Bellissimo Fortuna (Beautiful Fortune)

Bellissimo Fortuna

(Beautiful Fortune)

Leigh Ann Lunsford

Copyright © 2015 by Leigh Ann Lunsford

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the email address below.

[email protected]

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Edited by Chelsea Kuhel (
www.madisonseidler.com
)

Cover design by Kristen Karwan (Kristen Karwan Graphics)

Image: Stock photos (Shutterstock)

ISBN 10: 1514302764

ISBN 13: 978-1514302767

Dedication

John and Evan . . . as always without your support my words would never be written and the stories in my head would still be a mystery.

Readers—THANK YOU for your support.

Hierarchy of the Mafia

Boss

Underboss

Consigliere

Capo (Captain)

Soldiers (typically “made” men)

Associates (non-“made” men)

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter
4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Epilogue

Phrases Used In Book Translation

Playlist

Acknowledgements

Other works by Author

Author Bio

Prologue

The Beginning that Became the Ending

Bronson

Oftentimes when you lose someone close to you, the experience can be transformative. In grief, we find a side of ourselves that we didn’t know existed, a compassionate side, an empathetic side. Some people, however, are able to present a meticulously planned facade. Their grief isn’t real. Behind the mask, and the tears, and the sadness is a gluttonous, greedy, cold heart. These people are entitled, elitist, and you should be wary of them at all times.

Their intentions are malicious, calculated, and dangerous.

In the world I grew up in, people wore masks, but the truth was always wading beneath the surface. At their very core, they were always the same person, virtuous or vile, moral or malevolent, never a mix of both. Noble people can be dishonest, but corrupt people are only ever honest when it is for their own benefit. And that is the hardest lesson I have had to learn.

Mob, Mafia, Organized Crime, The Black Hand, or my favorite . . . The Syndicate. It’s said these racketeering groups have come a long way since the Prohibition Era, and I would agree. They are more cutthroat, devious, and treacherous with the end game. More control is acquired, more lives are ruined, and once your bridge with them is burned, it can never be rebuilt.

Sometimes they right a wrong with their own form of justice, and their way of payback prevails. But, sometimes greed and vengeance cloud their vision, and they are so off the mark, it’s just evil.

That is the case today. I sit in the front pew holding hands with the two people I love more than anything in this world. I watch as my father is eulogized, mourned, on display for the entire church to gawk at. The echoes of sobs vibrate through my body, making me steel my knees so I don’t crumble under the weight. I wish at this time I had an extra arm to hold my mom, but she is resilient. She knew what she was signing on for when she married into the Mob. It will be harsh, and she will never recover, but the two I’m most worried about are the ones within my grasp at this moment. I won’t let this taint them any more than it already has. One is my blood, but the other is just as important, and her life is part of this tangled mess, as well.

Despair and indecision linger around us, filling up the church. They weave through each and every one of us. My family’s loyalty will now be called into question. No one is sure what will happen to the former soldiers and associates that worked for my father. Decisions will have to be made. The man responsible was never relieved of his duties as second in command, and these men mourning my father aren’t in a position to question whatever orders they are given, not unless they want to meet the same demise my father did. Frank Locati will seek to destroy everything my father assembled. He will challenge these men’s loyalties and harm the ones he doesn’t deem worthy.

As I watch the casket being lowered into the ground, surrounded by loved ones, enemies, and friends, a decision is made. Today, I decide, retribution will be mine. The difference between my reckoning and theirs is that the justice system will take care of mine. It may not come swiftly, or as brutally as messy as they deliver, but it will come.

Callie

Hiding in plain sight has become one of my most trusted attributes to date. I was born an only child, and to the dissatisfaction of my father, a girl. Frank Locati doesn’t take disappointment well, he looks at it as a failure, one to never be redeemed in his eyes. In turn, he makes those who fail him pay . . . and continue compensating him if he allows them to live. It can be in blood, life, or money, but he collects it. For me, it’s been my childhood, my self-esteem, and my spirit. He has tried to take my soul . . . and almost succeeded.

As the underboss of the Agosto crime family, he has power, wealth, and strength. He lives to lord that over your head, along with his brutal fists and slicing words. Plainly, he is not one to be crossed. Blaming my mother, Carla, for her failure at delivering a true heir, his constant abuse has left her a shell of a woman, one who doesn’t talk back, challenge him, or have her own opinion. My version of a “yes” woman. I loathe that in her, and I will never become her. As he berates me and dictates my choices, she sits back and allows it. I’m not even sure if she knows what happens around her anymore with the pills she takes by the handful. Another advantage to controlling people, my father can have my mother in a comatose state and all legally done under doctor’s orders . . . a doctor paid with dirty money.

I’ve learned to hate this life, no matter the perks or the status that come with it; it’s not worth it. My only saving grace is my best friend Bianca Agosto and her older brother, Bronson. We’ve grown up together, their dad,
the Boss
, and my dad’s boss. My father doesn’t like answering to anyone other than his conscience; he feels it’s beneath him. Yet, he chose this life, chose to join into the most prominent crime family in all of Florida, and he was thrilled for years. What changed? I don’t know that we will ever know. Was it a switch flipped in his brain? Was it wanting the utmost control? All I know is that when he started going rogue, resenting not being ‘in charge,’ not being the end all be all, things got much worse for me and everyone underneath him. He was smart about it . . . only letting his true colors shine behind closed doors, and those he tormented would never speak out against him. Fear. It was a debilitating emotion, stifling the common sense right out of you.

Joseph and Gianna Agosto are far different from my parents. The family dynamics are opposite of mine, and I yearn for what they epitomize. Yes, they’re family is still a family laden with crime, but they are compassionate and honest. A contradiction in and of itself. They love their children, push them to be themselves, and not follow a pre-determined path. My future has been mapped out for me, set in stone. At least in my father’s eyes. Veering from it will come at a price. I will be shunned, my life only saved because I am a girl, and his daughter. The latter doesn’t matter to him, but there are rules that even the dishonest have to follow.

As I run up the lawn of the Agostos’ my breathing begins to regulate, and I don’t hear the blood pounding in my ears as my heart rate slows. I’m a disheveled mess, fleeing from my back door and running towards safety is all I thought about. Even a few blocks in the Florida sun was stifling, so I take a moment to collect my thoughts and pray divulging what I overheard doesn’t set us all on a path to careening off a cliff with no safety net. I can’t keep this from Bianca, try as I might she can always see through me. My father’s plan makes me feel foul, and I’m terrified of the future he has planned. I clutch my stomach as it rolls and revolts with those thoughts and push open the door into the cool foyer.

I inhale the scent I’ve come to associate with home. Fresh baked food, clean air, tinged slightly with the citrus scent of Mrs. Agosto’s air freshener to disguise the smell of the cigars Mr. Agosto thinks he sneaks past her. I’ve always felt safer here; Bianca and Bronson have always welcomed me. Even when the divide started happening with our fathers, I was always made to feel like part of the family. Never a burden like at home. That is why I have spent most of my sixteen years at the Agosto house. It’s my safe haven, my light in the storm, and two of the occupants hold my heart, each in their own unique way.

Bianca and I share everything, even when she has to keep the secrets from her father. After witnessing the conversation earlier today between my father and one of his underlings, I fled. I needed the solace of my best friend, the comfort I can only find here, in the home that’s not mine. Disgusted, scared, and questioning how I would find my way out of his latest scheme, I find myself on her bed, desperate, and pleading with her to help me.

“Callie, let me tell my father. It will all be taken care of.” She doesn’t know what she is asking. What she is suggesting will cause a war, nobody will come out unscathed, and she knows this, yet will risk it for me.

Shaking my head, I beg her to see reason. “You know that isn’t an option. Please, Bianca, don’t.” I see the frustration flash across her face, and once again, I have made her feel as helpless as I am. It was selfish of me to bring her into this . . . knowing how she would react. Her first instinct would be to protect me, at all costs. I need to leave, quit dragging her into this mess, and keep her protected.

She grabs my arm as I stand to go home. “Calm down. I won’t tell my dad. Let me get Bronson, he’ll know what to do.” She’s right, but I don’t want Bronson to know what my father has calculated. I don’t want him to think I’m dirty, not worthy of the way he has been looking at me lately. Bianca knows I have a crush on her brother; she encourages it. My dream has become hers, having Bronson and I together. He is only two years older than us, but thinks he is our bodyguard, a role he takes very seriously, and has since we were six and he was eight. With all the years that have passed his protective streak has remained unwavering. Boys, or men rather, in the Italian-American family tend to mature quickly, in this business there is no time for philandering. It is an unspoken expectation, one that shows respect to elders. No time to be the boy playing with figurines or joining organized sports. They are figureheads, problem solvers, and the first line of defense. It is ingrained in them from the early stages of life.