Destino (54 page)

“Is he in there?”

“Yeah. I got three of the boys on him. He’s fucking lost it.”

“Mira Ellison is dead. Flavio may have had a part in it. The old man is in a bad way. I’m trying to contain it. The
dottore
is with Flavio now. I need Gio’s approval to take him to the
ospedale
.”

“Shit! Are we sure she’s dead?” Lorenzo dropped his head back on the wall. Now both of the girls were gone. And no matter how you sliced it, this was on him. His cousin had never come apart this far. Ever. Not even after the shooting of Papa Tomosino and the killing of the Russians Lorenzo pinned the hit on. “What are we going to do?”

“What we have to.” Dominic stepped past him and threw open the door.

Giovanni stared at the television. He was brought to a guest room. It was a room the boys frequented to play cards and watch television. The Italian press was now reporting on Mira’s death. The screen then flashed again to her fashion event. Mira’s lovely face came up. She was being interviewed, and Fabiana was at her side translating.

“Oh yes. I love your country, absolutely love it! Italy is a dream. This is my dream come true. That’s why I moved here. It’s the beauty of Italy that I find inspiring the most. Oh and the men are nice too!”
The reporter laughed, as did Mira. Giovanni felt the corner of his mouth twitch into a smile.
My fashion line for the fall was to encompass the spirit of Italia, and I hope I did that with this showing,”
she beamed happily. Her bangs covered her brow and her hair was wound curly around her face. She wore a green blouse. She looked very much like the woman he met. Not the one who could barely stand when he left her. His angel.

On the screen Fabiana leaned in and whispered something in her ear. Mira nodded and said her goodbyes. The image froze with a screenshot of her smile. The dates 1964 to 1989 were beneath her.
Mira Ellison the founder and head fashion designer of
Mirabella’s
died today at the age of 25. She was killed in a bombing outside of her penthouse in New York City. She will truly be missed by her peers and friends throughout the fashion world.”

Giovanni, with a shaky hand turned the television off.

“Gio. We need to talk.” Dominic said.

Giovanni kept his back to his men. He wiped his hand down his face and cleared it of tears. He cleared his throat, though it was physically painful to speak. Every fiber in his bones, tendons, muscles hurt. “Go. Go and follow my orders. But you have a new one. Flavio Pricci is dead to me. He is no longer consigliere. Bury him tonight.” Giovanni lifted his gaze. “You will be the one to put the bullet in him Domi. You will be the one sitting in his chair.”

“Are you sure? I came to tell you Flavio needs medical attention…”

Giovanni shot Dominic a glare. Nothing else was said on the matter.

“Gio, I can stay.” Lorenzo offered.

Giovanni dropped in a chair. “Go.”

Left alone, he sat in silence. The shock and disbelief had numbed all of his senses. He couldn’t see well. His hearing was off, and he smelled and tasted nothing. He purely existed. He hadn’t risked his heart on a woman ever. And if he dared do so, he was prepared for rejection. This, however, was something he couldn’t live with. Her blood was on his hands. And he swore silently to get her justice.

Giovanni sat up, and then forced his legs to hold him as he stood. A light wave of dizziness gripped him but he barely swayed. He walked to the French doors in the room and drew them open. Out on the balcony he let the bright sunrays sober him, and his gaze lowered. Flavio was being helped out of the
Villa Rosso
by two of his men. The old man’s arms were draped over the shoulders of the men who assisted him on both sides. They handled him with care. Out of respect for his position and authority, they afforded him the dignity that even Giovanni would have forgone.

Flavio’s head lifted as they drew closer. He looked up at Giovanni. For a moment the exchange between them softened Giovanni’s heart. The man was the closest he’d had to a father since his own father’s death. The moment passed. Then he and Flavio knew there would be no reprieve.

Giovanni turned and went back inside slamming the doors to the balcony shut behind him.

Epilogue

Eight months later

In the middle of October a blanket of snow coated the roads, fields, hills and her five-bedroom cottage. Mira had found it to be a winter paradise at times, but that feeling was fleeting. Tonight the chill of an approaching winter seeped in through the windowsills and under the doors. She rubbed heat into her hands and rose from her favorite chair. In a thick, wool lined maternity robe and furry moccasin boots that reached just above her ankles, she opened the door to the patio at the back of her cottage and stepped out into the twenty degree weather. She didn’t mind the cold. She loved the protective cover it gave her. It was after eleven and her little bambina was up standing at salute in her belly. She couldn’t sleep and during nights like this she didn’t try. Hugging herself, she smiled and looked out at the faint dark outline of the mountains.

The baby kicked. Mira put her hand under her belly where the tenderness could still be felt. “You will go to sleep tonight, honey,” she said.

Last month she found out she was having a girl. For reasons she didn’t understand she felt the divinity in this blessing. Her baby, their baby, was created out of love. Six months ago she didn’t believe it, but now she did. She’d had a lot of time for reflection. She learned a lot about her heart, and herself. This baby was his gift to her, the life that came out of so much pain. Now she had peace.

“Mira what are you doing out there in the cold?”

Her head turned. Kei stood inside shivering. He wore a deep scowl of impatience.

“Sweetheart? You’ll make yourself sick.”

“Go back to bed.”

“Join me.” Kei teased. Mira shook her head laughing. She turned and locked eyes with him. The man became sexier on nights like this. Not since Giovanni had she let any man between her legs, and Kei tried often. The swell of her breasts and hips kept him groaning when they passed each other close in her kitchen. She considered it more than once, but still she couldn’t go there. Even if she wanted to purge Giovanni from her heart, he was constantly between them. His child kept her chained to him.

“I don’t think so. We’re friends, remember?”

Kei crossed his arms over his tightly muscled chest. His dark black hair was parted at the center and blew lightly from his strongly handsome face. He only wore a white t-shirt and silk pajama pants. Sex with Kei was always a spiritual experience. He worshipped a woman’s body and taught her things she never knew possible. With Giovanni it had been different, more of a ravishment. His love overwhelmed and overpowered her. Now with her hormones raging she wondered what lucky woman was in Giovanni’s arms now.

“I’m glad to see you up and walking around.” Kei said. “You feeling stronger?”

“I am. I think it’s the herbal massages you give my feet.” She winked.

“I can give you more than that.”

Mira rolled her eyes. “I know. You keep telling me.”

Since she was in her last trimester of her pregnancy, he insisted on staying with her. The doctor said she was to stay off her feet because her blood pressure kept elevating. That was easier said than done. Living in isolation could be so draining. It was necessary. At first a trip to Switzerland seemed like the perfect place to refocus, start again. But Kei’s plan took on another life. Angelique’s body was identified as Mira at the scene. Kei used influence Mira didn’t know he had to make sure the reporters believed it. They actually had a funeral for her. Celebrities, dignitaries, people from all walks of life came to pay their respects. She wept through the service. Her funeral was the last time she saw Giovanni.

To her surprise he appeared among the mourners. Giovanni Battaglia had flown in to New York. If the press hadn’t made such a big deal over it, she might not have ever known. She watched him linger near a closed casket with dark shades. His face showed no expression, but she knew his pain, love, regret would swirl deep in his blue-violet eyes. The sight of him and his men moving out of the church, disappearing into a waiting car nearly broke her. She desperately wanted to call him and share the truth. She couldn’t.

The State Attorney General’s office and the F.B.I. had erased her identity. They grilled her over what she knew of the Battaglia’s, and she told them very little. They even asked her about the Calderone war. Apparently several members were gunned down, including the elder Calderone, and his nephew Angelo was in hiding. She knew nothing, only the love he had shown her in their brief affair.

Kei said she would have probably returned to him if she hadn’t discovered she was pregnant. Mira was inclined to believe him.

“You are so stubborn.” He disappeared inside and returned with a heavy coat that he draped around her shoulders.

“It feels great out here,” she smiled.

He stepped to her side and looked up at the moon.

“You sure you have to stay? Maybe you should go back.”

“I’m staying until the baby is born.”

“I can warm you some milk. Is the little one up at it again?”

Mira took his hand and pressed it to her tummy. “Feel.”

Kei’s eyes stretched. He looked up at her stunned. “She’s a fighter.”

“Like her father.” Mira chuckled. When she looked back at Kei, she saw his frown. He had made his feelings clear months ago. Mira declined his offer of marriage and his request that she let him into her bed. Her baby was all she needed, not a man. And she surely wouldn’t do that to Kei when she knew he wanted a wife, a future she would never have.

“C’mon, let’s go back in.”

He captured her hand. Mira stopped. He brought her palm to his mouth and pressed a kiss there. “I’m still very much in love with you Mira.”

“I know Kei, but…”

“No buts. We have all the time in the world. I’m here for you and the baby. You know that.”

“Yes.” She pulled on his hand and then returned inside.

“Then you should consider my proposal.” He came inside and closed the door. Mira lowered slowly into her chair. “Let me give the child a father.”

“My baby has a father.” Mira reminded him.

“That man can never exist to the baby. You know this. He’s dangerous, and he thinks you’re dead. What would he do if he knew you were here keeping a baby from him?”

She had nightmares over what Giovanni would think of this betrayal. To him it would be the ultimate destruction of their trust to deny him his child. “Doesn’t matter. I won’t replace him in her life.”

Kei sighed. “You know me Mira. I won’t give up. I won’t.” he turned and walked away.

Mira heard the door close down the hall. She pushed up from the chair and wheezed. Walking through her cottage she went to the bonus room that she kept locked whenever Kei visited. He never questioned her about it. This was her room. She removed the key from the inside of her robe and opened it. Once inside she locked the door and turned on the light. All over the room were sketches and drawings she’d done of Fabiana. Her best friend remained her muse and she designed clothes with her sketchpad with her lovely face and figure in mind. There were other drawings. Each depicted her time in Italy. She had drawn Bellagio, and the lake view from outside of her bedroom window, the vineyard in Chianti, the wedding dress she made for Catalina. She’d even sketched the faces of Rocco and his wife. Her entire story could be told in pictures.

There remained however one sketch she never uncovered, one she only visited on the rare nights her loneliness couldn’t be replaced with TV or a good book. She flipped the sheet back and uncovered the portrait.

“There he is sweetness,” she said. She softly touched the canvas, tracing the tips of her two fingers over the sharp outlines of his face. Her baby kicked again and she chuckled, “I know, I know, momma wishes it too. He made his choice, and we made ours.” She rubbed her belly. It was still painful to look upon Giovanni, but she did so anyway to remind her of the love they shared. No man would be a father to their child but him. Never.

“
Ti Amo
.” She whispered putting her fingers to her lips then pressing them against the picture, “
Ti Amo
.”

****

Giovanni sat in the leather recliner staring into the flames dancing around in the large fireplace. A lot had happened in six months. Vengeance came at a bloody price. Without Flavio’s counsel he slipped deeper into his grief, and madness. The first casualties were Angelo Calderone’s twin sisters. They were both married and in their early twenties living in Napoli. Executed. The shock of the killings forced Don Calderone out of hiding. He was gunned down in Genoa at the funeral. Killing the capus in the Calderone family had become a sport for his boys. They ran them down between Turin, Venice, Firenze to the back streets of Roma. And if they showed any allegiance to Calderone they were dead.

He took a drag from his cigar. A dark smile curled his lips as he recalled one man begging him for forgiveness. There was no mercy for his Bella. There would be no mercy for them.