Atavus (22 page)

He didn’t talk much, she noticed but after the kiddie party, he became more outgoing. The child needed to be around other children and not his cranky father, inside walls with unsmiling guards.

“All right, see you when you get here, Carlo is hungry, so hurry.”

“I am at the gate, ciao.”

She took the boy’s hand, bent low to kiss his fingers and then said, “Look out the window, as soon as your papa arrives, we’ll eat, okay?”

“Si,” the growing toddler said joyfully and bounded away to watch for his father’s arrival.

Such a cutie-pie, she thought, with those bright eyes of innocence. She planned to make his life as full and joyful as humanly possible, he had a lot to contend with when he grew up. With a dad like Giuseppe, the boy would require stability and a sane parent. Yes, his dad was plain crazy lovable.

Nicole finished chopping the celery, and then scooped them up and sprinkled the pieces atop the salad. The colorful vegetables, legumes and sliced chicken were visually pleasing and should entice the child to eat his veggies.

It’s funny, the day Giuseppe came with Carlo demanding breakfast like a thug in a suit, he didn’t even know if she cooked. Traveling around the world, eating a variety of foreign dishes is the best way to sample the world’s cuisine.  There were multitudes of recipes she enjoyed; one of her favorites was Mediterranean foods. Now isn’t Giuseppe lucky? There’s a lot Giuseppe had to learn about her. She definitely had to set him straight on a few things.

She wasn’t Shanda for starters or anybody’s carbon copy Barbie Doll, the brown version anyway, or a pushover.

Nicole smiled, oh Giuseppe, had redeemable qualities despite his abrasive behavior. He was multi-faceted and there wasn’t one dull moment with the oversized child. In fact, he was also rather chivalrous for a brute. Okay, chivalrous is going too far, but loyalty is undeniably one of his strongest attributes. Who better as a husband, than one who will kill for his family?

“Papa! Papa!” Carlo exclaimed making a racket that told her Giuseppe entered.

“Eh, giovani you are as tall as papa. Is that a moustache?” she heard her husband say.

“He-he-he!” Carlo laughed loudly as his father held him in the air tickling his stomach. They entered the kitchen that way and Nicole ceased wiping the counter.

She smiled, placing the cloth aside, while Francesca moved in shadow. “Hi there.”

Giuseppe set Carlo on his feet. Nicole gave the boy the salad dressing to put on the table. Francesca took the bowl and Nicole nodded. “Grazie Francesca. When you’re done you can leave.”

“Grazie Signora Dichenzo, Signore Dichenzo,” the woman said respectfully and hurried out on Carlo’s small heels.

Giuseppe smirked, crossing the short distance to his donna, trapping her against the counter with outstretched arms. He pressed his palms on the marble, and the action flexed the sleeves of his suit when he kissed his moglie while holding himself aloft. He did not want to crush the future she protected with skin and bones. He expressed his desire without shame, because a person who loses much hungers to hold and dies to protect what he values most.

“Measure me by my deeds that were done out of love and protection of mi famiglia when a day comes that I am judged by either of you cazzos,” is what Nico had said to him and his brother, as they shared drinks late into the night after that tension-filled meeting of Dons.

Nico, ah, his cugino, although irritable and an arrogant stronzo, understood the force of a heart that beats for famiglia. Simply thinking about them brought excitement and fierce pride –famiglia, ancient and present.

For Amelda he would slaughter, for his mama, Alfonzo, even Nico if he needed, without question, he would do the same for his donna. She would learn that he is hard because he knows no other way to show soft affections.

There are bad deeds he must do, some which others unaccustomed to hardships may not understand. He thought of Yosef, who kept secrets from his mama and promised to pay him a visit very soon.

“
Papa…mama…andiamo a mangiare
!”

Giuseppe smirked as he detached. His eyes held a naughty gleam. “Sí, andiamo a mangiare. Più tardi, mangio mamma.”

Nicole licked Giuseppe’s cigar sweetness from her lips. Dang, whatever he said sounded sexy in Italian. A major plus about Giuseppe was he also knew his way around a woman’s body and could make it scream –the badass.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

A lamp thrown like a baseball careened over Nico’s head. Tiffany’s feet hurdled over the sofa like a flying bird. She was swifter than he imagined, more agile than a gazelle.

The sting of his flesh was minor. She gained his admiration for the ability to slice through his jacket to flesh. She had done what Tony could not and that is to wound an expert. Her hand was on the door, he nearly lost the bet when she twisted the knob, but forgot to unlock the mechanism and that’s how he won. Panic makes people forget. He caught her wrist and a slight twist released the weapon. She screamed and his palm covered her airway.

She used the door to push off with her feet and they went backward into furniture. Nico’s ass toppled over the sofa, however the vice held. His long limbs maneuvered across the length of the couch with her on top, kicking violently to the ceiling.

She flailed, elbowing him in the ribs, scratching his thighs and valiantly fighting to stay alive. That’s what a warrior heart does. There is no kindness in murder, yet he sought to hold her the way a crab shields an oyster.

Masculine legs wrapped over her torso, ceasing movement of her arms. He allowed her to kick. The action was harmless.

“Ssshhh, relax. Soon, it will be over.”

She heaved at the loss of oxygen. Her stomach and chest were opposing waves as the air remained trapped inside, building up gases. She began to lose consciousness. The oxygen deprivation caused the neurons in her brain to misfire sending incomplete commands to the rest of her body. Three minutes had yet to elapse. In six minutes or so there would be total brain death. Hot breaths on Nico’s palm that clamped her nose and mouth turned shallow. He recited a story to comfort the dying and to pass the time.

“There was a boy, a loving child who found peace in his art. He saw beauty all around, in flowers, people and even the bugs.”

Tiffany’s respirations slowed.

“He would never have harmed a fly, this giovani because he saw life as cycles, things die through natural selection, by people it was unfathomable to this sweet boy. He had decided an artist is what he would become. Paint the faces, landscapes, and whatever his heart desired.”

Nico’s chin rested in Tiffany’s hair and thick strands tickled his nose. Her buttocks were soft as they rested against his stomach, and he sighed in the pause. He had liked this couple, had hopes Tony had lived up to his expectations, but that’s the way the cookie crumbles.

The oxygen withheld by his hand caused her stomach to bloat. He felt its rise and continued, holding in a lethal cradling of an adult child while telling her a lullaby because that is what he sought to do, lull her to eternal peace.

“Then there came a time when the innocence he painted turned to abstract horror. He was told he could not pursue what he loved. The dream life he wanted had been killed by a duty. He underwent intense training as a protettore for the Protezione of the Giacanti famiglia. That’s Italian for protector and security. I know you did not know that. Ah, anyway, this boy cried, in the dark, even considered running away but he never wanted to leave his family. His brother never cried and when the child witnessed that, he grew brave, like his brother and held the tears inside. His brother would make him laugh and tell him to paint upon the victims; pretend the knife is a paintbrush and what he did when he had to kill bad people was pretend he was a knight, saving the kingdom. The boy did this. At first, the cutting was hard and then the second became easier when he saw there is art in killing and he sought to be masterful. He left nothing of horror, although the deeds are.”

No sounds or twitches.

The breathing ceased.

No life except a killer’s who stared at the ceiling holding a corpse.

How long he lay there was long enough to smell metal burning and scorched food. Nico’s eyes watered, he told himself from the smoke, yet stone breaks, too.

He saw nothing beyond his family. From a child, he was sworn to duty.

Who would cry for him in death?

Who but family would understand.

Protection of family is his responsibility.

Tiffany should have gone, but love held her firm, just as it had a boy taught to kill anyone who poses a threat to famiglia.

Tiffany was a witness to his crime.

She could not live.

His hand slipped from the nose and pale lips to make art from death. Nico turned off the stove, set the table for a mock meal and propped bodies in chairs. He collected the couple's phones, and then cleaned all of their computers.

A death artisan sat at the table with the dead, working loose Tony’s cell to implant an explosive microchip, synced with a timer, which he inserted with deft fingers, leaving it beside the bowl of scorched jambalaya. He sat Tiffany’s cell in the living room on an end table with a similar device installed; however, her cell would make a call at a set hour to her sister with a prerecorded message using a voice app that sounded like the deceased.

Nico looked around at the broken furnishings and nodded.

They had fought this couple, perhaps had they fought harder they may have survived. He retrieved the bloody knife from the floor and washed it clean before going upstairs to shower and bandage his cut. He borrowed a shirt and burned the soiled one in the backyard before going to the shed where he had stored a special component that would demolish the home. He had to use construction tools to set everything exact. The entire project took over an hour, and when he finished he carried away the evidence for disposal before climbing aboard his motorcycle, putting on his helmet, kicking up the stand and starting the engine.

He took one last look at the desolate villa and then zoomed away.

Fresh air, it is good for the lungs and the soul.

It’s cleansing after death.

~

Ari heard Nico’s bike. She gave Sophie a rundown of Nico’s favorite foods and added in a few of her own for good measure. The menu list was the most important as far as Ari was concerned. Nicole had agreed to perform, which she knew Nico would enjoy and the twins were the DJ’s for the remainder of the event. Then Sophie told her Bianca had remarried and was at sea for the honeymoon. Nico had already told her, Sophie was late.

She secretly hoped Bianca fell overboard and drowned, which is wicked to say, but true.

Anyway, she would have to accept Bianca and Nico had a child together. The new spouse would never harm Nico’s son if he knew what was good for him. Nico would hunt the bastard down if he did.

“Okay Sophie, ciao,” she said before quickly checking her stocks. A value increase is always good and that made her smile.

Ari logged out and then shut off the computer to head downstairs to check on Semira who had wanted to watch cartoons with Anna. The boys were visiting Sal. It was a Friday evening, no school in the morning and she figured they’d be okay until she learned Selange and Alfonzo had gone out of town for the weekend and Anita had the children.

She cursed the boys for trying to be slick.  They were always up to something; damn kids took after their mother and father.

“Bring your asses’ home tonight, not tomorrow,” she scolded and hoped they listened.

Ari guessed hanging around a pregnant girl wasn’t fun. All Anna seemed to want to do is eat and sleep.

Yes, she and Semira had their heads on the arm of the sofa knocked out cold. Some silly cartoon played, worsened by a corny theme song. Ari snickered, those two were easy to handle, give them food, and a bed and they were in heaven.

She slipped on her sneakers and trudged outside.

Nico showboated, doing a front wheel stand and he whistled when she stepped on the lawn. “Ooh la la ciao bella you’re looking good!”

Ari blushed. “Who are you today, Mario Andretti?”

The back wheel bounced to earth, he did a skid and a half-moon turn and came to an abrupt halt. “That’s a former race car driver bella.”

“So, who cares?” She waved her hand at him. “Can we go for a ride?”

“Grab a helmet,” he said.

She ran to the back of the house where he kept spares and returned with an antique. She snapped it on and climbed behind him, scooting forward, deliberately humping his ass. “Ready,” she said wrapping her arms around his waist and whooping as he skidded off.

She leaned her cheek against Nico’s spine to shield her eyes from the wind. She clutched tighter as he sped across familiar paths, rolling over dirt and grass as the engine revved beneath them like a vibrator.