Destino (31 page)

“After you.” He extended his hand to help her climb up into the elevated seat. Giovanni took the time to secure her belt around her, before kissing her cheek. He walked around the front of the vehicle and slipped inside with a gun in his hand. When did he pull a gun? She stared as he tossed it into the glove compartment. She assumed he had it on him since they left the room.

“You take a weapon with you everywhere you go?”

“I call him Danny-boy.” He answered. She watched him put on a dark pair of sunglasses, his tone matter of fact.

“You named your gun?”

“He and I have been through some tough times.” Giovanni fired up the engine, and they were zooming out of the drive toward the tall gates. As she expected the wind whipped over them tossing her hair wildly in her face. The drive out of Sorrento was magnificent. They arrived under the cover of darkness. Today, in the sunlight, she saw the coast. To her right, homes and stores stretched up the mountain, and down to the left the cliffs that led to the coast had the same homes and roads. The sea sparkled as if filled with blue diamonds. The sky was clear of clouds, and the sun burned brighter than she’d ever known. Mira observed it all in silent awe, until they arrived into the congested streets of Napoli.

“We will fly into Firenze, and drive out to Chianti.”

“Fly?”

Giovanni smirked at her. “In my private plane.”

She relaxed, imagining making love to him in the clouds until they arrived at the airstrip and she saw the tiny three-seater. “We aren’t flying in that!” she exclaimed.

“I’m a pilot. You’re safe with me.” He exited the jeep.

“Giovanni! No!” Mira shook her head fiercely. She wasn’t afraid of flying, but she was terrified of flying in that propeller contraption. And was he serious? He’s a pilot. Bullshit!

He helped her out and cupped her face. “I make this flight often. You trust me? Don’t you?”

“But…”

He kissed her. “Trust me.”

If he cared about her objections, he didn’t let on. He just dragged her by the hand and spoke in Italian to some man with a clipboard. Mira glanced around timidly and begrudgingly climbed inside the small cockpit. Giovanni carefully strapped her inside and gave her a headset. “You are my co-pilot.”

Fear seized her gut, and she couldn’t speak. He winked, slamming the door shut. As he turned the ignition the man out front gave the front propeller a spin and the plane grumbled to life. “Oh sweet, merciful God. Please be with me.” Mira said. She glanced over to her lover. He looked so happy to be flipping switches and speaking into the microphone piece. “Ready?”

She put on a brave smile and nodded. They drove down the runway and slowly they picked up speed. Mira squeezed her eyes shut just as the plane lifted to the clouds and her stomach lurched to her throat. She grabbed his thigh, digging her nails in.

“Open your eyes, Bella. Really see Italia.”

Slowly she did. Her gaze swept the buildings and then the coastline. Nothing had every appeared so beautifully serene. And soon she was relaxing into her seat. They coasted through the sky. He spoke to her through the headset, showing her Mount Vesuvius, one of the few active volcanoes in the world, and flew past Pompeii, so she could see the ruined city. It was magical being with him. The flight ended too soon. When they landed, he kissed her before he turned off the plane, and Mira felt such a profound new feeling of love in that kiss.

They were ushered next to another waiting vehicle, a small convertible two-seater car that had speed. Giovanni looked so handsome driving them through the coast with the sun bronzing his olive toned skin. They travelled roads that were more scenic where street vendors sold everything from leather to fresh fish. And soon she understood his choice in vehicle. A bumpy course of cobblestone had her jostling a bit in her seat. After a few hours he told her they were entering
San Donato
, which was named after
Saint Donata
, translating into a gift from God. He shared the history of the village. It dated back to the Romans. In the 4th century Christian soldiers from
Arezzo
stumbled into the vast hills and took up post. The men built the village because of its abundance of fruit and fertile soil. They made a fortress out of it. Afterwards the village was given the name
San Donato
after their bishop.

San Donato
stood frozen in time, a relic of what once was. Approaching from the distance she noticed a small modest old cement block church on the left side of the country road. Giovanni eased on the gas and the car slowed to a stop. There was no traffic in either direction. Above the pointed roof was a block wall structure with a rusted bell and it appeared older than anything she’d seen thus far.

“It’s beautiful.”

“You should see the inside Bella, it actually dates back to 1000 AD. When the Romans discovered it, they uncovered numerous art treasures still inside.”

Mira smiled at him “What kind of art treasures?”

“The front of the church has a mural painted by Giovanni della Robbia. It depicts the life and death of Giovanni the Baptist. The Romans also found a crucifix to
Taddeo Gaddi
, two altar pieces by Giovanni del Biondo, another by Bicci di Lorenzo, and a 15th century Florentine chalice.”

“Giovanni and Lorenzo? You have got to be kidding me!” she laughed.

“Our names are as old and steeped in tradition as that church there.”

She stared with eyes stretched in wonder at the church. “I suppose it’s not in there now for me to take a peek?”

“On the way back I’ll walk you inside to see the mural. The other treasures are long gone,” he said smiling, shifting into first gear and driving away.

“How do you know all of this? Seriously as historical as Virginia is back home, I’d barely be able to tell you any of it, and I grew up there.”

“My father would make this same drive to our vineyard when I was a boy. He’d stop along the way and we’d visit families, pray at that church. He’d always share tales and make us recite history to him. He was a man that loved Italian and Sicilian history. He instilled that pride in us. I think he was destined to return to Italia. He met my mother in
Firenze
. Kept her nearby until she became pregnant with me then brought her to Sicily. He said he knew I’d be born a boy and he wanted my birth to be on Sicilian soil. His family was in Palermo, but Mama lived in Mondello Beach.”

“Mondello Beach? Sounds nice.”

When he didn’t respond she glanced over to find a sullen frown denting his brow.

“You said that you were born in Mondello? Right?”

Giovanni nodded. “At the time of my birth there was conflict within the family. My father at first wanted me born in Palermo where he was born. But for my mother’s well-being he decided on Mondello.”

“What kind of conflict?”

“We’ll talk about it later.” He veered off the main road across a grassy one barely mowed. Mira looked up to see the fields painted brilliant colors of purple and yellow from the wildflowers that bloomed all around and found it captivating. But to be honest their travels into Tuscany had become as freshly exciting as her new love affair with this complicated man.

“This is it?” she asked. She pointed toward the land and the vineyard fields stretching for miles. She saw several weathered barns and a small ranch style farmhouse between them.

“Yes, this is it. We will have to walk the rest of the way. My uncle doesn’t like vehicles driving up to the winery, spewing what he thinks are toxins that poison his land from their exhaust pipes.”

Mira smiled, opening her door. A quick glance back and she caught a glimpse of his gun as he retrieved it. Out in the middle of nowhere she had a newfound appreciation for his Danny-boy. If he felt it was needed, she wouldn’t dare question why. A fresh vibrant fragrance of wild strawberries unfurled all around her. “I smell strawberries. That’s weird.”

“It’s called
Sangiovese
, the work horse grape of Chianti. When it blooms and ripens, it smells like strawberries,” he said after taking her hand and helping her from the car. He leaned in to brush his lips across hers.

“What is that for?” she touched the side of his face, staring up into his eyes.

“It’s hard for me not to touch you.” He kissed her again, and she rested her hands on his sides. It was a soft gentle pressing of their lips and a sweet exchange of their passion. The breeze rustled the leaves of the trees and swirled through the tall grass. She lifted her arms and reached her hands around his neck to kiss him more passionately. She lost all sense of time and space before he broke away. Together they walked along the road, to the gate. Giovanni let go of her hand once they arrived. Tall grass and weeds were tangled around the rusted links of the fence. He slipped a key into a large lock, opened it, and then pulled the chain loose. He yanked the gate open. “After you fair lady,” he smiled.

“Why, thank you,” she said.

She had to trudge through some of the grass and felt tiny pricks and stings on her bare legs. Giovanni insisted she wear another wrap around dress. She only had three in her luggage, and this one was of fine grape purple silk that clung to her legs and hips. She chose a pair of flat open toe thong sandals to wear with it, and now she regretted this choice. Once he led her from the grass to make the climb up the slanting dusty cobblestone laid road, she wished she had worn sneakers instead.

“Careful, Bella,” Giovanni pulled her under his arm, helping her move over the rocks, smiling at her struggles. “Do you like Chianti?” he asked

“I’m not really into cabernets. I called it a merlot, but it’s really a cabernet, right?”

“Right. So you prefer merlots from Napa?”

Mira shrugged. “I guess. I’ve drunk so much wine since I’ve arrived it’s a mix for me.”

“Well, it’s okay because Chianti doesn’t stand well on its own. With the right meal, it’s the red wine of lovers. Not an expensive wine compared to some I’m sure you’ve had, but its taste lingers along the palate and arouses your senses in sensual ways you will come to appreciate,” he said kissing her forehead, draping his arm around her shoulder to keep her close. Mira glanced over to the violet colored blossoms on the vines.

“Those flowers are beautiful.”

Giovanni nodded. “When they bloom, swollen grapes the size of coins drop down.”

Letting go of his waist, she walked over to the vine and pulled a full bloom. Biting into the round tiny fruit, she frowned. His laughter boomed in the air. Her mouth was filled with a sour burning flavor that must be the same as the taste of battery acid.

“Bitter is it?” he asked.

“Extremely!”

“It takes time to mature; the longer it’s allowed to ripen the sweeter and higher the alcohol content.”

Mira put her hand behind her back and dropped the grape innocently.

“I saw that,” he chuckled

“It was nasty.” She kissed his lips. “Mmm, now this tastes better.”

Giovanni laughed, pulling her in his arms “Let me taste, again,” he slipped his tongue inside her mouth. Wrapping her arms around him, she kissed him back, feeling his hand go down her back, cupping her below.

“Il mio ragazzo! Il mio ragazzo!”
A short man who looked to be covered in wrinkles from head to toe yelled out to them. He wore blue jean overalls over a short sleeve white t-shirt and a cap pulled down low, shading his face. Giovanni let go of the kiss. “Here comes my uncle Rocco. He’s a bit of a flirt. Be careful how close you stand to him.”

Mira watched a peculiar bowlegged older man with a wide grin rushing toward them. He flashed her a toothless grin. His face deeply wrinkled, his hair thinning and grey. She guessed his age around seventy, at the very least.

“Giovanni!” he shouted. He pulled Giovanni down into a hug, giving him kisses to his cheeks.

“Rocco! Where are your teeth this morning? Did you not get the call we would be visiting?”

Rocco laughed. His gaze volleyed over to her and snagged. “
Chi è questa belladonna
?”

“Speak English, old man. She’s American. Her name is Mira.”

Rocco took Mira’s hand and kissed it. Rubbing his gnarled fingers over her soft skin, smiling he said, “Welcome to
Vigna di Battaglia
.”

“Grazie.”
Mira smiled and the old man embraced her. Once they parted she was almost certain his hand brushed her backside.

“Rocco, she’s with me,” Giovanni pulled her back to him.

Rocco nodded. “I still got it Gio,” he boasted.

“Well, keep it away from my girlfriend
capisci
?”

Girlfriend? Did he just call me his girlfriend?
Mira slipped her arm around Giovanni smiling. Her hand hit his gun, and she flinched, pulling away. He looked at her confused, but Rocco immediately interrupted. “Come, come, Carlotta will be so pleased.”

“If it’s okay, Rocco, I’d like to give Mira a tour of the old cellars so we can do some tasting.”

Rocco nodded. “Of course, Gio. I will set it up.” He shuffled off excitedly.

“I don’t want to impose. If he has work to do today we can—.”