Destino (24 page)

“Nothing to say?” Calderone taunted. “Oh don’t blame me. Blame the Russians, like you did before.” Calderone laughed. “Your half-breed cousin spilled so much Russian blood you have enemies you cannot name. And for what? A lie. Our lie. Right Lorenzo?”

“State your business.” Lorenzo ground out.

“I went into this bargain knowing you had no authority. Doesn’t change the outcome. Our deal stands. I have another shipment to unload in Napoli in two days. Same Nigerians as before.”

“I won’t do it.”

Calderone paused. His eyes stretched in their sockets and his cheeks puffed, with nostrils flared like a bull. “Figilo di puttana! What the fuck do you mean you won’t do it?”

“The Albanians were using Francesco to run child hookers through my club behind my back. Then we’re raided? A coincidence? I don’t think so. More like a distraction to keep Giovanni off your scent. Problem is, you stupid fuck, he has shut me down, permanently, and Francesco is dead.”

“Not my problem.” Calderone shrugged, with a stiff upper lip.

“It is now your problem. I won’t deal anymore with you or the Nigerians. You need to work the transport out another way. The Amalfi is closed.”

“Bullshit! We do it my way!” Calderone pointed a finger up at him. It was almost comical considering his height compared to Lorenzo’s. “My way you stupid fuck!”

Lorenzo had more respect for cockroaches than he did him. If his father wasn’t feared and respected by the Cammora and Ndrangheta he’d have been put to sleep long ago. The bug actually mistook compliance for fear. Giuseppe ran his tongue over his coffee stained teeth, grinning at him. “Let’s not fight. What’s the point? You have no choice but to do what I wish.”

“Fuck you.” Lorenzo removed his gun. “I always have a choice.”

Calderone’s gaze dropped to the gun between them. He let go a loud gust of laughter. “You plan to kill me? Are you fucking insane? Do you know who my fucking father is? He’ll fucking skin you and your fucking half-breed cousin alive and burn what’s left of your fucking family to the ground. Put the gun away before I’m insulted.”

“I’m the nephew of Don Tomosino Battaglia, and you made a big mistake in forgetting that!”

Calderone walked away laughing, his round belly bouncing over his stubby legs like Santa Clause. He returned his oil black eyes to him. “Forget?” Calderone touched his chest. “You are the same man that ordered his uncle’s death? He wasn’t your Don when you came to me, crying for rank, for power. You are that man, are you not?”

Lorenzo aimed, and Calderone’s smile faded. “Don’t be fucking stup…”

One shot to the chest sent the man he’d loathed and served behind his own family’s back, barreling into the wall. Lorenzo marched on him and grabbed him by the throat. If Giuseppe was to die by his hand, this day, this moment, he would do it while looking him in the eye. He wanted to see the dead space fill in and the life drain from the weasel. The bullet had indeed pierced young Calderone’s gut. He spat up blood. Holding him by the throat he made sure they never broke eye contact when he placed the gun to Giuseppe’s heart. “Porca, puttana! For my uncle.” He unloaded and Giuseppe gave a dying squeal before slumping forward. Lorenzo stepped back to let him drop. He stood over him and emptied his clip. Coughing up a wad of phlegm he spat on the bloody stump that was once his nemesis and smiled.

“Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you.” Fabiana walked into the parlor. He turned and forced a smile. Seeing her did help. She was the only ray of hope in the sea of shit he found himself swimming in. He drew her into his arms and kissed her.

“Forgive me. I was on my way to find you.”

“Are you okay? You were gone when I woke this morning. And last night, you seemed stressed.”

Lorenzo wiped his jaw nervously. Her questions were wearing on his already frazzled nerves. He would normally never speak of his problems with a woman, but he desperately needed someone in his corner. “The day is ours. No more business. I plan to treasure you.” He brushed her lips with his. “Over and over and over again.” He felt her relax against him, and damn if she didn’t smell as beautiful as she looked. The woman was a dream. When he released her from another kiss, she held on to him.

“You need something, Lorenzo. I feel it. Trust me, talk to me. What is it?”

“I made a mistake once, and it cost me my soul.”

“Sweetheart.” She stroked the side of his face. “How?”

“I’m trying to fix it, Fabiana, but it may be too late.” Lorenzo sighed.

“I’ll help you Lorenzo, any way that I can.”

“You can’t.”

“Listen to me. You have a soul, it’s why I won’t stop believing in you.”

Giovanni walked into the parlor and stopped. He studied his cousin and Fabiana for a moment. Mira at his side, he kept his cool in check. Today at the lake he wasn’t waiting on his American bella. He was waiting on Lorenzo. “I need to speak with you.”

“Can it wait?” Lorenzo pressed a kiss to his woman’s neck. Her presence strengthened him more than he expected. He gazed down into her lovely face and reassured her with a smile. “Thank you.” He mouthed to her.

Lorenzo gave him a nod and then kissed Fabiana once more on the lips, before whispering something in her ear. She drifted from his arms and headed to Mira. The ladies gave them curious glances before they left. Giovanni drew both of the large doors shut for privacy. It was just after ten in the morning, and his cousin was on his second bottle of wine.

“What have I done now?” Lorenzo asked.

“Where were you?”

“Out.” he replied, taking a drink and then pouring another. Giovanni observed. Lorenzo glanced back after the answering silence. He lowered his glass. “No disrespect. I didn’t want to trouble you.”

Giovanni waited.

“Giuseppe Calderone has defied his father. He’s working with the Nigerians or the Albanians, not sure, but I do believe he’s started moving products through Genoa. I know you have meetings with Don Calderone during your visit. I wanted to make sure none of this could be tied to the family.”

“You’re lying.”

Lorenzo sucked in a tight breath through clenched teeth. “It’s the fucking truth. I need to be on top of it. Right? That’s what I do. That’s all I do in this family. Shovel shit to clear the path for the new Battaglia.”

“I know when you’re lying to me.”

“I lost
Isabella’s
. Francesco, the freak, is dead. This cripples me.” He slammed his hand against his chest. “I have my own aspirations cousin. My own! Now I have to figure how to begin from ashes. I was trying to get ahead of you. To prove to you that I’m trustworthy. My lead fell through. Giuseppe never showed.”

Earlier another meeting with Don Calderone came to a premature end. The old man was furious that his son missed the event. Lorenzo could be telling the truth. His gut churned. Something felt off.

“What have I done to have you treat me like the enemy? A mistake. The raid was not my fault. And if you say it was, fine. It’s still not my greatest sin.”

“Then confess. Tell me your sins. I’m ready to listen.”

Lorenzo paled.

“Nothing more to say?”

“My sin is being born to Isabella Battaglia. To being second in everything you and I do. I need you to recognize my place in this family. I need you to trust me.”

Giovanni grabbed Lorenzo by the face. “It’s the hand we were both dealt. It’s time for you to get over it. When Papa died and you brought me the Russian scum that pulled the trigger, I knew our brotherhood was destiny. But if I ever find out that you have betrayed me, I will treat you like an enemy. You are my blood.
Capsici?
I love you above all else, but never, ever, mistake that love for weakness.” Lorenzo grabbed his wrists, struggling against the crushing hold Giovanni applied. He forced his cousin’s head to lower and pressed a kiss to his brow. “You and me forever.” Giovanni released him. He stepped back with disgust. Before Lorenzo made him act on his suspicions, he walked out.

****

The night ended too soon. Mira joined him for another walk under the moon. She shared some of her life with him. How she struggled in New York, why she thinks Italia would be so different. And like a gentleman he walked her to her room and bid her goodnight.

Giovanni closed his eyes. Lorenzo’s words returned to the center of his thoughts. Could he have something to do with Giuseppe Calderone’s disappearing act? Possibly. But to have done so and not tell him caused Giovanni even more concern. His cousin would never be foolish enough to weaken their bond and family this way unless there was something he had to cover up. He would never force his hand. And Giovanni could never face his father on judgment day and tell him he executed his cousin for such a betrayal. It would prove him weak and pathetic as his enemies believed his Irish blood mixed in with his Sicilian had made him. He exhaled noisily. Lying upon the bedcovers with his ankles crossed, hands behind his head, and Danny-boy, his gun, resting over to his left, he couldn’t summon sleep.

What about
her?

At the base of his throat a pulse beat and swelled as though his heart had lodged itself there.
What about me?
The sweetest voice whispered in his ear.
She eased over him, her hot channel pressed down hard on the sweltering tightness that was his groin. And she was nude. Her lovely breasts were a man’s size, each more than a mouthful but a perfect fit for his hands. She raised her arms above her head
and rolled her hips. The slender line of her flat belly under her heaving breasts made him rise for the occasion. He took her breast as a babe would, and she stroked the back of his head with a soft caress. That’s right sweetie, I’m here for you.
Giovanni sat up. He had drifted to sleep. His hand went to his erection, pointed north in his pajama pants. He groaned.

No sex? Bullshit. He was out of the bed and crossing the room to the door in nothing but black drawstring pajama pants. He stepped into the silent dark hall. The man seated outside was wide-awake. He averted his gaze when Giovanni emerged. It was a good thing because he did nothing to conceal his erection. Mira’s door was closed. Touching the knob sent a charge of lust through him and dismissed any doubts he should wait for an invitation. The knob turned in his hand softly, and he found it unlocked. A smile spread over his lips, and he felt the tension in his chest relax. Quiet and careful, he pushed it open slowly then slipped inside. The bed swallowed her, as did the coverlet tucked around her form. She slept on her side. Her hair was behind a checkered silk scarf; the slender strawberry red strap of her camisole could be seen half lowered on her shoulder.

It was only a dream. She hadn’t come to him as she did the night before.
He should turn and let her sleep. Honor her wish to court her, earn the right to be in her bed. He sucked down a breath and willed himself to do so but couldn’t move. He felt trapped between his raw need to have her and his desire to win her trust and heart. It again dawned on him the power women could wield over a man. His father was no saint. His father’s crimes against his mother were unforgiveable. Still deep in his core he understood the madness that made his father snatch his mother from her world and keep her with him always. Slowly he untied the knot of his drawstring and loosened the waistband to his pajama pants. They dropped to his feet. He eased back the coverlet and slipped in bed with her. Mira didn’t stir. She remained on her side with her back to him. Why did she cover her lovely thick hair under a scarf for sleeping?

His lips brushed her shoulder. She responded by scooting back, directly into him. He felt her stiffen with recognition. Wiping her eyes she turned and blinked at him in the dark.

“What’s going on? Giovanni?”

Giovanni brushed his lips across her mouth and spoke three words: “I need you.”

He needs me?
Mira tried to rise but he was easing over her. She was awake, her thighs parting, and his lips brushing hers, then her neck and lower. She pushed at his shoulders with her hands, but he was unmovable. His face lifted from staring at her body in the camisole beneath him, and those eyes of his impaled her. She softened to his touch, relaxed. “Something wrong?”

“Ti penso sempre.”

The translation was simple. He’s always thinking of me. He said it on their walk. He said it again when he walked her to her room. And God, help her but it was true. She was always thinking of him. “I can hold you—” Her voice faded when she felt the blunt tip of his desire press in on her. She bowed her back to lower her pelvis and slow down the momentum building between them. “Wait,” she pleaded. Her nipple escaped from the front of her camisole into his mouth. “Mmm,” she moaned.

He entered her with one strong thrust. His thickness filled her to capacity. She rolled her hips in response and felt a coiling tension tighten and cinch the inner walls of her tummy. She breathed deeply while he flexed his knees, thrusting in a faster rhythm. Mira bit down on her lip, squeezing her eyes shut from the pleasure tickling up through her pelvis. Giovanni held onto her hip and directed the way she responded, and matched what pleased them both.

Melting warmth drew him deeper. His teeth ground together as he flexed and pumped his hips rapidly to drive himself deeper into her. Her channel hotly fit him like a wet glove, which got tighter and tighter. There was no stopping. He knew he was a demanding lover. He’d had girlfriends in the past complain about his appetite. She never did. His breathing harsh against her ear, he quickened his pace and prayed she’d forgive his rough manner. He dropped his head and bit her shoulder to hold on. Her flesh was soft and sweet in his mouth; he balled his fists tight to keep from hurting her and breaking skin. His balls were so tight now they ached, as did every muscle in the back of his thighs, buttocks, and along his pelvis.