Atavus (6 page)

Nicole smiled. King Giuseppe, mafia badass just had to go and make pledges. Goodness, did he know that he couldn’t protect her from life? Nevertheless, she found it touching he’d try.

Giuseppe’s chiseled torso rose and descended excitedly. Then what hardened men rarely do, Don Giuseppe Dichenzo cried the river Nile between the valleys of orbed skin. His eyes washed away the horrific images of Kefilwe butchered open and Shanda’s lifeless body when he had wanted a new beginning. Mercy, after an eternity of sadness had smiled on a stubborn son. Upon the flesh of earth’s color Don Giuseppe took refuge –humbled he was granted a second chance through Nicole.

~

“Since when have
you
recommended doing nothing Nico?” Alfonzo asked, staring at the corner pocket to gauge an approximate distance and right angle for his shot.

His biceps flexed when he strolled alongside the pool table, sliding his fingers on the neck of the cue stick’s lacquered wood, devoid of splinters. As he waited for Nico’s answer, he took a firm stance, leaned his torso over the side, his abdomen a hairsbreadth from the rim, gripped the snooker cue and with a graceful, pendulum-like motion used the right amount of force to send the balls in the pocket. Nico’s trio of balls remained untouched. The clacking sounds were loud and the rumbling beneath the felt covered base ended the game in Alfonzo’s favor.

“You’re a goddamn hustler.” Nico grunted. “I thought you said you haven’t played in years.”

Alfonzo shrugged defined shoulders. His voice was firm like his crystal blue stare. Nico waited for a specific sign that Alfonzo lied. He knew when he did. There’s a subtle telltale sign that gives him away which Nico observed over the years.

Alfonzo is human and like most people, there are outward indications when someone’s less than forthcoming. Sometimes, Alfonzo exhibits a subtle twitch of a hand or finger when he’s fibbing or extremely anxious. He also may shove that hand in his pocket to conceal the slight tremor. Nico assumed Alfonzo battled with his conscience a lot. A decent person often does. When Alfonzo’s finger didn’t flex or a hand slide in the slacks, not to cup his balls but as an act of deception, only then did Nico believe.

“I haven’t. I just hate losing.” Alfonzo said after he put the pool stick in a slot on the wall before rolling down his sleeves.

“We all lose sometime, accept the reality kid.”

“The reality is there's certain things I refuse to part with old fart.”

Nico scoffed. Alfonzo was too darn serious, and the times he appeared relaxed were when he danced and in the company of his family. A lot of weight rested on his shoulders, Nico understood that, however going after Meroni and the Peglesi’s people or any of the other crime bosses’ associates made for slaughters longer than a child’s Christmas list. They didn’t have the means, nor was it wise to have affiliates view the Giacanti’s as tyrannical Mafiosi.

No, there were alternative ways to deal with insurgents. Make an example of the most obnoxious of the opposition. Choose someone many of the families despised but were too shit-ass afraid to eliminate and that’s how messages of intimidation is sent without a major fallout. Secretly, they’ll praise the action.

“Visconti likes money, if he wants to meet with you, go and grease his palm a little to appease our ‘Nhandrangheta brothers.” Nico suggested.

“Grease isn’t enough. He requires oil tankers. Visconti’s full of himself. He’s entrenched in the scourge of cocaine flooding the coast. The Colombians and Mexican Cartels turned to him after Costra Nostra’s members received a more lucrative investment without the hindrances of supply and distribution. World markets are a bettor's orgasm with the right people inside. There's near certainty, you won't suffer a bullet or have DEA running through your home and frightening family.  Visconti doesn’t understand there are other ways of making money. The associates who listened reaped the benefits of a steady cash flow on that last insurance racket. They’re aware I can put my money where my mouth is. They sleep better knowing their families are no longer subjects of drug raids that hold stiffer sentences.” Alfonzo waved a dismissive hand. “I’ve heard Visconti’s complaints that I fail to utilize my ports for his trafficking, and he’s right, that’s something I can’t allow because it invites drug enforcement back into all of our houses. I don’t want to sit through more of the same whining. Besides, I’m not jumping every time he rings.”

Nico frowned. “Somebody’s manipulating your finances. I haven’t pinpointed the source yet. That’s a whole lot of money to buy allegiance. Hand lotion doesn’t cost that much. Until I confirm he’s not behind what’s going on, I’ll feel him out and then proceed with the suitcase offering.”

“Nah, take the money, all of it. I don’t want that snake’s cut in my home. Give it to another greedy motherfucker instead. Say it is my appreciation for him remaining neutral in any movement against the Giacanti’s and his loyalty to my father.”

Nico reminded Alfonzo of the potential backlash. “You understand Visconti’s old school. He might take offense that you’re sending me.”

Alfonzo laughed. “Shit, I take offense if he isn’t aware you’re my cousin by now. A matter-of-fact, he should feel honored I’m sending Nicolo Serano, the eldest of the Giacanti’s. Two old men can sit and pop mess together. You should enjoy the company of the elderly more and stop trying to pretend you’re a young man.” Alfonzo laughed.

Nico smirked. “All right, keep digging for jokes. I’m not that much older than you.”

Alfonzo observed the physically fit man with admiration. Nico managed to stay in shape almost effortlessly. He didn’t have an exercise regimen, what he did have is a weakness for cannoli. Alfonzo wondered whether regular physical combat was the secret to Nico’s apparent fitness or good genes.

Alfonzo returned to the topic of business. “Visconti’s one issue but what about the other headache, huh?”

“Have a La Cupola to meet with the leaders to reaffirm your position of unity and just like Visconti, offer a boon of some kind.” Nico advised.

“A boon, what the fu-,” Alfonzo didn’t finish the cuss word. Aldonza’s bossy ass was costing him wads. She was like her mom; la niña didn’t forget shit. “Boon? Come on Nico, you’re in your forties, why are you using some archaic word? Get with the times primo and just say incentive.” Alfonzo snickered and shook his head. “Then again you are ancient.”

Nico didn’t laugh. The twins busted his balls all the time. Young people didn’t realize their butts aged every day. One day when they awakened and discovered strands of grey, he hoped they didn’t
off
themselves or happen to fall in those shallow graves where lame jokes die.

“Didn’t you go to a prestigious university?” Nico asked and then lit his cigar. The habit he inherited after Alberti’s death flourished thanks to his old man’s crates of the finest Cuban tobacco warehoused in the corner of Nico’s cellar. Alberti must have expected an impending prohibition or something. Why else would he stockpile the stuff? Nico eyeballed Alfonzo as he sucked hard. The line of skin on each cheek highlighted his prominent bones. “You have to consider the family kid,” he said, poking out his leg, unperturbed by his loss at billiards. “This isn’t the time to go hitting everybody we think had a hand in a conspiracy. We need concrete evidence to rally the other families support. We’re already in a precarious situation just having affiliations with Yosef.”

“Nico, Yosef’s a smokescreen. A lot of these old farts hate I’m Latino. If I were Sicilian, heck, we’d all be strolling through the Coliseum puffing stogies.”

Not enough time passed. Sores remained fresh over the Meroni hit and the Canadian. Nico pushed smoothly off the wall. “We’re losing support in Sicily eversince Yosef came on board and your refusal to do business with other families whose profits are tied to drugs. It has nothing to do with you being a Puerto Rican mutt.”

“Came on
board
my ass.”

Nico chuckled. Oh, the profanities were sliding out like warm honey.

Alfonzo widened his stance. When an eyebrow arched, that meant he wasn’t buying the crap. “Yosef’s married to Sophie and isn’t on the board of shit. I thought I made that clear to those paranoid pendejos. I’m not going around parroting to the entire syndicate. You’re Sicilian, I’m not. I’m an Americano y bastardo. They’d probably prefer Geo or
you
over me!”

“A profanity in español is still a curse. Aldonza is definitely making a killing off you isn’t she?” Nico smirked and then blew white cloud rings to the ceiling. Alfonzo’s frustrations were understandable. A person presumably in charge doesn’t appreciate answering to others, but there are times when it is beneficial to assuage fears by diplomacy with a give and take. “Kid, you still have a lot to learn. When it comes to money, every nickel and dime add up to a dollar that can also take away from the World Bank. Sure, you weren’t born in Sicily but you’re Italiani by blood. That surpasses all the other nonsense. The bottom line for these people is money and you’re King Midas not sharing enough.”

Alfonzo cocked his head to the side. The long black lashes on the masculine face fanned his tan cheek as he laughed. Nico saw a boy’s gleeful mischief in the adult. This was Alfonzo preteen, unhardened by truths of his heritage. Nico took another tote, his eyes boring into the face of his blood, and experienced a whiff of sadness. Lighthearted moments were lost over the years. It was cool having an amicable and trusting relationship with Alfonzo again, especially now with the potential trouble at home.

“And being the ancient scholar you are primo, you should know the ending for King Midas ends in tragedy.”

Nico scoffed. “Legends are only embellishments.” He changed the subject. “Bianca’s getting married.”

“Yeah?” Alfonzo said, leaning his backside against the pool table to hear more of Nico’s family saga. Another time he may have thought –good for the bastard, but Nico wasn’t the same callous sonovabitch anymore. He had changed over the years. His eyes twinkled happily and he had a jovial laugh like Vincent more often. Yeah, upon reflection, Nico appeared at peace. Alfonzo, grinned, the fierce mask of intimidation remained stuck there though. He supposed the years had set his face in stone.

Nico scowled. “She says she wants to raise Alexandros without my input.”

Alfonzo crossed his arms. They were in the soundproof billiards room in the basement of Alfonzo’s home talking business as his family slept. Since returning from Africa after burying Nicolo Giacanti, they hadn’t discussed anything other than conspiracy theories while maintaining low profiles. The media had moved on to other sensational stories, celebrities fighting in elevators and a sex-scandal recording of a Jewish racist and his Mexican-black mistress. Alfonzo supposed hypocrites like that loved sexing what they profess to hate. At least these are the stories the media chased and not the rumors of mafia wars.

“And?” Alfonzo asked, wanting to get to the heart of the problem so he could hit the sack.

“That’s not happening.”

“All right, then it’s not happening.”

Nico stared at his cigar. “Ari’s pissed Bianca’s returned.”

“It’s a natural reaction,” Alfonzo stated, feeling uncomfortable because there’s a time he’d been in Ari’s shoes, except he later learned the babies were his after all. He exhaled, giving Nico an unbiased opinion. “You’re a father…period…end of story. You have a right to see your child…exclamation point.” He frowned. “Ari’s a good woman Nico…be a loyal husband and eventually she’ll realize she doesn’t have to worry that you’ll do something to hurt her again, tu sabe?”

Nico looked around for somewhere to stub out his cigar. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

“And don’t drag her into your custody battles with Bianca. Handle your business discreetly because I swear the minute I start hearing about this shit from my wife, I’m coming after you.”

Nico laughed, as he pushed the cigar down the neck of a beer bottle. “And do what kid?”

“Kick your ass for always making trouble with these women.”

Nico laughed harder. “Ah, that’s funny. I recall you and Giuseppe already tried that. You’re good but I’m the top ass kicker in this family. You cazzos never learn!” He retrieved his jacket from a hook. “Buongiorno giovani.”

Alfonzo scoffed. “Nah, that’s your title. Call the meeting for next week –and make sure to choose neutral ground,” he said to Nico’s back. “And make sure we have that big-mouth Don present, he’s the perfect pick for this La Cupola.”

“I guessed you’d say that. The meeting is next Saturday in Paranea. That’s as neutral and secluded as we can get close to home.”

“Why couldn’t you schedule it on a weekday Nico? Geez, asshole I’m trying to spend quality time with the kids on the weekend and Selange.”

Nico replied, “That’s the only day you appear to have free.”

“And you know that how?” Alfonzo asked walking behind the energetic man.

“You told me.”

“Bullshit!” Alfonzo spat, climbing the stairs on Nico’s heels in order to escort him to the door.

When Alfonzo reached the landing, reset the code on the cellar door, Nico had already crossed the center of the wide floor. “Ciao!” he exclaimed, without admitting to Alfonzo how he often hacked into his cell to check his appointments in order to do advance surveillance of his contacts and to ensure the firewall encryptions remained uncompromised.