part0016

“DON GIOVANNI,” THE nurse in a white lab coat with a heart shaped face and ash-blonde hair clustered in short curls under her white medical cap greeted him formally. A flicker of apprehension shocked his system. He’d spent the past three weeks in northern Italy. In his heart he knew time was short. And that feeling drew him back to Sicily. Not in time, but close enough.

“Where is my wife? My child?”

“Of course, this way,” The nun said in an apologetic tone. The hospital he’d chosen for the birth of his fourth and last child was secure within his territorial claims in Palermo. Giovanni enlisted the help of the local polizia to keep the media and spectators away. Mirabella was more famous now due to her forced reclusiveness and the truthful rumors of a mafia war. His men had shot, killed, and buried, three thrill seeking tourist who had hiked their way through mountainous terrain to Melanzana to snag a picture of the family. The idiots who lost their lives didn’t know she was tucked away safely in Sicily awaiting their child’s birth.

The hall he walked along with Carlo and Renaldo shadowing him was similar to the hall he paced when his twin sons were born and he’d almost lost her. The trio turned the corner and was greeted by family. Amy, the oldest daughter of Zio Vito, came over to him with a cheery smile. “She’s fine, Gio. She and the baby are just fine.”

Giovanni glanced to Carlo then Renaldo. Both of them gave him a nod of congratulations.

“She’s waiting for you. Wait until you see her, Gio. È una ragazzina dolce e adorabile .”

Giovanni left the family and entered his wife’s room. Mirabella sat up in the bed. Her hair had a center part and two long braids. She looked ten years younger while cradling their child in the crook of her arm.

“Guarda, il tuo papà è a casa. Look sweetie your dad is here.” The sound of her voice beckoned him closer. She had no idea how sensuous and loving her voice sounded. He’d rather listen to her voice than Pavarotti.

“I wanted to be here sooner.” Giovanni removed the cap from his head. In his hurry to get back to Sicily he hadn’t arrived in his very best. She didn’t seem to mind. “How bad did it get? Are you sure you’re okay?”

“It couldn’t have gone more perfect? I went into labor and before I even could lay back she was coming out. The most beautiful delivery I’ve ever had. No problems, no complications, I don’t even remember if I felt pain.” She could hardly lift her voice above whisper when she spoke again but he heard her clearly. “She’s beautiful, Gio. And she’s... different from the other children.”

Giovanni walked over to her bedside. His joyful heart thundered crazily in his chest. For months they speculated over the health of the baby. They never agreed on her conception. They never understood when and where it happened. But they both agreed on the risks. The poison in Mirabella had never been cured. Even the doctors weren’t sure about the child not having any physical or mental handicaps.

He didn’t care. He would love his child no matter what.

“See her for yourself.”

The cloth blanket that swaddled his infant daughter was peeled aside to reveal her. Her skin was a deeper brown than any of his children. All of them were born pale with skin like peach-tinted cream. And even now their olive skin tones never reached the richness of his beautiful wife’s skin. His baby girl squirmed and her tiny lips puckered. Mirabella rubbed her cheek to coax her to open her eyes. And she did, just a peek before shutting them again.

“They’re different, see... I think they’re dark grey or brown. She has my eyes,” Mirabella said.

“So she does.” There was a slight tinge of wonder in his voice. It shouldn’t have been that much of a surprise for either of them. But after three children they both believed all of their kids would be in his image, not hers. The little one closed her eyes and refused to open them again.

“I have a name for her. I thought about her on the drive here.”

“You do?” Mirabella asked.

“We name her after your mother.”

“Mother? Really?”

Giovanni took his daughter into his arms. He was careful with her head. And she didn’t seem the least bit disturbed. “Ti chiami Leeza MiaBella Battaglia . Mia figlia ti adoro. I am your Papa.”

His little angel squinted at him. She opened her eyes and they seem a bit cross before they corrected and focused on him. As dark and beautiful as her mother’s eyes, as Mirabella’s mother and grandmother’s eyes.

“Leeza MiaBella Battaglia,” Mirabella repeated. “I don’t like the short name Lee, for her. We will call her Mia. For MiaBella. Perfecto ?”

Giovanni paced with their daughter in his arms. He told an exaggerated tale of how the family was, with her role as Madre being something magical. She listened for a while. Her husband had returned to her. The man he was with her and the children in private was there. His sleeves were rolled up. He wore no shoes. He was totally devoted to their daughter in the way he held her and spoke to her. Mirabella fell deeper in love with him. This was the man she knew. The man she adored.

“She can’t even giggle, Gio. I doubt she will laugh at your jokes.”

“She’s a smart baby. Very smart. You’ll be saying Madre soon.”

“Even when she speaks she’ll say Papa first. All of your bambini have.” Mirabella adjusted herself to sit up proper on her pillows.

“My kids? Am I a single parent now?”

“No. Mama bear is right here, like always.”

“Look at her, Bella. She’s you, all you. I never imagined I could have another you. I always... I wanted a daughter like you, and I see you in our children, yes, but Leeza is special.”

“Eve is special,” Mirabella reminded him.

“My lucciola has the heart of fire. She’s me. And my sons are divided between us both. But Leeza, is her mother reborn. I can’t explain it.”

“Don’t let Eve hear you say that,” Mirabella winced as she sat up. “She’s been acting out for your attention.”

“Lucciola has nothing to worry about. There is enough love in Papa’s heart to go around.” Giovanni said.

“Bring her to me. Let me see if she will latch on to my breast. She refused to earlier and I want to try again.”

Giovanni walked over and gave his wife his daughter.

“We have found where Lorenzo and Marietta are hiding.” Giovanni felt compelled to tell her the truth. “I tracked down the flight manifesto of a plane owned by Mancini Industries. It’s been logged to make frequent trips. First it flew into Spain and then to Greece then back to Turin.”

“Turin? Why is Lo sending his pilot there?”

“My Russian friends will have answers for me tonight. If what I believe is true he’s picked up a few of the Ndrangheta and met with them in Greece courtesy of your brother’s money. An attempt to make a new ally.”

“Can this talk wait?” she glanced up at him. “I’m feeding our baby girl for the first time.”

Giovanni looked at the baby in his wife’s arms. Mirabella’s tone softened when she spoke again. “The small things matter now, Gio.”

“The big things matter too, Bella.”

“You always knew where he was. This is not a surprise for you. Is it?” she asked.

“I just told you—”

“You were waiting for me to give birth. That’s the real truth you’re not telling. Isn’t it?”

“Yes, Bella. I was waiting.”

Mirabella lowered her gaze first. She tended to her daughter and pretended to not understand the threat to Lorenzo in his tone.

MARIETTA LEGS FELT tight in the thighs and lower calves. Her heartbeat matched her breathing. Still she jogged at a moderate speed along the hard surface of the sand smoothed over by the tide. The ocean breeze smelled sweet but felt hot and dewy on her skin. The sun was unrelenting. Heat didn’t matter. Jogging freed her.

Above came a loud roar of a plane’s engine and she stumbled nearly landing on her knees in the sand. Marietta used her hand to shield her eyes from the sun as she looked up after the jetliner’s shadow swept over her. It was him. He was home.

Lorenzo had made a trip to Athens and now he was back. Marietta ran to where she left her backpack and found two men waiting. She was given her gun. She wiped her brow with the back of her hand and blinked the sweat from her eyes. She checked the chamber and the bullets were accounted for. It was good news to have her man back with her. The problem was, he wasn’t expected to return until tomorrow.

“Let’s go,” she said to the men and marched straight for the waiting jeep. She hopped in and they sped off along the manmade roads to the private villa that had once belonged to a monarch. This island, though isolated, bloomed with life. The fresh water springs and dense forestry, with weeds that yellowed in the sun and a color splash of wild flowers growing everywhere, had become the safest place for her and Lorenzo to hide. Withdrawal was hard for her for the first few days after their arrival. The drugs Lorenzo had used to calm her had been very addictive. But he held her through it, and she fought like hell to overcome her weakness. Thoughts of her daughter always made the fight endurable. During those dark days she felt closer to her mother than she had ever felt. She now understood her in ways she wished she hadn’t.

“Satellite phone,” she said to the man in the front seat. He handed her the phone. She turned the switch and pulled up the antenna. She dialed to the channel Lorenzo would respond too.

“Lo, this is Marie? Over.”

“Lo? This is Marie? Over.”

The man seated next to her looked over concerned. His name was Dego, and was the most trusted by her husband. She bit down on her bottom lip and nodded that she shared the same concern. The plane had landed ahead of them by ten minutes. By the time they reached the villa the visitor could be there or just arriving.

“Should we stop?” Dego asked.

“He’s not answering.” Alexander warned.

“He probably hasn’t turned on the satellite phone,” replied Marietta. “Let’s be ready, in case.”

Her companions removed their guns. The jeep sped up. How many near misses had they encountered since she and Lorenzo lost their child? Too many not to be cautious. Since their escape every alliance Lorenzo built has turned to ashes. The few men he kept with her and him complained and whispered about money and rebellion. This trip to Turin was a matter of life and death for them.

Did he fail? She wondered.

As she suspected the visitor arrived ahead of them. Marietta smiled.

“It’s Lorenzo. See, I told you there was nothing to worry over.”

The men parked the car and got out. But they kept their guns drawn. Marietta pretended not to notice their apprehension. She was too amped on adrenaline to care. There was news today. If Lorenzo had returned early it must be good news. She hurried inside.

She nearly pulled the trigger on her gun. He swept her off her feet from the left and spun her around.

He laughed and so did she.

“I could have shot my foot off,” Marietta said.

“Mmm, you’re sweaty. Smell good,” he groaned and nuzzled her neck.

He bit her neck, cheek, and kissed her lips. He set her down. He squeezed her butt cheeks before she escaped. She looked up into his eyes. His boldly handsome olive tanned face with more than a touch of a beard smiled warmly down at her.

“Why didn’t you answer? I called, you know the rules.” She slapped his chest.

“Scusa , I was anxious to get here. Missed you so much. I bought gifts,” he said and pointed behind her. She turned and saw the bags of food and supplies, even toilet paper. To her it was a treasure. She was so tired of fish stew.

“What’s the good news? How did your meeting go?”

“Conflict everywhere. I’m not sure if the trip was worth it.”

He kicked off his dirty boots knocking clumps of dirt everywhere. She ignored the mess, though she knew it would be her, and only her who was left clean the place. Gone was the life of servants and cooks.

“But are they willing to help you with Gio? Fight the Camorra?”

Lorenzo dropped down in the chair. He put his hands behind his head and feet up on the sofa cushions. “How have the men behaved since I’ve been away?”

“Samuel and Tino are gone. I think they left in the middle of the night.”

“No. They didn’t.”

Marietta looked up from putting grocery away. “What do you mean? I woke and they were gone.”

“They tried to leave. Our men stopped them. I told you before. No one leaves,” he yawned with his fist to his mouth.

“Killed them? Samuel is a new father. He was just a kid—.”

“He knew the rules. Now we’re down to six. Not enough to keep us safe.”

A knot congealed in her throat and she found it hard to speak. All they had was death and uncertainty. It wasn’t the life she wanted with him. Marietta walked over to Lorenzo. They rarely talked about the daughter they both missed but with each passing day they suffered the loss together. “So what about the N’drangheta? Can they be helpful?”

“Everyone wants what I can’t give. The means to destroy Giovanni. I have no more leverage. They heard me out. They’ll push my message north. I have to continue to move under the radar with the family. My boys under Giovanni are listening, I’ve planted enough seeds of rebellion.”

“Telling Gio’s men that you are really Tomosino’s first born isn’t going to be believed by N’drangheta rumors. And if it is, how long will that take, Lo? You said it yourself, the men we have are too few and the money is running out.”

He dropped his arms over his eyes and groaned. “It’s a good plan Marie. There are still men in the Campania that would rather be under me. Maybe the division in our family will be perceived as weakening Battaglia. But it’s a price he’ll have to pay. I’ll be the savior. The family will thank me.”

“Or maybe not,” Marietta said softly. She didn’t bother with any further questions. There was no good news, just more of the same. Unbeknownst to her he’d gotten up from his relaxed position on the sofa and joined her in the kitchen. She was closing the cupboard when she felt him behind her. She tried not to let his presence affect her, to keep her disappointment hidden, but he didn’t move away. He stayed behind her until she faced him.

“I miss her too Marie. I never got the chance to hold her. To know her. She’s my first born. My baby-girl. I think about her every day.”

Marietta dropped her head and in sadness. She clenched her fists on the counter and tried to rein in her anger. But anger was that constant brewing storm in her gut fueling her survival. On most days it consumed her with guilt and grief. He touched her shoulder. She flinched. His hand dropped away.

“She’s safe and loved. I won’t give Giovanni credit for much, but I know she’s safe.”

“How could you say that!” she looked back at him. “She’s not loved by us. She’s not protected by us. I never knew my mother; you never knew yours. I thought being in Africa away from you was torture. It’s nothing compared to this. Hell is life without her. I... don’t know how much more of this I can stand.”

He gathered her into his arms and locked them around her. She cringed. Not because she didn’t love him or want his comfort, but because she vowed not to make him weak with her doubts. Marietta buried her face against the corded muscles of his chest. She hated being weak. Lorenza needed her to be strong.

“There’s another way,” Lorenzo whispered into her hair.

“No!” she tried to push free but he held her firm to him.

“Listen, you have to listen to me. Please.”

“This is why I don’t want to even talk about her. Because you feel guilty and you want to give up. You will not crawl back to Giovanni. We fight to the end. That’s our way.” Marietta shrugged free of him. “Now. I need to prepare dinner for us and those hungry neglected men outside.”

Lorenzo backed away from her without looking away. Marietta flashed him her bravest smile. He winked, grabbed an unopened bottle of beer and walked back into the front room. There was no need to lose hope. His surrender would be the last resort. The very last.