Omerta Book Two Page 37

“What do I tell your daughter?”

  “Tell her you killed her father and destroyed her mother. Tell her the truth.”

  Mirabella bit back her own tears and walked out on the only sister she would have. The relationship was over. She knew that now.

  Aversa, Italy - One Week Later

  AT Maddalena insane asylum life moved at a snail’s pace for Marietta. Confined to one room for months she didn’t know the day, or the hour that she got her first taste of freedom. So, when it came she didn’t trust it. Not until she could feel the sun on her face. She walked out of the facility in Verona to a waiting passenger van. She wasn’t alone. Two burly men and a nurse accompanied her. Marietta had braced for the seven-hour drive to the small township of Aversa that was situated between Capua and Naples. In her lap was all that was left in the world of her mother. If there was even a measure of love left in her soul for her sister, it was reserved for this one act of kindness. Because truthfully her sanity was in question. She knew her mother was dead. Yet she saw her constantly. She knew Lorenzo was dead. Yet, she dreamed he would come home to her. It was madness.

  She missed her baby girl the most. She cried every moment they kept them apart. But she knew she’d never get the revenge Giovanni and Mirabella deserved if she didn’t make the sacrifice.

  Marietta fell asleep somewhere between Rome and Naples. When she woke they were driving into a hamlet that looked semi-familiar beneath a setting sun. She gave her handlers no problems. She was careful to be respectful of their commands. She didn’t want the one called Bruna to medicate her. She needed to be clear headed.

  When they brought her in they took her bag from her. Bruna assured her that things would be put in her room. Part of Marietta believed her, but she knew the cruelty of men and women now. If her own family had betrayed her she had no illusions that Bruna and the staff would treat her any differently. Still she kept her cool.

  The intake process dragged on. She wasn’t forced into a uniform but advised of the dress code and the rules of Maddalena. Privileges would have to be earned. And until the doctors felt she was deserving, there would be no outside visitors or phone calls. Marietta smirked. She had no intention of staying more than a few days there. But she played the part that was expected.

  Later that evening after eating in a chamber hall filled with drooling and screaming mental patients she was marched to her room. It was as small as a jail cell. There wasn’t even a television. But her things were there. She turned to complain but the door was slammed and locked. Marietta looked up to the only light source coming in. A window ten feet above her showered her with moonlight. She felt the doubt creep in. Was she wrong? Had she been wrong? She prayed to God she wasn’t. She fell asleep holding the photo album of her baby girl close to her heart.

  “Marietta Battaglia!” a voice barked above her. The woman was even more intimidating than Bruna. She was taller, leaner, with a face so stern she looked as if it were carved from stone. Especially her dark eyes. She smiled, but her eyes and the rest of her face didn’t change. It was as if it were a shifting in the mask she wore.

  “You have a visitor.”

  All of the dread and fear drained from her. She was okay. She was going to be okay.

  “Wash up!” the woman tossed a plastic bag with a uniform and toiletries. “You have fifteen minutes.”

  Marietta was led to the shared bathroom and forced to shower like an inmate. She was watched by two guards as she did. She didn’t complain. This was her sacrifice. She hurried the process of grooming, excited to meet her guest. And when she was ushered to the next room to receive him he appeared to her like a savior.

  “Signora Battaglia, at last. I came as soon as I was told you were brought in. Please, sit.”

  The chair was pulled out for her. A glass of water was put on the table with a pitcher. The Générale flashed her a charming smile.

  “Générale Altoviti, I knew you would keep your promise.”

  The Générale sat at the table. “I did, and I’m told you kept yours.”

  “What I don’t understand is why it took this long. I know I had to leave St. Christopher because there were staff members loyal to Giovani. But you made me give them Lola. I promised Lorenzo before he died I would never let Gio and Mira have her. I don’t see the purpose.”

  “But you will. And so, will the courts. Because that is how you will get justice. You are a brave woman, Signora.”

  “I don’t need your flattery. I want out of this place and I want my daughter like you promised me. Each day I’m away from her... I need you to make that happen as soon as possible.”

  The Générale gave her another nod of understanding. “I have more paperwork for you to sign.” He glanced to the man at his left. A folder was put before her with a long legal document. Marietta snatched the pen and signed every single page without reading any of it.

  “You know your husband was not innocent. He believed in the tenants of Omertà,” the Générale said. He took the documents and smiled at the signatures. “It’s one of the reasons we have spent close to fifty years fighting this war against the Neapolitan Camorra with little success. No one breaks the code of silence. That is until now. Women, they are the keepers of secrets. The ones left when Patriarchy falls. Many men in the old testament took advice and directions from women. Did you know that? David, Joab, even Solomon bowed to his mother Bathsheba and gave her the throne. In the old testament women were used by God for their wisdom and respected by men...”

  “This isn’t bible study. I don’t need a theological lesson.”

  “You see the old testament versus the new is why the Camorra exists after over a hundred years. We don’t understand or respect the teachings of the past in the law. I do. I believe in both. And I believe that women, you women, were the key to the kingdom all along. You live by a code of love and faith, not to the Camorra, but to your husbands. His death will be avenged and with your help, Giovanni Battaglia will face a firing squad for what he has done to hundreds of women, men and children. That is justice.”

  “I want out of this place now. And I want my daughter and the protective custody you promised me. I’ve given my statement, including dates, and every crime my husband whispered in my ears. You know it all now. I’ve done what you asked.”

  The Générale nodded. He smiled. “Yes, you have. And I am going to honor our agreement. Just not at the pace you expect.”

  Marietta frowned. “What does that mean?”

  “It means the wheels of justice do turn slow. I am not judge and jury. I will gather my evidence and make my arrests. And when we have Giovanni Battaglia where we want him, you will be more than willing to deliver the testimony that seals his fate.”

  “What! See it through! I’ve already given you the evidence. He and my sister both should be arrested, now!” Marietta slammed her fist on the table.

  “Some of what you shared I can prove, most of it I can’t.” The Générale stood.

  “No! That’s not our deal. I came here, I committed myself to this place to break the chain on my neck they had on me. So, you could free me!”

  “The doctors have concerns. This could all be the rantings of a delusional grief-stricken widow. Who knows? We don’t even have Lorenzo Battaglias body” The Générale shrugged.

  “You motherfucker!” Marietta shot up. The guard lunged forward and grabbed her arm before she could charge the Carabinieri official. “This is not our agreement!”

  “You are the only valuable witness I have against a criminal organization that has terrorized my Campania for over a century. Not only will I ensure your loyalty to me and the repubblica but I will keep you safe from them. Giovanni may control the streets, but I have a firm grip of Maddalena. So, you will stay here, until the only thing you can stomach is the revenge and hate you have for them. There will be no compassion, and no second thoughts. When your chain is broken you will beg me to testify before the world and you will destroy the Battaglias publicly. Celebrate, signo
ra. We are about to see the end of the Camorra thanks to you.”

  “You fucking liar! We had deal,” Marietta broke down in tears. “You swore to me you would help me! You can’t keep me in here, away from my baby. You promised.”

  The Générale smiled as Marietta kicked and screamed. Two guards had to restrain her. “You can’t do this to me.” Marietta shouted her rage. She managed to free herself from one jailer but the other one grabbed her and threw her into the wall. She hit her head on the solid surface and was temporarily stunned. When she came to seconds later, she was being dragged from the room. She was too dazed to say what she meant to say. To warn the Générale that she would not break for him. It was too late.

  In her room she was strapped to the bed and given a drug that immediately pushed her deeper into darkness. The only rebellion left in her was the tears slipping from her closed lids. How much more did she have to suffer to be free? And when she was free she’d remember her list of enemies and come for them all. The Générale, too.

  Someplace in Russia

  THERE WAS LITTLE FIGHT left in him. It was possibly due to the unrelenting cold. In his life he had never known cold to be so cruel and debilitating as he did now. Lorenzo was bodily thrown into dank chamber. The shove so hard he hit the concrete wall at a speed he didn’t think humanly possible. And he crumbled down to the floor, shivering. If he had clothes, he could withstand it. Naked, he was bare and suffering.

  “Yebanko!” Laughed the Russian.

  His tormentor, picked up a large pail near door. Lorenzo braced himself for what he knew would follow. The bastard let go a deep belly laugh as he splashed him with water. In the cold the water felt like battery acid. He groaned in pain.

  The Russian spat at him and then crouched so he and Lorenzo could be eye to eye. “I speak in English,” he taunted.

  “Here in Russia we say, ‘Hui s gory (Хуй с горы)’ in English you would say it means ‘a penis from the mountain’. But what it really means is ‘a guy who just appeared from somewhere and nobody knows who he is’. That is, you. No clan, no family, no name, no soul. You are nothing. So, we will call you Хуй с горы. And every other week, we will play. And no one will care, not for the man from nowhere.”

  Lorenzo put his back against the wall. The eye-patch he wore made his vision very slighted. But there was little to see, his enemy face didn’t matter. And the mind games didn’t work. He was built to survive hell. And that was his only goal, survival.

  “See you in a week,” the Russian chuckled and left.

  The door opened, closed, and locked. Lorenzo glanced over to his bunk. There was a blanket and a thin grey shirt with long drawstring pants. No socks or shoes for the ice block of a floor he had to stand or sit on. Nothing else. And so it went. Every other week he was stripped to nothing and tortured by one bastard then a different bastard, or maybe the same bastard. It was hard to know. He just endured. The following week he was given the essentials. Not for compassion. He learned it was how the Russians dealt with torture. Something sweet, then something sour, until your mind snapped and began to get used to the taste of it all.

  Shivering hard with black and purple bruises over his body and even the bottoms of his feet, he managed to stand. He limped over to the cot and picked up the blanket to dry himself. He couldn’t last long in the frigid cold wet. He then slipped on the clothes that offered no warmth. He laid the blanket out flat to let the cold dry it. Food would be denied for the night, but he did say a silent prayer for water. If he had water, he would be okay.

  Lorenzo eased down on the cot and laid back. The moment he did he closed his eyes. The cold did one thing for certain. It numbed his body and the pain became one ache instead of multiple aches all over. For that he was grateful. With eyes closed he tried to force away the horrors he endured for the weeks. He only broke twice, for the most part he withstood. Soon his thoughts drifted to his wife. She was back in America raising their little girl. She was safe. He knew Giovanni kept his promise and saw to it. For that he was grateful. For Marietta and Lorenza whatever happened to him was worth it.

  Maddalena, Italy

  “LET ME OUT!” MARIETTA screamed. She beat her fist against the door. She screamed and screamed until her voice went hoarse and her throat felt like it would bleed down into her stomach. “I’m not supposed to be here!”

  She slumped to the floor. “I’m not supposed to be here.”

  Marietta drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. She buried her face against her knees. “I’m not supposed to be here.”

  “Mary?” a soft voice spoke.

  Marietta slowly lifted her head and looked up into her mother’s eyes. She shook her head no. “You’re not real. You’re not real.”

  “Shhh,” her mother said. “Doesn’t matter that I’m not real. I’m here. I’m with you.”

  “Why? I need Lorenzo,” Marietta wept. “Why you! I don’t fucking need you!”

  Her mother smiled. She nodded that she understood. She dropped her face to her knees and cried until she couldn’t any longer. When she lifted her head she saw she was alone. Marietta wiped at her tears and the snot that dripped from her nose. She forced herself up from the padded floor and went to the bed. She lay on it and drew up into the fetal position. She closed her eyes and thought of Lorenzo. She prayed the first bullet put him to eternal sleep and he was no alive when the boat burned. She prayed that he was with her mother, and his real mother. That he had finally found peace. Marietta calmed. Lorenzo was at peace. He was gone. She had to accept the truth because Lola was all they had left. She’d gambled her daughter’s future on the hope for revenge. Now she had to fight for her life and Lola’s. And she would. She just didn’t know how.

  EPILOGUE

  Where does the time go?

  January 1, 1996 - Houston, Texas

  “HELLO? HELLO?”

  There was no answer.

  “Damn it.”

  It was hard enough to drive and hold the mobile phone. To make matters worse she had lost the signal needed to dial out again. She’d have to rely on the directions the attorney wrote for her. She tossed the mobile over to the passenger seat and gripped the steering wheel with both hands. It was best that she focus on the road. She had travelled forty miles outside of Houston. A distance she wouldn’t have chosen if it weren’t for the opportunity to build the perfect family home for her and the kids.

  The lawyers had delivered. Carlo had kept his promise. Two weeks after she returned home from Italy with his daughter and new son, she was awarded full custody of Jilly. Before they could celebrate, the money awarded to them to run ‘New Beginnings’ with federal subsidization came through. She’d never seen anything her life happen so smoothly and fast. One of the top Congressmen in Texas did a press conference and personally congratulated her and Doris.

  The blessings didn’t end there. Carlo’s promise to her was even sweeter. A facility was built by the trust the Battaglias had established for Jewel. Carlo’s blood money was washed cleaned through Mirabella’s companies. She could hire a full staff and house over fifty at risk girls in New Beginnings and they were in talks to open another group home. It would be a dream if she weren’t so close to having it all. The one thing she and the children needed the most stayed beyond her reach. Carlo had disappeared from their life. The news out of Italy said he was dead. She had received a message from the attorneys that he wasn’t. That was all she knew.

  “There it is,” she mumbled.

  Shae turned off to the driveway. The grass was so tall it nearly reached her car windows. She drove straight to the three-story ranch house on seven acres of land. It was massive. And it was too big for just her and the kids. But the land was perfect. She could see so many possibilities.

  She turned off the engine and reached for the mobile phone again. She checked for bars and saw there was only one. The realtor was supposed to meet her at two in the afternoon. She was half an hour late. Did the agent leave? Shae tried ag
ain to use her phone and this time she did get a signal. However, there was no answer.

  “Damn it.”

  Shae got out of the car and slammed the door. She hitched her purse up her shoulder and looked around. She was not alone. A sleek black SUV with tinted windows was parked to the side of the house. Shae leaned a bit to see the truck clearly. Why the realtor decided to park in the grass instead of the driveway was a mystery to her. After seeing the truck, she confidently walked up the steps to the door. She turned the doorknob and it opened the door.

  “Hello?” she said as she went inside. “It’s Shannon Dennis. Mr. Cornell are you here?”

  “Hello?”

  “I’m sorry I’m late. I had a hard time finding the place.”

  She walked into the hall and looked up to the stairs. The natural light of the place gave it a very cleansed feel. She could see everything the house could become with her minds-eye. From the family portraits to the baby walkers that Carmine and jewel raced in against her hardwood floors. They’d be walking soon so she’d definitely have to do something about the stairs. Shae walked further in and touched the walls that had been freshly painted. Her gaze shifted to the left. In the parlor was a white fold out chair. The kind used for picnics or lawn parties. On it was a bottle of champagne with a red bow tied around the neck.

  “Mr. Cornell?” she called out to her realtor. She picked up the champagne bottle. There was a little card attached to the bow. She read the card aloud: Miss me?

  Was this a surprise from Doris? She hadn’t even told Doris she was coming to view the house today. Her friend didn’t like all the big changes happening in their lives.

  “Ciao bella. Felice anno nuovo!”

  Shae head turned, and the bottle nearly slipped from her hand. Carlo stepped into the room. He wore a dark blue suit and silk pink tie, her favorite color. He held a large bouquet of pink roses with one hand.

  “Surprise? I’m home.”