There was a gentle hand touching his spine, a loving caress which became a fist of his jacket and then it was gone. She’d heard. His woman was fighting and his spirit rejoiced.
He assessed the possibilities, get the women to the car, but that would mean dragging them one by one and expose the child. His only recourse without aid of more hands was to take up sentry until the film faded to black.
There is honor in death for those who know love. Stand guard and protect the women and children, be their saviors in the flash storms. Let evil meet love’s resistance, fight it back to hell
and lick its flames is what a husband, father and man sought to do. For he could not return home to look into the eyes of his children without their mother, nor did he want to. His life ended here with Selange at the foot of a church.
And as he reflected, more soldati came. For whom they came, does not matter, blood of family stained the cathedral steps. The silence of women despairing…yet…a child’s whimper lit hope anew.
Alfonzo thought of his wedding vows: “
May the pain and blood of the past be cleansed away. Let old sins dissolve in rivers vast. Unto the Lord, repentance is asked for ancient acts and future deeds. A sinner beseeches thee, have mercy for the water’s red.”
He blasted many shots, sending men twisting until he ran out of ammo. Matteo scampered to his side with the assault rifle and a spare weapon which he seized as calmly as a man resigned to his fate. He cared not for things bought with money or dreams unfulfilled. There stood no tomorrow or sunset rise without Selange. For all the dreams a man can have, his was to die on this
day in a hail of glory as soldiers do on battlefields. He slapped in the magazine and took aim.
What tomorrow is there when hearts which beat in unison slow to a single tempo? Not a day did he choose to live beyond this one.
‘
Beat the drum for me Semira, ancient mother, whose love bound me to one woman. Light candles on the shores of Italy. Dance barefoot on the beaches of the islands’ sand. Pound the concrete of the city; for today I die in the bloody bosom to which I was born...I die a Giacanti, my father’s son!’
The brilliance of Supremo on the sunny afternoon cast light of rainbows from bleeding fingers. Blue eyes found family in their line of sight. Amelda screamed inside the bulletproof car with palms pressed against the window, streaming tears while confined to the interior of her reinforced protection. Alfonzo understood the shrieks of agony were for family. Matteo had taken up arms with brethren. His allegiance was to a Capo de tutti, wearing the ring of Giacanti. Every man who pledged the oath of loyalty had a duty to guard their Supremo, die to protect his life, as Vincent had.
Amelda’s fists pummeled the window, bereft she’d bear witness to her loves fight without aid of a weapon, but it was not her place to die, she represented Semira, every Giacanti woman bore an African spirit.
The men in their stylish suits wore love’s armor for their clan. Descendants of a King, dark bastards who some sought to wash from their land. There were no words exchanged from their mouths, only focus to stop the wave of attackers seeking to wipe them out. But, it is not as a Mafioso Alfonzo fought; it was as a protector of life and a shield for the innocent who fell.
A pair of bikers came from opposite ends of the street. With only one Giacanti soldati standing, weapons discharged amidst silent screams. Alfonzo with his back to Matteo, Estefan wounded yet capable, were a fortress for a frightened baby. In the mayhem gunshots sprayed and men crashed to earth. There was a pause in the racket and then shots broke free. Assailants hiding behind cars in the street were advancing but they were hit from above and the attacker’s numbers decreased. And then a massive figure rushed down clad in black and closed rank with the trio. It was Giuseppe, holding two weapons and scowling. He was hurt and blood stained his suit but his anger bandaged the flesh. Shanda and the others were secured in the church.
Giuseppe was not with his father in death’s final hour, but he would stand beside Alfonzo in unity to face it honorably. This brother with a leaders ring who did not pause or flinch would always be fratellino, although in the afternoon’s light, Giuseppe saw wisdom and maturity of a boy without a father who became a great man, shielding a wife, a mother not his own and a baptized infant.
“We must try and get the women to the car,” Giuseppe said.
“Glad you finally made it Geo,” Alfonzo commented, relieved to see his brother alive during a break in the shooting. He fought the spikes in his arm, pressing and cutting his flesh. “That’ll expose them and I don’t know how bad they’re injured. I thought about it, but it’s not the best idea under the circumstances –plus I’m shot if you haven’t noticed, so is Estefan and from the looks of it, you can’t carry a paper bag.”
They watched the street and Giuseppe grinned ruefully. “Now you find humor?”
“This is Shakespearean, big bro. I have to laugh at the irony.”
Fond blue eyes settled on the face of his young brother. “Grazie for watching my son and mama until I came.”
“You would have done the same.”
Giuseppe’s hand gripped the back of Alfonzo’s neck and he leaned toward him until their forehead’s touched. “I love you, fratellino.”
“Sí...sí…I know…love you too. Now cut the sappy shit before one of us gets shot in the head.”
Giuseppe thrust Alfonzo’s head away smiling. “
Pazzo
!”
“Yeah, same to you whatever the hell that means.” Then there was motion and Alfonzo said to his brother, “Let’s blast holes in these bastards for fucking with us, are you ready to do this,
hermano
?”
“Ah, sí fratellino. Someone must pay for breaking a good cigar. Death to the enemies of our family!”
It is for love, family stood, guardians, weapons sparking with the sun and a crucifix atop a cathedral to their backs. They defended the Giacanti name and ran red the earth at the edge of what should have been sacred ground.
~
Inside the church, sheltered from the atrocities, a priest, a frantic woman and others listened. As the elderly prayed, Lucia confessed her sin to the priest whose ears were tuned to the noises outside and not her words.
“Forgive me father for I have sinned. I was a child having a child and in the fear I aborted an innocent. Now the father and his new baby are paying for the sins of a weak woman.”
The priest’s hand waved near her head and palms pressed together. “You are forgiven my child.”
Shanda’s gaze sought out Lucia as she genuflected and wondered what the hell she was stressing about when the danger was outside. Drama people always want attention at the worst time. She stood, sitting the boy down beside a faceless woman and hurried to the door when the gunfire completely ceased. Silence so heavy brought the priest’s slippered feet across the finely woven runner, leading to the massive doors at her side. His hands which had only a short time ago baptized a Giacanti infant pushed wide the church doors. Sun entered and blinding rays shone on clerical robes giving him an ethereal light.
In the garden of a building’s sanctuary, grey steps cradled bodies as marble fountains hold coins in wishing wells. These were people. God’s children, each one. The man of faith, rushed with silent feet down the great steps painted by human blood. His hands touched faces and arms giving last rites. When he finished, he dropped to his knees on the sidewalk and made a sign of the cross before spreading his arms to catch heavens’ rays.
Shanda slowly emerged from the cathedral, and her eyes could not believe the carnage. Her body dropped low from a pain so great it choked her into silence. She could not walk; instead she bumped down each stair on her ass sobbing as she searched for her baby and those she loved. Renalda was next to exit with Lucia, their heads twisting left and right. Renalda saw her husband lying in a heap near a car and rushed to his aid.
Hands of a mother shaking violently, touching warm bodies and rolling them over, hoping to find a small infant is the act of a desperate woman. She prayed for a miracle in a landscape of misery. But, in dwindling light, when faith is questioned and when a spirit despairs, a greater force gives a mother a gift unharmed. In the protective cocoon of another woman’s bosom, and sheltered near the point of suffocation by an elder matrons belly an infant survived. Shanda examined the boy and when the air reached healthy lungs he wailed and a mother’s tears rained relief and agony. Her wet eyes peered down at her friend, so still, so utterly true. Godmother held to her oath and kept a baby from harm. “I love you Selange…BK…do or die.”
Estefan came to life, hopping to a stand on his good leg and looking around as if he’d suddenly regained sight just as Amelda broke free from the locked doors of her prison and fell from the vehicle in despair, reaching arm over arm, crawling out like a child on the sidewalk who had yet to learn that legs were meant to stand. Beside the priest she slumped, gripped the edge of his robe, wailing in Italian for salvation. She sought God’s forgiveness for her future sins and for possessing a murderous heart.
A hand stirred the faithless and tearful screams and prayers woke the dead. Sophie moaned and her arm shot to the sky for assistance to sit up. These were but three who rose from the many as sirens yodeled their arrival. Bodies were scattered from street to church steps, an Italian Masterpiece, vibrant color amid the grotesque.
A massacre in Palermo occurred and Giacanti blood was spilled, once more.
Epilogue
A chopper circled overhead and police sirens wailed. The hospital was put on high alert for the trauma victims coming in, some in cardiac arrest. Nurses scurried from the floor and Nico experienced darkness in the sole of his feet to his hands. A newborn baby slept in the private room with its mother. Family surrounded Ari and he kissed her to excuse himself as the humming in his pocket never quit.
He went into the corridor and Amelda’s panicked voice had him on the move. Nurses and doctors were sharing the news amongst each other; he heard their conspiratorial voices in Italian talking of a rub-out at the great church.
He could not wait for the elevator; Amelda said they were bringing in the family, many gravely injured and feared dead. Nico shouldered open the stairwell door and ran like hell’s demons were on his heels. Impatient with his pace, he hopped over the rails until he reached the landing to the Emergency Room docking zone. Ambulance workers were unloading gurneys with police scurrying toward them and soldati en masse providing security for the important patients.
One after the other, trauma patients were carted through the doors. Nico searched the faces of the injured. His head moved when each stretcher rolled past. The glass window was a viewing station for arrivals as he walked alongside of it with his head turned, unable to look away with each heavy step. The sight of Estefan, jumping from the back of an ambulance, his face smudged with blood and disheveled clothes as he waited for the emergency workers to unload a patient brought concentration as Nico looked through glass.
Nico saw a defibrillator; it is the first thing he noticed. Then he observed the woman atop the gurney with shiny ebony hair and the arm dangling toward the ground as the medical crew lifted the stretcher and it locked in place. Doctors ran through the swinging doors, their white coats unstained. Nico’s feet slowed as he walked in a dream. The beautiful brown skin still held its luster, as did the lovely dress’ vibrant color despite the blood soaking the hem. Nico walked to the large windowpane, spreading his arms against the cold partition to peer at the woman bouncing like a ragdoll as the workers wheeled the cot across the ground. Bloody gauze and bandages covered her legs and a medic squeezed air into her lungs with a bulbous contraption. Estefan limped along, worriedly glancing at the woman in his charge.
A stabbing pain skewered an emotionless killer. The woman he knew intimately, eyes closed and unresponsive had given new life to a shattered man. The sight of Selange broke his lies into a million truths. He was unable to keep her safe, because his love wasn’t strong enough.
‘Where is Alfonzo…Giuseppe…Matteo…goddammit… where is the rest of my famiglia?’
It is the wheeling of another patient, tall with a muscular stature, shiny shoes dulled at the tip by red, he recognized and which convulsed an already cacophonous heart. Soldiers, dark heads craning left and right, hands close to their waists flanked the figure as the stretcher raced across striped white lines on the dock floor. The suit, the victim wore was damaged, cut straight up the arms for medical access as were the legs. A tattoo, bold and
declarative with a scripted name of a woman identified him as did the hand lying limp with the ring atop his chest. An oxygen mask covered his face but Nico witnessed no movement.
Nico’s palms squeaked down the glass, his chest bursting fire. The youth he swore to protect and who matured into a respected Don, lie immobile.
The ticking seconds of the clock counted the beats of an enforcer’s heart. He failed. In a burst of impotent rage he punched the window and it cracked, shattering outward to form a spider web of glass. A loud primal shout caused those in the vicinity to jump nervously in fright. “Death to the enemies of my family. My final oath is blood for mi famiglia Alfonzo!”