Armored (3 page)

He looked up at his son
. The boy was more mature than his pop at that age. Sal was tuned to the people he loved. “I’m not going anywhere, hijo. I want you to know that.”

“
Al, are you coming or what
?” Selange shouted from the bathroom.

“
Babe, hold up sec and stop being so damn horny!” Alfonzo laughed.

“
Oh shut up, you’re the one who said, ‘I’ll join you in a minute.’ Now you’re flipping the script!”

Alfonzo chuckled. “All right, chill I’m talking to our son.”

“
Oh, sorry Sal I thought you were gone, don’t mind mom, dad always wants me to wash his back
!” Selange yelled

“Dad you better go get your back washed
.”

Father and son smirked. Who did
his wife think she was fooling?

“
Listen hijo, don’t be a smart-ass because height doesn’t mean shit,” Alfonzo said to his son as he rose from the bed. He’d become eager to get his back washed. He had a flight to catch shortly and a steamy shower scene was a perfect image for the lonely nights ahead. Sal stood almost eye level which is a huge deal because Alfonzo was over six feet. “You already know I’ll be out of town for a few days and I won’t be here to stay on your ass. You know right from wrong, so don’t let anybody try to make you feel like a chump ‘because you don’t co-sign with their childish bullshit. You can spend the weekend with your cousins because I trust you.” When Sal’s face lit up, Alfonzo added a precaution. “But hijo, just remember, it’s not the act of being well behaved when somebody’s watching; it’s how you act when nobody’s observing that speaks volumes about your character, comprende?”

Sal nodded before departing the master bedroom. Well, damn, his cousins better not get him in trouble. Ah man, he thought, why did my dad have to go and say that?

***

Tush poked out, grunting like a girl, Selange pulled the oversize suitcase from the bottom of the closet and received a laugh from her husband instead of his assistance.

“Gee thanks honey!”

“De nada,” Alfonzo replied with a lopsided grin as he fixed his tie in the mirror.

Amelda’s big to
-do is all he heard about from Selange and the others. Amelda’s formal gown was photographed on a celebrity and you’d think someone discovered a cure for cancer. Add Matteo’s constant gushing about his wife at the office and nauseating is what the shit became. He was proud of Amelda, damn straight, but he didn’t need to hear the crap all day, every day in the mist of business. Modesty his mom said reflects someone with self-restraint and is an extension self-pride. Matteo and Amelda were boastful people, totally opposite of him and Selange.

His eyes cut to his babe; why she needed to carry so many shoes was beyond his comprehension. Besides, how heavy can shoes be?

“Oh you are such a…a…a.”

“Qué, no witty comeback babe?” he asked with a tilted brow on the too attractive face. “A good husband, is that the phrase you’re looking for nena?” He smiled and covered the distance to where she kneeled eyeing the assortment of designer heels worn on these special occasions stuffed in her suitcase. Yes, a suitcase held only shoes…shoes?

“A typical man is what I had in mind. It’s not funny…I can’t go without the right shoes for that dress she designed…I’m undecided…oh…this is crazy,” she said worriedly and Alfonzo tsked.

“That’s because you’re thinking too much about it.” He surveyed the outfits spread on the bed. The turquoise number she had there was sexy as shit. Too bad he couldn’t be the material,
he thought like a naughty boy. He chose a pair of equally stunning heels from her case and then another and said, “There you go.”

The quizzical expression told it all, but women voice their confusion when men
act silly. “Are you for real, a spring fashion show in Milan where my sister-in-law is unveiling a new collection, media people, important industry folks, an after the after party and you think two pairs are all I need?”

“Yep, and oh don’t forget combat boots in case you need to stomp a hater’s ass.”

The smile from his babe widened as she stood, slipped her arms around his waist and told him, “You’re good for my ego, but you suck when choosing shoes for me?”

“Yeah, I suck huh?” he asked peering into her lovely face. Her warm
brown skin radiated the glow of a woman thoroughly sexed.

Selange rubbed the soft threads on his suit jacket, pressing in
ward to touch his spine. “Don’t step outside expecting the worse. Flip the negative station to a soothing music channel during your day honey. I know you have a lot on your plate but the best way to avoid stress from changing into a medical crisis is by not letting everything affect you, okay?”

He snickered. “I’ll try.”

“Do that, because you’re way too serious.”

“Some of these suckers I deal with, will have you shaking your head, trust me, babe.”

“I do.” Her eyes were a gentle feathery caress. “Honey I trust you with my life.”

“Without a doubt, I got you babe.” He had to leave. The car was ready. Their adult playtime in the shower had him invigorated. Dealing with sour men didn’t seem a daunting task anymore. His wife always put things in a brighter perspective. He placed a parting kiss on her colored lips and sucked hard before letting go. She wiped the lipstick from his mouth with her thumb and he felt blessed she’d made his life a joyful dance. “I’ll see you soon babe. Tell Amelda to break a leg,” he said and strolled from the bedroom.

The door opened and the loud voices of the children were heard and of course Alfonzo yelled, “Pipe it down!”

Selange smirked when he exited, yeah; her man looked good and smelled nice, too.

The thought of his sexy butt made her blush.

Now that Alfonzo was gone she concentrated on the business at hand before she dressed the small ones for travel. They were flying
to Milan with Amelda and she was impatient, worse than her brother. When she thought about it, the Giacanti siblings had short fuses. 

Selange viewed the selection of footwear with indecision. A manicured finger tapped her cheek, Alfonzo was clueless
. Who takes only two pair of shoes on a trip to a major fashion event?

Besides, festivities were taking place throughout the city. L
eading art, design and fashion shows were next day after parties for the public when touring bands and DJs hit Milan before Rome or Naples. The outdoor revelry rivals the finest summer festivals. The kids were certain to love the celebratory events in the palazzi Maria had scheduled.

Selange was excited because she looked forward to spending the day with Maria.

She tossed in a casual suit and comfortable walking shoes and for the hell of it, packed sneakers; she’d probably never wear and then went to get the children ready.   

C
hapter Two

Matteo’s pearly smile greeted Alfonzo when he arrived at the meeting being held on an early Saturday morning before his scheduled flight to Brazil. Giuseppe and Nico weren’t in attendance; they were busy, besides this impromptu session of Retired Dons didn’t require their presence.

Old G’s as Alfonzo deemed them were early risers. They probably had wives who awakened at the crack of dawn to tend to gardens or prepare breakfast for their spouses in quiet houses now that their adult children moved o
ut. These were friends of his Uncles and they came inside alone. No headstrong sons or daughters, only their drivers seated patiently outside the Palazzo building in shiny cars.  Awaiting Alfonzo’s arrival were a trio of mature well-respected gangsters who were staunch followers of tradition.

They were the old folks who talked about in their day this happened except Mafia this and Mafia that is what they quoted. Alfonzo’s allegiance was to his loved ones and then –well depending on the clan he kept his temper in reserve.

History flowed from many of their mouths as if Alfonzo didn’t understand traditions or awareness of his ancestors. He got it; knowledge brings deeper insight into self. Hell, he could comprehend that since grade school.

Since learning about
Luzo, he made it his business to know about the players in the game and everything Mafia. He could tell those rising when he entered the origin of the word, but that’s a matter of debate because there are a plethora of theories. Some believe Mafia originated in 1282 during the French invasion of Sicily and the saying, ‘Morte Alla Francia Italia Anela’ which means Death to the French is Italy's Cry. Eventually the word came to mean, ‘manly’ in Sicily.

Another theory
of the origin of the word began as early as the 9th century when Sicily was ruled by Arab forces and the oppressed inhabitants sought refuge. Thus in Arabic, ‘mafia’ means refuge. Oh, there’s a slew of other stuff, but Alfonzo didn’t care about the origin of a word when a lots been lost in translation. Everybody wants to claim what they didn’t invent. He was a Giacanti, like it or not and when that word is spoken respect is what he got.

These Dons were governed by rules. Today instead of fucking his woman longer he was here to hear them out. He was pissed, because there aren’t secrets in a so-called secret organization when word can circulate about a ‘secret wedding’ before Alfonzo could have
the proper sit-down. Anyway, unification and family is the organization’s premise. In the hierarchal chain, Alfonzo was the patriarch –top diggity dog.

“Buongiorno,” Matteo said.

Polished, always dapper and suave was the Sicilian born son of a respected deceased Don. Matteo’s appreciative glance took in Alfonzo’s seemingly effortless suited attire.

Quality, always refined and understated was the Nuyorican born son of a powerful pendejo.

“Buenos dias…buongiorno,” he replied looking at each man before he sat at the head of the conference table. “I’m pressed for time, but I understand you’ve learned of the latest addition to my family and have some concerns.” Alfonzo reached for the orange juice. He’d eaten already. Anita was the best.

An elderly Don, clean and mean didn’t hesitate to speak out. “My concern is the effect this outsider will have on our operations. He is not known for cooperating with others. He brings an undesirable element to the equation and unless he is held on a short leash he will bring chaos.”

Alfonzo nodded. “Your fears are noted.”

An influential leader from the
‘Nhandrangheta, Don Meroni crossed his leg. His brown crocodile shoe caught Alfonzo’s attention; an Olivano Austerity Brogue. His wife thought he didn’t know about footwear, but in the male shoe industry, an Olivano was the Holy Grail. Alfonzo had an Olivano Blind Brogue; they were black with a plain toe and simple wingtip-style perforation. There’s history behind those shoes. Alberti told him about it once and a thin smile touched Alfonzo’s lips.

A little before the war Sergio Giacanti
twisted his ankle when visiting Pietrapertosa, a small town high in the mountainous region of Sicily. He couldn’t walk in the stiff uncomfortable shoes during his stay and found a young cobbler and asked him to design a stylish, yet soft leather shoe. The youth presented Sergio with a pair of shoes that were not only easy on his sore ankle but fashionable. The laces he’d decorated with tiny O’s and fashioned the end with soldered platinum. Sergio loved the shoes and asked the man to design more and he would pay handsomely, but exclusivity is what he demanded. Many people think the O’s stand for the designer’s name, Olivano, but Omérta is the code of silence afforded to a well-known Don.

After Sergio’s death, Olivano ceased making the shoes. He was wealthy, Alfonzo’s grandfather ensured he was paid exorbitantly. Labor and tools are expensive as are high-end materials.
But during the war the Germans stole his possessions and poverty is where he dwelled until Luzo searched him out and thus he re-emerged in a sense on Luzo’s foot. What Alfonzo found interesting is, just as an origin of a word, theories abound about the shoemaker and why he does not design for anyone other than Sicilians, and even they are few. But, the agreement was Olivano took an oath that he is to design only for a Giacanti and those he or she recommends.

Luzo trusted few
people, if any. Those he did trust if they enquired about his suit, then a tailor’s name was recommended, that can be said for his shoes as well. Therefore Alfonzo surmised his father considered Don Meroni trustworthy.

Ironic, isn’t it that history
is found in subtleties when a person is astute? 

Don Meroni removed his hat. On his scalp sat wavy tuffs of gray. He placed the cashmere cap on the shiny teak, like a gentleman, like Alberti, is what Alfonzo thought.

“Ah, this talk of who a donna marries isn’t why I am here mi amici. The revenue generated from the investments in our portfolios is ample incentive to remain steadfast in keeping our hands clean. Don Diaz has been responsible for the increases in our profits; therefore I am here in full support and unity.”