La Famiglia Read online

  “You can. We’ll sit here until you accept it.” Lorenzo’s gaze slipped over to her. “What are you afraid of?”

  “Well for one your evil cousin. He’ll blame me for what happened,” Marietta said.

  Lorenzo smiled. “You aren’t afraid of him. You should be,” Lorenzo chuckled. “But you’re too damned stubborn to realize it. Now, tell me who you are really afraid of.”

  Marietta combed her fingers back through her thick bushy locks. She sucked down a deep breath. She spoke with her head down. “Mirabella. I’m afraid for her, my sister. What if something happens to the babies? She won’t forgive me for telling her the truth. She’s all I’ve got and I’ve been a bitch to her from the day I met her.” Marietta lowered her hands. “I’m not good at this. I don’t know how to make things right with people. Look at us. I should be wearing your balls as earrings after the way you deceived me.”

  Lorenzo lifted her chin with his finger. “It’s not for you to make right. She’s your blood. She’s your family. What happened to you happened to her. Go in there and help your sister. You need this, Marie, and she does too,” he chuckled. “As for my balls, I’d rather them in your mouth than on your ears.”

  Marietta smacked him playfully. He reached over and hugged her. She kissed him. “How come I can’t stay mad at you?” she asked.

  “Because you and I don’t deal in bullshit. We are who we are, and we accept it.” Lorenzo teased with a sly smile. “Besides, I think we should fight more later. It’s good for us.”

  Marietta let him go. She looked to the hospital. “Can we stay in the car for a little longer? I think I need a little longer,” she said.

  Lorenzo turned on the car and put the a/c on full blast. “Take all the time you need.”

  * B *

  Giovanni paced. It was just he and Mancini. Not even Armando was allowed in for their closed-door meeting. The old man watched him from his chair. He showed no fear or concern for his safety. Men like him never did. Mancini had crushed so many others’ lives that he now had little respect for his own. Giovanni had to force down the urge to not snatch him from his wheelchair and body slam him into the wall.

  “How is my daughter?” the old man asked.

  “Don’t fucking call her that!” Giovanni seethed.

  Mancini arched a brow. “Perchè? She’s mine, Gio. I made her.” He sneered. “She has my blood in her veins.” The last of his comment stripped Giovanni of his restraint but Mancini continued and his pursuit stopped him cold. “You have a daughter. What is the child’s name? Eve? Ah, yes you named her after your mother. Would you let any man stand between you and Eve?”

  “You fool, no one old man. You can give a shit about the twin daughters you left in America. Who she is has nothing, absolutely nothing to do with why you are here now!”

  “Then enlighten me. Why am I here now?” Mancini choked down a cough that broke his question midway through.

  “To test me. To find my weakness. To destroy my marriage!” Giovanni shouted.

  “Son,” Mancini smiled, and to Giovanni he seemed more confident than he should. “I’ve told you. I want Mirabella, not you. Only her.”

  “Bomba!” Giovanni shouted. “She wants nothing to do with you.”

  “Then tell her who I am,” Mancini replied with the upward toss of his chin. “Let her tell me to my face.”

  “How did you know we were here? How?” Giovanni demanded.

  Mancini wheezed. He inhaled a deep dose of oxygen before he spoke. “Her mother, that’s how I knew, that’s why I came.”

  “Her mother’s dead,” Giovanni said.

  “Yes. But they are connected on this day in ways you don’t know. Lisa, Mirabella’s mother, almost died when she delivered my girls.” Mancini did a deliberate pause and Giovanni held his breath for the rest of the news. The old man took his sweet time in sharing it. After several seconds of him dragging air from his tank he spoke. “She had a stroke when giving birth. It was bad. She could no longer have children. She sat in a coma for days.”

  The news twisted and turned his gut. He never considered the medical information Mancini may have on his Bella’s mother. Mancini’s defiance and entitlement did not overshadow the hurt and longing that lay naked in his eyes. “Is it true? Did Mira deliver my grandsons early?”

  “She did.” Giovanni turned away. He closed his eyes and struggled for his own breath. He felt as if his heart had been squeezed by a vice in his chest.

  “And how is she?” Mancini asked He nearly pleaded with a tremor in his voice.

  Giovanni didn’t answer.

  “How is she?” Mancini barked.

  “Her heart stopped.” Giovanni confessed in a voice heavy with anguish.

  “This is your fault, Gio. Yours. Bringing her here. Feeding your ego to have all things Sicilian when you’re not.”

  “I’m as much Sicilian as you.” Giovanni answered.

  Mancini chuckled, “No, but thanks to my daughter your sons are more Sicilian than you.”

  Giovanni cut his gaze back over his shoulder. Mancini smiled as he spoke, a sadistic turn of his lips that had no humor present. “Ignoring the doctor’s warnings. Keeping her locked away from me. All of it put her in jeopardy.”

  “My wife, my kids, my famiglia old man. Mine!” he shouted. “I brought her here because I am Sicilian and so is she—we belonged here. You were never a fucking factor!”

  Mancini sucked down more oxygen.

  Giovanni leaned in. “She knows about you, Marsuvio. I told her the truth.”

  Mancini gaped.

  Giovanni nodded that he was telling the truth.

  “She knows?” Mancini asked.

  “Yes. And it didn’t matter to her. You were not even a consideration for her.”

  “Does she know what Tomosino had done?” Mancini replied. “Did that matter?”

  “She’s a Battaglia, it ends there. She’s Catholic now, married me before God. My father’s sins and yours can never change the fact that she is my wife. Never. You can go.” Giovanni turned for the door.

  “Gio!”

  He stopped.

  “You don’t want to go to war with me, son. Not over this. I have nothing to lose. Death is the only thing waiting for me now. I’ll take you with me to have five minutes with my daughters.”

  He glanced back. “And Armando? Does he want to know his little sisters?”

  Mancini picked his hat up from his knees and rested the fedora on the top of his head. “My son puts family first in all things. Like you.”

  “Bullshit! Your late need to be a father makes my wife and her sister a target in your son’s eyes, you and I both know it. Your men learn that you have a daughter who is my wife what does that do for you, for him? Huh?” Giovanni expelled a deep sigh. “I’ll tell you what happens next. We go to war. Because there is no way the Mancinis and the Battaglias can be family. And for the first time since we were fifteen Armando and I agree on something.”

  “I’ve put Mira in my will. I’ve put Marietta in my will.” Mancini wheezed. “When I die they inherit everything with their brother. If anything happens to them he loses his fortune. I have planned this for years, Gio. Have you done the same?”

  Giovanni shoved the door open and stormed out. He wouldn’t hear another word. Armando glanced up when he walked out into the hall. Their eyes connected and locked.

  Marietta walked a step behind Lorenzo. He held her hand. When they arrived in the wing of the hospital where Mira was her courage had all but evaporated. Just as they turned the corner she saw Giovanni step out of a door. He glared at a strikingly handsome Sicilian who leaned against the wall in a tailored suit.

  Lorenzo stopped. So Marietta had to as well.

  “What is it, Lo?” Marietta asked.

  Another man wheeled out of the room Giovanni exited. He was older. He had an oxygen tank fastened to the back of his chair. At first none of the men saw them. It was Giovanni who looked left and his eyes connected with hers
.

  “Who is it, Lo?” Marietta asked.

  The old man in the wheelchair’s gaze turned her way. He stared at her.

  “It’s your father, sweetheart,” Lorenzo said.

  “My fa-ther?” Marietta asked. Surprise stabbed her heart. “That’s him? Marsuvio?”

  “Now is not a good time, Marietta. Do you understand?” Lorenzo said through his teeth. “We are here for Mira. Only Mira.”

  The suffocating feeling of restraint tightened her throat. She couldn’t reply. She stared into the eyes of the man and felt so many things at once. He looked powerful. Even in his chair he looked intimidating. The fedora on his head didn’t give her a clear look at his dark penetrating eyes. But she could tell at one time he’d been strikingly handsome. His broad shoulders and long legs in the chair made him over six foot tall at the very least. The inner torment over the confrontation she’s wanted to have with this man since she learned Octavio Leone was not her birth father tore at her heart.

  The bastard wanted her dead. It’s what Gemma told her. And he was a rapist. It’s what Gemma said of him. He was the man who destroyed her mother—made her a junkie and left her for his enemies. She wished she had a gun to unload on him. Lorenzo began to walk. Marietta knew she matched his pace but somehow she felt as if he dragged her along. She went numb all over. Her eyes never left the old man. He may have been feeble in the chair he sat in but his eyes were alarmingly focused.

  “Gio? How is Mirabella?” Lorenzo asked.

  Giovanni’s stare never wavered. Marietta sensed she shouldn’t look away and she didn’t. But she ached to look to her father who watched her.

  “I want to see her,” Marietta said.

  Giovanni frowned. He glanced up at Lorenzo. Neither spoke but Marietta sensed they communicated. The men in the hall stared on in silence. Her father stared on in silence. Giovanni turned and started off. Lorenzo’s gaze lowered to Marietta. “Go with him.”

  “What?” Marietta asked alarmed. “Without you?”

  “Go. I need to deal with our guests.” Lorenzo glanced over to Marsuvio. She dared look at the man. He said nothing. She felt nothing for him. Without another word of objection she did what she was asked. She glanced back twice to Mancini. The old man never took his eyes off her.

  When she caught up to Giovanni around the corner, he stood there waiting for her. “I will let you see her, because I owe it to her and maybe you. But let’s be clear, I have not forgotten your role in this. I will not have you or anyone say or do anything to harm her.”

  “I understand,” Marietta said. “I have not forgotten your role in this also.”

  Giovanni’s left brow arched. He looked her over. “You’re nothing like my Bella,” he said with disgust and walked off. Marietta shot her middle finger at him when his back was turned. She followed him. He stopped and spoke to a nurse. She said a few things and then pointed.

  He addressed Marietta without a glance backward. “Stay out here until I send for you.”

  “Wait! You said I could see her,” Marietta said.

  Giovanni didn’t respond and walked inside the room. Marietta crossed her arms and dropped back on the wall to wait. She’d wait all night if she had to. The hall, rooms, staff, everyone was extra quiet. She assumed they were in the ICU wing of the hospital, but didn’t ask.

  * B *

  Mira lay tucked under a thin blanket with a breathing tube down her throat. Like her sons she needed the oxygen fed to her. Her hair was thick and untamed, her body still and quiet. Giovanni stepped to the foot of her bed. The endless day of waiting had finally grayed into this despondent dawn. A new anguish seared his heart. Giovanni wondered if she suffered. He gripped the railing at the foot of the bed and dropped his head.

  Did she suffer because of me?

  For the first time since he thought she had died because of his negligence, he wept. Not since the nightmare started did he allow himself a single tear. But alone with her in that moment he couldn’t hold his anguish back any longer. Terrible regrets assailed him. Smothering his sob, his fingers curled and his fists tightened as he gripped the cool steel of the footboard. The release freed him. It took several long minutes before he could regain control of himself. He did.

  He walked around the bed to the other side. He grabbed a chair and pulled it close and sat in it. With extreme care Giovanni took her listless hand into his. It felt warm to the touch. A smile formed on his lips. Often when they slept he’d feel her touch in their bed either to his chest or his face. He’d open his eyes to find she’d reached for him in her sleep. Giovanni pressed his lips to her knuckles and closed his eyes.

  “Bella,” Giovanni cleared his throat. “You did it,” he paused only because he found it hard to breathe at the moment. He pressed on past his anxiety and smiled to keep back the tears. “Our sons are alive, they are beautiful little ones. Gianni is three pounds. Gino is two. He had the toughest time. But he’s strong, like you. He will survive. We are survivors, you and me.”

  There wasn’t any sign that she heard or understood him. Giovanni pressed her hand to the side of his tear soaked face. “No more secrets. They’ve hurt us too much, mine and yours. I understand that now. I’ve learned a lesson… I have. I swear it.” He kissed her hand.

  Giovanni set her hand down gingerly. He dropped back in his seat with a deep exhale. He stared at his wife and considered all they faced. He would have to do today the things necessary to make forgiveness between them possible.

  “Someone wants to see you,” he said. He chewed on his bottom lip and struggled with the rest of his news. “I won’t lie to you… I want to be selfish. I want to keep them all away. But I know you need me to be stronger than my pride.” His gaze switched to the door to the room. “But I swear to you, Bella, none of them will come between us. Ever.” After a long moment he forced himself to stand. He leaned over and smoothed her hair from her brow. He kissed her on the forehead twice. “Sei la mia blu rosa. Vita mia,” he whispered that she was his blue rose, his life.

  Giovanni walked into the bathroom in her room and cleaned his face to ensure his face was cleared of any evidence of tears. Once done, he collected himself before he opened the door. Marietta looked up at him. She had eyes like his wife. It was damn hard to look into her eyes. Unable to speak he simply nodded for her to come inside and held the door open wide for her to pass through. Before he didn’t see the resemblance between the sisters, now each time he looked at Marietta all he saw was his wife. She was hesitant in her steps at first. He observed her as she passed under the threshold. Marietta paused just inside of the door. “What is wrong with her?” Marietta asked softly.

  “Her heart stopped during delivery. Thanks to you,” Giovanni said. He regretted the comment the moment it parted his lips.

  Marietta’s head sharply turned. She looked up at him with defiance. “You mean thanks to us. Me and you,” she replied.

  Giovanni had to smile. “Yes, because of us,” he agreed.

  Marietta returned her gaze to Mira. “Will she wake soon?” she asked.

  “They put her in a coma. The doctors say we can only do short visits. You have ten minutes.” Giovanni left the room. He sucked down a deep breath in the hall and stood guard at the door.

  Marietta found a chair had been brought close to the side of the bed. She wanted to sit but she didn’t know if it was appropriate considering what happened between them. She approached the foot of the bed. “Mirabella, it’s me. Marietta,” she said. She cleared her throat. “I... I’m so sorry, about everything. Forgive me. I knew you were on bed rest and I…” Marietta stopped herself. Nothing she said could change the events of the day. “You have to wake up. I never had a sister. I’ve always wanted one.” She wiped her tears. The admission was dredged from a deep place of longing.

  “Your boys and little girl need you.” Marietta sucked down a deep breath for bravery and continued. “So many people need you.”

  Mira didn’t stir. Not a hint of understandi
ng was evident. Marietta walked around the bed and sat by the side of it. “Weird, huh? You and me? When I think on it I always felt I had… someone like me in the world. I hated my adoptive father he was a… very cruel man. He used to lock me in a closet when I was little. He would hit us for anything he thought we did wrong. I… uh, I would hide in my room and pretend I was somewhere else. Like with another family, ya know? I knew I had one. I felt you.” Marietta wiped her tears from her cheeks. “That’s why I came to Italy. Because of this feeling that I belonged somewhere, to someone. I thought it was my real father or mother, but it was you. Wasn’t it?”

  Marietta closed her eyes. “I’m rambling. I know. I’m not good with words. I just say whatever’s in my head. There’s so much I want to know about you, about my real family. Our grandparents. The farm? Is it still there?” Marietta sighed, deeply. She cleared her throat and tried to be more eloquent. “I want to tell you about me. I owned a store, a business. I make things, like you. I was a decorator. Or I tried to be…” her voice trailed off.

  Marietta’s eyes fell on Mira’s hand. Her sister’s diamond wedding ring glistened on her finger. She lifted her own hand and reached to touch Mira’s but her courage failed her. She couldn’t. She lowered her hand back to her lap. “You don’t know me. You don’t have to know me if you don’t want to. But you have that little girl, and your twins. Do you want your children to grow up without you?” Marietta asked. “Please don’t give up!”

  “You heard her.” A voice said. “You aren’t a quitter are you?”

  Mira’s gaze volleyed from left to right. The atmosphere was thick like smoke. It smelled and tasted of nothing but the fogged air made visibility impossible. When she turned in search of an exit the person who spoke walked out of a cloud of nothingness. Fabiana. Her friend looked unchanged. Her thick scarlet hair hung in graceful curves around her shoulders and was as radiant as her blue eyes. She wore the yellow dress Mira loathed and shook her hips as a reminder that she loved to tease Mira.

  “Well? Do I get a hello?” Fabiana grinned.