“Molto bene. E lei?”
Giovanni asked.
“I’m well,” the priest who was the same age as Giovanni answered. He had long, dark curly hair that reached just beyond his nape. He tucked it behind his ears. Skin darker than most Sicilians, the priest had very piercing hazel-brown eyes, and a very athletic build like the men who trained in his gym. “I was told of this visit. You come to the triangle often but I rarely hear from you. Why is that, Gio?”
The priest was aligned to no one. Either you were in Giovanni’s world or you weren’t. And if you weren’t, Giovanni had no use for you. Also the Calderone war years ago made Giovanni an enemy of many people in this region of Italy. They may fear him and the
Camorra,
but they didn’t all respect him. The priest gave him a friendly pat to his arm. “It’s fine. You’re here now. Please, we have prepared for your visit. Maybe you and I can meet before you leave. I know of some opportunities in Genoa you might want to hear about.”
After a handshake Giovanni and the others were led around the ring to open bench seating that gave an elevated view to the boxing ring. Giovanni unbuttoned his blazer and settled down to the middle seat, with Dominic on one side and Lorenzo on the other. Rocco sat on the row beneath them. The priest nodded his head in respect and stalked off. Giovanni and his men tracked the priest with their eyes until he was gone.
“I hear he is now counsel for the Bonaduces,” Lorenzo whispered. “Don’t let him suck your dick, Gio. He can give a shit about the Battaglias.”
Giovanni accepted the information.
“Ciro has fought sixteen matches so far,” Dominic said. Giovanni’s gaze swung back to the young fighter.
“Sixteen?”
“
Sí
, He won two of them with knock outs, and only one was a draw. No losses, Gio,” Dominic said.
“Who were the challengers?” Lorenzo chuckled. “Preschoolers?”
Dominic leaned forward with his elbow to his knee to look around Giovanni and address Lorenzo. “Locals mostly. But since Carlo took him on he has had a few challengers out of Roma. No one noteworthy.”
“Figures!” Lorenzo gave a snort of disapproval.
“I’ve done some research, Gio,” Dominic began. “There’s a boxer in London who is undefeated in the IBF. He’s in Ciro’s weight class.”
“Russian?” Giovanni asked.
“Asian,” Dominic replied. “Santo happened to mention wanting to see him fight the other day.”
The trainer blew his whistle. Ciro climbed into the ring. The sparring partner given to him threw shadow punches in the air while bouncing on one foot and then the other. The men met at the center of the ring. They bumped gloves and stepped back. Carlo was on the outside holding on to the ropes. He shouted instructions to his brother. Giovanni observed Carlo’s concentration more than his tutees finesse. Carlo behaved as if the boy was a son.
“How long has Carlo been keeping up with this one?” Giovanni asked Lorenzo.
“Not sure. It’s like he lives a double life. Always searching for the lost boys that belonged to his father. He only recently told me about this one,” Lorenzo answered.
“I don’t think the kid is his brother,” Dominic said. “Made a call. The mother was a whore and says she doesn’t remember who the father is. Carlo scared the
puttana
. When he was done with her she swore up and down the kid belonged to Carlo’s father. He’s been this way since he lost Carmine.”
Giovanni nodded that he understood. They were all kids in their hearts. Lost boys searching for an identity in their fathers’ shadows. Giovanni didn’t know a man who stood beside him or behind him that didn’t have a broken story to tell. It may explain why they were so willing to accept the darkness of their business. Carlo was one of the more ruthless men under his employ. There wasn’t a job he’d turn down. It was now, when Giovanni watched Carlo coach his bastard brother, that he saw some of the spirit he’d lost when he was sent away at fifteen.
“I’ve made my decision,” Giovanni announced.
“You have?” Lorenzo sat forward.
“How?” Dominic asked. “They’ve just started and we haven’t seen him with—”
“Sponsor the kid. Get him the best trainer. Make sure his papers are in order so he can compete outside of Italia. And keep that fucking priest away from the deal.”
Giovanni looked down at Rocco. Though his uncle didn’t turn to comment, he knew he heard him. Rocco’s words and warnings regarding his dirty business deals plagued him.
“Gio? Look at the kid. He’s scrawny, weak. My wife can throw a better punch!” Lorenzo wrinkled his nose.
“Look at Carlo,” Giovanni replied. The men all looked back at Carlo who had now gotten in the ring against the trainer’s orders. He stopped the boxing and was speaking sternly to his brother. He made the boy put up his gloves and showed him how to stretch out his swing. “In all the years we’ve known him, what has he been passionate about?” Giovanni asked.
“Killing, whores, drinking, and gambling,” Dominic chuckled. “In that order.”
“Now we see this. Carlo’s a good soldier, and he lost a brother because of the family,” Giovanni cut his gaze over to Lorenzo. “Do you not think this is something we should give him?”
Lorenzo’s face flushed. He rubbed his jaw. “Fuck it. The kid can be trained. I guess. I don’t give a fuck about this boxing shit. We have more important business.”
Giovanni looked over to Dominic. His young
consigliere
smiled with what looked like pride. “You’re a good man, Gio. I’ll make sure this investment pays out.”
“
Basta.
Now take me to my wife’s party. I want to see it.” Giovanni stood.
“I thought it was some women’s party and we weren’t invited?” Lorenzo frowned.
“I don’t give a shit. I want to see it,” Giovanni said and walked down the bench seats.
Lorenzo grabbed Dominic’s sleeve and stopped him from leaving. Giovanni and Rocco continued to the door. “I want to meet with you. Private. To go over some of my ideas for Mancini.
Presto?
”
“Sí, domani,”
Dominic said and followed Giovanni out. Lorenzo hung back. He’d watch the sparring match and deliver the news to his best friend. After several minutes he smiled. Giovanni just bought Carlo a brother to play with. It wasn’t a business investment. It was bullshit.
**
“
Attenzione! Attenzione!
Everyone, please! Can I have your attention?” Marietta said. She tapped her spoon against the glass to quiet the staff. Mirabella glanced up at her sister. They’d laughed, eaten, and drank bottles of Merlot for close to two hours. She spent most of the night wiping tears of joy from her eyes.
“To my beloved sister. For four years the world has speculated, gossiped, and lied about who you are, and on your talent. They credited Carole Montague for your success.
Diavolo!
” Marietta made a gesture of false spitting to the left as her husband did often when pissed. Mirabella and the others roared with laughter. “She was never you! Together we will show the world who you really are:
Donna Mirabella Ellison Battaglia
. My sister, my mentor, my best friend, and the best damn fashion designer in the world!
T'amerò per tutta l'eternità
.
”
“Cin! Cin!”
Catalina raised her glass in tribute. Everyone raised their glasses and yelled.
“Cin cin!”
“Speech! Speech! Speech!” Jamie beat her hands on the table. Several others started to beat their hands on the table and chant the words as well. Mirabella stood with applause.
“
Grazie!
Thank you all.” The staff quieted. “We have one day before we reveal to the world our talent. I say
our
talent because it’s you, all of you that made this event possible.
Mia famiglia!”
She paused and allowed the applause to settle down. “I want to give a special thank you to my sisters Marietta and Catalina. For two years you have worked tirelessly to bring my vision to life. I am nothing without you. I love you, I thank you!” she raised her glass. Everyone raised his or her glass in return. “
Viva la Battaglia! Salute!”
She drank her glass of wine down and giggled uncontrollably once done. Clearly she was intoxicated. Marietta poured her more wine.
“No, I’ve had enough,” Mirabella gasped between giggles.
“Girl, please. Let’s get fucked up! It’s our party! Drink!” Marietta chuckled.
Mirabella nodded and picked up the glass to take another sip. And then her vision focused and she noticed three men watching from the side door.
“Is that Giovanni?” Catalina asked.
Mirabella lowered her glass to the table.
“Oh shit,” Marietta said.
Several heads turned. Soon every eye in the room looked to her husband. She wanted to invite him to the celebration but decided against it. This was her night, and she kind of liked the idea of keeping him separate. Her heart couldn’t beat faster to have him appear from out of thin air. He strolled in with Dominic and Rocco trailing him with his cane. His focus was singular. It was aimed at her. Mirabella walked around the table to greet her husband properly. Lucky for her she managed her steps in her heels with grace. It was an accomplishment. She’d drunk so much wine she could have easily stumbled. Once within reach of him she threw her arms around his neck and pressed up against his chest. She loved the smell and feel of him, and loved it even more when she’d been drinking.
“Ciao, bambino,”
she whispered. She kissed him so hard he went stiff as if to reject her enthusiasm.
“Baciami,”
she said and felt him soften under her persistence. Giovanni wasn’t prone to such acts of affection in front of strangers. Well to hell with appearances. She wanted to kiss her man. She was happy.
“That’s enough, Bella,” he said and brought her arms down from around his neck. She reluctantly let him go. She stared up into his blue eyes. Was he angry? He sure as hell didn’t look happy. “Remember where you are.”
She nodded and stepped back. “Thank you for coming, sweetheart,” she said in a deeply formal voice and then giggled. He didn’t crack a smile. “I thought you had a meeting?” she asked to mask her hurt feelings. Maybe the wine made her feel his scorn too deeply.
“The meeting’s over,” he replied. “I came to collect you.”
“Collect me? Did you?” she crossed her arms. She had half a mind to remind him that he wasn’t invited. But his unwavering stare broke down her courage.
Mirabella tossed her hair. “Do you see? Do you see what we’ve done?” She gestured around. Giovanni glanced to the others. She put her arm around his waist. He eased his arm around hers. “What do you think?” she asked. Her head cleared a bit and she was steady on her feet.
“I’m very proud of you,” he whispered in her ear. “Have you been drinking in front of your staff?”
She blushed. His deep authoritative voice, mixed with the wine, diluted her commonsense. The words translated like that of a sexual proposal instead of chastisement because it started with a compliment. Mirabella walked with him back to their table. “Everyone, many of you have met him, and some of you haven’t. I want to introduce my husband, the love of my life, Don Giovanni Battaglia.”
A few people exchanged glances and Mirabella knew it was the title she used. To hell with propriety he was her Don, and theirs too if they continued to work for Mirabella’s. Of course many applauded, and soon everyone gathered did so as well.
“It’s time for you to come home with me,” he said softly in her ear. “You’ve had too much to drink. Let me take care of you.”
“Not yet, sweetie. Come. Sit, and let me get you something to eat,” she said. She double blinked to clear her head. He checked his watch, and then looked at her guests. Reluctant but supportive, he agreed. He, Rocco, and Dominic all joined them. Marietta gave up her seat so Giovanni could sit next to Mirabella.
“You must be very proud of your wife,
Signore
Battaglia,” Francesca her marketing manager said. “She’s brilliant. We have been starved for her talent and guidance.”
Giovanni stared at the woman expressionless. Marietta chuckled over the awkward silence. Mirabella cleared her throat. “Sweetheart, let me introduce you.” She went down the line. She introduced everyone outside of the family, including a few people Giovanni did know. He nodded and dropped his arm over her chair and rubbed her shoulder. People continued to eat and chat up each other over the tasks and responsibilities planned for the big day. A few celebrity names were tossed into the conversation. The entire affair went on with her husband gently caressing her shoulder. He only smiled when she glanced at him. And that wasn’t often. But he was there, at her side, and it meant the world to her.
“We have an early morning. I think we should start at six? What do you think, Mira?” Catalina asked. “Is six okay with you?”
“Six sounds fine. What time will the lawyers want to meet with me, Dominic?” Mirabella asked.
“
Non c’é una problema.
I can have them here in the morning,” Dominic said. “Don’t worry.”