Atavus (13 page)

Bastardi
!

The vibration against his chest alerted him to an incoming call and he reached to his pocket to answer as he shoved past Vittorio, his useless soldati.

“Cosa cugino?”

“I hear you’ve phoned your baby brother with a complaint. Since your people aren’t worth a damn, I took a minute to help you. Check your messages, then take care of your personal business, and then have your ass at that meeting. Ciao you big bambino. Wa-Wa!” Nico said and then hung up.

Giuseppe checked his messages. A map with a red thumbtack and directions. Nico the comedian inserted an emoticon with a tongue sticking out and a hand with its middle finger in simulation of an obscene gesture.

“Eh, fuck you too!” Giuseppe bellowed at the phone although Nico was no longer there.

The workers were silent; Giuseppe Dichenzo had anger management problems.

~

Harold Oliver peered from behind the curtain to the street below. He could see the New York City taxi’s speeding along the avenue, their lime green color easily distinguishable. Umbrellas floated over the wet pavement hiding the people underneath.

He frowned at his foolishness. Nicole was more than a client; she had been a very good friend. He wished he hadn’t behaved impulsively. Maybe, she did not inform him of her husband’s name because she suspected he would judge her and she was right. Nicole deserved better than Giuseppe Dichenzo did. She was classy, pretty and talented. People such as Dichenzo only collected women and didn’t cherish them.

Harold rubbed his bruised leg. The x-rays hadn’t found any broken bones. He supposed Giuseppe’s intent wasn’t to hurt his body but his ego. What he posted on social media was the truth, unfortunately, it went viral within hours and here he stood days later in hiding.

Those darn innocent preset questions on devices can get a person in trouble.

What’s happening, isn’t the name of a TV show anymore, it’s a lure to get those angry fingers typing until you’ve reached the maximum characters.

‘
My client Nicole wed a thug, beware if you’re hiring, her hubby might assault you and stuff you in a piano coffin.’

The doorknob turned. “Did you forget something Mike?” he asked before the door opened.

The person who entered looked nothing like his musician friend. This person didn’t wear glasses or have a receding hairline and large forehead.  Nor did he carry a cello case; balled fists make a different sort of music. 

“Hey Harold, how are ya’?” The intruder with an undeniably Jersey accent asked.

Harold backed up and found comfort with the windowpane. He clutched the curtain, crying in desperation when another brute entered. Giuseppe Dichenzo had sent his muscle. Harold muttered incoherently as one locked the door. He should have hid elsewhere, possibly a graveyard because he was certain to have broken bones –for real.

Chapter Fourteen

Tiffany collected the congratulatory cards, packed them away in a decorative box and then slid it on the shelf in the bedroom closet. Since the honeymoon, Tony had been working non-stop. Every time Nico phoned, Tony had to leave. She assumed that was Nico on the phone at those weird hours. Tony would roll over, give her a kiss and then say he’d be right back before heading out in the dark.

The other day, he said something she never thought she’d hear, especially since he seemed so gung-ho to work for Alfonzo Diaz. This had been a dream job and you know what they say, when it’s too good to be true, beware. Alfonzo was charming but there was a dark edge to him. Nico, oh, well that guy was downright frightening. He tried to be nice whenever he saw her, but she could feel the insincerity. 

“Tiff,” Tony had said. “I promised you a dance studio. How about you and I starting the business? I could manage the place or have a gym or something alongside the studio, what do you think?”

“I think that’s a great idea,” she replied. “But, are we talking about opening up something here? What about your job with those people?”

His brown eyes were unreadable; however, she sensed he had experienced a change of heart. Who knows exactly what caused it, but she was glad. Her sister Nicole had always been a risk taker, daring and completely nuts. Tiffany –not so much. Sure, she loved to travel, do fun things, but dance was her passion.

Tiffany put her hands on her hips and looked around the spacious villa tucked among the greenery of Segesta in Trapani. It was an artisan’s dream home. In fact, this wedding present from Nico was beautiful, honestly though, she missed America and the bustling city.  The roads here were great, if there’s a positive to it all and having Tony’s last name. She hated the isolation and the line of work, but she stayed because of Tony.

Nicole had visited when they returned from their honeymoon and they drove the beautiful countryside talking, mindless of their escorts that traveled everywhere with Nicole.

Even on their girl’s outing to Erice, the bodyguards were there, standing in the cable car, human bookends to the sisters.

The idea of living that way until Who-Knows-When didn’t appeal to Tiffany.

“I’m just running it past you, I haven’t made a final decision, yet about it,” he had answered.

It’s not
what
Tony said but
how
he said it, which stirred her to wonder, if he could really just quit without repercussions.

She warned him, hadn’t she? She didn’t want to rub in his face that she had, but that day she looked at Nico, she saw trouble. She couldn’t explain the alarms ringing or the goosebumps that mottled her skin. Nico gave her the creeps. He was handsome, but in an evil way. It may sound theatrical if she said that aloud to somebody, but that’s what she believed.

That wife of Nico’s had a couple of screws loose, too. That day somebody shot up her dinner party, Ari conversed with Nico as if it was just another day in Looneyville.

“Hurry back honey, I love you,” Ari had told her husband during the shooting. What kind of mess is that? Everybody else pissed their pants, but not Nico or his wife. They were as cool as a summer breeze.

She heard footsteps on the stairs.

“Hey love,” she heard Tony shout. “I’m back early, want to go out and eat and then go to that place you were talking about?”

When he entered the bedroom, she had closed the closet and had a welcoming smile.  The
place
she mentioned was on the Mura di Tramontana, which was a serene boulevard they could stroll along to the Torre Ligny. She had seen the pictures of the centuries old fortification and envisioned a romantic stroll with Tony along the nearby beach.

“You’re in a good mood.”

Tony leaned on the doorframe, his smooth skin –perfection.

“Looking at you puts me in a good mood.”

“If we’re going out, I suggest you put on walking shoes.”

Tony looked down. He had on rubber sole boots. The footwear was necessary in the field. A knife and small firearm fit snug and secure.

“I’m good,” he answered as she walked over and gave him a kiss. “Ummm, now keep that up and we won’t make it out of the house.”

Tiffany’s hands rubbed his spine. “When we return home, don’t worry we’ll pick up right where we left off.”

Tony grinned when she went to put on comfortable shoes. She was as graceful as he was cumbersome. The grin slid away. He had wanted to give her expensive stuff, provide for a family without worrying about money. The tradeoff for financial freedom cost too much. Tony frowned. He had told Alfonzo this is what he wanted, stood and looked the man in the eye with such conviction at the time, Alfonzo acquiesced.

The fulfilment he imagined hadn’t come.

Nope.

The fullness he sought was in his dancer’s smile, the serenity of sleeping beside her and her girlish laughs aloud.

“Okay ready!” she said cheerfully.

His heart thumped.

“Okay, lead the way.”

Tony followed his wife out the door, hoping the sun did not fade.

He prayed what he was about to do wouldn’t extinguish its rays forever.

Chapter Fifteen

“We have been mobsters for almost 100 years,” Torino Visconti said to Alfonzo as they walked through the heartland of Sicily.

Alfonzo agreed to meet the Don a few days after the debacle that occurred with Nico. He disliked what transpired and ensured the Don understood his treatment of Don Serano had been an insult that he would not tolerate in the future.

Nico was silent, murder always in his thoughts.

Trust isn’t a two-way street. Alfonzo made certain the old geezer was checked for wiretaps, not giving a fuck about whether he considered the action an offense. Don’t shake my hand, or accept my money, insult my cousin and then talk shit isn’t how a person survives on the street.

“Good for you,” Alfonzo stated with an irritable kick of a gait, an electricity of impatience that had manifested in his lower limbs.

“My father’s uncle, whose name was Santini, was the first to kill a cop in Palermo,” Torino bragged. “He was corrupt.”

“I wouldn’t speak family secrets too loud. There’s no statute of limitations on murder and killing officers isn’t why I’m here.”

The self-assured Don grinned. “That would only be a concern if I spoke to a duplicitous man. Are you that?” he asked.

“I would say kiss my ass in your language, but then that’ll be a sign of respect.”

The Don’s expression hadn’t changed. The insults flowing from the younger Don’s mouth were intended to rile him in a verbal retaliation for his disrespect to Nicolo Serano. He rather appreciated the foreigner’s honesty is refreshing company when accustomed to dishonest speech.

“Your father and I often disagreed on many things.”

Alfonzo hated listening to these old people and their tales. They were as stale as bread. “Get to the point. Walking around this dirt is ruining the polish on my shoes.”

“Luzo did me a favor. A pentiti in America may have given the authorities a list of our distribution outlets.” Torino coughed; the night air was not good for his emphysema. He used a monogrammed handkerchief to wipe the tiny drop of spittle from his wrinkled lip. “I have not interfered in your doings and despite the difference in our business models; you have been respectful of mine.”

Alfonzo stopped. “Then you understand that won’t be the case if you side with the families seeking to pressure me into compliance by fucking with my money.”

Torino peered at Nico who had remained silent and then back at Alfonzo. “I am curious; tell me, what do you know of me?”

“Other than you’re a cold bastard, not much.”

Torino Visconti chuckled. “Ah, Nicolo, you have held secrets, eh?”

“What secrets am I missing?” Alfonzo asked. Obviously, there was deception at play.

“Luzo was a clever man. The exchange of favors that garnered me this prestigious reputation I owe to Don Palazzo.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Murders, butchery in streets were sanctioned by Luzo. Favors for favors are what ensured the rising of our clans.”

“Your depravity is your own. Killing a boy and raping his mother isn’t something a person does unless he wants to.”

Another chuckle. Alfonzo wanted to break the jester’s neck. If his father authorized such deeds, then he was less than gutter trash.

“That boy worked for a rival famiglia and twenty is considered a man. The story, which circulates is horrid and inaccurate. Nonetheless, it serves a purpose. Fear is useful. Eh, Nicolo?”

“Stop saying my name.”

“Ah, Nicolo you on the other hand –you have done more heinous deeds than I. Those tales are not lies.”

“Why am I here, to hear you take potshots at Nico?” Alfonzo interjected.

“To personally say your money is not required Don Giacanti.” His eyes returned to Nico. “You do not remember me at all giovani?”

Nico frowned. “No, should I?”

“I visited when you were but a peon. I guess time and wars can make children forget. I am your father’s Zio.”