Avarice

AVARICE

ALFONZO VOLUME XII

Copyright © 2013 S.W. Frank

All Rights Reserve
d

Paperback Edition

First Printing

ISBN-13: 978-1491248676

ISBN-10: 149124867X

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system in any form without prior written permission of the author. Piracy of the book is a crime. Alfonzo detests thieves and liars, he also believes in Karma. Sometimes it is not laws which govern a person, it is what a person does when nobody watches which is the test of good character and the law of self.

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and events portrayed in this story are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Stock images are for illustrative purposes only.

THE ALFONZO SERIES

♠

ALFONZO: VOLUME I

ASCENSION: ALFONZO VOLUME II

ANARCHY: ALFONZO VOLUME III

ATONEMENT: ALFONZO VOLUME IV

AWAKENING: ALFONZO VOLUME V

ANNIHILATION: ALFONZO VOLUME VI

AFTERMATH: ALFONZO VOLUME VII

AFFIRMATION: ALFONZO VOLUME VIII

ASSOCIATES: ALFONZO VOLUME IX

ANIMUS: ALFONZO VOLUME X

ADVERSARY: ALFONZO VOLUME XI

AVARICE: ALFONZO VOLUME XII

“
We are a puny and fickle folk. Avarice, hesitation, and following are our diseases.”

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

“Pride, envy, avarice - these are the sparks that have set on fire the hearts of all men.”

-Dante Alighieri

“Five enemies of peace inhabit with us - avarice, ambition, envy, anger, and pride; if these were to be banished, we should infallibly enjoy perpetual peace.”

-Petrarch

“Prudery is a kind of avarice, the worst of all.”

-Stendhal

“I know only a life of love and strife,

Blessed are th
ose who do not.”

-Selange

‘
Corrupt friend to foe,

Abscond with peace,

Taint thickest blood.

Stealth travels thie
ves,

A
potent vile poison,

For remedies
I seek,

Death
can cure avarice,

Is th
at thy relief?’

-Alfonzo

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Dedication

This volume is dedicated to all
the loving families and those who deem themselves addicts because they continue to enjoy the Alfonzo saga. Your love of the series which you say is an addiction initially received a smile because of the hyperbole. Loving literature and seeking out a book, becoming engrossed in the plight of the characters, unable to shake the craving for more, shouting and reprimanding oneself for reading although swearing to quit; I suppose is an addiction of a harmless sort. But, I also surmise, you are a devoted fan. How an author knows, is because you have yet to exercise your right to set Alfonzo aside and move on. I concur. I am addicted to writing stories and a fan of literature, as well.

And for those
who share birthdays this month in the VIP room, Happy Birthday all.

To family and friends, I thank you for the love and support!

- S.W. Frank

Prologue

A walk along the beach during summer’s end on a solitary night with flickering lights in the sky is quite calming. Storms and violent weather leave behind signs of their visit
. Corrosion is seen and a shoreline that was once beyond the rocks where fisherman cast hooks now begins behind the boulders. This is utterly heartbreaking to someone who noticed the wear on the earth and her body. Age creeps in on the bones. Long walks and healthy living only prolong what is to come. What may have been forty years ago is not the same today. Change comes whether a hand is pressed against the clock or holding memories of the past.  Hours become days and then years. Bitterness like the violent storms had corroded a woman; deep rivets oozed putrid excrement that drowned out sweetness. Cavalier Alberti Luca had stolen time, kept her bottled in dreams with whispered lies. Kill her heart and soul is what he’d done, leaving it empty without one morsel of affection remaining. Strike him in the grave for taking everything she loved until it became dust. First her dreams were stolen and then the glorious future. Where had they gone? They were sediment blowing unseen in the wind.

The woman hunched low to gaze out at the rippling sea; she squinted to view the expanse of the ocean. Very far it stretched, endless to the naked eye, but, there’s an end. Come it will and when the final crumb from hatred’s table is removed, only then will peace visit. Wicked Alberti Luca had sentenced her to death many times by his presence and those of his ilk. The chameleon manipulator brought nothing but poison to her life. Even his offspring were wicked. Purge the earth of their filth and erase the stains where their rotted feet touched are what she plotted. No longer could a guardian of evil men intervene. How ironic like the tale of Samson and Delilah, the Giacanti weakness is women. 

The pleasure to deceive had become like medicine which relieved her aches. Why should love flourish when she existed in misery’s shadow? She once believed in love only to learn she’d been a prisoner entrapped by duty and schemes. The hold which smothered her senses came unbound. Vengeance is a malady born of an offense. Allow the resentment to fester and insanity becomes its counterpart. Infirmed is the heart that uses people as pawns and destroys the fragility of love with a calculated move. Use the rooks and bishops to render useless the knight, topple him and then the Queen. Leave a King unguarded; eventually he falls the hardest.

Die lovely ones.

The woman could see the vivid images of the pedals from beautiful flowers tumbling like casualties upon a decaying garden.

Checkmate Alberti Luca and see what your wickedness has wrought.

I have mastered what you have not.

I live.

Die lovely ones.

Die
.

I live and I am old.

CHAPTER ONE

The evening breeze was nice. Fresh air is always better than heated rooms with men coughing or smoking stogies as they talked shop to a guy who wanted to get home.

Alfonzo had a lot on his mind. His mother dropped a bomb when she told him she was moving to Italy to shack up with Bruno. Perhaps, his mother’s religious beliefs were the reason the news was unexpected. He wondered what caused the staunch Catholic to compromise her views on cohabitation without marriage.

He exhaled. Ever since he could remember his mother quoted passages, followed church teachings to the letter, but in retrospect she was an outcast of the covenant the moment she unknowingly committed adultery. The scriptures suggest her bastard shall not enter into the congregation of the Lord: even to his tenth generation. Therefore, her repentance throughout the years hadn’t changed the sin. His father in his opinion was the malicious serpent. Doesn’t Proverbs 6:32–33 state; “Whoever commits adultery with a woman lacks understanding; he who does so destroys his own soul. Wounds and dishonor he will get and his reproach will not be wiped away?” he posed the question to himself.

In Alfonzo’s opinion, he and his mother were products of a vile man without a soul. Blasphemous is what his private thoughts were considered when aired aloud to clergy when he questioned words others did not. His mother was a good woman who his father duped, plain and simple. Yet, forevermore in the eyes of the church she was considered unclean. The Virgin
Mary was a good woman, but by Immaculate Conception she carried a child when espoused to Joseph. For the sake of argument is that not considered a sin and spiritual fornication?

What right did God have to claim a woman
who had a fiancée, impregnate her and use her body as a host to breed without asking her permission?

You see, this is not the conversation priests sought to engage in with a troubled man. Strike Alfonzo down for seeking clarification on matters is what many did. Ridicule a tortured soul, call him El Diablo and forget biblical inscriptions which said El Diablo was once an angel cast out from Heaven.

These were his impious struggles over the years. Good is what he wanted to be, but wicked is what he was. Perhaps, the child without answers had lost faith in adulthood. Maybe, his mother chose to love Bruno and accept eternal damnation. After all her sins were many. She condoned her son’s evils and had not cast him aside for religion; instead she embraced her child with loving arms.

Alfonzo shook his weary head. Absently he stroked his chin, running fingers along silky strands barbered to form a sharp goatee. Whatever choices his mom made, he’d hold his fist to his heart as she’d done for a son whose very existence brought strife to her life.

Now Bruno is who he wanted to pummel, yet sagacity prevented him from committing battery against an Old G. The suave geezer made his mother happy, in fact she laughed more than lectured. His mother found a small measure of joy with Bruno. What more could a son request?

Ah, Vincent, Alberti, how utterly missed you are. When I needed an ear or scolding wisdom you were there, he thought. So much transpired since their passing. Good or bad he rolled with the punches and only when necessary he struck back. But over the years he gained a reputation for hitting too hard, figure that?

Weary feet encased in soft leather shoes touched the walkway. Money, he had too much. He could throw bills into the sea and it’d wash up at his feet. He chuckled at the corny hyperbole, but it’s true, cash flowed in from many sources. Dollars were paper and wealth’s worthless without love or health. Keeping his family together was his mission; staying alive a daily quest.

His spirits lifted the minute he arrived home; family is what caused a tired man’s soul to rejoice. They’re tangible and invaluable. A bad man’s riches were the unconditional love of his family.

Faint sounds of music mixed with joyous voices carried on the wind. Alfonzo’s shoulders rolled backward, erect and revived. He removed his suit jacket, gripping hold and letting it dangle to the ground. He’d flown from New York to Sicily and experienced winters and then returned to tropical climate in the span of a week. He inhaled the island’s distinct smell of palm trees and sea. Grateful to be home he looked up at the sky, noticed the brilliant colors of the sun disappearing behind the darkening firmament and smiled.

“Do you need anything else tonight Senor Diaz?” The driver asked.

“Nah, I’m good. I’m in for the night,” he replied and started walking toward the side of the house.

“Buenos noche Senor Diaz.”

“Y tú tambien,” Alfonzo said over his shoulder before rounding the corner, crushing the manicured grass.

The happy voices intensified. In the distance he saw his wife, Anita and the children. Everyone danced poolside in their swimwear except Anita. He watched for a minute as his wife’s hips swiveled as she showed Allie what bad mama’s can do. Sal and the small ones surrounded Anita who displayed salsa moves. She lifted the hem of her frock, stepped in the bright chancletas and whooped like the kids as she shook her ass.

“¡Maldito!” Alfonzo chuckled in observance of the woman’s bouncing backside.