Shae smiled. “Why are you so nervous around your people, Mae? They like me.”
“Yeah, they do. But my sister doesn’t know everything about me, and my past. Not like you do, Shae. I just want, never mind. Forget it.”
“Mae? I’m your girl. You think I want to fuck this up for you? That fancy sister of yours is no saint. Trust me. I know women, she has her own freaky secrets.”
“Shut up!” Marietta hissed.
Shae chuckled. “I’m joking.”
Marietta glanced up to Mirabella ahead of them walking off the final stair. Once Mirabella confided in Marietta that she had an abusive boyfriend when she was a teenager. It was something Marietta shelved to the back of her mind. But she always wondered why her sister up and left Virginia, and rushed to her dreams in New York. The death of their grandfather only partly explained it. There could be more to the story.
“This place is the bomb. I’m loving it.” Shae glanced back at the others on the lower floor when they reached the top. “Is this all you, Mae? The decorating I mean?”
“Yeah, it’s me. But I do other things. Catalina and I are pretty much the eyes, ears, and voice for my sister.”
“No shit? You got your head on straight. Can handle business now?”
Marietta cut her eyes. She couldn’t balance a checkbook if she tried. Lorenzo threw money at her. And when she moved to Sorrento, everything in southern Italy was given to her. She’d walk into a store and they’d recognize her as a Battaglia and never question payments. One time when drinking with Lorenzo and Carlo she heard them talk about the money they used to collect when they weren’t high ranking officers for Giovanni. Extortion was big with the
Camorra
, among other things.
Shae looked at her with a frown, and then glanced to Mirabella who was continuing toward the conference room. “Why did she give you so much control?” Shae whispered. “I get the feeling it’s the first time she’s stepped in the building of her own company. It’s weird.”
“Long story. Trust me, nothing goes down here without her approval. But yeah, she can’t really be here physically like Catalina and me, or in Paris. It’s complicated.”
“It’s her husband,” Shae replied.
“Yeah. It’s him. Don’t the decor remind you of the parties we used to throw, huh?” Marietta asked, effectively changing the subject. Shae grinned and nodded. Together they entered the conference room. Catalina talked so fast Marietta was sure Mirabella missed most of what she said. She didn’t jockey for Mirabella’s ear. She had it on most days at Melanzana. Also the first rule enforced by her sister was there was to be no competition between Marietta and Catalina. So they worked together fine. It was Fabiana that Marietta secretly loathed. And the damn building stunk of her. On every wall hung portraits of Fabiana from her life as a fashion manager. And the larger than life portrait in Mirabella’s office of her and Fabiana back to back irked her the most.
“Kyra! Jamie! You’ve arrived!” Mirabella laughed. The welcome brought Marietta out of her thoughts.
“
Ciao, Donna Mirabella
,” Kyra said in her soft sweet voice. Marietta noticed how beautiful Kyra looked. She had cut down her thick curly fro lower to her head. It was tapered so neatly, and framed her face so nicely, she rivaled the models who walked the runway. Kyra was in her early twenties. She wore long fashionable golden earrings, and a red mini dress that revealed her dark brown legs, and outlined her petite figure. The young girl walked over and hugged her mentor. Kyra was a rare gem. The talent she and Jamie brought to their business often surprised Marietta. Especially since she was so vocal of not bringing them on from America.
“How are you?” Mirabella asked her. “The wedding? How’s the planning going?”
“Getting settled here in Milan. Since we are buying a place here I have Luca with me now. Renaldo’s mother and my mother are planning the wedding. We’ve decided on two ceremonies.”
“What? Two?” Catalina frowned.
If a black woman could blush Kyra would have. “It’s best this way. Renaldo is Catholic and we must be married here. And of course my family we… have our own traditions. We will be going to Nigeria to be wed there afterwards. It makes everyone happy.”
“Is she serious? That’s Renaldo’s woman?” Shae whispered.
“Yes. I guess this is her way of making everyone happy.” Marietta chuckled and shook her head. Kyra was pretty young to be stepping into the role of stepmother so soon. Luca was Renaldo’s son, and though Kyra and Renaldo were engaged, she didn’t expect her to take on his motherless kid. Lorenzo had told her that Renaldo was orphaned and considered his dead wife’s mother his mother. The arrangement had to be an appeasement for everyone.
“
Benissima!
” Mirabella grinned. “I love Nigeria. I will talk to Giovanni to see if we can attend.”
Inside the conference room they found seven other people from Mirabella’s design team waiting. Jamie of course was the one with presence. She wore red glitter, platform boots that reached to her thighs, and were so tall they could have been stilts, a leather red mini-skirt, and a fitted red corset with the same stones as on her boots.
Did she have her boobs done again?
In the corset they looked huge. Jamie’s hair and makeup were flawless as always. In the fashion industry there were both male and female gay, bi-sexual people. They held jobs in makeup, event planning, and were even more notable as fashion designers. However, no matter how much the world was changing, many people, including the men she and her sister were married to, had a hard time accepting this aspect of the business.
Jamie was a woman now. She had the surgery in Switzerland soon after moving from the States. Mirabella took care of all the expenses, and Marietta knew for a fact she did so without telling Giovanni. After Jamie’s transformation, Marietta and the rest of the girls never addressed her as anything else.
“Ciao a tutti!”
Mirabella said. She kissed and hugged Jamie. “Please have a seat, everyone.”
Shae, who seemed extremely impressed, asked Marietta, “So this is the team? The people who make the magic happen?” She held a glass of champagne in her hand. She must have scooped it when they came inside. The one weakness her friend had was alcohol. In fact she could become a raging, cursing bitch if she drank too much of it.
“This is it. Watch and learn,” Marietta instructed. “You are about to see Bella Mafia at her finest.”
Mirabella lowered to the seat at the head of the table and gazed upon her team. It had been a hard fought journey to bring them to this point. She ran her hands over the smooth tabletop, and glanced around at the office where many meetings had occurred without her. She took a deep breath before she spoke.
“Catalina, you first.” Mirabella said.
Her sister in-law flashed a look of surprise to be singled out. Mirabella had learned yesterday that Catalina was talking of making some last minute changes. It troubled her that Catalina didn’t tell her and she had to hear this third hand. Everyone around the conference table stared at Catalina and waited.
“I… ah… my issue is too much, too soon. It’s your first… event. I don’t know if everyone can handle two fashion houses, and the shoe line all in one show. Maybe we focus on Mirabella’s, with a preshow to feature a few pieces from Fabiana’s and the red bottom shoe line.”
“What? Are you fucking kidding? We are one day from the show. The itinerary and schedule have been sent out. The models are here. We have…”
“Marietta, let her finish,” Mirabella said.
“Maybe we should discuss this privately.” Catalina mumbled.
“I understand. I had many of the same reservations, at first.” Mirabella smiled. “Don’t think of this as just a Mirabella event, or just a Fabiana’s event. Think of this as a Battaglia event.” Everyone stared at her waiting for her meaning. “Whenever any of you address the press you say Battaglia first. Are we clear?”
Everyone nodded his or her head in agreement.
“Good. Our work is a reflection of my family. Every garment, every shoe, every model that wears them strengthens the Battaglia family. Including you. We step out in front of the world and show them
la famiglia
. And it’s as colorful, vibrant, and layered with beauty as a peacock.” The others laughed and looked around the room at each other. Fabiana and Mirabella had made sure to celebrate diversity. She hired talent, and what came through the door off the streets of New York was a variety of colors. They were yellow, brown, pink people. None of it mattered. It felt good creating with people from all walks of life.
Mirabella continued. “We don’t follow the guidelines of the industry. We make them. That’s the difference between them and us. Of course the show is big, overwhelming, and a risk. What in life worth having isn’t?”
After nearly five years of loving a man unwilling to compromise, Mirabella had finally understood the way to achieve happiness and success in her life and marriage. On the eve of her biggest day, it was time to teach them all the same. Nothing is unachievable as long as they acted as a family.
“Kyra, are you ready?” Mirabella asked.
“Yes, Donna. Jamie and I have rehearsals and fittings tomorrow. We’re ready. Right, Jamie?”
“Honey cakes, I was born ready, the shoes are the candy. Kyra and I have brought the sweetness.” Jamie winked.
Mirabella and the girls laughed. “I agree,” she said. “This is huge. Everyone in Paris is coming.”
“The features they are running on you are almost daily in the States,” chimed in Kyra.
“It’s why we start red hot! Flash and sparkle! That’s Fabiana’s.” Mirabella said. “We end with class and sophistication. That’s Mirabella’s. It’s the fashion that they want to see. It’s what we work for.”
“Thank you, for your updates, Kyra and Jamie.” Mirabella smiled. “Marietta, what about you? Any concerns?”
“I agreed with Catalina in the beginning. But I thought we all accepted the bigger picture. I’m just ready for this to happen. For you to be out there again, sis.”
Mirabella went down the table and continued to hear of last minute changes, and preparations that needed to be made. Catalina forced a smile, but Mirabella could sense her concerns persisted. She was a worrier, like Fabiana. It’s why Mirabella was convinced that the show would be a success. Catalina and Marietta balanced the scales for her.
“I’m ready. Let’s see what we have.” Mirabella clapped her hands together.
Mateo picked up the remote and turned on the projector that dropped from the ceiling. Mirabella smiled as the video production team gave her a preview of her dream. It was happening. Fabiana would be so proud of her.
Nicosia Boxing Gym, Milano Italy –
The gym was in the heart of Bergamo. Buildings were huddled together along a cramped one-way cobblestone street. Storeowners leaned against their shop doors, and patrons dined at small tables on the sidewalk. The only discernable distinction for the gym sandwiched between a tailor and bakery, was the creaking signboard posted several feet above the door, flapping in the wind. Dominic and Lorenzo entered first, with Rocco and then Giovanni following. Three of his best men took up the rear. One remained outside.
This was no ordinary gym. Nicosia was the training ground for the toughest and meanest men in the Italian and Sicilian fighting circuit. It was owned and financed by Father Nicosia, an excommunicated Sicilian Catholic priest. Father Nicosia was the only man who Giovanni knew held the respect of the
Camorra
,
Ndrangheta,
and the
Mafiosi.
His gym was neutral territory in the heart of the triangle.
As for Nicosia’s sins against God, there were many that led to his excommunication. His final offense should have landed him in jail. The Papacy spared him that disgrace. Giovanni was told the Pope himself made the call. To be excommunicated meant Father Nicosia was officially excluded from participation in the sacraments, and performing the services of the Catholic Church. In other words, Father Nicosia’s soul was now more damned than any of the ruthless crime bosses he offered blessings to. The priest continued to wear his collar and practice his beliefs behind the church’s back.
When the Battaglia men entered the gym Giovanni didn’t see the fallen priest. Two men danced around the ring with boxer helmets on their heads, and bright red boxing gloves covering their fists.
“Is that him?” Giovanni asked as he stood observing between Dominic and Rocco.
“No. He’s over there, Gio.” Dominic replied.
He looked to his left and saw Carlo. He was with a younger man, lacing his glove. The boy was shorter than Carlo. He couldn’t be more than nineteen or twenty.
“Look at that runt. Probably has no hair on his balls,” Lorenzo chuckled.
“Name is Ciro. Remember?” Dominic interjected.
Giovanni nodded. One look at the kid and he wasn’t really sure he’d be a contender for this match or any other. Why the fuck did Carlo think so?
“Buona sera, Don Giovanni!”
Father Nicosia appeared from the right in a dark suit, priest collar, and pectoral cross. He wasn’t tall like Giovanni and his men. He put his hands together and bowed his head a bit at Giovanni, and then clasped them behind his back.
“Come sta?”