Atavus (28 page)

Alfonzo stood still as stone as if he had seen Medusa.

His vision went black at the sense of déjà vu.

Men ran to aid the women. Pandemonium and shouts were all around their boss who stood rigid as the rocks. Even the crash of the tides striking his flesh was unable to move concrete feet.

Chapter Thirty-Five

“Ouch, I think it’s broken. Selange’s clumsy ass fell on me,” Ari cried when Nico lifted her into the car.

“What the hell are you doing here love?” Nico asked with worried eyes.

“I came to save you?”

Her husband chuckled and shut the passenger door of the SUV, strolling around to the driver’s side laughing aloud. He climbed in and said, “Ah, this has been a very bizarre night, bella, I am flattered by your well-meaning actions but don’t ever do that again.” He started the car for the road trip to the special clinic where she would receive treatment without fanfare and sent home. He waved at Alfonzo and Selange, standing by the Porsche arguing. He couldn’t believe the happy couple experienced discourse, but then again only fairytales have dancing faeries and knights on white horses saving distressed damsels. In real life, valiant women appear from shiny black stallions…well okay…Porsches’ shrieking battle cries to save unworthy spouses.

He glanced in the rearview mirror to see Selange, wild hair blowing, waving the parchment in her husband’s face, determined to have Alfonzo pay attention, but they were both very stubborn. They were a match made in heaven, yep.

Yes, she did right and chose the best man suited for her castle and he had his prize sitting beside him.

Nico said to his beautiful wife, “You know what you did was foul sweetheart.”

“What do you mean?” she asked innocently, cradling her arm.

“Creaming money from Selange’s account to coerce her into agreeing to partner in your latest scam. That’s sneaky.”

“I put it back,” Ari, replied. She wasn’t planning to keep it, just give the girl motivation to say yes. Desperation is a wonderful inducement. Besides, she found another potential partner, well partners, Sophie and Yosef.

“I made certain that you did,” Nico said.

“Mr. Anaconda can you please stop hacking into my shit. I’m serious, that’s a violation of privacy.”

He scoffed. “Tell me something sweetheart, how would you feel if Alexandros lived with us?”

The fireworks erupted. “Are you out of your cotton picking mind? The only way I’ll raise a child you had with another woman is if she’s incarcerated for life or under the ground.”

“I take that as a yes.”

Ari silenced. “I’ll consider it.”

He glanced over. “Ti amo.” He snickered. “But, maybe you need an inducement.”

“Such as?”

“I’ll arrange my schedule when the boys leave for college and spend more time with you and the small ones.”

She didn’t need her husband up her ass every day. Contrary to unpopular beliefs, she enjoyed having her space. Having her husband more involved with childcare was nice, though.  “What else?”

A mischievous twinkle occurred. “And I don’t tell Selange what you did and pretend I’m surprised when I walk in my party.”

“Oh you know about the party, dammit who told you? Forget it. You better not rat me out to Selange, I swear Nico you’ll sleep in that shed.”

“It’s called leverage sweetheart, remember?”

Nico rolled the window down some more and turned on the radio to drown out the wind carrying the faint sounds of a loving couple’s debate.

Back on the road, Selange did not relent. Alfonzo had an obligation. “You have to.”

“You’re not listening chica. Get the hell in the car!” Alfonzo ordered.

“
You’re
not listening honey.
DeMarco’s
name is on this but what if his son isn’t the one responsible for the financial troubles and Bruno was involved? Check out the names, and you might recognize some of them.”

“Babe, can you please leave this alone until tomorrow and get in the car.” Alfonzo ordered but she refused. He crossed his arms, rolling his back from side to side against the driver’s door impatiently while gazing upward to thank heaven his babe was okay. The damn woman was going to give him a heart attack. She ranted on and on about that old piece of paper when he had just committed
murder
. Evidence of his deed would be erased, but not from his mind. On holidays and visits, he would look in Bruno’s eyes without flinching, that is if he reconciled with his mother. Ah, man Giuseppe, how was he going to handle his brother? Then, he thought about Angelina and Vincent's IQ test scheduled on a Saturday. How about Nico’s party, was that still a go? His mind was on these musings as his wife continued with talk of conspiracy theories as if he slept all day long.

Finally, he tired, hoist her ass off her feet and dumped her in the car. She had taken his Porsche and scratched the side. He cared more about her than a car.

People write books, ledgers, journals, and you never know whether the contents are fact or fiction. Currently, he wanted a shower, food and sleep.

“Neña, ssshhh.  I’m tired, comprende?”

“But…”

“But nothing. There’s always some shit with my family. Let’s go home.”

She silenced and he leaned over to kiss her and then started the engine. It felt good being behind the wheel, even if there was a caravan of killers in the front and back. As long as he had Selange on his right, Nico on the left and his brother, he was doing okay.

“You should call a meeting and…”

Alfonzo increased the volume on the radio and she got the hint.

“Te amo babe, te amo.”

~

Giuseppe stumbled in the house, bumping into walls, pushing aside the soldati who assisted him in the door. He shouted for his donna, aware he had drank too much. That was Yosef’s fault. They were testing the other’s stamina with alcohol, something he did with his brother until he lessened consumption.

Nicole failed to answer. He gripped the railing, tripping during the ascent, sitting and chuckling at his clumsiness. He returned to climbing a mountain and held onto the walls until he fell into the bedroom.

“I am home bella,” he said as he wobbled to the bed and flopped on the edge. He groaned from the heaviness, too liquored to work his tongue anymore. Yosef was far worse than he was. His step-papa was mumbling like a buffoon about his wife’s threats to toss him out, so he had to be good.

Giuseppe had nodded. “Si, be good or she may shoot you!”

The Jew was not as terrible as he thought and had a sense of humor. “Yes, she will do that…the bubbula will put the gun to my groin and fire.”

This he could see his mama do; only his father escaped her ire.

Giuseppe rolled toward his wife’s feet, pawing at her legs, sucking her toes until she awakened.

“You smell like a brewery,” she said.

“No…no…I am fine mi amore,” he replied with a devilish smile.

He sort to undress from a reclined position and after a loud argument with his trousers tossed them across the room. “I need dessert,” he said, parting her legs, licking her with ferocity, getting upset that his mind swam in alcohol.

The taste of her was sweet and he would have continued eating had the liquor not forced him to sleep between her thighs.

Nicole slipped her legs free and his heavy torso dropped to the side. He was out cold. She shook her head, Giuseppe had issues and they were piling up. Tomorrow after he sobered, she planned to have a talk with him about the dangers of intoxication. Then she smiled, stroking his face, finding it hard to stay mad at the big child. The smile widened. He was a juvenile, living as he pleased without anyone’s guidance. However, there’s a stage in life when even the most childlike people must become conscious they are adults. There are dangers for a powerful Mafioso. Staying alert and mindful is what will keep him alive. Yes, she wanted the marriage to work, but Giuseppe had to consider they were having a baby and she would need his shoulder in the months to come.

A slight wave of nausea occurred just as she thought this and then went away before she sat forward. It came again as lights shone from her cell to announce a caller. She hit the screen, holding her stomach and listened to a stranger talking another language.

“Hold on, por favore,” she said, shaking Giuseppe who didn’t budge. “English por favore,” she then replied holding in the wretchedness that fought to leap out.

The stranger spoke in English. Slowly he told her of an accident with fatalities, one her sister. She screamed, or perhaps thought she had but what came out was slippery dinner on Giuseppe’s face.

He leaped up, sobered and wide eyed. “Cosa?”

Nicole had fled to the bathroom, wailing in distress and the person on the line apologized profusely about having to tell her the tragic news.

Giuseppe wiped the sludge from his face. He wasn’t such a drunk that he could not comprehend. To the man on speaker he posed the question as his donna shrieked aloud her disbelief her sorella was dead.

“How did this accident happen?” Giuseppe asked standing and shaking off vomit. Cosa? What did she eat?

“A structural collapse.”

“Dove?”

The bearer of bad news informed him where the deceased were going and he said, “Grazie, I will come to identify the bodies.”

Giuseppe’s eyes surveyed the walls, listening to the piteous cries of a pregnant donna, praying the stress would not affect their unborn. He snatched the soiled sheets off the bed, making a large linen ball. He growled in anger at his fratellino. How dare he sanction a killing without warning him beforehand, especially considering his position? How ruthless to kill Tiffany as well. He wondered what Tony did to receive an execution as the layoff notice. 

He grumbled louder as he trekked to the bathroom to console his moglie, sniffing angrily at the foul odor clinging to his skin. He was certain stronzo Nico carried out the murder. He could not wait to wrap his hands around both of their throats for not giving him fair warning.

Maledetti bastardi
!

Special Preview

Amoroso: Alfonzo XVI

a·mo·ro·so, adjective / äməˈrōsō

English translation: amorous/ am·o·rous/ˈamərəs/

: Showing, feeling, in a loving tender manner or relating to sexual desire.

Synonyms: romantic, lustful, sexual, erotic, amatory, ardent, passionate, impassioned.

PROLOGUE

“
My fear was not of death itself; but a death without meaning.”

–Huey P. Newton

Ethiopia’s, Addis open-air market appeared to stretch for miles. The Diaz’ walked on ancient land, older than Christ. The variety of items on display had the admiration of tourists who touched mouths in awe at the craftsperson’s skill. They ogled as well, running fingers on items as Alfonzo kept vigilance as did his men.

Women sat cross-legged, near their small scales for measuring spices and grains.

Africa’s beauty was seen in its people, their bone structure strong and chiseled like the wares from expert hands. Blue eyes saw his wife in the many faces, his children and himself, proud to be of a heritage long survived despite the evils of men who defiled the Motherland, which birthed them. Domingo was dust as all men.

Last night Selange had sampled the Wat, a hearty stew and Injera, the unleavened bread prepared as it had been thousands of years ago. The children loved the custard apples, a delectable tropical fruit, and their dad purchased a large bag to take to the hotel.

After the foray to the market, his family was secured in private rooms of a hotel, occupied not by tourists but extended family, Ethiopians traced by DNA to Selange in celebration of her roots. He traveled as family reveled, letting his Queen be praised by love and understanding of woman’s hardships, leveled more so on those of darker skin. His short trip was to Eritrea for a special view of secretive artwork he learned through a journal existed. Bodyguards on the ready, curiosity the motivation to see through an artist’s eyes such as Nico, beauty.