La Famiglia Read online

  “Catalina!” A woman said. Startled Marietta stepped aside as a short round-bellied woman pushed through the diners and rushed over to greet them. The woman kissed and hugged Catalina to the point of squeezing her too tight.

  “Prego!” the woman then said to Marietta.

  Marietta smiled her response.

  The woman then solely focused on Catalina. “Come sta la sua famiglia?” she asked.

  “The family is good, Belina. Thank you for asking. We are all very good. And Giovanni sends his love,” Catalina smiled.

  “I hear we have twins coming? Bambinos!” Belina exclaimed.

  “We do.” Catalina winked.

  “Ah! Saints be praised!” The woman clapped. She stared at Marietta curiously. Catalina again made the same introduction she had done earlier. Belina’s eyes stretched. She laughed. “Lorenzo! He is just like Giovanni, no?” she said.

  Marietta didn’t get the comparison but Catalina chuckled.

  “Come.” The short lady started for the back of the restaurant. She pulled Catalina by the hand. Marietta and their bodyguard-chauffeur followed. Together they climbed a narrow stairwell barely wide enough for one person. At the top of the stairs they entered another dining area. This one wasn’t as crowded. The few diners were all men. Several gave respectful nods to Catalina and others leered from their tables. A few watched them with scowls to their faces and said nothing.

  “Here… have a seat. I have something special for you both from my oven.” Belina announced. A young boy arrived with a wooden cantor and wine glasses. He poured dark wine into their glasses and filled them to the rim. Leonardo took a seat at the table next to them. He sat facing the men who kept cutting him deadly looks. He seemed unfazed by the tension. Marietta felt more jumpy than she ever had.

  “Are we safe?” she whispered to Catalina.

  “Huh? Oh them,” Catalina laughed. “Trust me they know better.”

  “Where are we?” Marietta asked.

  “I told you Mancini territory. This place is friendly to my brother, not the people, but the owners. That was Belina. She was a friend to my mother. And Ma-Ma didn’t have many friends,” Catalina said softly. Marietta looked over to the men staring at them. One of them with the darkest eyes lifted his glass and sneered at them. Catalina dismissed him and returned her gaze to Marietta. “Those men staring at us, they all work for Armando Mancini. He hates my brother.”

  “I thought the Don’s name was Marsuvio?” Marietta asked.

  Catalina’s eyes stretched. “You’ve heard of him?”

  The slip was unintentional. Over and over Lorenzo warned her to not speak, but to listen and observe. Today her curiosity got the best of her. What she knew of the Don and Capriccio was very little but intriguing. It hurt deeply that there was nothing she could find to tie the man to her mother. “I heard Lorenzo mention him,” she answered.

  “Oh,” Catalina said. “Well Armando Mancini is his son. He runs the family. I believe his father is ill. Either way, he and my brother have a truce. They’ve had it for years. Those assholes won’t harm us.”

  Marietta let her gaze sweep the men. A few met her stare. One winked. All of them had the same dangerous aura that drew her to Lorenzo. She sipped her wine, cleared her throat and spoke. “So you were going to explain why people stared at us on the walk over? If there is a truce between the Battaglias and Mancinis why do I get the feeling that we aren’t wanted?”

  Catalina chuckled. “You will have to learn to live with that feeling. Whether we are here or in Sorrento you will get stares, and a few scowls. It comes with the life.”

  “Mafia?” Marietta asked.

  “What do you know about our family?” Catalina asked.

  “That you’re in the mafia. That your brother is the Don and my husband is one of his hired guns I think.”

  “The Don huh?” Catalina grinned. “Is that what you think he is?”

  “Of course. Isn’t he?” Marietta glanced around. Where was the joke in all of this? It was evident the man wasn’t the leader of the boy scouts.

  Catalina leaned forward. “The Mafioso is birthed from Sicilians. My father is Sicilian. My mother is Irish. That makes me and Giovanni mix-breeds.”

  “Mix breeds? Are you kidding?” Marietta laughed.

  “I’m serious. He could never be a Don of the Mafioso. But he can be boss of all bosses of the Camorra. And trust me the Camorra makes the Mafioso look like toddlers.” Catalina sipped her vino. “My brother is the first capo di tutti capi in the Camorra in sixty years. Not even my father had as long of a reach as Gio.”

  “So he is the Don and boss, right?” Marietta asked.

  “Yes. Think of him as both and the two aren’t the same.” Catalina nodded.

  “They sound the same.” Marietta replied.

  “No. The Don of the Mafioso runs a single family, a region, and his reign is rarely challenged by the men in his famiglia. Traditionally his sons are the future, and their sons. If the family dies, then another family may take years to establish the respect he has gained. The Camorra isn’t just one family. It consists of family clans. In the Camorra you have a boss and he is respected but replaceable. No clan boss is higher than another. And if he is the boss of all bosses he must be the fiercest, most ruthless of them all. Giovanni has earned the right to be both. And that is why they stare at us. They stare because I ‘the half-breed’ and you ‘the black American woman’ are from a famiglia able to command respect where we go only because of the blood my brother has shed,” She tossed her chin a little higher. “We are Battaglia. We are the alpha and the omega.”

  “You say all of this with so much pride,” Marietta said without judgment. “How does your faith fit in with this?”

  Catalina smiled. “Everyone is given a path in life. God chose mine at birth. I have no problem with my faith or my lifestyle. To me one can’t exist without the other.”

  “Well that doesn’t make me feel better. In fact it only confirms that we are in danger in here,” Marietta whispered.

  Catalina laughed. “Possibly. There is always danger. But we don’t live our lives according to it. I’ve made this trip many times with no trouble. We’re safe. Trust me.”

  For some reason Marietta doubted Princess’ confidence. It seemed like she purposefully walked into the lion’s den. Possibly to make sure her Prince learned of her actions and would react with concern. Hell Marietta has played those games before with men she wanted to tame. She knew how to piss a man off, or at the very least get a reaction. Maybe staying at Villa Mare Blu was the best.

  Food arrived. Marietta’s mouth watered.

  “Focaccia is the very best here. Belina makes it so it melts in your mouth.” Catalina pointed at the hot bread roll filled with meat, cheese and onions. “Because it’s close to summer she’s given us a taste of alfresco too. Yummy!”

  Marietta chuckled. After three glasses of wine all flavors exploded on her tongue. She ate voraciously. Stopping to comment on one thing then another. Swallowing and stuffing her face some more.

  “Hungry?” Catalina asked amused.

  “It’s good,” she said with an embarrassed smile.

  Catalina nodded her head in agreement. “I told you!”

  Marietta learned a lot from Catalina about the young girl’s life in the family of men. She also learned about Lorenzo’s likes and dislikes. Especially when it came to cooking. For instance Marietta never knew that he hated fruity dishes. She hadn’t made any and couldn’t recall him ever eating any fruit when around her.

  “I’m allergic to mushrooms,” Marietta volunteered.

  “Really!” Catalina exclaimed. “So is the Donna. They make her ill. She told me once she got really sick as a child when she ate a pizza with them on it.”

  “Oh my God! I gag as soon as they come in my mouth.” Marietta shivered. “Guess she and I have more in common than I thought.” Marietta smiled. She downed the last of the wine. “Where’s the bathroom?”

 
“Downstairs, to the back of the restaurant. And dn’t be alarmed but Leonardo will go with you.” Catalina shrugged. “You get used to him after a while.”

  “What about you, up here alone? With them?” Marietta looked over to a few men now drinking and laughing.

  Catalina smiled. “Trust me. I’m la picolletta.” She tossed a challenging look toward a table of men. “They wouldn’t dare.”

  Marietta liked her style. Catalina had an edge to her that reminded her of some of the hard chicks she used to run the streets of the south side of Chicago with before she ran away for good. She pushed back her chair and stood. When she did, so did the tall brooding bodyguard that shadowed them. Marietta picked up her purse and started to walk toward the exit. A man to the left said her pussy smelled like chocolate. He thought because he said it in his native tongue she wouldn’t understand.

  She leveled her glare. “Your breath reminds me of shit!” She shot back in Italian.

  The others at his table roared with laughter. The man’s stare darkened and his face flushed pink with rage. When Marietta looked back Catalina raised her glass in a mock toast. Marietta descended the stairs and headed to the back of the restaurant with a bit more confidence. Hell Lorenzo was her man. She had nothing to be afraid of.

  She found the bathroom to be more than just a private one. There were several stalls and a separate room for changing. Odd to see such a layout in such a quaint place. She wasted no time locating an empty stall to go in and relieve herself. She wiped and flushed. The manic urge to release had now passed. When she left the stall she found herself alone in the bathroom. So she took the time to adjust her skirt and her halter-top. She then washed her hands.

  The door opened behind her.

  Marietta turned off the tap and lifted her eyes to the mirror. “Gemma? What the hell are you doing here?”

  Gemma grabbed her by the hand and dragged her to the closest stall. She forced her inside and closed the door. She looked frazzled, her cinnamon hair loose about her face, perspiration dotting the top of her brow and lip. She wore a green dress and sweater which didn’t really suit the warm summer weather.

  “We don’t have much time,” Gemma said, or rather panted.

  “What’s wrong—” Marietta was silenced when Gemma’s hand went up abruptly over her mouth. Startled her eyes stretched. Gemma leaned in close to whisper her words.

  “You married him. How could you? After I told you not to trust him.”

  Marietta forced her hand off her mouth. “How did you know I was here? What are you doing in Sicily?” she demanded.

  “I can’t believe you married him!” Gemma said in a hushed angry tone.

  “I wanted to call you. I couldn’t find you. I love Lorenzo. You’re wrong about him.” Marietta hugged her neck.

  “Listen to me.” She brought down Marietta’s arms. Her eyes bordered with tears, her nose was red as if she had indeed been crying. “You’re in danger. This is my fault. Forgive me,” Gemma wept.

  “Okay you’re scaring me,” Marietta said.

  “It’s time you know the truth about the Battaglias,” Gemma said.

  “What is the truth?” Marietta asked.

  “Lorenzo lies to you. He knows who your father is and what happened to your mother. All the lies are connected to Giovanni’s wife.”

  “His wife?” Marietta couldn’t digest the information. “Mirabella?”

  “Yes! Mirabella. She’s your sister!”

  Marietta double blinked. She wasn’t sure she heard her right. “Are you insane?”

  “Dammit, Marietta! Damn it! I can’t explain it to you here.” Gemma opened her purse. She forced a letter into Marietta’s hand. “Take this. Read this. It has everything in it. My number is in there. Promise you will call me tonight? So I can help you get out of there.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Marietta said. She pushed the letter hard on Gemma.

  “Take the letter damn it! Have I ever lied to you? Ever?” Gemma asked.

  “Yes you have. By saying Capriccio was my father when it’s evident you knew more! And I’ve met Giovanni Battaglia’s wife. She’s not my sister. It’s not possible.” Marietta said. She found it hard to breathe and speak at the same time. And then the deepening despair deadened all of her faculties. She couldn’t speak, move, or do anything to defend the attack on her heart. She stood there like stone as Gemma berated her.

  “Yes. She. Is.” Gemma said again, slow and precisely. “You two are twins. You were separated and then kept apart by a conspiracy that traces all the way back to here. Sicily. The letter explains it. And the proof of what I’m telling you is at Villa Mare Blu. Mirabella should have it. Read the damn letter.” Once again the letter was placed in Marietta’s hand. She didn’t reject it this time. How could she? Gemma left her like that in the bathroom. Staring at the letter she felt a strange almost melancholy type of emotion and then an ineffable sense of sadness descended on her. Marietta walked out of the bathroom stall in a trance. She forced the letter into her purse with shaky hands.

  The walk back to Catalina was the hardest of her life. With every step she processed the truth from the fiction that had been her life. Marietta was never one for restraint or discipline. She had to employ both to keep from bolting out of the restaurant doors to run down Gemma and demand a reason for the hurtful lies. Lorenzo betrayed her? Bullshit! Mirabella Battaglia is her long lost twin? Bullshit! Bullshit! Bullshit! What was Gemma’s angle with all of this?

  “You okay? I thought you had fell in?” Catalina asked.

  “I’m fine.” Marietta sat. She hoped her smile was convincing. It was hard to maintain it with bile rising in her throat. Marietta tried to steady her breathing. “On second thought I don’t feel well. Do you mind if we leave? Besides Lo is supposed to call me to tell me he arrived.”

  “Aww… and I was just having some fun with you,” Catalina said. She winked. “I’m kidding.” She scooted from the table and rose. Marietta did the same. She barely saw or heard anything on their way out. Catalina stopped a few times to speak to people as if she were a celebrity. Marietta kept her hand on her purse and her eyes on the door.

  Outside of the restaurant she took down deep breaths to fill her lungs with air. Still she felt like she couldn’t breathe. She bit hard on her lip to keep her tears of doubt at bay.

  Marietta had known Gemma since she was a baby. A family friend who always helped her endure the smothering love of her adoptive mother and physical and verbal abuse of her adoptive father. Gemma was family. When Marietta was a teen Gemma shared that she met her mother, only briefly. She gave her the baby bracelet and told her of Capriccio. Gemma had been the true constant in her life. She wouldn’t lie to her. But she had to be. Because what she said made no sense.

  “You’re quiet,” Catalina said, as they drove out of Palermo.

  “Am I?” Marietta tossed back with casual ease. The truth was her body was tensed all over to read the letter inside her purse. It was a physical pain.

  “You sure you okay?” Catalina asked.

  “I am. I have a question. Ah, is Mir, uh, the Donna, is she adopted?” Marietta asked.

  “Adopted? No. She was raised by her grandparents.”

  “Really?” Marietta’s voice cracked with emotion. Repressed tears kept clouding her vision. She put on her sunglasses to cover them. “Where is her mother, her father?”

  Catalina dropped her head back and her brow furrowed as if she were thinking it over. “Her father? Hmm? I never heard her speak of him. I think Gio said he was dead. I think. But she told me her mother died when she was a baby. Her mother was a drug addict.”

  “What?” Marietta’s fist clenched. “Dead? Drugs? You sure?”

  “Yes.” Catalina nodded. “She doesn’t talk of them. But she has this bracelet. A really sweet baby bracelet that her mother gave her and it has her name on it.”

  “No. That’s not true.” Marietta said. “It’s not!”

  “Huh?” Catalina frow
ned. “What’s not true?”

  “Nothing. Sorry, my head hurts.” Marietta put her forehead in her palm with her elbow resting on the door. “Tell me about this bracelet? What did she say about it?”

  “She didn’t say anything about it. I was the one that told her about the weirdness.”

  “What’s weird?” Marietta asked.

  “It has a stamp of Del Stavio’s signature on the clasp. But it couldn’t be his insignia.” Catalina waved it off.

  “Why is that?” Marietta mumbled with concealed restraint.

  “Oh, just because. Remember what I told you about the Mafioso? How each Don has famiglia rule? Well there were five dons of Sicilia. They pretty much lorded over this island from coast to coast. Like a five-point-star. Mancini is one of them. Del Stavio was the jeweler to the Dons. He would not have made the bracelet for an American child. A non-Sicilian. And Mira says America is known for counterfeits.”

  It was the last straw. The innocent truth stripped her raw. Marietta broke down in tears. Alarmed Catalina reached out and touched her. “Are you well?”

  “Get your fucking hands off me!” she shouted at Catalina. “Don’t fucking touch me!”

  Shocked Catalina obliged. Marietta slammed the side of her fist against the door. She had to keep it together. She had to. There was an explanation. A reasonable one. There had to be. She wiped at her tears. Biting her lip to control her sob she managed to gain a sliver of control over her heartache, enough to speak. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I’m so sorry. I… when I…” she couldn’t find the words to explain any of her conflict.

  Catalina braved another touch. She grabbed Marietta’s hand. This time Marietta held hers in return. She squeezed it. Even if they wore the same bracelet, or were both American, they weren’t sisters let alone twins. If she had a twin she would have known it. Felt it. Wouldn’t she? After a long scenic drive they returned to Villa Mare Blu. The women travelled the entire trip in silence while holding hands.

  “Are you sure you will be okay? If you aren’t—”

  “I’m good,” Marietta said. She glanced over to Catalina and squeezed her hand. She was thankful for the friendship. Surprised by it. And heartsick over what she struggled to accept as truth. “I had a bit of anxiety. I have it sometimes.”