Affliction (6 page)

“You better not touch her again or I will injure you…ah…Dios help me…this is madness…aye
...I cannot take this!” Anita fumed as she scurried to do his bidding.

“Loca!” Alfonzo growled when she finally exited stomping in those chancletas she l
oved.

Selange spat water
. Curtain of water ran down her face. She whimpered pitifully, ceased the profanity and that’s how Alfonzo knew sobriety approached. His arm relaxed a bit; he felt bad for the chica’s hair. “If I let you out, are you going to chill?” he asked.

Selange nodd
ed. Her eyes were extremely red, liquor and tears were the culprits; he refused to accept blame. He shut off the tap, snatched a towel, wrapped it around her shoulders and she shivered.

Selange did not meet his gaze, she was
furious. Alfonzo ruined her hair, her butt smarted and her lovely dress which was the last present from Shanda was damaged!

Alfonzo received t
he silent treatment afterward. Yep, he even got the cold shoulder in bed. The silence lingered for days. Inebriated people have amnesia. While under the influence they can do a lot of mess but never remember. Despite their faulty memory they seem to recall when they’re wronged…at least in their fuzzy heads.

When he attempted to speak with her about the incident, she
walked away swearing never to forgive him. When he asked why, she said some nonsense about he abused her. Um-hum. Her exact words were, “You hit me really hard with a rolling pin for –no reason!”

Huh
¿Qué dijo?

C
HAPTER FOUR

Giuseppe grumbled and turned in bed. His head was on fire due to over consumption. He had returned home earlier than usual because he couldn’t look in another person’s face without seeing Shanda. Today was the worse, because Matteo had come by the office, happy as a lark with his talk of Lucia’s wedding and his mother’s excitement of more bambini. Take out the pene and urinate on a man with reminders of what he didn’t have. That is what Matteo inadvertently did.

Afterward, Giuseppe had gone to the backroom of his office and sank on the sofa to drink. Intoxicated he began to fumble with his phone. He laughed at his lack of coordination when he pressed
incorrect keys. He disconnected and then began again, squinting to concentrate on the right symbol to press on the screen. 911 is family; they are his lifeline. Sal would understand his plight and so would Allie. He needed more soldati to assist in battling against despair. Light-hearted laughter was a mighty weapon during moments like these.

Hormones are in control at Sal’s age; a stage an Uncle knew firsthand because he was still a boy himself in many ways. Listening to the sleepy youth recant
ing escapades at school and the shenanigans of his siblings brought a howl and then more liquor burning a path along Giuseppe’s throat. But then the boy had to go and passed the phone to his old man.

“Where I live the time is five a.m. You have my kids jumping on my
bed telling me your ass is on the phone. Ah, hombre what am I going to do about you, eh bro?”

“Tell your wife I am very sad…Shanda is dead.”

“Yeah, I will,” Alfonzo said in a condescending tone.

“I am glad you are coming to Sicily. The villa is ready…come now…this is where you belong.” Giuseppe sighed and then said, “Today is not a good day fratellino. It is very bad. The Russian stuff
has made me irritable, I believe I am poisoned. The Russians have finally killed me.”

“Is Carlo with you
dead man?”

“No, my mama has kidnapped him. I have been replaced fratellino, I am upset with her for taking my flesh. I am to blame
he has no mama…the car was too fast.”

“Geo you’re talking out
of your head.”

“What does that mean…is that true
…can that be done?”

An exasperated sigh from a sober brother reached his ear.
“Are you at work?” Alfonzo inquired.

“Sí, of course stupido.”

Alfonzo groaned before he chuckled. “Tread carefully on my feelings. My ego misled me to believe I am somewhat intelligent, don’t shatter the delusion.”

“Work and famiglia is all I have fratellino to distract my grief….eh…did I call my fratellino stupido?” Giuseppe burped and then pounded the gas out of his chest. “
Mi scusi.”

The drunken lisp and the slurred speech told of Giuseppe’s condition.

He was completely smashed!

Alfonzo’s advice
sounded reasonable to a big brother’s ears.

“Let Carlo stay put for a
day or so until you’re better. Get some coffee, never-mind you’ll probably burn yourself. I’ll call your secretary to do it and make sure you get home to sleep the shit off,” Alfonzo said affectionately.

Sick, ah, the pain from inside did not relent. Giuseppe had not felt such utter desolation from a death. He’d seen many and some he had caused. The death of his papa, cousin and uncle had not left him this infirmed. Maybe, it is because, he had been better prepared. Shanda’s demise was sudden, worsened by the knowledge that she was in the beginning stage of pregnancy. So, the loss was two-fold.

He had handled the pain admirably –at first. Ah, cracking knuckles on men helped; seeing Carlo soothed the anger but there are times of weakness, like today due to Matteo. Another’s happiness sparked his misery.

After the conversation with Alfonzo, and a cup of coffee, Giuseppe was promptly escorted home and wobbled to his bedroom, stripped
naked and sank in bed. Twisting from side to side, he sought comfort but found none. Alcohol had not dulled the pain, and produced hallucinations.

Again he rolled over, Gee whined and blurry eyes traveled to the door at another apparition. The rapid beats of his chest drummed loudly. Coming toward him was a beautiful dream carrying a gift to share with a wicked soul. He slid up against the headboard and tried to smile but the effort failed. “Bella, mi dispiace, I have missed you. Have you come for me, I am ready?”

“Geo, are you all right?”

When the figure reached the bedside he grabbed the beauty’s arms and pulled her on his lap. “Shanda…ti amo…let me prove how much I love you.”

The kisses to his dream love’s neck were firm and gentle. Kisses of tenderness were bestowed because Shanda considered him a hardened man unworthy of change. When she tried to wiggle free, slapped at his face, and stood, his head dropped limply to his chest. He could not make her love him, she remained adamant about going away. He hiccupped the hurt and belched out misery, another death, like Kefilwe.

Then womanly hands were on his cheeks. The eyes he saw were of love, his Shanda. “Geo…oh…I hate to see you
like this,” she said.

“Then love me as I love you, give our children a loving and peaceful home bella.”

“Geo…por favore….we cannot…this is wrong…I…”

The words trailed to nothingness. Giuseppe’s mouth had silenced her voice. Such strength even when alcohol is consumed is what Don Giuseppe had. His hands rubbed and caressed the curves bestowed upon women. He had sampled plenty, yet his heart had only found one which pulsed in unison. He licked her like food as he maneuvered his dream to the mattress. With clumsy hands he found the zippers and latches concealing her glorious figure. He did not bother with her shoes; in fact he cared only about pleasuring his
donna. Make her remember their love is strong, an inebriated man decided. Their bond was formed through an act that birthed a son and another seed flourished in her belly.

Sliding along his arms were soft hands. Moans so sweet combined with salty tears formed as he caressed his love in return. When the
obstruction of clothes was removed, he touched her face and a bass carried to the silent room. Even Gee lay quiet when he said, “Te amo…I will always love you, damn me for having my brother’s curse!”

The woman beneath him held tightly to his bulging biceps as he slipped within her and the passion of a man in mourning filled her completely. Fire ignited during a broken heart’s hallucination and molten liquid scorched a woman to cinder.

The shimmer around her neck, a sparkly crucifix told him he’d found heaven.

For one glorious evening he had his love requited. In the darkened room she brought him alive, turning the tables to ride him hungrily. She cooed and smiled while suctioning his fluids into her
micio until she overflowed.

What a wonderful dream.

But then morning came. Heavy eyelids lifted. Blue eyes scanned the walls and furnishings before he turned on his side and found emptiness’ greeting. Shanda was gone. He had to accept the reality.

He grumbled and then kicked the covers away.

Sobriety begins today, he pledged as he stepped to the floor and a foot contacted with a lace panty. Onward he walked, unobservant and oblivious, however determined to proceed with his life.

Death is a wedding ring worn by the living.

***

The heat was unbearable. The figure hanging like a rack of meat wiggled to get free but
his effort was futile. The man holding the blow torch knew this as well. Sweat poured from the human meat’s forehead, perspiration saturated the white shirt worn beneath the fashionable jacket. His trousers were by his excrement and liquid ran down a leg. Yes, he actually shit the pants his mistress bought during a visit to Milan.

He thought the gesture was sweet and didn’t complain about the amount of money she spent because she
had thought of him.

The man with the torch adjusted the setting. The blue-red color leaped higher and the hard blow sound of oxygenated pressure caused him to swallow in fear. “Nico, por favore…por favore!”

Nico stared at the man, unmoved and blasé. His steps were casual, similar to a stroll through a park without a care in the world is the casualness in which the enforcer approached. Nico was real close, even if he weren’t he’d still smell the stench of fear. And man did it
stink.

Nico spoke, not to the frightened victim but to the figure watching. “No mercy. No conscience. No unnecessary talk. Leave th
e embellishment to actors in a movie, what we do isn’t make-believe.”

Tony did not look away. The action of the Sicilian was as ruthless as his reputation. To the heart is where he aimed the flame. The deafening scream Tony would never forget. He would also never forget the cold detachment exhibited by his mentor or the
rancid smell of human flesh as it burned.

Nico motioned him over. The death cries had stopped. The only sounds were the torch’s hiss and the crackle of
the charred meaty torso. “Come!”

Tony joined the enforcer. Nico placed the torch in Tony’s hand. “Burn a hole through his eyes.”

Tony inhaled the stench, cognizant that Nico observed, waiting for any form of hesitancy.  He allowed the fire to burn until skin became a grotesque red and then blackened. He did the same to the other eye. 

The man was dead, seared like cattle for a crime that Tony knew nothing about because Nico didn’t tell him. If this was training, he listened only to instructions, and kept the questions at a minimum.

Nico glanced at his watch. “Hungry?”

“Not really,” Tony answered.

Nico chuckled. “Suit yourself.” He then took the acetylene torch from Tony’s hand, lit the hem of the man’s pants, shut off the apparatus, shoved it inside the duffle bag at his feet and then walked out the abandoned shack clutching his work tools.

Another day on the job is the attitude Nico had, which caused Tony to wonder if maybe sitting at a drafter’s desk wasn’t so bad after-all. Nico hadn’t changed since the first day they met. The man was a callous sonovabitch, yet the meticulous nature in which he worked garnered
Tony’s respect. Tony figured he’d hang in there. Nico was an expert; apprentices sometimes became masters. Leonardo da Vinci apprenticed under Verrocchio and from his understanding, Nico Serano studied from a legend, a man nicknamed The Butcher.  

Tony jumped when the flames leaped to the ceiling. “Fuck!” he exclaimed when the door closed behind his mentor
to seal him in.

He rushed out and the
night air caused him to cough out smoke. He heard Nico laugh. “I thought you wanted to stay, what happened?”

“I said I wasn’t hungry.” Tony snapped as he followed Nico across the unmarked path to the car.

“That was my code. Pay attention. I asked if you were hungry to let you know it was time to leave, pronto.”

“You could have said that.”

“I did.” Nico tossed the bag in the backseat. The flames provided illumination to the deserted area. There was nothing for miles except an abandoned farm on the edge of Caccamo littered with olive groves. He opened the driver’s door, leaned an elbow on the upper frame and asked again, “Hungry?”

“Yes, I am.”