Ti Amo (26 page)

The body of Franco lay in the grass soaked in blood. Dominic tucked the gun in the back of his pants. He reached down and grabbed Franco’s wrist with one hand and held the shovel with the other. He dragged him deeper into the woods.

****

Kei dropped in his Mozart CD then picked up his glass of wine. Today he would receive word from Cheung. There was no better assassin than his cousin. In fact he was certain that Giovanni Battaglia would be dead soon. Cheung had arrived in Sorrento over twenty-four hours ago. The news should have come by now.

Patience wasn’t something he was used to. Mira and Eve were getting further and further away from him. He felt it. If Mira went public before Giovanni Battaglia was dead, his world too would come apart. He’d exhausted some pretty powerful resources to have her. He’d be damned if it was all done for naught.

If Cheung didn’t call tomorrow he’d take his jet to Italy and drag them home himself. This time he’d bring the media with his own story. Control the truth when the world learned that she was alive. It was a costly risk since he broke several laws himself. He dropped in his chair. Taking a sip of his merlot he stared out of the penthouse window at the lights over Central Park. Revealing the truth had to be handled carefully. If Mira got ahead of him, the truth could blow out his future. And if she learned that she was never in witness protection he’d have to answer to the authorities about the cover-up of Angelique’s and Eduardo’s deaths. The devil would be in the details.

A noise to the front of the penthouse drew his attention. Kei sat forward. He set his merlot glass on the coaster scanning the dark hall that separated his lounge area from the front of the penthouse. He reached in the sofa cushion and removed his .45.

Slow and silent he rose and turned off the lamp nearest to him. Someone had bumped furniture. In pajama pants and bare feet he headed toward the front of the penthouse, turning off lights as he went. As soon as he entered the hall he saw three men in ski masks. Their eyes met. The one in the middle lifted his gun, equipped with a silencer, and began to fire.

Kei dove.

“Get that motherfucker!” he heard one of them yell—his brogue was heavy, Brooklyn maybe, definitely Italian. The idiots charged straight after him. None of them were prepared for Kei’s weapon of choice.  He picked off the first two, running easily into the hall. He shot one between the eyes, the other in the leg. The man wailed like a child.

He yelled out something in Italian to the one who didn’t reappear. Kei heard feet running for the door.

Kei stepped over to the man who was crawling across the floor for the hall. He tucked his gun into the back of his pants. The man continued to whimper and crawl smearing dark blood over his blonde teak wood floors. Kei picked up the phone, and his glass of wine, and then walked over to the man. In his struggle he’d lost his gun. All he did now was pull himself across the floor. Kei kicked the man in his wounded leg. The poor fool howled in agony. Kei took a sip of his wine. “Hello police. I think I’ve shot intruders. Come quickly please.”

Kei smirked. Was this the best Giovanni Battaglia had? Bringing Mira home would be easier than he thought.

Chapter Eleven

“Wake up.”

Mira blinked awake.
Her head fell over to the left. Eve slept on Giovanni’s chest. Crinkly hair covered her baby’s face. Giovanni must have brought her out of her crib sometime in the night. Smiling Mira drew the blanket up over them both.

“She’s beautiful.”

Startled Mira’s gaze swung left. Fabiana stood at the edge of the bed. She wore the same yellow dress she’d last seen her in. Her scarlet red hair cascaded around her face.

“Are you just going to sit there and stare like you’ve seen a ghost or something?” she chuckled.

“I’m dreaming.”

“Possibly.”

“Fabiana?” Mira lifted and sat back against her pillows. Giovanni snored louder. Eve stirred slightly on Giovanni’s chest but they both remained asleep. Fabiana smiled at her and pointed toward the door. Mira watched as she walked out of the room the hem of her dress picking up an unfelt wind that lifted the chiffon fabric around her legs. Easing out of bed gently, Mira tightened the robe she slept in and crept out of the room.  The cool hallway was shrouded in shadows. She felt no fear. She felt hope, the hope and wish of actually being with her friend once again. She walked down the stairs cautiously. She came around the wall and found Fabiana standing in front of the fireplace that had dimmed considerably. Her best friend hugged herself while staring into the flames. Next to the fireplace was a bare tree, minus all the trimmings. Mira remembered she hadn’t asked Giovanni to trim it. She’d have to remind herself to do so in the morning.

“Fire.” Fabiana said softly.

A chill went through Mira as her gaze shifted to the flickering amber and orange flames in the brick hearth
. “It’s not hot, Mira. Fire, is not hot. At its core it’s cold, so cold it burns. Isn’t it strange that it would be? Guess you would have to know, to know.” Fabiana tossed her hair back over her shoulder and smiled. “You’re a mommy.”

Mira burst into tears and rushed to her. Fabiana hugged her tightly and cried too. They stood in front of the fireplace locked in an embrace that comforted them both. Neither wanting to speak or let go, they held onto each other for several long moments.

Mira found her voice through her sobs.
“I’ve missed you so much. I’ve needed you.”

“Oh I’ve missed you too sweetie. I was never far from you. Never.” She squeezed her.

“How is this possible?”

“The most wonderful thing about life is the unexpected. That little princess up there is definitely unexpected, huh?” Fabiana said taking her hand. She led Mira to the sofa seat.

Mira sat down and couldn’t take her eyes off her. She was so solid and real to her now. She even smelled her perfume. “There are so many things I want to say to you. So many things I want to tell you.”

Fabiana held firmly to her hand.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for everything,”
Mira said.

“There you go assuming this is your fault. What happened to me was an unfortunate horrible accident, nothing more. It was all part of the ultimate plan. The one that’s destined for us all.”

Mira dropped her head, her hair hung over in her face. She lived with the image of Fabiana dying before her eyes for so long. She’d found it hard to let go.
“I just wish you were here.”

“You don’t need me anymore.”

Mira’s head lifted.
“How can you say that? I’m not strong enough for all of this!”

Fabiana laughed. “Really? Take a step back and look at what you’ve survived, who you’ve become. You are much stronger without me. You have a family. They need you. Like I needed you.”

“You protected me,”
Mira said
.

“We protected each other. Two orphaned girls in the big city. We were family. Now you have one of your own.”

“Kei lied to me. You lied to me. Giovanni keeps secrets from me. I think Catalina has done something to Franco, and I have a baby to worry about. I’m in over my head.”

Fabiana chuckled. “Can’t disagree with you, but I know you can handle him.”

“Giovanni?”
Mira asked.

“Giovanni,” Fabiana said.

“I love him.”

“And that will be enough. Because you’re right. Something’s coming. It’ll tear you all apart if you aren’t strong. You can be strong.”

Mira frowned. “What’s coming?”

Fabiana let go of her hand and looked back to the fire. “Life. The life he chose, and the one you accepted is heading straight for you sweetheart. Right or wrong you are going to have to survive it. How is my Lo?” she asked sadly.

“I don’t trust him, Fabiana. He says he still loves you. He has a painting I did of you hanging in his room.”

“He’s a good man too, Mira. I know you don’t see it, but he is. He loves his family and Giovanni,” she said earnestly. “Promise me if the time comes and life has caught up with him you will help him because he’s too blind to his self-destructive nature to help himself. He has secrets, just like Giovanni, but Lorenzo’s secrets are far worse.”

“I’m not going to make that promise. Lorenzo isn’t a man I want anything to do with.”

Fabiana’s blue eyes glistened with tears. “If Lorenzo’s mistakes are revealed, it will destroy you and Giovanni. I know things now, Mira. Promise me to be smart, and careful.”

Mira nodded.
“I promise.”

Fabiana smiled. “So you named pumpkin pie after me huh? Eve Fabiana? Wise decision.”

“She has your spirit and her father’s eyes.”

“She has your soul.” Fabiana laughed. “Still pissed about this yellow dress?” She asked rising, turning in it so it twirled around her knees.

“You haunt me in it!”
Mira said shaking her head.

“Damn right. I told you I liked it,” Fabiana said.
Mira laughed and then started to cry.
Fabiana got down on her knees in front of her and hugged her again. “I’m always with you. Always. Remember family comes first. Get married, have babies, live our dream.”

“It was never our dream,”
Mira said sadly.

Fabiana chuckled. “Yes it was. Love was always at the heart of who we were. What we created. I love you, Mira. With all my heart. Always.”

“Fabiana?”

Mira opened her eyes. Darkness enveloped her. She lay on her back and waited for her vision to clear. She turned over on her side and faced Eve who slept against Giovanni’s chest. Mira pulled up the cover over her family with a heavy heart. The beautiful fragrance her best-friend always wore lingered in the air.
Oh God, it was only a dream but it felt so real.
Moving closer to her family she rubbed her baby’s back. Looking up to Giovanni who snored softly, she smiled. Why he insisted his two-year-old daughter sleep in his arms on some nights like this confused her. He constantly rose from his bed to peek in on Eve. He’d change her diaper or fix her juice in a cup to help her go back to sleep. And if none of it lessened his anxiety he’d bring her into their bed. She’d talk to him about moving Eve’s crib into the bedroom so he could be close to her.

Resting her head against his shoulder she closed her eyes trying to reclaim sleep. Hearing Fabiana’s warning in her head, sleep became an impossible task. What did they face next and how could she be the key to it all? Giovanni rarely discussed the dangers that lurked around them. Letting a tear roll down her cheek she drifted back to sleep.

“Oh, Fabiana,” she said sadly into the night. “I miss you so much.”

****

“
Un momento
.” The young buxom brunette said.

Cheung appreciated her curves. Like his cousin he loved women, all races, all sizes. His appetite had often been a distraction. Even now he had to force his gaze up from the sweet shapely ass behind the black mini skirt that defined her heart shaped hips. She wore a fluffy turquoise sweater that had her breasts pushed upward into view. Her dark hair hung in loose curls past her shoulders, and she had the most alluring eyes he’d ever seen. Italian women were like goddesses in his eyes. This one had the body of one. His dick coiled tighter behind his zipper. Don Bonaduce walked in the room followed by his sons. The young woman smirked at Cheung and sashayed over to the old Don.

“
Grazie che l'innamorato ora va indietro all'interno.”
The Don said.

“
Sí nonno
,” she kissed him on the cheek. Sashaying out she glanced over her shoulder. He watched her, pleased.

The Don glared at Cheung. “Why are you here?”

Cheung had to evoke the name of a contact back in China to be granted this meeting. “I apologize for the intrusion Don Bonaduce but I’ve been told you can help me.”

The Don pulled out a hand rolled cigar and fired it up, walking around to the large recliner in his study. “Help you?” he said dragging on it before blowing out rings of smoke.

Cheung nodded, “I need to meet with Angelo Calderone.”

The Don cut his sons a look, and then his narrowed gaze returned to him. “Angelo Calderone is dead. His villa burned to the ground last night.”

The news struck Cheung as unpleasant for them all. The Don wore a tight congested grimace on his wrinkled face. He gestured toward the chair in front of the old Don. “May I?”

The Don nodded. Cheung sat. “I believe we can be of some use to one another. We have a common enemy.”

Bonaduce flashed Cheung an amused smile. “Forgive me
Signore
?”

“Bojing.”

“Ah yes
Signore Bojing
. Forgive me, but I am a busy man. Why don’t you just say what you came here to say. Neither Giovanni Battaglia nor I need
you
to settle our differences.”

Cheung smiled slyly. “Maybe not, but I can keep the
Cammora
and
Ndrangheta
from a war. With your blessing and a bit of assistance of course. That is something neither you nor Giovanni Battaglia can afford.”