La Sposa Page 8

  “Well she had her father now didn’t she?” she answered back with a burdened sigh. “I had her all day, Giovanni. Zia is a great help, yes, but make no mistake, I don’t shove our daughter off on others.” Rising, she felt a sharp cramp in her pelvis. It made her heart skip a beat with worry. But she masked the pain from him, being careful not to touch herself. She sluggishly moved toward the bathroom.

  “What’s wrong?” he said, reading her discomfort, despite her efforts to conceal it.

  “I just want to shower and go to bed. I’m really tired.”

  He was out of the bed and approaching fast. Before she reached the bathroom door he stopped her, turning her to face him. His hand cupped the side of her face and he stared down at her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, nothing.” She forced levity to her voice when she spoke. “I have good news. The dress is done. I think it might be the best one I’ve ever made.”

  “Why? Why do this? I had Gucci send over dresses and you sent them away. You’re pregnant. Can’t you allow me this much? It’s not about controlling you, it’s protecting you.”

  “I’m too tired to fight with you. I just told you that I finished my dress and this is all you have to say? Stop it,” she began to weep. “I’m so tired of trying to explain everything to you.”

  “How am I torturing you when all I’m trying to do is understand you, Bella? Don’t cry.” He swept her up in his arms and held her. He then walked her to the bed. The bed felt like a sea of clouds and the cool sheets were so inviting, she nearly passed out when she eased under the covers. He joined her. She clung to him and buried her face in his chest. “I just wanted the perfect dress. I wanted to feel like I could still do it, like when Fabiana was here. Nothing can replace her or what we created together. Catalina and Rosetta tried but they aren’t her. No one can replace her! Will it ever stop hurting? Ever?”

  “You’re pushing yourself too hard.”

  “I needed to feel normal, Giovanni. This is my way.”

  He stroked the back of her head. “Then you will do it. I’ll build you a place here. I’ll bring in whatever you need. You’ll have it again, Bella, I swear. Listen to me, Cara, it’s normal to miss her, to feel pain is okay. The difference is you aren’t alone. We can grieve together for Fabiana.”

  “It’s been two years.”

  “Doesn’t matter. When you left me, I grieved for you every night. I dreamed of you nearly every night.”

  “You did?” She lifted her face and looked up at him.

  “Every night.” He nodded. “There were times when I prayed to not wake up, it hurt so bad.”

  “I’m sorry for what I put you through.”

  “Shhh… I did more to you than you’ve ever done to me. I’ve changed your life, and not all of it for the better. But you forgive me of my sins. You accept me for who I am. It’s time I accept you for who you are. The black Americana dress maker. My dress maker.”

  Mira smiled.

  “I know you miss her, so don’t try to hide it from me. Ever.”

  She released the stress of the day in his arms, allowing him to hold her.

  “It’s Capodonna. Tonight we see the last of the past. We start fresh with a new year. Our year, Bella.”

  “Yes. I need a do over, Giovanni. I want to forget the year, the past two years, and start again.”

  Giovanni could feel her trembling against him. He was concerned. He couldn’t be mad at her for wanting to make their day special. To him it was just a dress. Now he knew it symbolized much more to her. She needed this, and he needed her whole. “Bella?”

  “Mmm,” she exhaled.

  “Do you know the name of your father? Was there ever a name given to you as a child?”

  Her head lifted. She had beautiful amber-brown eyes under sweeping lashes. One look into them and he nearly lost his train of thought. Then she spoke and reminded him of the question. “Why do you want to know about him?”

  “We’re family now. I need to know everything about the people who created you. I’ve told you everything about my parents.”

  “True.” She agreed. “His name is James Walker. He was the boy my mother ran away with when she was sixteen.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “I don’t know. When I was seven, my grandmother told me she believed he was my father, but only after I came home from being teased by the kids in school. The Walkers didn’t acknowledge me. I had cousins and aunts, but no one would really have anything to do with me. I heard rumors in high school that James Walker was serving a double life sentence for killing people in Philadelphia. That’s all I ever knew. I never pursued the truth.”

  Giovanni listened to the strange tale. A mother who was a drug addict and a father, who was a murderer, had a child with a very rare gold bracelet sired by a private jeweler to the most notorious men in Sicily. None of it made sense. “Is that everything?”

  “Yes, Giovanni. It’s all I know,” she yawned.

  He kissed the top of her head. “Sleep. For as long as you need. I’m here.”

  She kissed his chest and snuggled up against him, and soon he heard her light snoring. He glanced up at the ceiling. “James Walker?”

  Morning –

  The most beautiful melody filled the room. It was a private pleasure. As if the loveliness radiated from her heart. She smiled in her sleep. Her fleeting dreams of sewing needles and deadlines cleared, and soon she woke to an unexpected reality. Her eyes parted a fraction, then wider. Mira’s gaze drifted to the left. Giovanni sat at her bedside, strumming the strands of a guitar. The sight of him with the instrument startled her. She shot upright. He owned a guitar? He played the guitar? Blue rose petals fell away from her chest. Covered all over the sheets were the petals. In several clear crystal vases, the long stem rose was on display. What girl wouldn’t love the sight of a blue rose?

  He seemed at ease in a white t-shirt and jeans. He concentrated on the rhythmic plucking of his fingers, and then lifted his gaze. When he was like this, calm and loving, his irises held the most beautiful color of violet. Today, she could read the depths of passion smoldering in his intense stare. She didn’t know the appropriate response to the man at her bedside. He had truly taken her by surprise. It was such an honest and pure moment between them, she felt if she spoke, the binding of his heart to hers would weaken. The air she breathed became so concentrated in her lungs, she swallowed several times to capture a needed breath. Mira settled back into the pillows, maintaining his stare as he played his guitar for her. And it wasn’t an ordinary instrument. The surface looked as if it was made of ivory, and the rawhide cover of the back confirmed that it was indeed a well-cared for custom piece. The long neck of the guitar had his name written on the surface, and the tuning pegs looked to be made of gold.

  Giovanni began to sing to her in Italian.

  Out of his mouth came a thick husky voice that carried a tune well over the words, “il mio cuore batte solo per te”. The translation made her smile. He said his heart beats only for her. She wished she knew the song. She would sing it with him, because the feelings were mutual. Last night he comforted her, and today she felt a renewed sense of love between them. He smiled at her and winked. The man before her was the only one she knew and adored. Let him be their Don. For her and Eve, he would be husband and father. Mira touched her tummy protectively.

  “Bravo!” she clapped.

  He bowed his head in humble acceptance of her praise.

  “What is all of this?” she asked.

  “It’s how I wanted you to begin your day. Especially on the eve before you become mine,” he said, setting the guitar aside.

  “I’m already yours.” She leaned over and kissed him, keeping her lips pressed so he wouldn’t be exposed to her morning breath. But Giovanni was insistent for more. He captured her lips for a deeper kiss that melted her beneath the sheets. He chuckled when she bit his bottom lip and drew back, sucking away the sting. “I thought you would sing outside my windo
w like Franco did for Catalina. Or is the Don unwilling to show the family his talents.”

  Giovanni blushed, and lowered his eyes. “I wanted it to be private, to have even more meaning.”

  “It does. I loved it,” she smiled.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I prepared a breakfast for you. Your favorite things.”

  “You what?” she thought a chuckle.

  He rose and went to the silver tray left on the reading table in the room. Mira watched curiously as he returned to the bed.

  “I love the roses. I’m surprised with the rainstorm you were able to gather so many.”

  He didn’t answer. He placed the tray over her lap and lifted the lid over the dish he prepared. The plate had pancakes stacked, a steamy portion of scrambled eggs, crisp bacon, and golden brown sausage links. “You did this?”

  “It’s your favorite, right?” he grinned.

  Actually it wasn’t. But it was a traditional American breakfast favorite. She looked up into his eyes and saw how proud he was of the meal. “Yes, it’s my favorite. How did you know?” she lied.

  He shrugged. “I knew it. I ate it a lot when I was at Harvard.”

  Giovanni eased onto the bed with her and began to cut her pancakes. He even had syrup to pour out evenly across the cakes. “I had the boys find all of the good stuff. Zia made the batter for the cakes, but everything else I did. The sausage is hand-rolled by Zia but I fried it in the skillet. Here, eat some.” He fed her from the fork.

  Mira chewed and smiled. “Good.”

  “Eve will be in soon. She’s having breakfast with the family downstairs.”

  “We could have joined them, Giovanni.” She ate some more from his fork.

  “I’d rather we have our time. We will take her with us on the honeymoon. I’ve asked Cecilia to be her nanny.”

  “Who?”

  “She’s the youngest daughter of Vinnie Razza, a man who works for me. She’s a year younger than Catalina. Very bright girl. You’ll meet her today.”

  “So will you tell me where our honeymoon will be?”

  “No.” he grinned.

  “The wedding?”

  “It’s close.”

  “Here?”

  “No. But close. Did Zia explain what you are to expect? How we do things?”

  “Yes. She explained it all. Now give me a hint.”

  “No.”

  “Oh, Giovanni. C’mon, a girl needs to know these things.”

  “All you need to know is that I love you. And the day will be the most memorable day of your life.”

  “I don’t think so. The most memorable day of my life is the day you came for me and Eve.”

  He stopped feeding her and smiled. She touched his face. “I love you, Don Battaglia. I can’t wait to be your wife.”

  He kissed her, and Mira stroked the side of his face. Life couldn’t be any sweeter.

  Milan Italy –

  It was New Year’s Eve. It would prove to be nothing more than another wasted day. With no woman, no real trust between him and his cousin, and only one friend, he had no one to confide the truth of the dark secret he carried. Lorenzo expected to spend the last day of a fucked up year alone. And it suited him just fine. This is what he’d come to accept year after year since his ill-tempered mother Isabella died. However, today he had a cause. Unfinished business to attend to with David Capriccio before the city of Milan, exploded with lights and good cheer. With the wedding tomorrow, Lorenzo would have to be quick about things. He still needed to call in the final details for the festivities. Mostly, his concerns were the logistics, security, and payoffs to officials to grant Giovanni complete access to anywhere in the southern region he chose. It was times like this he missed Dominic’s role as consigliere. Who wanted to be stuck with this menial bullshit?

  The brisk weather forced him to hang a heavy dark wool coat over his broad shoulders. It was often an unwelcome occurrence when the drastic change in climate between the northern and southern townships came down upon him. Shoving his hands down in the pockets of his trousers, he continued on. He walked a block up torturing twisting alleys to the business offices tucked between via Porlezza and via Giulini. Several people dined outside of sweet smelling cafes, nibbling on pastries. Others lingered for morning chats over cigarettes and small cups of espresso. He knew a few, but many knew him, and nodded in respect at his passing.

  The walk was short. Lorenzo entered Negali’s building and took the elevator to his floor. The building felt unoccupied. He shed his coat and dropped it in the chair near the door when he walked inside. A quick check of his watch confirmed he was early. Since Negali rarely conducted business in Milan, he didn’t expect to find many clients at the early hour in the attorney’s office. The front of the suite was dark thanks to the single window with a drawn shade. Scattered rays of sunlight, however, bled into the room; and with the aid of the dimmed ceiling lights the place, was cast in a gauzy yellow haze. The receptionist desk was absent of Nora, who usually greeted him with a big smile and large breasts. The kind of tits a man could suck all day. He’d fucked her twice, but she was a bit too clingy for his taste.

  Milan was Lorenzo’s home after his exile. Negali typically worked out of Napoli. However, over the past years with the Calderone war moving the families’ interests further north, the quick witted attorney had opened an office here. Or so he said. It served Giovanni well since they acquired the triangle, which consisted of Milan, Turin, and Genoa.

  A rustling noise disturbed his thoughts. Lorenzo’s brows lowered with suspicion. His gun was tucked to the back of his pants shielded under his sports coat. However, it remained well within reach if needed. He didn’t feel the urge to draw it. Instead he remained silent and alert as he approached the half- closed door. He eased it open with a slight push of his hand and then he paused.

  The soft seductive allure of Shalimar greeted him. He actually inhaled deeply, and after one dose of its inviting appeal, he inhaled again. A woman he was certain he’d never met before busied herself with a curious task. As she moved about, she wonderfully stirred the air of Negali’s office.

  She had her back to him. She was before a file cabinet that he was almost certain Negali kept under lock and key. Using what appeared to be some kind of knife or letter opener, she pried the lock and opened one drawer after another. Each time she slammed it shut, she muttered a curse under her breath. Whatever it was she sought, her search kept coming up dry. He didn’t disturb her hustle. Something about her hurried manner and skill with the silver pointed letter opener intrigued him.

  Her blouse had the soft ripple of fabric that reminded him of silk. She wore dark pants flattering her curves. This one had the fine hips and shapely ass he liked on his women. Her hair was thick with curls, brushing an inch beyond her shoulders. He wondered if she was as pleasant face to face as she was from the backside.

  Either she heard his thoughts or felt his presence, because she turned and looked him directly in the eye.

  Shock, then suspicion, covered her strikingly delicate features. And she rewarded his sly smile with a frown. The beauty before him didn’t belong in Silvio Negali’s office. And it wasn’t her dusky brown skin or the letter opener she wielded in her right hand. There was something about her that felt foreign and out of place with thievery. Maybe it was the challenge he read in her fearless posture. Nonetheless, she had his undivided attention.

  What a tasty morsel she was. The intensity and purpose of her stare was a bit overwhelming on the face of someone so feminine and dainty. A pair of soulful brown irises ringed with dark lush lashes, smoldered with defiance. She tightened her small fist around the gleaming, sharply pointed letter opener, as one would wield a weapon. She looked to be in her early or mid-twenties. Lorenzo’s gaze was seduced by her presence, fragrance, and beauty to lower. Drawn now to her bow shaped, rose-pink lips, determined chin, and then down her slender throat where it lingered on her jutting br
easts, narrow waist, and heart- shaped hips.

  She cleared her throat.

  He forced his gaze up. To do so took the strength of Hercules. She had childbearing hips and thighs any man would love to climb between. All of this sex appeal at once was a bit confusing, because he typically wasn’t aroused so easily by a woman wearing so much clothing. Besides, he liked dresses and low cut blouses. He wanted to see a woman’s thighs and watch the way her ass moved under a skirt. He was a bit old- fashioned this way. Fabiana had been an angel in stilettos. This dark beauty was the total opposite.

  All the blood pumping through the chambers of his heart rushed to his groin. Fuck, did he have an erection? Lorenzo got a hold of himself. Minutes ticked by and neither of them spoke. He had a problem finding his voice. She was tense, as if she was waiting for him to strike.

  Was she a thief? God, he hoped so. It’s been quite some time since he came across one with the balls to grift a lawyer employed by the Camorra. Her lashes swept down, and she too gave him a critical inspection. Did he pass the test?

  As if to answer his silent question, she placed the letter opener down on the desk and smiled.

  “Buongiorno. Come sí chiami?” The softest feminine voice escaped her. It had a lyrical seductive appeal. Lorenzo was rendered speechless. She looked American, though her Italian was as smooth as cream. The left corner of her full lips curled into a mocking smile. “I said hello. What is your name? Don’t you speak Italian?”

  Silvio Negali walked into the office. He stopped abruptly at the sight of the woman. “What are you doing here? We don’t have an appointment.”

  The woman ignored him and extended her hand. “Mi chiamo Marietta Capriccio. Piacere.”

  “Lorenzo Battaglia,” he replied, and accepted her hand. Damn. She really did smell as sexy as she looked. He stared up into her eyes and his lips brushed her knuckles. “You speak Italian well,” he said purposefully, in English.

  “I’m half Sicilian.” She arched a single brow with a playful smirk. Was she flirting with him?