Armored (14 page)

The vehicle skid in front of him and he went inside, patting the seat for the protector pet.

“I have received word there is an attack at the dinner party, did I wake you?”

“No mama. I have been busy defending my home.”

“Santo,
are you and my bambino well?”

“Sí mama.
Your bambini are unharmed.”

“
Grazie ai santi!” she exclaimed and then in her maternal voice said, “Figlio you must leave with Carlo. You are closer to your brother’s villa. Go there. Anita is at home and Alfonzo’s property is heavily fortified. I am in Cefalú with Nico’s famiglia. Be safe and call me when you arrive.”

“Sí mama, ti amo.” He then apologized for the harsh words spoken earlier.

“I know, we will talk again, ti amo. Vai ora!”

Giuseppe told the driver where to go and then
immediately called Nicole. When the donna answered he breathed a sigh of relief. “I am sending a car for you. Do not argue.”

She did not. What she said was, “Oh thank goodness because I was just about to call you. I had to
fetch my phone.”

“What has happened?”

“Someone’s shooting into the house.”

“And Nico, where is he?”

“He’s checking outside.”

“Stay inside until Nico returns. Do not go near the windows. You are to call me when Nico is there, capisce?”

“Yes, oh what a night.”

“Sí, donna…it has been an exciting day, now do as told, this is not theatre, this is my dramatic life.”

“Don’t try to upstage everybody because of your title, people get shot at every day in cities and other parts of the world and they’re not Dons. At least you can shoot back; right now I wish I had a gun.”

Giuseppe’s forehead wrinkled at the flippant comment. “You are a pianist not a thug. Hush.”

“Oh Giuseppe…Giuseppe…I do think you’re growing on me naughty boy.”

How is it possible he could chuckle in this moment of severity, he wondered?

“In plant taxonomy there are many vines that grow aggressively, such as the kudzu and the Orange Thug. In time they become nuisances.”

“A plant called an Orange Thug, really, I never heard of it?”

“It is hardy donna and consumes once the roots are planted solidly in the ground.”

“Ooohhh, sounds like you want to scare me away or renege on sending that car.”

“No donna, the vehicle will be there,” Giuseppe said as the car’s occupants underwent a visual inspection by Alfonzo’s fleet of guards on the strada leading to the property. They were on high alert; he assumed Nico or Sophie had ensured they were. Giuseppe also noticed none of Alfonzo’s soldati was Sicilian born. Their ethnicities ran the gambit from, Asian, black to Spaniards. After Lou, Alfonzo assimilated a new crew without affiliations to any of the famiglia.

Paranoid?

Perhaps.

He chose to send a few of Alfonzo’s guys to fetch his donna after hanging up the phone.

C
hapter Eighteen

The smell of the sea.

Stillness except the trees.

A stunning location in the hills.

An enchantingly rustic villa, transformed into a chic and stylish living space.

This had been the perfect home for Vincent.

The place was strategically chosen; far away from crowded homes in the event trouble came. Nico’s property was charming as well; larger because he required a 360˚ visual of his property. He preferred the serenity of the country
above the ancient town of Cefalù. His charming property was perched near a hillside as well, with breathtaking views of the coastline far below and the ocean stretching out as far as the eye can see.

Vincent wanted the mountainous scenery of the Madonie National Park and access to the charming old town, with its narrow streets and piazzas; because he liked impressing the female tourists he’d pick up whenever they were not working and home in Sicily.

“Fuck ‘em and then dump ‘em back in town,” Vincent often said jokingly. “They’re only here for a good time, hoping to meet a well hung Sicilian and then dump me anyway. They use me fratello, what is this world come to, eh?”

Nico missed his other half. If he were here, oh, they’d sneak up on the sniper from opposite ends and double up the lead. Dumb schmuck, didn’t realize the direction he was in was perfect for a clear shot to the side of the head. That’s all it took. A projectile sent from the base of a shrub, where bricks and Italian limestone shielded a man with a gun whose bullet careened toward a human target.

Killing isn’t a video game. Making sport of it for teens and classifying it as entertainment might encourage the unstable youth to go practice on real people. Professionals understand the game’s a joke. Besides, only sickos want to go around killing for the fun of it or because they’re peeved that a love interest called it quits. Nico had a job to do, simple as that. There isn’t a sense of joy or gloating when it’s over.

Nico’s bullet served as a sucker punch. The sniper’s feet imitated a person who slips on the ice and goes down, but in fast motion. The amateur didn’t know what hit him.

Nico listened.

If killers are working in pairs, a reflex movement from the partner when he notices his teammate fall will occur and Nico would be able to pinpoint his location. It’s a natural reaction, only the best master immobility. Nico’s eyes continued to survey the landscape, certain this was the only shooter, he returned inside to his wife.

Tony’s mama had decided to call the polizei.

He heard the sirens.

He beckoned Tony over. “My wife and I weren’t here. Make sure you handle the talking, capisce?” he said between his teeth.

“Of course.” Tony answered.

Ari was already at his side. They exited before the authorities arrived. In the rearview mirror, Nico saw the ambulance strobe lights.

“Are you alright sweetheart?” he asked his wife.

“I’m fine and you?”

“I’ll feel better when I’m home with the children.”

“Me too.” Ari exhaled as she reclined her head. “That was one wild party.”

Nico couldn’t resist the temptation to chuckle. “Tony’s mama is hilarious.”

“And that Uncle Willy, ah, he’s too much.”

They were laughing uncontrollably when they arrived home, that is until Nico immediately noticed Ari’s vehicle missing. They entered the house and Sophie waited with news neither parent wanted to hear after an eventful
evening.

“The ragazzi snuck out before I arrived. I tried to ring you.”

“Are you kidding me?” Ari fumed. Bullets wouldn’t kill her, the escapades of Aaron and Darren would. “Where are they, some party?”

Then the unexpected reply from Sophie, “The ragazzi went to attack Yosef.”

“Cosa?” Both parents exclaimed, dumbfounded.

There was more. “And there was an attack on Giuseppe’s casa.”

Nico barreled out his chest and stormed outside to his painter’s shack to get supplies. The minute he got there, he pulled out a laptop and once it booted, he initiated the tracker for a satellite visual on his goddamn sons. They were flying down the road, heading to home. He hated to give away his secrets, but hell he didn’t have a choice.

He spoke into the microphone. “You guys okay?”

On the screen he could see his son’s clearly. The rearview mirror was a camera with a video and communication capabilities. They appeared shocked to hear their dad, but Darren sort of figured out how it was done. Surveillance isn’t a mystery to a techie, some things are elementary.

“Yeah dad, we’re fine but Yosef’s hurt. He’s bleeding all over mom’s car.”

“What did you guys do to him?”

They looked at each other.

“Keep your damn eyes on the road Darren!” Nico chastised.

“Alright…geez!”

“I want to know what the hell you did.” Nico repeated.

“We didn’t do anything. Some guys showed up and started shooting. He was shot but not by us.”

“What do you mean, not by you, did you take guns?”

Another dumb look at each other.

“Sei in un casino di guai!” Nico shouted.

Whenever Nico cursed in another language, it was a sign he was beyond angry. He could wring their fucking necks. They were hell-bent on rivaling him and Vincent at that age, except these boys weren’t nearly as skilled. They were green; slightly atypical teenagers without a clue.

He waited near the entry to the gate until the car’s headlights appeared. He put out his hand to stop the young fool before he ran him over. He peered through the window and saw Yosef dripping blood on the backseat of Ari’s car.

Yosef slid up, clutching his neck. “You send boys to do a man’s job, eh Nico?”

“Injured and talking shit. Shut-up!” Nico said and then said to his sons. “You boys go in the house and tell Nonna Sophie to bring water and towels.”

The boys scurried from the vehicle. Darren looked back. He hoped Anna was sleeping because she’d freak if she saw Yosef. But
Nico wasn’t letting the likes of Yosef in his house. Once he tended to the man’s wounds, he and Sophie were getting armed escorts to Anna’s until they had this mess sorted out.

C
hapter Nineteen

Amelda closed her eyes. Her lip trembled with sadness as she looked upon her reflection. There was a glow to her cheeks set there by a joyous beginning of life sprouting within. She saw herself in the bright lighting; revealed was a donna whose happiness was killed by truths she had failed to see.

Her husband waited.

Oh, how she adored Matteo. Such a wonderful dream she had lived throughout the murderous years. Tonight she would tell him of the bambino and he was certain to smile with conceit. She
would smile as well at his expected reaction despite the sadness she would feel.

Amelda wiped her cheeks, blinked to remove the extra shine of mourning and went to her husband who lay reclined in their bed. His eyes were bright as the stars when she
emerged in the form-fitting gold silk negligee she’d worn on her honeymoon.

He raised his torso, leaning on his elbows, between his thighs desire’s head showed also. “You are beautiful,” he said as she crawled between his legs and lifted the hem of her gown.

Her buttocks ascended over her Don’s thighs as they stared in each other’s eyes. Matteo took hold of her waist, his mane of rich hair caressing her cheek as he kissed her neck, grunting from the slick micio windshield wipers of flesh on his rod.

They moved in unison, a lover’s dance with synchronization that is perfected over time. His hands caressed her spine, concealed by silk. He kissed her lips and she opened them hungrily to drink of his natural
milk. Tear ducts oozed liquid upon his chest and his mouth detached to inquire why she cried.

“We are having another bambino mi amore,” she answered.

His response was what she hoped, joy. “Bellissimo…ah…ti amo…ti amo bella.”

His playboy smile was as brilliant as the day he confessed his love. He reclined with her, kissing her hard as her hands reached to grip the headboard. The wondrous sensation pushing within elicited a sad moan she could not silence
.
The thrusts were her wants and the loving flow which showered her husband was genuine.

Matteo’s quivers of flesh and grunts in the throes of ecstasy were delightful but the gasp that followed canceled out his pleasure. To the heart for his betrayal is where Amelda smoothly inserted the knife.

Matteo’s eyes squeezed shut, a choking bark of a cough emitted from his throat; then they opened in awareness to stare in the lovely eyes of a devoted wife.  His hand slipped from Amelda’s spine where the family motto was etched near bone to clutch at the knife sticking in his heart. He did not pull it out, to do so would accelerate his
death. Thus he prolonged the pain
with a beautiful smile of acceptance that his wife had been kind.

Amelda cried as she caressed his cheeks. “Ssshhh mio amore...die in honor…die knowing I have loved you with all of my heart.” Her lip quivered violently as tears spilled in her mouth. The deceptive husband she worshipped had given her a wonderful life of pretense.

With his dying breath, he croaked. “Ti amo, mi dispiace…ti amo bella.”

Amelda believed the death confession, of all his lies, his soft eyes confirmed this truth. Her tears did not cease when Matteo’s head fell heavily to the pillow, or when she placed a distress call to her brother. “Por favore fratello…help me...oh…grande fratello…I need you…my heart is sick.”