Ti Amo (32 page)

“Why don’t we go for a walk? Talk?” Bonaduce said.

“I’m not in the mood for a stroll this morning.”

Bonaduce touched his chest as if affected. “The bad blood for us has spilled. It’s time to start anew. Have I not shown this by travelling here to meet you? Here of all places.”

“You understood what Angelo and the Calderone’s did to my family. You inserted yourself in our affairs. I’m not inclined to forget this easily.”

A sharp flare of disapproval sparked in the old man’s eyes. The corner of his mouth twitched with anger. “How dare you speak to me this way? Your father…”

“Is dead. I came here to make it clear to you that the only peace between our families is the one of tolerance. I’ve tolerated you for two years. It would be wise for you to do the same.”

“Did you start the fire? Did you come into my backyard and kill Angelo Calderone?”

Giovanni didn’t bother to answer. His gaze remained trained on the man and his focus singularly.

“Careful son, you are crossing into territory the Cammora does not reach. The triangle isn’t yours yet.”

“It’s mine.” Giovanni shrugged, and then smirked. “It became mine when Angelo met justice.”

The sun shone brightly over the arch, and Lorenzo looked away from the glare. He checked his watch. Carlo and Renaldo could not fail. The fucker had to be at the Traiano. It was the only place to take a clear shot. His gaze swept the others. His men were at every corner of via dei Rettori, and a few had arrived early to post in the surrounding buildings. He and Giovanni had agreed on this plan. Still, he felt on edge having his cousin’s life in his hands. Would his cousin be as trusting if he knew what his actions had cost Papa Tomosino? He could not fail him or the family again. There would be no more family blood on his hands.

Bonaduce’s men were oddly situated a distance apart. Two of Bonaduce’s top enforcers faced east, as if expecting something or someone.  The narrow street facing Lorenzo and his cousin was sandwiched between buildings, one a hotel the other appeared to be an apartment home of some kind. In the distance was Traiano. He’d visited the hotel on occasion and was well acquainted with it. Had Carlo and Renaldo made it in time? A gleam sparkled from the roof and caught his eye. A reflective glare sparkled again with a slight turn of his head. The odd location of the flare made the hairs on the back of his nape stand on end. The roof was flat, nothing to it, so what could it be? Thanks to the distance he questioned his eyes and his suspicion. Lorenzo glanced back at Giovanni and then to the Traiano.

Cheung nearly took the shot. The men stepped closer to the arch, and the movement could have caused a misfire. He steadied his aim again and relaxed. Bonaduce kept pacing away. Twice one of the Don’s sons stepped too close to his target, and the old Don was less than discreet in pulling his son away from Giovanni. Time was up. He had to take the shot. Killing a man this powerful and notorious would gain him much respect in the Triad. Giovanni Battaglia led the Cammora with an iron fist. It was time for someone to squash him with one. “Die motherfucker,” Cheung said, and a millisecond before he pulled the trigger, the tall man next to Giovanni shoved him hard in the back. Cheung fired. The bullet hit Bonaduce’s son. The young boy was blown several feet back taking the force dead center to his gut. Immediately everyone dove and Cheung recognized his mistake.

“Fuck! Fuck!” He grabbed his rifle and ran for the side of the building. He’d have only minutes before all hell rained down upon him.

“Are you okay?” Lorenzo asked.

The shove sent him face first to the ground. Giovanni could taste the grit of dirt and blood on his lips. He spat in disgust. He struggled to rise, a bit winded. The noisy wails of Don Bonaduce who cradled his dying son in his arms rattled him. He glanced back and several of his men were engaged in open warfare with Bonaduce’s men.

“Stay down, Gio! I’ll get you out of here.”

“Son of a bitch!” Giovanni grunted and glanced at Bonaduce who continued to shout the young boy’s name. He did not seem in fear of another assassin’s bullet. The death shot was meant for Giovanni.

“We have to go. The polizia are on us. Now, Gio! Now!”

Without delay he got to his feet and ran for the car waiting for him. His men would deal with the fallout. He couldn’t be caught at the scene. “How close are we to catching the assassin?”

“Close. He took the shot from Traiano. Carlo and Renaldo won’t fail us. I was right about the location.”

Giovanni smirked. “Then it goes down just as we planned. Exactly as we planned Lorenzo.”

“It was risky, Gio. Doing things this way. Fuck! You could have been killed.”

He cut a glance to Lorenzo as his cousin looked over to him smiling. It felt like the old days when they didn’t care about risks. They just took them in stride. “I’m good as long as I got you by my side cousin.” Giovanni said.

“Always. Always.”

Cheung tossed the gun and his arsenal in the trash bin and then hurried to the car he’d parked discreetly on the side of the building. He swerved out into traffic and jumped his lane into oncoming traffic. A quick maneuver kept him from a head on collision with a car, and he swerved back in his lane flooring it hard. He kept a cool head. Cheung had been in tighter spots than this one. He’d get out of Italy under the cover of night and then rethink his plan. Bonaduce’s boy took the hit. How old was the kid? Seventeen, eighteen?

As he drove off the local road to the main highway, he relaxed on the gas. Soon he was flowing with traffic and confident that the worst was behind him. That was until he heard sirens. His gaze flipped to the rearview mirror. Seven box shaped blue police cars were in pursuit. It couldn’t be. No fucking way they could have found him this quick. Maybe they were in pursuit of someone else? He’d been too careful.

When his gaze leveled on the road ahead, he had to brake fast. Cars were all coming to halt before a barricade set up by the Carabinieri.

“What the fuck is this?” he shouted as the car came to a complete stop. The other traffic was veered away and men with Uzis swarmed his car. Cheung put his hands up. He was ordered out of the car. He eased out slowly. He had nothing on him. Nothing to incriminate him and he was certain he hadn’t been seen. This he could work out.

Several armed men approached the back of his car instead of him. He watched as the trunk was lifted. The men recoiled gagging, and the one with the gun pointed sharp to his side barked an order at him in Italian.

“What the fuck is going on? What is it?” Cheung asked in Italian.

He was marched to the back of the car. The stench greeted him first. Then his vision connected with the ghastly sight of a murdered man, pale white, with dead cloudy grey eyes, fixed on nothing. A corpse? Who the fuck put a corpse in his car?

Chapter Fourteen

Two days before Christmas the Battaglia home reflected the spirit of the season. Red and green ribbons were decorative accessories along the stairwell. A festive mistletoe hung above each door on the lower levels. And lights were strung up along the halls and every archway. That was her American touch to the holiday. In Italy the season was also celebrated; however, Catalina told Mira she and Giovanni normally waited until Epiphany, which was January 6th, to exchange gifts. It was Eve’s first Christmas with her father, and Mira refused to wait that long.

And there was another reason why. Franco’s body was found. The killer turned out to be the Asian man she encountered between the Christmas trees holding her daughter. The arrest unfolded on the news. He was handcuffed and led away from a traffic stop. The reporter said Franco Minetti, a Sicilian businessman was found stuffed in the man’s trunk. She and Catalina watched from the second level windows as cars of the Italian police drove in through the Battaglia gates. Men in blue uniforms with berets and weapons strapped to them marched through their home. Summoned below, Catalina gave an Oscar worthy performance and collapsed at hearing the news. Mira made sure to stay upstairs during the visit. She didn’t want to know the details or bear witness to the lies. Catalina was confined to her room afterwards, and Mira stood by Zia’s side as she informed the Minettis that Catalina was too sick with grief to attend Franco’s funeral. Mira found it disgraceful that Catalina refused to give Franco the respect of attending his services. However, she understood. A lie was best believed if only told once.

Caesar Minetti was devastated. He and his sons took Franco’s body back to Sicily. Giovanni remained behind closed doors for several days. He ate his meals at
Villa Rosso.
He changed and showered there as well.
Mira was denied access to him. She lay in bed staring up at the ceiling, lost without the warmth of his body or his comforting words to reassure her. Abandoned to all the turbulent thoughts regarding Kei’s fate and how he could send an assassin to Italy to kill someone. Not her gentle caring Kei. It made no sense.

In the night Eve constantly woke up cranky and whiney for no reason. They were miserable. Mira also feared Christmas was ruined. However, today, the day before Christmas Eve Giovanni had joined her and the family for dinner and announced it was time to trim the tree. He winked at her from the head of the table. As if a switch was thrown and the dark and foreboding mood everyone wallowed in was cast away.

Under Mira’s instruction Rocco and Carmine pulled out the elaborate Nativity scene, placing it in the front cadenza. Mira had learned that the manger scene was originated in Italy. Catalina said the family was supposed to meet each morning in front of this Nativity scene to recite prayers or novenas. This would take place for nine days beginning on December 6
th
. With her resurrection and all the drama unfolding in Melanzana, they hadn’t continued the tradition. Zia informed them all that they would honor this custom on Christmas Eve and Christmas day. Mira could barely contain her excitement.

Family was important. This evening she would remind them all of this. Mira walked over to the stereo panel on the wall. She pressed the release button so the CD door would open. On their first and only shopping excursion she had found a Christmas CD. Catalina wasn’t familiar with all the songs but Mira had to have it. Her grandfather would play soulful tunes on Christmas Eve, and it was just the touch she wanted to make the place feel more like home. Pressing play, the little disc door slid back into the wall panel and began to spin. Silent Night, by the Temptations was the first on the play list.

The Temptations crooned. Mira smiled and headed for the family room. The music filled the lower west side of their home through the internal speaker system. She stopped and peered in at everyone. Dinner had finished late, but everyone was still up and ready to decorate their Christmas tree. Mira was a bit relieved. She wanted the immediate family together so they could work on healing.

Giovanni, with the help of Lorenzo, finally got around to setting the tree straight for decorating. His sleeves were rolled up into the crease of his arms. She watched them argue over its position and try again to move it as branches scraped the side of their faces and their hands.

Traditionally Italians didn’t use a Christmas tree. Giovanni told her they built a creppo, which was formed by two wooden planks with shelves they decorated. However, their mother Evelyn always wanted a tree for Christmas. And for as long as Giovanni could remember, his father made sure they had one.

Zia spoke sweet words of encouragement in Italian to Eve while once again feeding the toddler sugary scoops of her homemade gelato. She would make Eve pronounce a word, and Eve did marvelously for her reward. After each lesson Eve would run off and get caught up in her father’s legs throwing her arms around them causing him to stumble. He’d try to send her back off to Zia, but Eve would refuse. She’d fuss in her little voice and continue to hug him tightly around the legs. The bond between them grew stronger each day. No one took notice of Mira observing them from the archway of the door.

“Evie,” Zia said. Her daughter released her father and returned to her aunt with her mouth open to eat more from her spoon. Mira smiled at the nickname. The relationship between them was reminiscent of hers with her grandmother, and though she felt jealous at times with the way Eve took to Zia, she understood their bond.

The staff was sent home. Zia had taken over the kitchen and constantly had something in a pot simmering, or in the oven turning golden brown and crisp. When she reviewed the menu with Zia for Christmas day, she was told the meal would consist of no meat. It was custom to have fish, seafood, soup or stew. Of course Mira was now taking lessons from Zia’s kitchen on how to make everything fresh, from pasta to homemade sauces and wonderful sweets. The no meat rule did disappoint her. She loved making her famous cranberry turkey and wanted to do so for Christmas day. What was Christmas without a turkey? But alas, she gave in and respected Zia’s wishes.

To the right of the room Catalina sat on the back of her legs rummaging through several boxes that Carmine and Rocco pulled out of the attic. The ornaments were all family heirlooms collected by her mother. Mira’s gaze almost always drifted to Dominic when he and Catalina were in the same room. Dominic would sit across from her with longing in his eyes, but never speak to her directly or get close. It was the only way Giovanni could tolerate them both being present that evening.