Atavus (18 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

“So you finally stepped outside to play?” Alfonzo said to his brother, Giuseppe when he arrived on the island of Panarea - just northeast of Salina.

The small island sat in a chain of other such gems along the Aeolians. The white villages were garlanded in bright bougainvillea and the narrow lanes in Panarea were for electric bikes and golf carts, since automobiles were not permitted.

Giuseppe had walked from the speedboat with his guards, a few kilometers at most, yet the scowl on his face told the story of his laziness.

“Reluctantly, I have been welcoming my donna home.”

Alfonzo stood on the uneven slope with a glass of orange juice gazing at the Tyrrhenian Sea in leisure slacks and a polo shirt, completely relaxed. The warm sun and the send-off by Selange had him at ease, despite the upcoming scolding he expected from his mother when he returned home. “I guess you received my present.”

A server came forward, to offer Giuseppe cool refreshment, which he took with a muttered, “Grazie.”

He stood nearly shoulder to shoulder with his fratellino as he guzzled and then handed the empty glass back. Alfonzo’s eyebrow rose, apparently Nicole hadn’t fed him.

“Why are you killing tourists for sport, tu loco?” Alfonzo asked.

“I did not like the Belgian.”

“He was French.”

“From Brussels idiota, now stop with the inquisition! It is too early for this fratellino. I am not a morning chatterer.”

“Tell me about it.” Alfonzo scoffed before finishing his OJ.

The server relieved him of the glass and then trudged toward the villa where the meeting would begin in an hour. Nico and Sergio had yet to arrive and Alfonzo wondered why the delay. Nico is often prompt, in fact, he’s usually early.

“Who were the persons that escorted Harold to me?”

“Relatives from Jersey.”

“I have never met them.”

“That’s because your ass behaves as if Italy is Mecca.”

“It is to me.”

“What happened to not wanting to chat?’

Giuseppe clamped his hand on the rear of his younger brother’s neck affectionately squeezing his large fingers on Alfonzo’s throat. “Grazie fratellino, I am glad you took my threat seriously.”

Alfonzo slapped Giuseppe’s hand away. “All that mess you said wasn’t cool; I should have let your ass handle your own marital problems.”

“But you will not. I will call for advice anytime that I am unsure how to make my donna happy,” Giuseppe smirked, waiting for Alfonzo’s expected reaction.

“Oh, no the hell you’re not. I’m serious Geo. My plate is full and I don’t need any more headaches.”

When Giuseppe laughs, it’s not a short ‘ha-ha’, his mirth is a loud St. Nick of a jolly rumble that’s infectious because it’s real.

Alfonzo shook his head. “You’re always fucking with me.”

“It is fun!” he replied after his laugh fest subsided.

Alfonzo spotted more boats. Shortly, Nico and Sergio disembarked from one of the crafts.  Then a Don related to Matteo stepped on the island to request a pre-meeting discussion. Alfonzo’s antennae rose, let’s just say his gut started that kicking.

~

Families on vacation, those tourists Giuseppe tolerated were on the island, the safer side. They were probably traversing the Bronze Age Huts by Cala Junco, gawking and taking pictures of ancient attractions that survived their ancestors and would undoubtedly remain when their life cycle turned them to dust. Bodies, clad in swimwear, dove in the clear waters, and in the distance nautical craft headed toward the coves.

Daytime is nice in Paranea for vacationers, nevertheless never trust that in the light bad men do not roam. The boldest can face the sun and soak in the rays.

Giuseppe observed the ground, he didn’t want to trip on any of the jagged rocks. They were pretty –treacherous. Alfonzo’s chin elevated and eyes turned on the volcanic mountain in the distance. Near the rock, pedestals were homes, narrow streets of cobble and brick, hard as a man's bones. A wondrous and beautiful place, yet if a person isn’t careful, they may meet with an accident.

“In the old days it was not uncommon for the siblings of monarchs to murder each other to rule.” The Don related to Matteo stated casually. “It is strange that the survivors are often the plotters.”

There is always talk of death, Alfonzo ruminated. He held his tongue actively listening with his ears and eyes observing the speaker.

“The attack was random, sudden like a crime of passion. There had been no rumored infractions which often are a sign that there is trouble brewing.” His eyes flicked to Giuseppe. “How is it again you fended off these killers?”

The Don had a slight limp, crippled by bullets that often killed, he was lucky to live.  He strolled with men with strong limbs, scars on their flesh and minds, forgetting he was in such company.

The brothers halted. The Don's words triggered Alfonzo’s reaction. He answered the accusation for his brother with the point of a knife. Giuseppe was slower, his desire to be at home on his mind.

Alfonzo’s knife went in the Don's heart. The sharp blade gleamed silver and red when he removed the steel. A boom followed and cranium bones shattered. The human splatter struck Alfonzo’s face and shirt with brain matter.

More gunfire resounded, whooshes of air dropping a pair of guards in a millimeter of a second. Nico's reaction even when he is disappointed in his cousins is to guard their impetuous butts. Family binds are tight, except Nico's coil unleashed at the pair of assholes, one holding the knife, the other a smoking gun.

  "Do you know what this means?" He grumbled, rushing forward to slap their heads.

   Giuseppe pointed to Alfonzo. "He pulled the knife. It is not my fault. I only reacted to his action."

   Alfonzo kept his mouth clenched as he talked, fearful blood might mingle with saliva. His eyes were fiery blue diamond’s staring at a similar hue. "You sonovabitch. You almost shot me. This is dos…dos!"

  "Cosa? Look...look...where the bullet is fratellino...it is in his head not yours, si?" Giuseppe scowled; tired of Alfonzo insinuating he wasn’t a good sharpshooter. 

  Nico frowned. They were in another mess of crap. Unless he cleaned the shit up before the others arrived. He did what he often does in these incidences, dispose of evidence. He had the boys help drag the bodies to the pier, where unfortunately he had to eliminate the Captain. Alfonzo fussed, he had to change or something or other but Nico didn’t care. Giuseppe also moaned about dirty work and he cautioned hem to shut the fuck up.

When he had the bodies aboard, he kicked them out and went to finish the ‘dirty work’ as Giuseppe pointed out.

He tossed the bodies overboard in the deserted cove that many tourists didn't know about.  Cleaned the craft down with disinfectant and then went diving over the side to swim back to shore.

When he returned, the meeting was underway.

“It’s like I’m fucking babysitting. Semira has more sense than those assholes,” he said as he climbed up the steep rock face near the beach to avoid the path. His clothes were heavy from the water and his cigars lost at sea brought another irritable grumble.

To avoid detection he stayed close to the rocks beneath the terrace that faced the sea.

After changing in a room of the villa, he joined the La Cupola in progress, just in time to hear a disrespectful fucker say, "That is how we all will leave. Blood in, blood out," with a sneer in Alfonzo's direction.

The fool begged for death, didn’t he?

Nico had slipped in a seat, giving his apologies to Alfonzo and waiting for his order. The kid did just what a leader does when a no-good troublemaker gets out of line. Then again, they had planned this scenario to have the greatest effect on the others.

The climax of a theatre played out.

Alfonzo gave the subtle nod of affirmation. The declination of the head by the shot-caller that 'permission is granted,' is all the eager enforcer required to steal the show.

Bastardly deeds are required in the mafia to protect from potential threats slithering in and out. There's a frozen statute of a man who understands, except, he's accustomed to actions that whither compassionate skins. He observed Alfonzo’s transformation, long in coming, but it came nonetheless. A former idealist murdered a cousin. There was a time; Alfonzo would not have raised a weapon to Domingo, a blood cousin as bad as dirt. Nico had seen early on right though the punk. He witnessed the vicious youth beneath the logo clothes and bling entangle Alfonzo in his street wars with rival gangs that oftentimes he started. Alfonzo failed to see the envy staring boldly in his face. Loyalty is what he had and an honor that Domingo lacked. Love is the heart of Alfonzo who will grant a trespass to a brother but once, thereafter there is no mercy given to the offender.

He witnessed the youth Alfonzo’s transitioning from dark to light that now included the varying gradients. There is a leader man that now sits at the helm of the Giacanti clan.

Nico stood, a swift action none expected and sent a violent geyser of blood to paint the table as his knife sliced the offender’s jugular with such force the head dropped to the side, exposing a fillet substance.

The room fell silent.

Nico scanned the group. Their mouths were agape, and the wavering bravado disappeared.

The jeweled blade he cleaned with swipes across the Don’s face. His fist held hair, which he shoved aside when done before he reclaimed his chair.

At the table surrounded by so-called gangsters sat Nico’s famiglia. Sergio had mastered self-control and an intimidating glare. They were in this shit together. At any juncture, the attendees might act foolish. Sergio was alert with a hand near his weapon as Uncle Nico instructed.

'Treat my brother as I would treat myself,' is the oath Sergio heard the OG's in Harlem use as their mantra during the reign of notorious gangsters like Nicky Barnes. The heroin trade, especially Blue Magic when it hit the streets, had young brothers and sisters dropping like flies. Those guys preyed on their own people, unaware back then the Italian mafia didn’t want the drugs sold in their ‘hoods. However, once the plague was unleashed, the color of the addict no longer mattered. Today, substance abuse is an equal opportunity destroyer.

Force is how gangsters strike fear in anyone who opposes their rule. The exactors are fierce, but from where he stood, his father's people were cut from a deadlier cloth. They actually lived by the creed, "Death to the Enemies of My Family." Sergio didn't know the Italian version, he kept forgetting, but it sounded cool whenever Nico and 'em said it.

The Giacanti's were determined to survive but not like scavengers. They were alphas, dealing with betas, plasma fed to a Giacanti in blood before birth. They were Mafia Kings and not people feeding off the weak, they annihilated the strong.

Blood in- blood out, Uncle Nico cut that smack talk out!

The elder of the clan, Nico, spoke on Alfonzo's behalf to the posers. His Sicilian accent was as heavy as the African air in their lungs. Nico’s Sicilian was as flawless and rough as his polished ring. "There is your blood. Here is mine, bound by DNA strings. Move against our famiglia or I discover any of you had a hand in the attack against my famiglia you will suffer the same fate, capisce?"

Nico delivered his speech in a menacing calm; those present soon turned away. They saw what strangers unloved by Nico view, a dangerously coiled reptilian, and any foot, hoof or claw within its vicinity receives an instant strike that punctures the unwitting with its poisonous venom.

Nico was death living.

Alfonzo’s chin rose proudly.

Giuseppe cleaned his nails with the edge of a steak knife, unimpressed by Nico’s theatre. He’d seen similar demonstrations from his father.

Sergio’s lunch churned with nervous energy.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Selange peered at the clock. Alfonzo had said he would be home shortly, however that occurred hours ago. The children were asleep and Maria had taken up residence on the sofa, opposite Selange who had her feet tucked in a loveseat, pretending to read to avoid conversation.