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l'odio - Hatred
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Valle d’Itria, Puglia - Italy
IN PUGLIA COUNTRYSIDE Trulli Valley was best known for its fairytale landscape, and the many peasant homes—turned holiday vacation spots. Even at the cusp of dawn, she could see the mythical appeal to foreigners. At the very last-minute Giovanni called and changed the meeting place for them. She figured that was done for his purpose not hers. She was wrong. If there was any place she’d want to spend Christmas Eve in his world it would be here. The valley held serenity and sanctity close to its breast. There was magic in Italy. She should know.
“We’re close, Donna,” Leo informed her.
“Do you know this place he’s sending us too?” she asked.
“I’ve been to this valley as a kid before. But this area is known to be owned by the Santoro’s, which is forbidden to my kind.”
Mirabella nodded. “And mine.”
“The boss wouldn’t send us here if it wasn’t safe,” Leo reassured her.
“I know.”
“Donna? May I ask a question?” he asked in Italian. Lately he preferred talking to her in Italian and not practicing his English. She’d noticed but had not said much.
“Of course?”
“Belinda. We had dinner plans this evening. I had to cancel on her.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, Donna. Ah, I know you know I, uh, like her. And, since, we, uhm, she’s been depressed. I think she needs something more. To do more.”
Mirabella wasn’t sure how to broach the subject, especially hearing the note of concern in his voice. How was it that Leo had no perspective when it came to Belinda? Five minutes spent with the young woman and anyone could pick up on her selfish nature. Where Mirabella kept working to find ways to correct the destructive behavior, Leo just fell deeper and deeper into his budding feelings for her.
“Belinda is a complicated girl. She realizes she’s made many mistakes. She continues to make mistakes.”
“Like the incident with Eve?” he asked.
Mirabella hadn’t bothered to follow up on the drama that Cecilia reported to her. She was so consumed with preparing for her visit with Giovanni and the family excitement in the home for Christmas Eve. It slipped her mind.
“What happened with Eve?”
Leo’s eyes flashed up to the rearview mirror. His brows furrowed. “Didn’t Belinda speak with you?”
“No.”
Leo looked trapped. His gaze became laser focused on the road ahead of them.
“What happened with my daughter?”
“I think you should talk to Belinda about it.”
“I’m asking you. Tell me. Now.”
“Cecelia walked in on Belinda teaching Eve how to play a game with striking matches and throwing them into the fireplace. Belinda felt terrible for her actions, and Cecilia was concerned.”
“Good Lord,” Mirabella sighed. “She taught her to play with matches?”
“Donna, I don’t think she understood the severity of her actions.”
“Stop making excuses for her.”
“Sorry, Donna.”
“Thank for you telling me. I want you to put your romance with Belinda on pause. I will deal with her.”
“Si Donna,” he said. They travelled the rest of the way in silence until they neared the hamlet.
“That should be the place,” he said and pointed to the right. The villa was a long rectangular limestone building with a beehive roof tipped in points of different heights like that of a castle. The farmland, possible olive groves, was smothered by a silvery mist that swirled over tall grass, and trees. It leached out every inch of the escaping land turning it into a dense fog in the distance. There was no sign of life or residence in the peasant cottages that surrounded the villa. This couldn’t be a typical hideaway for the Battaglia clan. When the men hid they did so in plain sight, protected by the community they owned, especially in the Amalfi.
The location was too far out and isolated to be considered safe from enemies. Or did he need to remain close to his enemies to be on guard? It was all so confusing. Details pounded on questions that were now part of her psyche. Even though her time as their Donna Nera was short, she had been changed to her core. She saw everyone and everything in her life differently.
“And here comes the welcoming committee,” Mirabella mumbled.
Several men rode motorbikes out from behind peasant huts and forest groves across the land to greet her. A few were already near the doors with double-barrel shotguns in their hands. Leo parked. The men on motorbikes rode around the car peering in. She counted twelve of them so far, but she knew there had to be more.
“Are they all Giovanni’s,” Mirabella asked.
“New recruits, Donna. They come in every day since the reconstruction of the Camorristi. These men have been tested, proven loyal. You will be safe. But—.” He glanced up to her from the rearview mirror. “Did you bring it?”
“You made sure I did,” she said.
She reached inside her small purse and removed her gun. She’d never actually shot at a person with it. But she always believed one day that would change.
“Keep it with you until the boss arrives. I’ll stay out here with these men and make sure no one goes inside. Te lo giuro sulla mia vita, Donna.”
“No need to swear on your life, Leo. Like you said, Giovanni will always make sure I’m safe.”
Leo got out of the car. He came around to her door and opened it for her. She reached for her overnight bag and the other bags she brought. She eased out. The men on bikes revved their engines. One did a spin on his bike as if showboating for her. The others just stared at her with frozen smiles on their faces. Killers. That’s all Giovanni had left of his brotherhood were these young killers.
“I’ll take these,” Leo said.
She handed over her bags. And tried to remain poise under such unwavering scrutiny. Leo took the food she bought and led the way. The door to the villa was open. The place was ready for her. He continued to the kitchen. She looked around. “Keep the door locked and give me ten minutes.”
“Where will you go?” she asked as they went through the door.
“Boss wants the car parked out of sight. I’ll move it, but I won’t be far. And then I’ll be out here. All night.”
“Leo?” she said as he turned to leave. “Buona vigilia di Natale.”
“Merry Christmas Eve to you too, Donna Nera,” Leo said before he left.
Mirabella stepped out of her shoes. In most villas she visited in southern Italy the influence of Italian and the Mediterranean could be heavily seen in the furnishings. This villa was no different. The furnishings were high-end, every piece harked back to an era of rich history or culture. But not a single piece in the house looked to be more than a year old.
The worst part of it all was the cold. The fireplace hadn’t been lit and many windows were left open. She spent ten minutes going through the villa closing shutters and securing the lock on each window. Afterwards Mirabella returned to the kitchen. She removed her gun from the purse and checked to make sure she loaded it properly. She held it out in front of her with both hands.
She set the gun down and went to the bags where she bought trays of food. She saw the kitchen was equipped with a microwave. Giovanni hated the thing. Never got the concept of instantly warmed food. Called it a radiation box.
She smiled.
She put the trays in the oven and turned it on. She’d heat the sauce on the stovetop next.
Mirabella heard laughter and more revving of motorcycle engines. She walked out of the kitchen and peered out of a window. The men had decided to warm themselves by starting a fire in some old trashcans. They smoked cigarettes and drank. They seem harmless.
She knew they weren’t.
To calm her nerves, she went back for her gun and picked up her night bag. She found the master bedroom on her second try. Mirabella took a quick shower and put on the very best from Catalina’s lingerie line. There was nothing left for her to do but wait. She curled up on the bed with her gun in her hand and stared at the television.
***
A WET YET ABRASIVE swipe went half way across her cheek. Mirabella was then licked on her nose, dog breath filled her nostrils. She scooted back and looked at the face of a small brown puppy very close to her own. The animal licked her nose again.
“What on earth?” she asked. The puppy with a red ribbon around its neck was put in her lap.
“Merry Christmas, Bella,” Giovanni said.
“He’s adorable,” she smiled and held him up above her head to get a good look at him. The tiny dog whimpered. “Eve is going to love him.”
“It’s a her not a him.”
“A girl?” Mirabella hugged the puppy. “Perfect! Girls rule the world!”
“Yes, they do.” Her husband groaned as he stretched out next to her. He kicked off his shoes. She glanced over at him in his clothes with his dirty socks. He smelled like a puppy to her. His shirt was soiled with sweat stains around the collar and under the arms. Weird since it was fifty degrees outside.
“What time is it?”
Giovanni yawned and didn’t answer.
“Are you hungry? I warmed up the food but it’s probably cold again.”
His hand reached over and rubbed her thigh. “I missed you.”
“Why don’t you take a shower and let me feed you first,” she knocked his hand from her thigh.”
Giovanni had known hunger, and the night he had with the Russians had driven him to a ravenous state. He didn’t share that with his beloved. She stared down at him with her big brown doe-like eyes and his heart melted.
“Yeah, you feeding me sounds good,” he replied and never took his eyes from hers.
She gave him a shy smile and eased off the bed carrying the puppy in her arms. He sat there staring at her backside beneath the nightgown she’d chosen to wear for him. Her tummy was forming but he preferred the expansion to her hips and ass. Giovanni wiped his hand down his face. He could hear the crazy Russian nicknamed Tarzan’s laughter as they dragged Sicilians off the boat they seized and cut their throats. The madness was getting to him. There was no end to it. He needed to be free of the darkness before he touched his wife.
The shower helped. He hadn’t showered in three days. The Puglia clans weren’t just dirt farmers, they were dirt dwellers. He’d spent the past week overseeing the contraband being brought in from beached boats caught between the waters of Santa Maria di Leuca and the turbulent azure waves from the Adriatic sea. Giovanni and many of the men slept on the sand, caught naps wherever they could as they had to be on the move constantly. The Russians loved the game of catching the Sicilians and Armenians trying to smuggle in people and drugs. They were good at it. Giovanni approved of their methods because he had to send the message to the Mafiosi. And the butchered bodies they set out to sea were the first of many. The Puglia’s constantly bickered with the Russians and the Russians constantly bickered with the Camorristi. Giovanni felt like a babysitter more than a leader these days. But he needed the trade. He needed the alliance if his plan to reclaim control over the clan bosses was to work. If the deathblow to the Mafiosi was to bring him Lorenzo on bended knees.
He dropped his hands on the shower wall and lowered his head. The water streamed down his body washing away the suds. It sobered and woke him. He’d only have a few hours with her before he sent her home. He wasn’t going to waste it sleeping on her breasts and seeking atonement. He turned off the shower and got out with skin wrinkled like a prune. He’d spent too long in there thinking of his next move and then the next. At some point during his shower she must have come in the bathroom. His Bella had brought him fresh clothes she must have carried with her from home. She was his best half. He slipped on his boxers and threw the towel around his neck. The villa was colder than an icebox when he first arrived. He meant to warm it for her. It appeared that his Bella was more than capable. Every fireplace was lit.
“Gio?”
Mirabella had set the table with the thing’s he desired. Even a bottle of Chianti to top off the meal.
“For me?” he chuckled.
“You sit and eat,” she said going to the portable CD player radio that had been brought with them. The puppy was licking a plate she had fixed with scraps. The music played, he recognized Mirabella’s Motown Christmas CD.
“You brought it?”
“I play it every Christmas.”
“I know,” he said.
“Oh hush, you know you love the Temptations.”
Giovanni winked at her. She watched him eat. Everything was prepared fresh for him. She went back to the oven and got out the bread she lightly toasted. He dug in. It was the best meal he had in weeks and he ate at some of the best and worst restaurants along the Amalfi. Still nothing compared to his Bella’s cooking.
“You’re not going to believe what your daughter got into.”
“Tell me,” he said with a mouthful of food. He took down big gulps of wine like some kind of mad King feasting, after arriving fresh from battle.
“Leo told me about it on the drive here. I’m upset that Belinda had conveniently avoided telling me.”
“Tell you what?”
She held up the matchstick she had used to light the candle.
Giovanni stopped chewing. He frowned.
“She taught Eve how to strike matches and play with fire.”
“Che cosa?”
“Exactly. Not sure what that girl is thinking. I’ve spent time with her but no time seems to be enough. And I’m so tired lately.” Mirabella reached down and picked up the puppy who was licking at her toes. She held the small dog and rubbed behind her ears to soothe her. Giovanni ate and digested the news without comment. His children needed their father. He needed Marietta’s baby to be born so he could finish this war with Lorenzo and return the balance in their lives.
“Do you need me to speak to Belinda?” he asked.
“I’ll handle it. Don’t worry.”
“I do worry. Eve is impressionable. I don’t want a bad influence around her.”
She chuckled.
“What’s funny? I’m serious.”
“There are plenty of influences in our life that aren’t necessarily ideal for children.”
“Matches! She could hurt herself or her brothers.”
“I know. I know. I just... never mind. I’ll handle it. My little project with Belinda isn’t working. I resisted sending her home. Now it’s time.”
“Too late.”
“What do you mean too late?”
Giovanni sat back. He cleaned the food from his teeth with his tongue and then took another drink. He stared at his wife. “You know what I mean Bella.”
“I’m sending her to America.”
“And I said it’s not safe.”
“America isn’t safe? How the hell does this extend to America? Can’t you control this war and keep it here in—”
“Lorenzo got to Wolfie.” Giovanni slammed his fist down on the table causing all cutlery to jump an inch from the surface. “He carved him up. First he’s missing an eye then they took his tongue and then his fucking balls before they slit him open.” He gestured with a finger across his throat. “And it happened in your precious America! Happy now? Have I explained it clear enough for you?”
Mirabella was stunned into silence. Giovanni didn’t know where his temper surfaced from. He was past the point of guessing. It was simply hard to keep the violence at bay. He was the violence. He was the rage. And every now and then Mirabella pushed him to confess it. He was sick of the duality of his life. There were times he did envy Lorenzo. For Lo, like it or love it, he denied nothing about himself. What was a killer with a heart? A dead man if he didn’t chose a side. And in this war with his cousin the side had been chosen for him. Mirabella shook her head in either shock or pity.
“Is family nothing to Lorenzo now?”
“Was it ever?”
“Between the two of you? At one time, yes. He was the man who found me in Switzerland, remember?”
Giovanni waved the memory off.
“He was there for you in the past. There were limits to this. A code of honor.”
“You saying I should remember the good days?”
“Stop yelling at me.”
“Lorenzo is going to pay for this. On my life, he will pay.” He kicked the chair next to him from under the table.
“What you do to him affects us all.”
“Bella? He’s in Sicily now thinking he’s won. Being treated like a king. He has Catalina, and he’s dealing my guns out of America with the Armenians. If I said it once I swear you and the rest of them will make me say it a hundred times. ‘I’.” He slammed his fist down. “Am.” He slammed his fist down. “Going to make him pay!” he shouted.
“Intenzione di ucciderlo. So, don’t ever, ever show me sympathy for my enemies. And if that’s too hard for you—” Giovanni swiped the dinner he was enjoying form the table. “—call in Leo take this shit and get the fuck out!”
Her eyes stretched in shock. He was too far gone to be done with the argument. “That’s the end of it. Until some more bullshit blows my way. Belinda stays. Everybody stays until I say it’s over. Everybody!”
Mirabella got up from the table. She put the puppy down and walked out of the dining room.
“Fuck!” Giovanni shoved the table and it slid several inches away. “Coglione! Sei un fottuto idiota!” he cursed himself. On the eve of the holiest day, he felt nothing but his rage.