Atavus (26 page)

“Then sit at my table as a guest. I find that I am the same in my approach.” He rose, and his height equaled his stepson. Their eyes were opposite hues, yet piercing. He walked around Giuseppe, counter clockwise, behind the heads of the gatherers. “You see Giuseppe, we are family. I do not discriminate or trust only those of my faith. Here are extended family members of the Mafiya. We have done business for many years and disagree without bloodshed unless it is necessary. In business, there must be trust, do you agree?”

Giuseppe sneered. “Trust is hollow when it is not mutual.”

“Then we are of equal yoke my stepson.” He stopped behind the seat of an unfamiliar person with a yarmulke atop thin strands of hair, spectacles and a bulbous nose. Giuseppe anticipated Yosef’s action and signaled with his eyes for his men to keep their weapons unholstered although Yosef had clued him to what was going on. He had trusted Matteo, had he not?

Giuseppe waited, watching the unsuspecting victim curiously. Certainly, he could hear the sound of Yosef's weapon being drawn; apparently, the dunce could not. Yosef pressed the weapon to the top of his yarmulke and fired. The bullet exited the bottom of the Rabbi’s chair. The members of La Cupola did not react.  They had voted and were present as witnesses. Theft is death. Giuseppe saw worse murders, many he sanctioned for that reason.

“This beloved Rabbi is from America. A title given to clerics are words Giuseppe. The corrupt and perverse people have many titles, including judge. The
former
Rabbi committed a heinous crime when he lied to cover his theft. Why not say to me may I borrow money for my grandson’s bar mitzvah, eh?”

Giuseppe chuckled. He understood completely.

Yosef smirked. “I fed him a last supper. Now we may talk business like civilized people without the untrustworthy among us.”

Giuseppe nodded. Perhaps, he would stay a moment and enjoy wine before having dessert at home.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Sergio waited until lunch. He slipped his cell in the drawer of his desk and turned on soft music before exiting his plush office directly below his boss Alfonzo. He bypassed the elevator, taking the stairs and then stopped by a guard posted at the upper level stairwell.

“You know the rules Serge,” the guard stated.

Sergio was told many times the top floor was off limits. Allegedly, his history of theft is the reason for the rescission, although there were family members who were crazy murderers.

“Okay asshole, tell my cousin I need to speak to him and it’s an emergency.”

“Hey watch your mouth Serge,” the Asian said before speaking into his walkie-talkie. “Tell the Boss Serge says he has an emergency and would like to have a word. …yes…he’s in stairwell B. Okay.”

He put his arms to his sides and stared at Sergio until the walkie-talkie after a few minutes cackled a response. “
He said let him in.”

“In your face,” Sergio said when the electronic door buzzed open.

“Shut up Serge.”

The polished tinted windows reflected the sunlight. The black tiled floors and walls gave the area a feel of sophistication or money. Large silver lettering identified PALAZZO ENTERPRISES, as if people couldn’t read.

Sleek black seats lined each side of the walls of the open space with solid multicolored marble statues depicting ancient landmarks; the Coliseum, Egypt’s Pyramids, The Aqueduct of Segovia in Spain and others he didn’t recognize, sitting atop sturdy columns.

“This way Sergio!” A bodyguard exclaimed from another direction.

He was ushered through a door and then another where Alfonzo waited near a window eating from a plate. The prominent bone in his cheek stood out as he chewed causing an indentation of skin. He seemed relaxed; his jacket was off, as were his shoes.

“Emergencia primo, que paso?” he asked between another scoop with his fork of what Sergio smelled was spices from home. And damn did it smell good.

Sergio noticed the plush area rug on the floor, quartered and stitched with fine silk threads with a flag of Africa, America and the Commonwealth of Puerto Rico and Italy. He wondered when Alfonzo had it commissioned, since this was his first time seeing it. Then again, he hadn’t come up here in quite a while.

Sergio failed to answer, Alfonzo turned, gestured with his elbow for the guard to leave, and when the door shut, he asked again. “What’s on your mind? This is the reason I don’t want you up here, you’re always taking up my time with nothing.”

Sergio’s head snapped up. “Hey, Nico said it’s because you don’t want me pocketing client’s shit.”

Alfonzo laughed, sitting the plate on his desk and taking a swig of water and running his tongue over his teeth. “Nico’s fucking with you Serge. If I didn’t trust you, believe me you wouldn’t be in this building.”

“That lying…”

“Hey young buck!” Nico greeted, interrupting Sergio during the entry and smirked at the shock on Sergio’s face that he was there. “I need a minute with Alfonzo.”

Alfonzo noticed protestation on Sergio’s mouth that hadn’t emerged. He’d seen that expression before on person’s wanting to say something but couldn’t in the presence of someone untrustworthy.

“Hold on a minute Nico.” Blue eyes returned to Sergio. The dude appeared nervous. “Serge what’s up, I’m listening?”

“He doesn’t have anything to say, do you nipote?”

Nico’s interruption confirmed he was the reason Sergio had visited and now he wanted to hear why. "Shut the fuck up Nico and let him talk. I listen with more than my ears pendejo, because people hiss a lot but their actions talk truth."

Nico snarled at Sergio. “Tell him then you little shithead rat or I will.”

Sergio clammed up.

“I offed Tony,” Nico confessed.

Alfonzo stepped back, tilting his head to make certain he heard right. "Are you loco, you're telling me you did what?"

"What I had to do."

“What the hell you had to do was talk to me Nico.”

Sergio slipped out. He decided he didn’t want to be in the middle. His Unk killed Tony, ah man, that shit was foul. Maybe, he had better keep his mouth shut before Nico lost it and did him in, too.

Inside the office, Alfonzo had crossed the carpet, his voice muffled inside the soundproof room. “Why did you kill that dude primo?”

“He fucked up, two times. He wasn’t equipped for the job, kid.”

“I decide that. The dude came to me motherfucker and I hired him, not you.”

“And I fired his ass for incompetence!” Nico spat, facing Alfonzo with a defiant lift of his chin. “Sue me for multi-tasking and being good at it.”

Alfonzo’s temper flared. He lowered the flame, but the backdraft were blue sparks. “Where’s his wife?”

“A newlywed couple is buried together.”

Alfonzo exhaled. “Did you consider Giuseppe might need a heads up?”

“What’s there to consider, it wasn’t
his
wife. Besides, the cazzo when he hears the news must really behave surprised or his wife might think he had something to do with it. Did you consider that? Well, I did, because it’s my job!”

Nico sounded so damn cold and Alfonzo wondered if his soul was made of ice. Giuseppe was his brother and Tiffany, his wife’s sister. Nico the killing bastard didn’t feel shit, or care about anyone’s feelings. Business, always business with Nico and Alfonzo scoffed, all his emotions were probably in his dick!

Alfonzo took Nico by ‘
surprise’
when he cold clocked the arrogant mouth. Before he had a chance to recover, Alfonzo demonstrated the art of kicking ass, Borikén style. Without busting a button on his shirt, he maneuvered to lock his arms around Nico’s thick neck, leaped on his back, clamped strong legs around the taller man’s midsection to pin his arms, immobilizing Nico. Alfonzo resembled a Praying Mantis trapping Nico, the stick. He propelled backward, with Nico to the carpet, because he wanted the crazy sonovabitch to see the ceiling lights before he put him to sleep.

“Nighty-night you loco motherfucker!” Alfonzo hissed and he meant it literally. He rolled over, leaving Nico to kiss Puerto Rico’s stars, pissed that he had to silence his cousin before he shot his ass in anger.

Alfonzo paced the floor, cursing in Spanish. He walked to the window, gazed downward at the street and shook his head. “Damn Nico, what the hell am I going to do with you?”

He began to think of the many reasons he never killed Nico. Bottom line is he had a love-hate relationship with the dude. He glanced over at his cousin, sprawled on the floor, seeing Uncle Al, seeing Vincent and Alberti. Nico had many of their qualities, and Alfonzo supposed having all that responsibility had to screw a dude up in the head. Nico really did want what was best for the family, but sometimes he went too far. This was that time. 

When Alfonzo calmed, he grabbed the water bottle and poured it on Nico’s head. “Levántate. Quiero saber cómo lo jodido!” he said.

Nico sputtered, groaned like a bear awaking from hibernation, rolled over and flexed forward.

Nico asked, “Dannazione, Alfonzo did you put me in a sleeper?”

“Who’s the top ass kicker now?” Alfonzo asked. “Tell me why’d you kill Tony or I’ll put your lights out again, hombre –for good!”

Chapter Thirty-Three

The coast guard vessel pulled alongside debris from a boat that violently struck the rocks outside the Greek isles. They radioed for a search patrol, and looked about at the drifting painted parts that once belonged to a nice vessel.

In the distance was Santorini, a windswept island where bans of dive boats are enforced. The coastguard wondered if the boat was sailing to Santorini before the tragic accident occurred
.

Sheltered by the surrounding cliffs, under the surface is marine life, which is a popular and dangerous site for inexperienced snorkelers. The area is inaccessible by land and many accidents happen when boaters disregard the posted warnings or weather reports of high winds before setting sail.

A piece of drift wood, kilometers away turned on its side, rolling closer on a wave and he shouted to the second officer to pass the binoculars. He snatched them and pressed the lens to his eyes to read the markings.

“Aye!” he exclaimed when he confirmed the bright etching was that of the wealthy shipping magnate Bruno DeMarco.

~

Bruno received a call from the coast guard as he exited the shipping warehouse. His feet slowed as the officer relayed finding debris from one of his yachts. He stopped, looking around, finding night is preferable to daytime when bad news comes.

The chauffeur waited in his dark suit, holding open the rear door. It began to rain and he stood there letting the drops pound his head. Perhaps, the expression he wore told of his distress and is the reason the driver hurried forward assisting him inside, asking, “Signore DeMarco, stai bene? Stai bene?”

Bruno reclined clasping the device as if it was a hand. He spoke in a heavy whisper. “Get me home, ora.”

Bianca was on that yacht. His only daughter was missing at sea. A honeymoon is a celebration, not a tragedy. Bianca was his heart. He gripped his chest, hard he squeezed, staring at the lights, thinking of his grandson Alexandros and needing to see his mother’s eyes. Oh, his darling, the obedient child had made her papa so proud.

His eyes closed to the swaying. He had Alexandros and Maria at home. He would cling to them –tightly.

Chapter Thirty-Four

‘
And I heard the voices of men shouting. They were unconcerned about the hour or waking the sleepers. I was of maturity, yet my parents banned me from these secret meetings. There had been many of late. Talk of wars and unrest are rampant in the politics of every nation. Nonetheless, I have planted my feet near
the cellar door to listen after seeing men of many colors of skin and eyes, heights and girth enter like ghosts in the fog after a heavy rain. My curiosity is a wicked sin, I have been told, yet I am as many who seek to philosophize of teachings and lack of implementation by speakers, as well as fellow students of life’s evil doings.