Destino (36 page)

“What kind of things?” Mira asked.

“You know, date and things. All of it supervised by Domi of course,” she blushed and looked away.

Mira smiled. “Okay so you fell in love with him?”

“
Si.
Amore
. Giovanni sent me to Palermo, and I got to spend a week with his family. Domi came too. He was right by my side. I hate Palermo. Have you been?”

“No sweetie I haven’t.” Mira glanced over to Clara who continued to watch over them with a critical squint.

“Catalina are you saying this marriage is arranged?”

Catalina frowned at the term.

“I mean was it setup by Giovanni and Franco’s family?”

“Of course. That’s what I’m saying. Signora Clara knew Mama. She has governed our lives always. She is here to make sure we follow the traditions,” Catalina smiled.

“This is something you want?”

“Giovanni said—”

“I’m not talking about your brother. I’m talking about you, sweetie. You are the one getting married. Is this something you want? Marriage is serious and something you should do with a person you love. You do know that don’t you?” Mira asked, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze.

Catalina looked down at Mira’s hand and then to her eyes. “Why did you ask me that? Of course I know this. Of course I want my marriage! Don’t you dare tell Giovanni I don’t!” Catalina snatched her hand away and rose.

“I didn’t mean to insult you.”

“You think I’m young and stupid and can’t handle getting married?”

“No, of course not.”

“I’m the
donna
of this house. Not you! I take good care of Giovanni and Lorenzo, and I will be a good wife to Franco. I’ve done nothing wrong!”

“Sweetie calm down. I just asked you what you want. If Franco is who you love, then I’m happy for you.”

Catalina folded her arms and glared. “Franco is what I want, it is what God wants. Don’t you dare say anything different.”

Fabiana walked in with Mira’s sewing kit. “Found it!” she said smiling. Looking at the women she frowned, “Something wrong?”

****

“I took the liberty of ordering. Not big on wine like you and these Italians.”

Lorenzo locked eyes with the large Nigerian seated at the table. The man had skin as dark as coal and a shaved head and face. He wore a stark white shirt that appeared brighter against his skin. Lorenzo found him dining alone in a hotel suite crowded with heavily armed men. He felt no fear. He’d shoot every motherfucker in sight if he had to and walk away from this meeting. It was his false bravado that time and time again proved to be his weakness.

“Why did you ask to meet?” Lorenzo asked.

“We haven’t been properly introduced. Name is Enu.”

Lorenzo glared as the African wiped his mouth and extended his large palm in greeting. After a moment Enu slumped back in his chair. “I will admit this is awkward. I have a lot of respect for your family. Actually the
Cammora
in general. Unlike the
mafioso
you men understand there can be alliances outside of Sicilian blood ties. You’re much more progressive.”

“We aren’t that tolerant.” Lorenzo scoffed.

“Giuseppe was. In fact he was quite accepting of new ways. Of change.” A beautiful black woman in a traditional wrap of green and gold brought a fresh drink for the Nigerian. She blinked her large brown eyes up at Lorenzo and then shied away. Lorenzo refused to touch his glass of wine. “Giuseppe’s missing, and this presents a problem.”

“Not for me,” Lorenzo sneered.

Enu chuckled, his dark eyes gleamed like those of a cobra with prey in sight. “I hear your boss is expanding the family business.”

“That’s none of your concern.”

“You sure about that? Not only does Giovanni Battaglia own the coast of the Amalfi but now he strives to extend his reach along northern Italy?” Enu raised his glass in a mock toast. “He does have balls.”

Lorenzo glanced at his watch. On the verge of dismissing the bastard he summoned restraint.

“He does understand that his interests have now become my own?”

“Fuck no.”

“Then you should help him with this understanding. Considering Giuseppe’s disappearance has many pointing a finger your way. In a time of war we can be quite useful.”

“The Nigerian Mafia? An alliance because that runt Giuseppe missed dinner?” Lorenzo spat out a burst of laughter. The humor drained from Enu’s face and his features hardened like stone.

“Are you fucking kidding me Eboo?”

“The name is Enu and I never kid. Yes, I propose an alliance because Giuseppe Calderone didn’t just miss dinner. He’s dead. You killed him.”

Lorenzo’s jaw went tight. He narrowed his eyes on the man before him.

“Giuseppe ran his mouth. The stupid fuck never knew when to shut up. He talked of you often. How you were his bitch.” Enu chuckled. “Didn’t like you much.”

“Feeling was mutual.”

“He also had a nasty habit of taping men.” Enu’s gaze flickered up and latched on to Lorenzo. “I hear he has tapes, very interesting tapes, of conversations he’s had with you.”

Lorenzo felt his hand tighten to a fist, but sat rigidly still. Was he bluffing? Did Giuseppe tape him the fateful night he spoke words that brought about his beloved uncle’s death. No. If Giuseppe had a tape of their conversation he would have leveraged it by now. It had to be a bluff. If this African knew of his part in Tomosino’s hit he would have played that card by now. At this point the bastard was simply feeling him out. “Giuseppe’s not my problem. But you have one. The same tall tales he told of me and my family he spread about you and yours. Said the Nigerians sucked his dick to pass their women and drugs through the triangle. He said you
moolignons
were under his command. And now Don Calderone knows of your deals. The war isn’t with the Battaglia’s. It’ll be at your door.”

The Nigerian broke the whiskey glass in his hand. He didn’t flinch at the glass slicing his palm or the blood splatter on the linen of the table. His dark irises went darker than coal. He snarled when he spoke. “You made a big mistake dismissing my offer of friendship.”

Lorenzo drank from the wine and set the glass back on the table. “Enjoy the
raglione
.” He said rising and walked out. He didn’t bother to look back. He needed to get home. Things were falling apart. And Giovanni would be on to him soon.

****

Catalina stood with her arms out as Mira measured and stuck pins in the dress before going back to her pad to write down her measurements for cutting the fabric. Clara paced nervously in front of the women, not sure what to make of all the pins and tape she saw covering the dress. Wringing her hands she finally spoke. “No cleavage must show and the hem must touch the floor.”

Mira looked over at her and smiled. “I’ll take care of her.”

Catalina stuck out her bottom lip. “I want some cleavage to show. It’s my dress!”

“Hush you silly girl!” Clara clapped her hands together to silence Catalina.

Fabiana frowned at the older woman. She and Mira exchanged a look. Fabiana rubbed her hands together, and tossed her long hair before approaching. “Clara, how many weddings have you been the
masciata
over?” Fabiana asked. She draped her arm around the woman’s shoulder.

“I’ve placed Italian brides with their chosen mates for over 50 years.”

“Fifty years huh? Impressive. And in fifty years how many dresses have you made for these brides?”

“I beg your pardon?” Clara snipped disgusted. “I may not be a dressmaker like
Signora
Mira but I know what’s proper for Catalina, and what’s expected of her from Don Battaglia.” She announced.

“Of course you do. I wouldn’t dare suggest you didn’t.” Fabiana put her arm around her. She guided the old woman’s steps toward the door.

“
Signora
Mira as you called her, is more than a dressmaker. Just as you find yourself qualified to orchestrate this wedding from your fifty years of experience, Mira finds herself qualified to dress a bride from her many years of experience. Experience that I might add produced a multimillion dollar company on dress making alone. Now why don’t we let her get to it?” Before Clara could counter the argument Fabiana opened the door and pushed her out. “We’ll let you know when we’re done!” she said smiling nicely and closing the door.

Catalina laughed. “Thank you! She is such a pain in the ass!”

Fabiana turned with her hands to her hips. “Tell me about it. Don’t you have any aunts or cousins that could help you with your wedding?”

“Yes, but they don’t really like me and Giovanni.” she said softly.

Mira glanced up and then made eye contact with Fabiana. She knew of the relationship Catalina’s parents shared. Tradition with the Sicilians must have made them outcasts within their own family. “It’s okay sweetie, because you got us.” Mira winked.

Catalina nodded, eagerly. “
Grazie
Mira. I’m sorry for being a brat. It was weird seeing Giovanni with someone.”

Fabiana went back to the bed, sitting down. “Giovanni and Lorenzo never bring women home?” she asked.

Catalina shook her head. “Lorenzo had a sweetheart once, and everyone thought they would get married, but she broke up with him. She married someone from another family. This was before Papa died, but I remember it of course. Lorenzo was very upset.”

Mira lifted her eyes while working to see Fabiana’s face. She noted how tense her friend was and wondered again what had her on edge. “You okay?”

Fabiana nodded “I’m fine.”

Mira rose. “That’s it. Let’s get you out of this, tomorrow we will go to my store and get the things I need to redo the dress.”

“I feel like a porcupine.” Catalina laughed. “Can you get rid of the puffy sleeves too?”

Mira smiled. “That’s the first thing I plan to do.”

Fabiana shook her head. “There is no way in hell Donatella Versace designed that dress. I think
Signora
Clara is full of shit.”

“Fabiana!” Mira warned.

Catalina looked over to her, “Why do you say that?”

Mira began to work down her zipper. “Ignore Fabiana, she doesn’t know anything.” She reassured her. “Now go take this off.”

Catalina agreed. “
Grazie
,” she said rushing to the bathroom.

Mira turned on Fabiana as soon as the door closed. “Would you cut the wise ass remarks?”

Fabiana shrugged. “Please. You know that dress didn’t come out of the house of Versace. That woman is just controlling that child. She probably took one look at the dress Donatella sent over and the rest of her hair turned white. She replaced it with that tacky mess.”

It was what Mira felt as well. She could see where the inside label had been cut out. “I checked the inseam and material. It’s a store bought dress alright, which explains why it doesn’t fit. I think you’re right. Clara got rid of Donatella's dress and fitted her with that one.”

“Why the hell would Giovanni and Lorenzo allow the manipulating shrew near that girl?” Fabiana asked.

Mira shook her head, “She isn’t the only one controlling her.”

“What does that mean?”

“You heard her. She’s been given over to a matchmaker. Do they still arrange marriages in Italy? It’s almost 1990. They can’t be serious.”

“I think with certain families it’s a tradition. It’s none of our business. Catalina seems very excited about it. To suggest it’s barbaric or anything other than tradition is an insult to them. You remember that.” Fabiana cautioned.

“Catalina doesn’t want to disappoint her brother. You should have seen her reaction when I questioned her, and she couldn’t say she loved this Franco person, which to me….”

Catalina came out of the bathroom with the dress. “Okay here you go,” she said smiling, bringing it over. Mira accepted the dress. “Thanks sweetie, I will start on this first thing tomorrow.

****

Lorenzo handled the narrow, curving roadway in his car like a daredevil. The coastal villages zipped by as the speedometer climbed to the point of dipping into the red zone. Still he drove faster.

He also had a nasty habit of taping men. I hear he has tapes, very interesting tapes, of conversations he’s had with you.

Anger gripped him so tight he could barely suck down a breath. It was a lie. There was no tape. He remembered sitting in the bar drinking, bemoaning his existence and Giuseppe feeding his ego. When did the slug have a chance to tape him? Which conversation did he record? The one where he joked that Don Tomosino’s death was the only way he’d have his birthright? “No dammit! No!” he hit the steering wheel. There was no tape. The fucker was lying.

What he’d done because of his pride and jealousy of his cousin could destroy everything they’ve built. He could feel time and plausible excuses slipping away from him. His life was spiraling out of control, and he was powerless to prevent it. Making a sharp turn the car engine revved then sputtered. Lorenzo frowned, checking the gauges. He rarely drove the car and had it tuned regularly.