revealing and the tears kept flowing. He heard
Patri
was in Palermo on business. No one expected him to return to Villa Mare Blu until the weekend.
He had been summoned.
“Answer me, boy! Who the fuck do you think you are?” Tomosino demanded. He descended the last stair and flipped the switch. Light flooded the room thanks to a single bulb hanging from the lowered ceiling. Giovanni squinted against the glare. He would have preferred the darkness.
Don Tomosino Battaglia was a lion amongst men. Not just in stature and build, but in ruthless intolerance. He wore a long tan trench coat splattered with wet spots from the rain, and a fedora that rested on his head. His father had just arrived and came in search of him. That meant he knew the truth—all of it.
Tomosino took off his hat and threw it. He shrugged off his coat and dropped it. Giovanni continued to step back. Tomosino rolled up one sleeve and then the other to the bend of his elbow. His hands curled into fists as large as boulders.
Giovanni glanced around at the destruction he’d done to his father’s belongings, and shuddered inwardly over the expected consequences. Before he could explain the scene and his actions to his father, his left jaw caved in and the molar to the left side of his mouth loosened. The backhanded blow ripped through his face and rattled his skull. He was knocked into the shelf. Several bottles crashed on him and the floor.
“Disgraziato! Minchia fredda!”
shouted his father. He was called a spineless pussy before his father delivered a swift kick to his stomach. Giovanni nearly choked on his vomit.
“Get up, you worm!” his father growled, with spittle coating his lips. The savagery of the beating continued. “You’re a man! Right? Right?
In piedi!
”
How was he to stand? He was being hit and kicked all over. His mind willed his body to obey, but he struggled to protect himself. Giovanni wept. He curled into a ball as his father’s rage became unstoppable. Tears proved to be an unforgivable mistake. His father kicked him again! And again! This time he did spew his lunch. He tried to turn away from the kicks and suffered several to his back.
“
In piedi!
Be a man! You want to! You think you are!
In piedi
!”
“
Patri!
” he begged. “No more!”
How could Giovanni atone when nothing his father had shown him in his young life thus far prepared him for such gut churning emotion? His girlfriend and best friends betrayed him. He was the laughing stock of Mondello, Sicilia, hell the universe. He hated life. He hated his father. He hated everyone. He wept hard.
“You will answer for this. Do you hear me? Only
I
take a life! I alone decide who is punished! I will break your fucking neck for disgracing me!” His father grabbed him by the hair and brought Giovanni up to his feet. He delivered a bone-crushing blow to the center of his face, either with his fist or a weapon. Giovanni did not know. Darkness began to descend on his mind, and his vision rolled up in his head. He heard a woman scream.
Was it Carmella?
When Giovanni plunged the knife into Armando she had screamed, and her screams chased him all the way back to Villa Mare Blu.
No! No. It wasn’t Carmella, the whore. It was his mother. She screamed so hysterically that the sound stopped his father’s hands from crushing his throat. Giovanni sagged against the wall. His face was bloody, his nose dripped blood, he spit up a tooth and more blood from the back of his mouth. He blinked awake in time to see his pregnant mother charge at his father with her fists. Her long red hair whipped about as she fought with no consideration of the danger she put herself and her unborn child in.
“Don’t you ever hit him!” she screamed. “Don’t you ever touch him!” she wept. “Ever! Ever! Ever! Ever! Ever!”
Tomosino tried to calm his mistress, the mother of his only son. He took her by the arms to still her, but it was of no use. She fought him with the same madness his father used when he attacked Giovanni. The only defense left to Tomosino was to back away from them both. Evelyn came to her knees and pulled Giovanni over into her arms. She stroked his face. She kissed his brow. She glared up at his father while cradling Giovanni to her breast. “You swore to me, Tomosino. On your life! You swore you’d never raise a hand to any of us. You swore it. But you are a monster who lies! A monster who could beat his own son with his own fists. THE DEVIL! I hate you for this! I hate you!”
“The boy’s actions today, Eve. He has put this family in jeopardy. He knifed the son of Don Mancini—”
“You swore!” she shouted him down, and Tomosino silenced. “He is your blood! How much blood have I lost to give you your son? Whatever his crimes are, he’s learned the sin from you!”
Tomosino looked down at his hands bruised and reddened by Giovanni’s blood. He shook his head in disbelief over either his own actions or his mother’s prophetic words. Giovanni wasn’t sure. What he did see out of his bleary vision was his father’s retreat. No one living or dead could make his father retreat other than his mother.
“I’m not a monster.
Perdonami per favore
,” his father said before he was gone.
“Let me go,
Madre
.” Giovanni tried to escape his mother’s embrace. He tried to be a man and rise to his feet. He could not. When he broke free of her she grabbed his face and it hurt. He crumbled. He wept. He cried in pain and humiliation. She made him look into her eyes.
“Listen to me. I want you to go upstairs and pack a bag. You will go to
Zio
Vito’s. I don’t want you here or near your father now. I know what you’ve done,” she wept. She shook her head and wept. She gathered her strength to continue, and it pained him to see her do so. “You’re my son. I love you, no matter the crime. God help me. God bless your your soul, Giovanni. This is my fault. I should have fought harder to keep you from this… from him. I’m weak. I failed you.”
“
Madre
, no, no. It’s my fault. Don’t cry.”
Eve nodded but the tears continued to fall. “Please, Gio. Do as I say. Do you understand me? Stay away from your father until his temper cools.”
Giovanni nodded and blinked away his tears. “Armando Mancini deserved it. He deserved it, Ma-Ma!”
“The reason doesn’t matter now, Gio. What you did will put your father at war with the Mancinis. Rocco is on his way. Stay out of your father’s sight. Do you understand me? Say you understand! Say it!”
“
Sí, sí, Madre,
I understand.” He nodded.
“And I will pray for us all,” she said.