Luzo: Reign of a Mafia Don (10 page)

“It is necessary Carlo,” Luzo said as peered out of the window alongside his brother.

Carlo scoffed. “Were you of sound mind, tell me that?”

“Very sound.”

Carlo pressed his hands on the sill. Luzo was a fool to not see the love in Sophie’s eyes that day. Perhaps, that is why she fled to America, because she knew her love would go unreciprocated. He took part in the subterfuge of hearts, because he desired Sophie. Unspoken to anyone was the hope Luzo would change his ways, and give Sophie his name. He wanted her happy, if it is Luzo who gave her joy, then so be it. He would not stand in the way. Apparently, Luzo could not see anything beyond his quest for revenge. Carlo wanted the murderers as well, but he would not barter sacred love to do so. Unfortunately, his brother did not share the sentiment.

Carlo asked, “Where is the bride?”

“In Firenze. She seeks to have the proper furnishings for the home.”

“That will take weeks by the spaciousness of the mansion. Perhaps you should have gone as well, you would not want to anger the wife by having your pene in others during this period of bliss.”

“Ah, she will not dictate my actions. She is aware this is nothing more than an arrangement. I have not lied about that.”

“Really?”

“Si, and she is eager to host and have my children.”

“Money has bought you a dutiful wife,” Carlo said sarcastically.

“Money can buy many things.”

“Except happiness within.”

***

Alberti emerged from the shiny streamlined late model Lancia Flaminia Coupe he received as a graduation present from Luzo. His father thought the car far too extravagant but once he saw Alberti’s elation, he advised the young man to drive carefully, which in other words meant ‘no speeding.’

Invigorated, Alberti’s steps were of a youth released from
the university with multiple degrees in science, business and math. He had not mentioned to anyone his secret love. There are parts of the heart that should remain away from the public. This girl, the one who tended flowers had said she loved him and upon a bed of tender pedals they expressed their undying devotion months before Alberti had to return and finish his courses. He promised upon his return he would officially ask her father’s permission for her hand.

The
lovers conversed through letters and in her last correspondence she said she was going to visit relatives, and wished him well in his courses. She advised he focus on studies and pledged her loving devotion.

That was months ago. Today he
had arrived, eager to begin his life with the donna. Sabrina Deguardino would become Signora Luca. With flowers and a nervous flutter in his stomach he approached the door and then rang the bell.

“Buongiorno,” the housekeeper said.

“Buongiorno signora. I am Signore Alberti Luca and I have come to speak with the parents of Signora Sabrina Deguardino.”

The matronly woman excused herself, closing the door to alert her employer.

The aristocratic gentleman appeared. He did not have a welcoming face, in fact in his hand clutched a hunting rifle at his side.

In Italian he said, “Leave now and do not come to see my daughter again or I will kill you, son of a killer!”

Alberti dropped the bouquet. The jubilation had died. His father’s profession should have no bearing on an honest son, but it did.

“I am in love with your daughter; it cannot be killed.”

Signore Deguardino then struck him a blow. “She is engaged. I will not allow you to muddy her head with nonsense.”

“We are in love. Your daughter and I want to marry.”

The rifle came up. “Leave, ora!”

Alberti backed away. “You cannot do this.”

A cold father stared at the finely dressed tall boy. A butcher’s offspring was not suitable for a cultured girl from a line of Dukes and Duchesses. He would not have their family blood tinged by filthy Mafiosi. They had taken many things from him already; and they would not have his daughter.

He fired a warning shot in the air. Birds flapped as they sought cover. The
butcher’s son did not run. His eyes squinted, lips clamped shut and his jaw clenched in anger. He climbed in his car and sped away. But, he planned to return with his father.

He must see Sabrina and hear from her mouth that she wished to marry another!

CHAPTER
TEN

A sign which read;
NO COLOREDS ALLOWED hung in many windows on the Main Street of the small southern town. What dignity Sophie observed in the group of her brave new friends. They sat peaceably blocking the doors of the diner, aware they may face arrest or worse -fire hoses.

Sophie's American friend squeezed her hand very tight. She spoke in urgency as the hot sun shone on her pretty brown face. "Sophie, you can go home. Go on back to Italy before they come with the hoses."

Sophie could see her fear. They were rebels fighting hatred and segregation, not with guns but an iron will. The days of marches by a ragtag group of college girls had grown to over twenty. The sheriff had grown afraid, too. When inhumane laws are challenged, there’s fear of a looming uprising. The oppressor seeks to squash rebellion with violence. Sicilians understand bigotry, they’re southerners, and northern elitist deem them vermin and thieves. But, they are proud people. A mafia donna fights to the end.

Santo
have mercy…mama mi dispiace…I must remain loyal to the cause of my heart.

"No, I stay," Sophie said bravely. She lifted her chin as cars approached. Her heart ra
ced like a field of Arabian Stallions as they neared. Her eyes widened at the sound of snarling beasts. She did not think of Sicily or comforts. Anger, bile and distaste is how a young woman looked upon the bigoted white men with patches displaying their authority. They wore hats to shield their faces from the sun.

“Ya’ll niggers move now!” The sheriff shouted as the dogs pulled at the leashes as if they had not eaten in days. The meat of coloreds is what the diet consisted of, because some drooled as if people were steak.

“Ya’ heard me now –get, you too nigga loving girl, you ‘aint helpin’ none. Now y’all get on outta’ here!”  A deputy with mean eyes said to Sophie, the only person in the group whose skin was not brown. Sophie’s was light tan, but color is what coloreds have, even a Sicilian.

Miriam b
egan to sing...a hymn which was unfamiliar to Sophie...but the words became loud...a battle cry before the war. It wrapped her in a blanket of faith. A Sicilian folk tune which spoke of honor in the face of death and bravery on the battlefield is what Sophie hummed now inspired by the lyrics and Miriam’s defiance. Proudly, she had joined an army, a unification of girls willing to die for a cause. She would gladly die for a sorella...die for freedom...die for change.

A glittery tear dropped.

Growling men with snarling beasts under a southern sun faced defiant female protestors.

The dogs
were set free.

Sophie was pulled up by Miriam.

“Run…run!” Miriam screamed as the dogs pounced.

Sophie’s legs were exposed, as were the other girls who wore similarly fashioned clothes. The panicked group split up. Several of the protestors ran to the door of the diner. They pulled on the doors, and found them shuttered. Cries for help as the dogs bit in to skin echoed on the street of a southern town. Sophie’s ears heard the sounds but
she and Miriam were heading for cars to climb upon like a few girls had done to avoid the sharp teeth of hounds. Sophie’s hair swung like a heavy curtain of black across her back. Her heart beat a million times as barking neared her feet. She kicked at a dog, as Miriam made it atop the hood of a Chevy. Miriam was clear; Sophie was not. The teeth sunk in, tearing her stocking and the animal’s jaw clamped down hard. Sophie screamed, the pain in her leg was worse than anything she felt before.

Then she saw Miriam, oh why did she come down, Sophie wondered?

The brave girl kicked with the heavy heel of her shoe, right in the dog’s head and the teeth loosened from around Sophie’s leg. They were climbing on the car together, when Miriam suddenly slipped. Her head struck the edge of concrete. The noise was louder than the screams.

“Miriam!” Sophie hollered.

Then an ear-splitting cry sent the dog scurrying away from Miriam’s lifeless body. Blood, lots of blood rolled like a liquid plague along the concrete edge.

Sophie descended smooth painted metal to the ground. She did not care if the dogs ate her alive. Tears mixed with coal to highlight
feline eyes were liquid stains on her dress. Yet, the wetness could not equal the human fluid flowing from Miriam’s head.

“Bastardo…help her…help mi amici!” she screamed, but no one listened.

They were smiling at the dead and injured.

Sophie’s hands caressed a sorella’s face. “Promet
to sorella. I will kill them. I will kill them,” Sophie said in sharp sobs.

The dogs had stopped barking.

On her knees with torn stockings, blood running down her leg, Sophie’s head rose to look around.

Time elapsed; then stilled.

A Sicilian’s limbs were the only mobile among her friends.

Silence reigned.

What began as a peaceful protest ended in violence and death.

Then she heard one of the law men say, “
Them nigga’s got what they deserved
!”

CHAPTER
ELEVEN

Ernesto smiled at the sound of his wife’s voice. After Alberti’s graduation ceremony, there was private celebration on the island of
Lampedusa. There, Luzo and Carlo were able to partake in the festivities without raising suspicions about their connections to the Serano’s who were Mafiosi loyal to the Giacanti famiglia.

After the two day celebration, his wife returned home with her elderly parents. She worried, they were aged and over eighty with ailments of the heart and bones. They were stubborn, proud and did not wish to trade independence to live as children with their only daughter. A dutiful husband ensured their comforts were met.
Cook, domestic workers and the finest were given to care for the seniors…reverence to the elderly is a child’s duty and a sign of respect. Ernesto’s money was well used, his father was deceased and his mother’s health was as strong as the wealth left by her devoted husband.

His wife Angelina
laughed at a joke he made a moment ago and replied, “Oh, mio bello. You bring me great joy. I will not stay but a week, I miss your warmth.”

A hard man experienced a comforting fire internally. He loved his donna. The years had never lessened his feelings. They shared a good life. Although she was only a slip of a girl when they married, she had the maturity of a woman. He had always wanted children, but there is a penalty for a man who butchers people, exacted by way of an inability to procreate similar spawns. But, he had cheated this cruel fate the day Alberti was brought to his door.
He was given a sparrow to care for and groom. Now the bird must take flight; it was time and he was strong.

“Grazie. Our son has purchased a flat in the city. He begins working with Signore Palazzo shortly. I fear I will not see him as
often. The loneliness of our home will haunt me without your presence, cara mia.”

“Sweet words. I wonder what the tough soldati will think if they knew you had such tenderness in your
heart.”

“They could think whatever they choose. My affections are reserved for you,” and then he chuckled, “but there is a soft spot for others, even my sorella who has yet to speak to me after many months apart.”

“She will come around bello. She is young; we were young, remember?”

“Sí. We are relatively young now. It is trials which age us.”

“I will be home soon to remind you of the pleasures of youth and maturity.”

Ernesto heard the approach of a car. He stood, gripped the carry handle underneath the bulky
receiver of the telephone and walked to the window. The curly PVC cord stretched as he sat the body down on its stubby legs atop his wife’s Florentine candle stand.

“I look forward to the reminder, t
i amo.” Ernesto said as the shiny automobile screeched to a halt and his son emerged.

There was something wrong. A father knew
his figlio quite well. The young man was angry…infuriated. He often marched to his room as a child with the same expression he wore today.