Bella Mafia Read online

  Contents

  Copyright

  The Battaglia Mafia Series

  Message to My Readers

  Title Page

  Prelude

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty Five

  Chapter Thirty Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Works By Sienna Mynx

  Next From Sienna Mynx

  The Diva’s Pen LLC Publication

  http://thedivaspen.com

  Bella Mafia

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Bella Mafia © Copyright 2017 Sienna Mynx

  Cover art by Reese Dante

  Electronic book publication October 2017

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, The Diva’s Pen LLC.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons living or dead, or places, events, or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  The Battaglia Mafia Series

  Book One

  Destino

  Book Two

  Ti Amo

  Book Three

  La Sposa

  Book Four

  La Famiglia

  Book Five

  Rallenti

  Book Six

  Amore

  Book Seven

  Capu

  Book Eight

  LaDolce Vita

  Book Nine

  Bella Mafia

  Next in the Series

  Omerta - The Silent Brotherhood

  Last in the Series

  Vita Mia - My Life

  Message to my Readers…

  A year ago we took a journey into the tangled, complicated, addictive lives of Donna Mirabella and Don Giovanni Battaglia. A year ago I promised you this installment and a conclusion to their journey. It was indeed almost complete. And then it wasn’t. This book was as all my books are a labor of love and frustration. Love because I adore my characters. I want to see them grow, evolve, overcome and prevail. It was a labor frustration because I’m often abandoned by my characters, my muse, my inspiration due to outside forces in my life I let consume my creativity. The contradiction has caused some of you to doubt my commitment as an author and question my promise of a conclusion to the Battaglia journey. Even still there are more of you who have offered words of encouragement, patience, and support. Enough to push me and my muse together once more.

  I’m often amazed at how far I’ve come as an author, and humbled by how much further I need to grow. You will find both parts of me in this installment. Bella Mafia has gone through six revisions. The final story is nothing like the first. And that is a good thing. I hope you understand the many missed delivery dates, and long absences and allow yourself to be swept away again with this latest installment. We have two books left in this series and the door closes on the love affair between Mirabella and Giovanni. But my journey as an author will go further.

  Follow me to the end…

  I dedicate this installment to my New Orleans Mynxers who danced the night away and laughed and encouraged me. Never abandon your love for bad boys, and the bad girls that live to write their tales!

  Cheers to the darker side of Romance

  Sienna Mynx

  Bella Mafia

  Sienna Mynx

  Prelude

  Goodbye Me-Ma

  Apples Grove, West Virginia

  May 13th 1974

  “Come out into the light, baby girl and let me get a good look at you,” said Mirabella’s grandmother.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Mirabella stepped away from the mirror and stopped under the beam of sunlight that poured in from the octagon shaped sky window that reached up to the ceiling. The sun’s bright yellow rays bathed over her and she relished the warmth of being in the spotlight.

  “It’s so pretty,” Mirabella cooed.

  “Turn for me, chile. Stop your posturing.”

  Mirabella did a little spin. “I can’t help it. I feel like a princess.”

  “You sho’is, well lookie there,” Me-Ma clapped her hands together in joy. “You all grown up now, baby. Much better than a princess. You look like my little queen.”

  “I made it myself.” Mirabella pranced about then stopped and faced the long oval mirror that sat on claw foot legs. The attic was where her grandmother sewed and did fittings for her original garments.

  “Well you did have a bit of help, but yes, you made this one. I only pitched in a little. Soon you gon’ be making dresses for everyone in town.”

  “I’ma charge them fifty cents. Is that too much? Maybe a quarter.”

  “I reckon it’s a fair price. Let Me-Ma see you prance around one mo’ time. Need to see that hem a bit.”

  Mirabella strutted with her hands on her hips. Whenever Ms. Deloris stopped by for a fitting she often modeled the fancy dresses Mirabella's grandmother sewed, with her hands to her waist. She’d prance from one end of the room to the other with her big hips swaying. The more Ms. Deloris approved of her tailor’s work, the harder those big hips would sway. Mirabella’s grandmother, who she called ‘Me-Ma’ since she was able to speak, nodded her approval with a bright smile to her face.

  Me-Ma was in her early to mid- sixties, but she looked as young as a thirty-year-old. Everyone said Me-Ma had discovered the fountain of youth, and it was true! Her thick, dark hair hung in long graceful waves to her shoulders, without a touch of grey. But in public her hair was smoothed into a conservative braided bun. She wore no makeup. She never needed it. Her skin was a flawless deep brow
n, like the caramel on an apple at the county fair. She had kind eyes with long dark lashes like most of the people on her side of the family.

  Due to her faith, Me-Ma never wore pants. They belonged to a ‘holiness’ church and women weren’t allowed, although she sewed plenty of pants and sold them to other women outside of church. Me-Ma never once seemed interested in making a pair for herself. Instead she wore her 1950s style dresses that had short puff sleeves and a waist that had to be tightly pulled in, fashion magazines referred to them as wasp waists, and the skirts were full to the knees. It wasn’t the hip style of dressing that women currently wore, with bell bottom pant-legs and afro’s. But it was Me-Ma’s fashion, and she looked so elegant when she came to church in her long white gloves and her fancy hats.

  “Alright, alright, that’s enuff. Go on step up to the block so I can pin it a bit.”

  “Ooooooo-kay!” Mirabella skipped over and stepped up on the block of wood that gave her height. Me-Ma picked up her glasses and put them on the tip of her nose. She came over with her red tomato pin cushion. It had so many pins it reminded Mirabella of a porcupine. Me-Ma got on her knees and began to pin the hem while she hummed a song Mirabella had heard her sing in church many a Sunday morning. It didn’t take her long. It wouldn’t have mattered if it did. Today was special.

  “There! All done. Let’s take this off of you so we can get it on my sewing machine.” Her grandmother started to rise but froze.

  Mirabella reached behind her and untied the bow to her waist. She could see the perplexed look of fatigue on Me-Ma’s face. She blinked at her grandmother with the same confusion.“You okay Me-Ma?”

  “I jus’ fine, jus’ fine. Got up too quick. Whew, chile. I think we need to take us a break.”

  Mirabella grinned. She went to the mirror to look at herself once more. The dress was so perfect she didn’t want to take it off.

  “Me-Ma? Can I sew the hem this time? Huh? I can do it by myself. I promise. Me-Ma?”

  Her grandmother didn’t answer.

  “Me-Ma?” Mirabella said. She turned and didn’t see her at first. That was because she was looking high. Then her gaze lowered. Her grandmother lay unconscious on the floor.

  “Me-Ma!” Mirabella screamed.

  May 16th 1974

  Mirabella waited in a room with smooth white floors and pea-green walls. She sat on a plastic yellow chair and swung her feet back and forth. There were many adults around. None of them paid much attention to her. They only pretended to do so when her grandfather was around.

  She didn’t care.

  She didn’t need any of them.

  She needed her grandmother.

  Today was the day she would see her. And she’d tell her to come home. Then she’d never have to sit and wait to be seen or heard again. With Me-Ma, she was always first and the center of attention.

  Her grandfather appeared. He stopped with his hat in his hand right before her.

  “C’mere, Mia,” he said.

  She got down from her chair and walked over to her grandfather. He took her hand. They left the waiting room and walked down a long empty hall. It reeked of the kind of smell when Me-Ma cleaned the house with bleach. There was no color, no light. Just pea-green walls and white tile floors. Mirabella squeezed her grandfather’s hand as the fear of the unknown crept up her spine. They passed an open door. A young black woman sat up in bed staring at television. She glanced at Mirabella and then cut her eyes away. The next open door had an older man crying at a woman’s bedside. The woman looked sleep. And they continued on.

  What was this place?

  Why was Me-Ma here?

  Why did she have to stay so long?

  “She’s been asking for you, Mia. Go on in,” her grandfather said.

  “You’re not coming?” Mia asked.

  “In a few, you go on first,” he said.

  Mirabella nodded. She wasn’t sure what she’d find. The door was pushed open in an inviting way for her to step inside. She could see the foot of the bed, but not her grandmother. Mirabella stepped inside bracing for the worst, and to her delight the worst was not what she found. Her grandmother sat up in bed reading her bible.

  “There she is! The birthday girl!”

  Mirabella ran to the bed in tears. She’d never felt more relieved in her life. Her grandmother lowered the side of the bed so she could climb on top.

  “Me-Ma,” Mirabella wept.

  “Shhh, hush now, it’s your birthday. I’m so sorry you didn’t have your party. I promise, baby girl, when I get up out of this bed it's the first thing we do.”

  “What’s wrong? Are you sick? They won’t tell me why you’re here.”

  “I’s all better now,” her grandmother said and kissed the top of her head. “And I have a surprise for you.”

  Mirabella lifted her head from her grandmother’s breast. Me-Ma’s skin wasn’t the rich deep brown color she had grown to love. It was ashen, dull, listless, and her eyelids were heavy. Mirabella considered them sleepy eyes. But her smile was the same. It was as pretty and loving as always.

  “Go get my purse. Over there in the chair. Hurry, sweetheart.”

  Mirabella dropped down off the bed and went and fetched her grandmother’s purse. She handed it to her. She stood at the side of the bed with her hands clasped patiently to the front of her and waited like a good girl. Her grandmother reached inside and pulled out a little pouch. Inside was the gold bracelet Me-Ma let her wear in secret many times around the house. It was a gift left behind from her mother. It had her name on it.

  “Let me see your wrist.”

  Mirabella extended her arm. “This here is special. Your mother wanted you to know that. You’re ten today. A big girl. I think it’s time you wear it in public. I already told Abel and he approves.”

  “It’s so preeeeeeeeeetty,” Mirabella smiled.

  Her grandmother lifted Mirabella’s chin. Mirabella looked into her eyes. “You’re my special girl. My heart. I am so grateful to God that he gave you to me.”

  “I love you, Me-Ma. Forever! You get better so we can go home.”

  “I promise, baby. I will.”

  May 31st 1974 -

  Her grandmother had died. Mirabella sat in the front row. She was too young to understand what a future without the nurturing care of her grandmother would bring, but she was too old to be shielded from the harsh realities of death. She looked so pretty in her casket. Almost like she was a sleeping princess. But the tears and wails of the parishioners reminded Mirabella throughout the entire service that Me-Ma wasn’t asleep. Me-Ma was gone forever liker her real mother. Dead.

  Traditionally in black families when they buried their dead, there was a gathering for the mourners called the ‘repass’. It was typically held at the family home. A meal would be served and the attendees from the funeral would be able to catch up on everyone’s lives. The funeral was for the formal rites of the deceased. The repass was more about the life of the deceased and the loss left behind for the loved ones to continue on with. For Mirabella’s grandmother, the repass was held at the church, and had been a long and lonely event for Mirabella.

  After the last person left it was just her and her grandfather. Mirabella didn’t understand why he insisted they stay behind in the empty church. Many church members offered to take Mirabella home with them to give him some time and space to deal with his grief. He refused. She was to remain at his side.

  She watched as her grandfather walked the pews and collected the tiny pamphlets that had a picture of her grandmother, and a nice poem written by Sister Coral. It said she was loved by many, and that was true. But it didn’t say how those left behind should carry on without her.

  “Mia, c’mere,” her grandfather said.

  Mirabella lifted her head and looked behind her. She blinked away her tears. Her grandfather stared directly at her. He had taken a seat to the back of the church. When she stood she realized he wasn’t staring at her. He was staring at the portrait of he
r grandmother. It was in a gold frame on an easel. It had been left behind when they wheeled out her casket. Mirabella walked down the dark purple carpeted aisle to her grandfather. He moved over and she was able to take a seat next to him.

  “Things are going to be different now, Mia,” he began.

  “Yes, sir.” She wiped her tears.

  “It’s just you and me now,” he said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Death isn’t the end. Your mother is in heaven, now Me-Ma is with her. They are with God,” his voice croaked. The first crack in his stone hard demeanor chipped. And to Mirabella’s surprise a tear slipped down his cheek.

  “I didn’t want her to die,” Mirabella said softly. “I don’t want her to go.”

  “But she is gone. She was the best thing that ever happened to me. One day when you are old enough you will meet a special person, and you will marry him. He will bring a different kind of love into your life. The kind intended between a man and woman under the blessing of the Lord. Hold on to that love, Mia. Hold on tight. Never let regret, or mistakes shame you, separate you.”

  “Shame?” she asked in confusion.

  “Thing is, Mia, it’s... a... because in a blink of an eye the life you’ve wanted with the person you love can be taken from you. And there is no second chance to let that person know how much you loved them. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Her grandfather had big hands. He put one on her little knee and patted. “It was God’s plan. Like I said, we got to look out for each other. That's what your Me-Ma and your mother would have wanted.”

  Mirabella nodded that she understood. She hugged her grandfather. He didn’t often give her hugs. He didn’t often touch her knee. All her life her grandfather was the strong disciplinarian. The powerful voice of authority. Even from the pulpit, speaking of death and the resurrection of Christ at his wife’s funeral, he showed great inner strength. But, in that moment she knew differently. In that moment in the empty church he was so proud of, she found him to be nothing but a mortal man. A broken man. He drew her close and hugged her. He cried, and he cried, and he cried. They stayed that way until the pain eased for them both — a little.