La Sposa (17 page)

“
What is it? Do you hear that?” she
said, her voice strained, and Eve now crying and clinging to
her.

His gaze swept her appearance and she could
tell he was pleased.

“
Calm down,
lucciola
,” he
said in his usual soothing voice. He pried their child from her and
took her into his arms. Eve fought him, reaching for Mira instead.
Giovanni refused to let her go, and Eve sat up in his arms, wailing
loudly in protest. Mira looked around at everyone smiling and
thought for a minute they’d all gone insane.

Giovanni kissed Eve, reached for Mira’s hand
and gave her a soft kiss to the lips. More cheer and exploding
glass sounded off in the opposite direction of the hall.

“
Can someone please tell me what
that noise is?” Mira asked them all.

“
Capodonna!
” Giovanni
shouted and the men laughed. “Have you met Cecilia?”

The young woman nodded with a gracious smile.
“Piacere.”

“
She will be seeing to Eve. I told
you about her.”

Eve stopped crying and gave Cecilia a
suspicious look; she then turned her head in disapproval. Mira, now
calm, smiled in return.

“
Hi.
Ciao
,” Mira said.
Laughter approached from the other end of the hall with Catalina
and Dominic leading family members.

“
Gio! You’re here! Now the party
can begin!” Catalina decreed. She raised her wine glass in toast.
Mira was so confused by everything she didn’t speak. Just
observed.

Giovanni led her toward the crowd. Everyone
began to applaud. She walked at his side matching his stride. They
passed under the arch to the terrace and Mira blinked in surprise.
Crates of dishes, cups, other household items made of glass or
porcelain were lined up. Several of the men out on the lawns were
taking these items and smashing them against the garden
wall.

“
Are they serious?” Mira
asked.

Giovanni dropped his arm around her shoulder.
“It’s a tradition, mostly in Rome and Napoli. Normally we wait
until midnight, and we will. But the boys like to get practice
in.”

“
Are those our dishes?”

“
Broken or chipped ones are
collected all year. And all over the southern region
la notte di
Capodanno a mezzanotte
households open their windows and throw
out the bad in celebration of the new. It’s our way of making a
clean beginning with the birth of the New Year.”

One of the men approached. “
Signora, Donna,
prego
.” He nodded in encouragement and gave her a chipped plate
of china. “
Prego
.”

Giovanni winked that she should give it a try.
Mira accepted the plate. She allowed the man to help her step down
the stone stairs to the lawn. The other men stopped and observed as
she approached the garden wall. Mira looked back at Giovanni and
Eve who watched her from the terrace. He gave her a nod of
encouragement. She nodded back at him. Then turned and let the dish
fly. The plate shattered with shards flying off the brick in every
direction. A charge of excitement went through her. Mira couldn’t
believe how wonderful it felt.

“
Another!” she said extending her
hand.

The man gave her another. She let it go. And
then another. She laughed until tears escaped her eyes and clapped
with the others. All the discomfort and fear of the pain she felt
earlier was forgotten. They would be fine.

*****

Milan Italy –

Marietta needed another dose of courage to get
out of the car. Something was broken in her. That’s what her
adoptive mother Teresa had said when she confronted them with the
truth. How could she abandon a family that loved her for the
unknown? Well no one knew how being loved in the Leone home had
crippled her. A pang of bitter resentment surfaced when she thought
of her adoptive mother’s smothering, and her father’s abuse of them
both.

Her eyes closed. If she had known her real
mother, she wouldn’t have grown up an outcast because of her skin.
Who was she? Why did she abandon her? And why did Octavio claim he
was her natural father when Caruso was? Her eyes opened. Gemma said
Lorenzo Battaglia was dangerous, and she believed her. Still, if
the man knew more about her history than anyone could share, how
could she not see this through? Marietta glanced at the seat next
to her. On top of it was an envelope that had been delivered to her
room. She picked it up and opened the letter. Inside were photos of
Lorenzo and another man. The photographer caught them leaving a bar
and getting into a car. More zoom lens shots showed them talking,
smiling. It meant nothing to her. That was until she found the
little cassette that said, ‘play me.’ Again, she pressed
play:

Laughter.

“
Tomosino. The cocksucker! I’m a
man! My own man! I deserve, no fuck it, I earned my place in this
family. If we opened the bay to your friends, the heroin and
marijuana trade will triple our power in the Campania. He’s a
fucking dinosaur to not see it,”
said a man, who Marietta
assumed was Lorenzo.

“
I have the same issues with my
patri. How long will we suffer in silence? That is what I want to
know. What the fuck do you want to do about it?”
The second
man’s voice on the line said.

“
What can I do about it Giuseppe?
I’m nothing to them. Even if Tomosino were dead, Giovanni would
inherit the earth. Fuck. I would need to kill them both to get what
I deserve.”

Someone chuckled. “That can be
arranged.”

“
Shit, then let’s do it!”
Lorenzo slurred.

“
Hmm, but it would have to benefit
me as well.”

“
What?” Lorenzo asked.

“
Killing Tomosino.”

“
Yeah, well what the fuck ever.
What the fuck do I care about any of them? Fuck them all.”
Lorenzo said.

“
Seriously. Think about it Lorenzo.
Your half-breed cousin doesn’t have the balls to lead the clans of
the Camorra. He’s an American schoolboy now. Let me propose
something, a counter move that gives us both our legacy. You watch
my back and I watch yours. My old man will probably live to be two
hundred if I don’t make a move. What we need is favor, yours for
mine.”

“
Right, favor. You kill Tomosino
and I kill Calderone? That’s more than a favor!”
Lorenzo
scoffed.
“That’s suicide.”

“
Say the word and I can make it a
reality.”

“
Word!”
Lorenzo shouted in
laughter.

The other man laughed.
“Right.
Word.”

Marietta stopped the tape. She’d listened to
it three times. One thing was clear- a contract killing was being
discussed. If it weren’t for the letter that accompanied the
pictures and cassette, she might have tossed it all in the trash.
She unfolded the letter and read it once more:

You aren’t here for the Capriccio
money. Are you? You want to know who your mother is. Why she
abandoned you to the Leones? Why no one will even speak her name.
The only man who can give you those answers is Lorenzo Battaglia.
The answer to who you are is here in Italy. To get what you want,
you will have to give him what he needs. Be careful of what you
seek.

- Isabella

*****

Lorenzo slammed the miniature whiskey glass
down on the bar. His problems magnified as he stared down into the
bottom of his shot glass. He grimaced and reached for the black
label bottle of thirty-year-old scotch left for him on the bar by
Emilio. A glass and a bottle always greeted him when he visited
Pandolfini. After another pour, Lorenzo swallowed his sixth or
eighth drink. He stopped counting after four. The whiskey seared
his throat and hit his stomach with exploding warmth.

All afternoon, wasted energy was spent on
chasing the phantom tapes that if ever placed in Giovanni’s hands,
would destroy his world. He had nothing. A muscle quivered along
the left side of his jaw, and he ground his molars with clenched
teeth to push down on his rage. It would take several days to empty
the lockers Giuseppe kept. And time was a problem. David offered
his services after swearing on his children’s lives that he knew
nothing about Giuseppe’s audio collection of men’s souls. And
Lorenzo normally would disbelieve a sniveling man. However, the
tale of the woman named Isabella, who bought her way into the
locked office a year ago, sounded legit.

Who the fuck was she?

Lorenzo combed his hair back from his brow
with the swipe of his fingers across his scalp. He needed a cool
head. It’s what Giovanni always told him. If this person wanted to
destroy him, Giovanni would have received the photos instead of
him. Someone was fucking with him. Patience should bring the bitch
out from undercover, and he would snap her fucking neck after she
told him who hired her. Silence moved through the crowded bar,
drawing Lorenzo’s attention.

A woman had entered.

Marietta looked quite different from the last
time he saw her. A strange chemistry of emotion altered his sour
mood after one look at her. She locked eyes with him and started
his way. Her coat parted to reveal a red minidress that inched up
her shapely thighs when she strutted toward him. Lovely brown
thighs and legs; extended by the lift of her delicate feet in
platform high heels. Her thick curly hair bounced on her shoulders,
a few of the loose curls falling over the right side of her face.
In a moment she was at his side, bringing with her the lovely aroma
of Shalimar. Lorenzo stood. He helped her shed her coat. And she
flashed him an appreciative smile before easing to the empty bar
seat on his right. He tossed the coat over the bar to Emilio, who
nodded that he’d see to its hanging.

“
How did you find me?” he asked
her.

“
Your reputation precedes you. Ask
anyone in Milano where Lorenzo Battaglia likes to get his throat
wet, and they’d say Pandolfini.”

Lorenzo snapped his fingers. Emilio appeared
in an instant. “
Signora
Marietta will have?”

“
Martini, dry,” she answered. “I’m
impressed you remember my name.”

“
You’re hard to forget.” He
returned to his seat and couldn’t help but take notice of how
lovely her legs that she crossed under the bar were. He drank
another shot and then his gaze cut her way. Her profile was equally
as lovely as her face. He hadn’t dated or pursued women like her.
They were a rare flower in the social circles he frequented. And he
had a particular preference for the Sicilian or Italian beauties
that were in abundance because of his notoriety. He and Giovanni
were different that way. However, Marietta wasn’t just beautiful,
there was something else. Something he couldn’t quite put his
finger on.

“
Is there a reason why you are
following me?”

“
I need a friend, and you look like
a nice guy.”

Lorenzo chuckled. “Interesting. It’s rare
anyone calls me a nice guy.”

“
Why is that?” She asked, turning
on her barstool with her legs crossed at the knees. He inhaled
another dose of her lovely fragrance before he
responded.

“
Because I’m
not
a nice guy,
and I’m sure you already know that.”

Leaning with her elbow on the bar top,
Marietta rested her chin on her hand. “I’m aware that looks can be
deceiving. But like I said, I need a friend. I have a nasty habit
of not making many here.”

The bartender eased a martini glass toward
her. Marietta sat upright and took a slow sip of her drink. He
watched her. She could feel his gaze move over her face and then
lower. The man did have a fearlessness about him that she found
quite enticing. She didn’t let the predatory stare he fixed on her
intimidate her. However, the men in the pub didn’t share her
bravery. Marietta noticed how no one bothered to occupy the seats
on either side of him. In fact a few, minus a table or booth, were
standing around socializing instead of sitting at the bar. Lorenzo
Battaglia owned the room.

“
You’re Caruso’s daughter?” He
asked.

“
That’s what they tell me. But
that’s all they tell me.” Marietta glanced over to him.

“
È sposata?”

“
No, I’m not married,” Marietta
answered.

“
Ha bambini?”

Marietta laughed. “No I don’t have children.
Do you normally interview women in bars?”

“
Just making conversation.” Lorenzo
winked.

“
Well ask something more
interesting, I like your conversation,” Marietta said.

“
Di dove è?”

“
You know the answer to this one.
I’m from America. I grew up in Chicago. But I sense you meant the
question in reference to my family?”

Lorenzo tipped his head in
agreement.

Marietta continued. “I was raised by Teresa
and Octavio Leone. When I was old enough to recognize I didn’t look
anything like my parents, I was told I was adopted.”