Adversary (3 page)

Alfonzo walked away, flipped Giuseppe the bird and shouted. “Make sure you pay for this mess dipshit and start taking responsibility for what you break!”

“Vaffanculo!”

“Same to you. Tonight I’m sleeping in a hotel!” Alfonzo retort. He opted for amenities in which to simmer. With a pit-bull and its masters roaming the premises he’d get little rest anyway, especially if Shanda saw their condition. She’d blame him, as usual. No matter how civil he was to the chica she found motive in every action. Giuseppe could keep Sergio for the night since Nico decided to bounce. If not for their meetings tomorrow and the day after he’d go home. However, the upcoming obligatory appointments required a show of family unity. He climbed the stairs, jogging the remaining treads to the main floor. Out the door cloaked by figures he inhaled the fresh air. Dealing with Giuseppe with a black mood caused by sexual frustration wasn’t good. Sleep and a quiet morning at a five star hotel with breakfast and silence sounded pretty good.

“To hell with all this mess!” Alfonzo grumbled as he yanked open the car door before the bodyguard touched the handle.

CHAPTER TWO

Oppressive, heavy, burdensome is the heat of the African continent. To think that its people were unencumbered and stood tall when foreign visitors wilted beneath the scorch is testament of their strength. Those who toiled and lived in the womb of a mother were unbowed by nature’s hand, they welcomed her loving touch; it brought them closer to her heart.

Climbing from the air-conditioned jeep, Moyo looked around similar to a scout and his first step told his cousin the way was clear. Dark skin, firm with ridged muscles was clothed in light cotton which breathed in the sun. Effortless flexes, without unnecessary swinging arms represented a powerful man’s walk. The aquiline eyes did not miss simple details. Up the concrete stairs to the busy bank, through polished glass and floors the pair traversed until they reached the offices of the Manager sitting nervously in wait of their arrival.

“Gamba, welcome.” The wide girth African in his ill-fitting suit exclaimed as he stood.

The door shut by Moyo’s hand who served as sentry as well as user of weaponry. Gamba could sit, knowing Moyo had his back. The Manager reclaimed his soft position and leaned forward reaching for the document on his desk. The lack of greeting in return from Gamba did not go unnoticed; in fact he was offended by Gamba’s lack of manners. Yet, he could do nothing except absorb the slight quietly. To be rid of the intimidating businessman he spoke in urgency. “There is everything you requested. The transfer of ownership and deed are yours and as you see the title remains for investigative purposes only property of a non-profit entity.”

Gamba did not touch the documents. He read the name in bold, satisfied to have gained full control of the holding. He then put his hand on the desk to lift the page; this is the document eyes would never see. A series of numbers and abbreviations. Coding bank jargon for insiders, encrypted for further inspections but for Gamba easily identifiable by the G in the algorithms. This was the most important. A large amount of money would soon find its way to Africa. Strategic planning carefully constructed for months. Once he received the donation to this bank the money would immediately get transferred elsewhere and paid out in gold. The satisfaction of taking from the man whose eyes mirrored his, not in color but depth was as priceless as the stolen pieces taken from Africa’s lands. Take he would, take is what he planned.

He rose with the papers. Before he exited he asked. “Was there any inquiry?”

“Many, direct and indirect.”

“And?”

“No others have occurred.”

“Stay abreast of it as if your life depended on it.” His smile seemed amicable but the Manager was aware of the threat. “Because it does.”

Out, in the sun. Touched by warmth again, Gamba’s smile was genuine. He removed the photo of the beautiful woman whose eyes danced in merriment. Property of another she belonged.

Take.

As an Italian King had once done.

Take.

Back through subversion.

Take.

Away the arrogance.

Take.

The heart of an adversary and return honor to his ancestor’s home!

***

Bianca answered the door. Her eyes were red and the usually composed woman wore a desperation Nico had yet to see. The hour was late and if not for her urgent message he would not have crossed the threshold of the widow-killer. She backed away as he entered and closed the door.

Nico’s eyes did not wander beyond Bianca’s chin. Clad in a sheer robe, his deceased father’s wife nude skin peered through. His heart did not accelerate, instead the tempo slowed and his eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “What’s the emergency?”

“I have seen tua madre,” she said walking away and then his eyes followed the silhouette of her curvaceous derriere.

The mention of his mother made his feet ambulate. Four strides led him in in front of her. She halted because the bulk of Nico prevented progression. “What did she say Bianca…is she okay…cosa?”

“She knew today is very sad and she wanted you to know she mourns with you...with us.”

“Is that all?”

Bianca’s feathery lashes lowered. She wanted to say to Nico things that an honorable woman should not. Her tongue did not seek to give voice to her thoughts. Her heart wailed in silence for her husband’s loving touch. Nico’s mother, Sabrina must have known the imprisonment of loneliness and the vow of her secret order. The woman had come to warn her, the time was near. Broken oaths were found out and the executioner’s bullet was primed. Today of all days would be the date of her demise. She sent the girls away before death arrived.

The matron Sabrina was well versed in the bi-laws, how, Alberti of course. She advised the young widow to seek Nico’s protection. Do not forfeit your life in a ghost’s passion; do not die in the hourglass of memories. There is a way of penance without sacrificing your life. Bianca’s desperation breathed in solemn solace. Nico was married, but his love is not what she sought, she only wanted his protection. The wearer of Supremo was not the only person who could halt her death. If a Protezioni Segreti revealed their identity to a ranking Protezioni there is a pardon for a soldati. Blood cut cheeks marks the male, a female Protezioni’s flesh seals to her male counterpart, a union and proof thereof, and spoken words by the Protezioni of high rank bonds them until death. Nico’s rank as Comandante di Protezioni, commands enforcers and as head of The Circle of Protectors, his influence was great. Bound she could live and Bianca yearned desperately for life, to feel the heat of a kiss, the warm blood of affection and to see her daughter’s marry.

The Segrete law forbids her to remarry or sleep with another man. But, the codicil a mother recited gave a lonely woman hope. And it is Nico who could touch her with kisses and bring life back to a dead woman.

Alberti’s station within the Circle held honor and even in death the widow must show respect. The loneliness is a curse for loving Alberti Luca. But, beyond the grave, he gave the youthful widow his virile and honorable son and through Sabrina, Nico’s mother she received her blessing.

The sensual mouth of Alberti and heart beating heated blood is Nico. It is his arms she sought solace and protection. She wept. “He is gone. Mio marito è andato per sempre!”

A rock did not bend by water. “Where are the girls Bianca?” he asked worriedly.

“They are with my brother in Spain. They will remain there to attend college,” she answered and then whispered. “I miss mio marito. I am not to live beyond today.”

What test of a man comes through a woman that ensures his disgrace? The stone carved human blocked emotion, uncertain if Bianca’s ploy was seduction or deranged rants of a suicidal woman. “You’ve lived with his death and will continue to live for your daughters. Do not speak foolishness. Silenzio pensieri deboli!”

“Sí, I confess my sin to you Nicolo Serano. I confess to you descendant Giacanti Protector. Pardon me from death for the sake of my daughters and your father…I beg…I implore you!” she cried, stretching her graceful neck to kiss the stone lips with salty sweetness to bend his will and make him die a million deaths.

Bianca’s hands slid in his pants to caress and entice a tortured killer with vows of loyalty. A desperate widow in mourning sought comfort with a corpse. When his lips did not return the kiss and his flesh did not answer she looked into his eyes and saw nothing…emptiness…darkness so black…her heart froze at hope's death. “Oh what have I done that you do not hear my plea for protection?” she gasped in shame.

A hand took hold of her cheeks and squeezed until her lips puckered like a fish. Nico did not like this game of desperate hearts. What vileness brought her to speak of betrayal and then use protection as a marker? Giacanti, pardons, death and words to slaughter him the traitor used and Nico saw a vicious serpent!

His anger was at himself for what his heart sheltered in the dark. This lovely woman younger than he dared toy with a killer by using grief. He kissed her imprisoned lips, pushed her to the wall, ripped the sheer curtain of cloth to expose who she was. The temptress had less power than she believed. Her moan as he squeezed her breast was silenced by his tongue blocking sound. Nico released her cheeks and she breathed out with a forceful expulsion. Rough hands spread her thighs wide and to balance, his chest became the brace.

Break stone with water, impossible he riled in his head with the voices of the dead. Comfort of a slaughterer is what she wanted; he’d give her the killing kind. Bend him, with what, pussy and lies, he wondered?

“Por favore…por favore,” she pled.

Pleading is for the weak. Executioners do not beg, their arrogance would never allow such a display. Bent she did. The deceptive snake which hid in the garden had slithered out. On his father’s day of birth she besmirched his name and he promised to mark the selfish woman a lying whore. In anger he suckled her breasts and hardened each one, and then nibbled on their buds to bring wetness to his fingers he’d shoved within her micio to unleash floods of untruths.

She begged like a pauper to seal their bond. What bond did they possess he wondered? What did they share that she request he hemorrhage?

Nothing.

Marriage to a man’s father does not give a widow license to his son!

Her fingers gripped his shoulders as he marked her wanton flesh with hard kisses mingled with nibbles that drew blood. Wider the widow’s legs parted by the slight pressure of his bent knee. Her body convulsed beneath his manipulations. The roughness of his actions broke her and the weakness she claimed to possess turned to strength. Bianca slapped him but he did not relent. She pushed at his chest, begging not for comfort but release from the hardness of his touch. He was not Alberti, she understood this now. Alberti was tenderness and love. Alberti would have heard the ancient words and not seek to humiliate her. Nico was cold and unfeeling. She’d take death rather than bond to a brute without a soul. She gathered her dignity. “Por favore...I do not want this. I embrace what comes.”

The stone of a man scoffed and withdrew his hand with the evidence of her feminine desire glistening like coconut oil. He snatched the torn fabric free from her arms and wiped clean her desperation. Without a word he glowered at the naked woman, tossed the rag to the floor and punched the wall beside her with the hand adorned with his wedding ring. The paint cracked and pictures swayed with a ‘swoosh-swoosh’ sound.

Bianca gasped. Remorse filled words spilled from her lying lips, “Mi dispiace Nico. Death to me for what I have done…la morte per me!”

Death was not good enough for a deceiver he raged as he slammed out the door. Bianca Luca had unknowingly opened his mind to the past. Once he bowed in worship to a woman, once he gave deference to the powerful force of love, once he bent in order to stand. Despite what others believed, Selange had not broken him, in fact she repaired an inhumane person. The love he felt for The Giver of Souls was indescribable. Only someone imprisoned for a lifetime understands the elation that occurs when gates of a hellish cell clang open and they walk free due to a Governor’s pardon.

The canvasses lining the walls of his art studio depict family. The precious smile of his daughter was the vision he captured with blissful strokes each day thanks to Selange. Bianca sought to undo his devotional commitment to Ari, temptation and treachery was her art. His sons, nearly men he painted in oils to peer at on days when he missed their faces once they went to college. And oh his Ari…dammit his Ari was the moon throughout the night and the stars. Selange with her purity of heart had shown him the beauty of
life!

In the car his fist pounded the dashboard, denting plastic not meant to withstand a raging man. He hoped Ari slept in order for him to wash Bianca from his skin. Nico growled at the stench of betrayal. The engine roared to life. Why on the night of Alberti’s birth did the door to damnation squeak open? The sorrowful reality which lies ahead is he could lose everything he gained. He exhaled to quiet his mind. A racing heart slowed. In the shadowy courtyard of the stately villa emotions resurfaced and he became doomed.

Nico glanced up when a light turned on upstairs. A lonely widow’s naked silhouette pranced like the sweetest temptation. Break me…test loyalty and duty…reveal the dark shadows of a soul is what Bianca had done. He fought against the old Nico who might have taken her right there. A sexy woman such as Bianca was food to a man’s dick. He began to drive away and the seed from her touch was implanted. Despite his protests and self-recriminations his dick stiffened. Pricks of excitement occurred and he cursed aloud because sampling Bianca’s flesh activated a deadly poison of want. He wanted her. The vicious truth is he was enthralled by her breasts in his mouth and the way her juices eagerly flowed in his hand like rain. She was danger and like a moth to a flame he was attracted to the fire. But, this was not only why he faltered. Bianca’s request for his protection which at first was incoherent pleas seemed a valediction spoken from an ancient order’s book. Her talk of death is what gave him pause. A lonely, suicidal woman is what Alberti’s young widow had become or perhaps...no…he couldn’t finish the thought because it made no sense. Ah, madness!