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L'ala dei diavoli
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One Week Later - Palermo Sicily
“SICILY LOOKS LIKE SPAIN,” Marissa said.
Catalina didn’t agree. However, idle conversation helped. Her gut clenched, and her stomach soured the entire trip. The car drove through streets so familiar to her. She felt a hand drop over hers. She glanced over to see her new companion smiling at her. “Is it the baby? Are you nauseous today?”
“I haven’t been sick in over two weeks thanks to your special teas,” Catalina said.
“Well my tea’s may help with nausea but nothing I’ve made so far has helped with your sadness.”
“She’s not sad,” Lorenzo said from the passenger seat. “She’s happy. Right Catalina? Happy to be home.”
It was hard to keep from saying what she wanted most to say. That the only happiness she’d have is the day she could dance on his grave. So, she kept her mouth shut. Lorenzo had won. What was the point in fighting him now? Her main concern was the baby she carried. Marissa’s hand left hers. The women rode in silence in the back seat as the car travelled onto Mancini land. When they arrived that morning, Catalina was heard by the courts. Armando had been declared legally dead. As his wife, everything was now hers. That included the grief and loneliness.
“Oh my, is that it?” Marissa gasped.
The cars drove along the hilly road toward the Mancini palazzo. The tall gates where men with guns waited could be seen in the distance. Beyond the gates loomed their new home. And she supposed to the naked eye it was majestic. For Catalina the place was too haunted with memories of Armando to be grand. Tears blurred her vision and she stopped looking forward.
Catalina had never thought of her brother as weak. She had never imagined Lorenzo as strong. But for several weeks she had waited for the tide to shift. She’d waited a long time and she saw no evidence of Giovanni’s power. It convinced her that her salvation wouldn’t come. She was in this alone.
“We’re here! Bentornato a casa!” Lorenzo cheered in a mocking yet sweet voice.
The car stopped, and he was out yelling his victory to the men hurrying to gather. The men who should have been more loyal to Armando gave Lorenzo a Kings welcome in return. Some of them shooting their guns in the air.
“Fucking traitors,” Catalina mumbled through fresh tears.
“Let’s just get out of the car and go inside. Okay?” Marissa said.
Catalina wiped her tears. Marissa got out of the car first and came around to her side of the car to help her. She was so grateful and vulnerable to her kindness. It was the women on the staff waiting inside to receive her that made her feel welcome. Bionca rushed over to throw her arms around Catalina and weep on her shoulder. “I’m so glad to see you. Catalina, per fortuna stai bene.”
“Sto bene—I’m well, Bionca. I am.”
“Is it true?” Bionca let her go. The poor woman was shaking all over. She put a hand to Catalina’s cheek and another to her belly. “They said it was, but I can’t believe it. Is it true? Are you pregnant?”
Catalina nodded and smiled through her sadness. “It’s true. Armando’s wedding gift to me.”
“Mama mia!” Bionca hugged Catalina once more. The embrace freed Catalina for the first time to really share the joy of her news with someone who loved Armando too. “God gives life, Catalina, just as he takes it away. This is God’s blessing for you and Armando.”
“I know, I know,” Catalina wept.
“Come! No more tears. We’ve prepared the room for you. We have everything ready.” Bionca glanced to Marissa with a hostile frown.
“She’s fine. She’s with me. Make sure she has everything she needs.”
“Prego, please, come with us,” Bionca said.
Alik remained at his side. He bristled over his constant presence but managed to cover his irritation. The last time Lorenzo graced the doors of the Mancini palazzo he had to move through the halls in a wheelchair. Now he stood tall. The staff that had served several generations of Mancini’s, and all observed him with unbridled fear. He liked that.
The office where Marsuvio Mancini once ruled his empire from was now his. If only his mother could see him now. It would force the evil cunt to choke on every cursed word she’s ever spat at him in his youth. Still he could only take a small measure of pleasure from his accomplishments. First, because the glory was shared between him and the Armenians. And most importantly nothing defeated the ache and panic in him over his missing child and wife.
“I leave in the morning,” Alik announced.
“To meet our friends in America?” Lorenzo asked.
Alik dropped in a chair and put his dirt caked boots on the polished surface of the mahogany polished wood desk. The corner of Lorenzo’s mouth twitched. He forced himself to ignore the lack of respect. Lorenzo opened the cedar box and removed two cigars he snipped the ends before he handed one over to Alik.
“The Americans can be very resourceful. It was the American C.I.A. who armed the Afghanistan’s and rose to power to defeat the Russians. You already have operations in the States. It only makes sense that you deal directly with them going forward. And they are eager to send Giovanni a message by making a deal with you. With both of them behind you what price wouldn’t you pay?” Lorenzo asked.
“That’s not all there is, and you and I know it.” Alik seethed. “Giovanni isn’t broken. He grows stronger every day. He’s collaborating with the Russians. As I told you he would.”
“All of his moves are acts of desperation... I broke him when I took Mondello from him.”
“And that right there is the difference between you and Giovanni. He holds his cards and you play your hand turn after turn without strategy.” Alik tapped his finger to his temple. “Now the Russians have all my information. Where I bring in the guns, how I arm the Turks, how I arm them all. They are gathering like a storm cloud Lorenzo and you want me to walk out there with no umbrella.”
“I told you, Alik. This would take time. Relationships take time. You deal with the Americans first and then...”
“Fuck time! We waited late on this because you were busy begging Giovanni for your woman. I understand why. I do. But I’ve gained nothing yet and I’ve taken all the risks.”
“Giovanni has to respect me now. Thanks to you, he’s lost Sicily and America. And thanks to me, he’ll lose the rest. When this is over we’ll be titans. Together.”
Alik shook his head. “I have a question.”
“Ask it,” Lorenzo said.
“Your little cousin, Catalina. She’s a beautiful woman. Even pregnant I find her tasty.”
Lorenzo frowned.
“What does she have to do with anything?”
“She’s a widow. And she’s the pearl of Giovanni’s eye. This I know,” Alik said and took another drag of his cigar. He blew out a ring of smoke. “I was at her first wedding to the Franco man.”
“Again. What is your point?”
Alik dropped ashes on the carpeted floor. “After you take all this Mancini bullshit, and get your woman, you will still need a strong partner. I have a lot of influence to help you outside of the gun trade. Those Afghanistan's have a lot of heroin they need to move. We join forces, we really become titans.”
“I’ll say it again. What does that have to do with Catalina?”
A sly smile tugged the corner of Alik’s mouth. “I want a wife. The one I have is no longer useful, barren. I want sons.”
Lorenzo itched to draw his gun and put a bullet between the eyes of Alik Yeremain.
“She’s ripe. She knows our world and she’s carrying a bastard. I’ll legitimize the child. You give her to me and we are family. How do you say it? La famiglia.” Alik chuckled.
“I’ll consider it. Let’s discuss it later.”
“We will discuss it.”
Alik put the cigar out on the arm of the chair and then walked around tipping over things of importance in the office and tracking mud over the Persian rug. Lorenzo gritted his teeth. There was no way in hell he’d ever let the cockroach near Catalina. Alik was a necessary ally. The Armenians kept the Mafiosi tempted for a power reach. But as soon as he had Marietta back and the Campania, he’d teach Alik some lessons in manners. Lorenzo sat in the large chair behind his large desk. The leather felt right. He stuck the cigar in his mouth and rocked back with his hands behind his head. He smiled. The place really did feel like home.
“This place is beautiful,” Marissa said.
The men brought in Catalina’s luggage. Bionca turned down the bed for Catalina and then busied herself with setting up a meal she had prepared and brought upstairs to her. Catalina stood before the bed she shared with Armando locked in so many memories of their time together. She couldn’t breathe and speak at the same time. She focused on breathing. Everything was as he left it. Even his robe cast aside on the chair near the fireplace. She walked over and picked it up. The strong spice of his aftershave was all over it. She inhaled and closed her eyes.
A hand went to her back. “Do you need anything?”
“Marissa, I need you to leave this room, please. Never come in before knocking. Understood?” Catalina said.
“Ah, yes, of course. I can run a bath for you. I can keep you company.”
“Not here,” Catalina said. “This place is mine and Armando’s. I don’t want anyone in here. Leave. Bionca will take care of me.”
Marissa slipped a look to Bionca who seem to keep a distrustful eye on Marissa from the moment they met. Catalina ignored both women. Marissa’s friendship had come at the most needed time in her life. But she was home, and she wanted to be alone with what she had left of Armando. And this place, that chair, the bed, the half-smoked cigar in the ashtray was all him. He was everywhere.
“I’ll be down the hall if you need me,” Marissa said.
Catalina barely turned her head in their parting. She again closed her eyes and inhaled his scent in his robe. Bionca walked over and picked up the glass that Armando had left behind. “The girls were told to not clean this room. It’s hard for the staff to come near it. Forgive me, Catalina, if it causes you any pain. I guess they just didn’t want anything of his personal things disturbed.”
“I’m glad you left it this way. Don’t take anything else out of this room. Not even his clothes. Not yet. I need some time alone.”
“Yes, I understand. I’ll come for the plates tonight.”
Bionca left.
The moment the door closed Catalina’s heart sank to the floor. She dropped on the chair and let go of the tears she’s held down for what felt like eternity. She had cried for Armando plenty before. But never like this. And it never felt so pure.
“I wish I had known. I never knew... if he had more time...” the words clogged in her throat. What would more time with him had really meant? He was so certain of his love for her, but she never truly trusted him. Even now if she were honest it was more of an obsession than love. One fueled by years of warring with her brother. Armando was no saint and his intentions were never pure. What could she have said that would have made it real? She pressed her hand to her stomach. Their child would have changed everything, for them both. She believed it.
Weary from her travels, the court appearance, and the insufferable ride with Lorenzo back to Mancini’s Estate she wanted sleep. Her baby craved it. She pushed up from the chair and went to the bed. She crawled over the silk linens to his pillow. She buried her face deep into the downy fluff. Catalina groaned out a wounded cry and beat her fist again and again on the bed. How could he be dead? How could that be? God wouldn’t be that cruel.
Catalina laid there crying until all her pain was unleashed. And for the first time since Armando was shot, she was able to drift to sleep without nightmares. A peaceful sleep.