La Famiglia (43 page)

When they passed the entertainment room Marietta slowed her steps to look inside. Mirabella looked up. She sat on a L-shaped red leather sofa with her feet stretched out over her husband’s lap. She waved and smiled. “Hey you two! Did you have fun? Come tell me about it!”

Marietta stared at her. For the first time she truly saw Mirabella. A face though several shades darker than hers mirrored her. And eyes of the same color stared back at her. Marietta’s gaze swiveled over to the
Don
who met her stare. The cold hard look he gave her was like a tumble of ice cubes down her spine. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top. He massaged his wife’s feet. His violet blue eyes didn’t shift or leave her. Maybe women found his unique eye color attractive. In that moment they looked like the eyes of the devil. She tried to swallow the lump that lingered in her throat. Her instinct was to attack them both with her knowledge, or flee.

Fight or run. Fight or run. Fight or run.

“Marietta? Are you okay?” Mirabella asked with serious concern.

Her emotional conflict both jagged and painful made her act. She fled.

Catalina watched Marietta storm off. “That one is strange.”

“What happened?” Mira asked. “She looked like she’d been crying.”

“She has!” Catalina walked in. She dropped her bags by the sofa. She looked to the television. “Who is playing?”

“Wait!” Mira dismissed the soccer game. “What is wrong with Marietta?”

“Calm down, Bella. It’s not your business,” Giovanni said.

“Catalina?” Mira insisted. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Sick. Said her stomach hurts or something. She then started crying about it in the car. Like a baby.” Catalina shrugged her shoulders.

“Go get Carmella, have her fix her something. Make sure she is okay,” Mira said as if she were going to rise. Giovanni stopped her. Catalina rolled her eyes. She was not about to chase down Carmella. She was exhausted. Besides she had resisted the urge all day to keep from crying herself. “She’s fine, Mira. She wanted to lie down. I’ll have Carmella check on her in a minute.” Catalina yawned.

Her reply settled Mira. The Argentinians scored and Giovanni cursed loudly.

Catalina plopped down on the sofa. “What’s the score?”

* B
*

Marietta shut the door to her room. She braced her back against the door and dragged down deep gulps of air. Her eyes brimmed with tears of frustration. Her lips clamped down on the sob that shook her entire body. Marietta closed her eyes shaking her head no.

“Marietta?”

Frightened to paralysis, her only option was to hug her knees and pray to disappear. She kept her face buried and eyes tightly squeezed shut. Her butt hurt and the back of her thighs stung with heat and pain from her spanking. She was only four. The beating her father gave her was the meanest she could recall.

“Marietta it’s me, come out please.” A soft voice whispered close enough for her to know her hiding spot had been found. She lifted her eyes above her knees. The closet was her punishment. She was sometimes locked away for hours in it. But her father had forgot to lock her in this time. She escaped and hid in the toy chest in her room. For her mother to come for her so soon had to be because her father was gone or asleep from too much drinking.

“Mama?” Marietta asked.

“Yes, sweetheart.” The lid to the chest lifted. “Come out. Come…” her mother reached in for her.

Marietta raised her arms and was lifted out of her safety zone. She had soiled herself. Surely if her father knew he’d punish her again. He was so angry that she knocked over his chess pieces when she bumped the table while chasing her puppy. Her mother swept her into her arms and brought her to her breasts. “
Chiedo scusa. Sono molto dispiaciuta.
I’m so sorry I can’t protect you,” she wept.

Marietta clung to the only mother she’d ever known. “Why does Daddy hate me?”

“It’s your mother’s fault. Your real mother,” Teresa Leone said. Marietta could not process the news that she had another mother who cursed her with brown skin and the rage of her father. Her face lifted from her mother’s breast. “Your other mother was an evil woman. He thinks you have that evilness inside of you. Let’s pray, Marietta. Pray that you don’t. Pray that your father can forgive.”

“I want to pray so he won’t hurt me any more,” she said through her tears.

Teresa kissed her brow and lifted her to her arms. They would go to her mother’s room and get on their knees and pray. And maybe this time things would be better. Maybe her father would love her.

“No. No. No. No.” Marietta said through tears. “She’s not dead. Please God. All I ever asked you for was my mother. My mother!” she wept. “She’s not dead!” Marietta, blinded by grief, raced over to the bed and yanked so hard on the sheer drape that surrounded it she ripped half of drape off the rings. She yanked on the covers on the bed, knocked a lamp off the nightstand. Turned over a chair. Like a madwoman she trashed the room until she dropped to her knees crying. 

“Gemma!” Marietta ran to the front of the house. She leapt at Gemma grinning. And her godmother nearly caught her. “I’ve missed you so much!” Marietta said, she hugged her neck tight.

“Look at you. Ten years old?”

Marietta nodded. “My birthday was last week.”

Gemma smiled. “And I have a present for you.”

Before Marietta could claim it Gemma greeted Teresa and embraced the woman. Marietta waited impatiently as they addressed her father. Anyone who came to visit them had to address Octavio first. Gemma traveled in from Italy, so of course the conversation would take forever. Marietta lingered by the adults until her mother gave her a warning look to stay away. She sighed and returned to her room. The last thing she wanted was to anger her father. He’d been in a good mood for over a week because of a bonus. But his drinking could backfire on the family happiness.

Marietta picked up her favorite doll and sat on the bed. She looked around the room at her toys and dolls. Many girls her age had moved on from playing with them. Not her. She loved to play make believe. The dolls were her friends, someone she could tell her secrets to. She wished she had a sister or a friend to play with, but her adoptive mother couldn’t have children and her father wouldn’t allow people in the house. She wished she could run away and find her real mother. She knew her mother couldn’t return because of her father. She wondered if her mother knew she was forced to live here with the mean bastard. Her imagination left her pondering many things.

“Knock knock!” Gemma said, after knocking she came inside. “Ciao, cara mia!”

“Gemma,” Marietta grinned.

“What are you doing in here alone? Hiding from me, eh?”

“Just thinking.  Tell me what you brought me for my birthday?” Marietta asked.

Gemma came over and sat next to her on the bed. Marietta’s heart raced with excitement. “I’ve kept something for you. Something special. I think it’s time you have it.”

“Really? What?”

“I never really knew your birth mother, Marietta, I only met her a few times. But I can tell you she did love you,” Gemma said and stroked the side of her face. “So much, Marietta. More than any little girl can be loved.”

“She did?” Marietta asked.

“Sí, cara, she did. And she asked that I give you something.” Gemma opened her purse. She removed a black pouch. “Now, no one can ever see this. Keep it hidden. Promise me.”

“I promise, Gemma.”

Gemma dumped the gold bracelet into her palm. Marietta lifted it up and saw the engraving. “It’s beautiful. But it’s for a child.”

“It comes from Sicilia. From a special jeweler.”

“Really,” Marietta repeated.

“See here, this is his stamp,” Gemma showed her. “He only made something this special for special little ones. Like you. Do you know what Marietta means in Italian?”

“No? What does it mean?” Marietta asked.

“The bitter one,” Gemma smiled.

Marietta frowned. “But bitter means bad?”

Gemma lifted her chin. “Sweetheart, bitter does not have that meaning when given to a child from God. A sweet little baby that was desperately desired carries your name. Bitter means that the young girl will grow to be courageous and determined with an iron will and spirit. It means there is a duality that lives in you, Marietta. Lives here.” She pointed at her heart.

“Duality?” Marietta blinked. “What does that word mean?”

“You will grow up to be two women not one. It means that part of you will be adventurous, altruistic, and extremely sensitive to the needs of those you love.”

“And the other part of me? The other woman that lives in me, what will she be?” Marietta asked.

“Life will teach you to be secretive, cautious and careful with others. You will learn after growing up here with the Leones how to protect yourself by appreciating solitude with a critical mind.” Gemma tapped her head for emphasis. “That is your duality and you will persevere—bitterly. Your name shows your spirit for rebellion. Your mother believed you would be the fighter of the two.”

“Two? What two?” Marietta asked.

“Did I say two?” Gemma gave her a nervous laugh. “I meant you would be the strongest of us all.”

“But why would my mother give me an Italian name?” Marietta stood. “Isn’t she black? That’s what they all say. My mother was a black whore who had an affair with Octavio. Why would she give me an Italian name when they talk about her so badly?”

Gemma looked away. “Your father. You know this.”

“Octavio Leone is not my father!” Marietta said. She glared at Gemma. “I can never believe he is. I dream that someone else is, all the time. He hates me. And I hate him!”

“Shhh,” Gemma put her finger to her lips. “Stop it now. Of course he’s your father. He’s a mean bastard but he takes care of you and this family. He protects you, Marietta. There are men in this world far meaner than Octavio. Trust me!” Gemma said.

Marietta smiled down at the bracelet. She kissed it. Some day she’d find her mother. Some day they’d be reunited again.

Marietta paced the floor. The truth she sought all her life threatened to crush in on her from every direction she turned. She didn’t believe her mother was some street junkie that died. She refused to believe that the woman who named her to be courageous, a warrior, had been nothing but a whore and slave to her own weakness. Mirabella wasn’t her sister. And more importantly her man, the love of her life, her husband, had known all along and lied to her.
Bullshit!
Another strong jolt of pain seized her heart when she thought of Lorenzo. She couldn’t know. She walked over to the phone that was now on the floor. She dropped to her knees and found the dial tone. She dialed Lorenzo’s pager and put in the code he gave her. A code she was only to use in case of extreme emergency.

She needed him.

She needed him desperately.

12.

Yerevan City, Armenia

Lorenzo’s pager buzzed in his pocket. He tossed his luggage in the back of the car and reached in his trouser pocket to retrieve it. The code ‘888’ was Marietta’s. Eight was a sexy number, full of curves, that’s why he gave it to his lady. The page was an emergency flare from his bride. One he told her to never use unless it was damn important. And she would use it just five hours after he last saw her? He shook his head with mild amusement. “Damn woman. I miss her too.”

“Cosa c’è?”
Carlo asked. He slammed down the trunk and walked around the car.

“Marietta. She wants me to call home.” Lorenzo grinned.

Carlo snickered. “And so it begins. Will you be able to piss without asking for permission to hold your own dick?” he asked before climbing inside behind the wheel.

Lorenzo laughed and got in on the passenger side. He could give a shit about Carlo’s taunts. He missed his wife too. They were newlyweds. She made it almost impossible for him to leave her bed. Lorenzo could still smell the sweet fragrance of Shalimar. He should have packed a bottle to take with him.

He had no time to find a phone to ring her back. The sooner they met with Alik Yeremian the better. “Drive into the city. Domi said Yeremian’s men will meet us in front of the Katoghike church,” Lorenzo instructed. He dropped the passenger seat back and slouched a bit to get comfortable for the drive. Immediately they encountered a traffic jam of honking motorists. Lorenzo removed his pager and stared at the number again. He knew Marietta was strong. He knew she was safe. But still to see the emergency number did give him pause.

Carlo glanced over and he could feel his stare. “You worried about her? Do you want me to find a phone?”

“She’s there with Giovanni. He wouldn’t do anything to harm her,” Lorenzo said.

“He won’t do anything to make her feel welcome either,” Carlo said.

Lorenzo exhaled. “Have I put her in danger. Am I a fool, Carlo?”

“Truth?”

“Yes,” Lorenzo said.

“You love her. And love makes any man a fool. I respect Gio but I’m with you on this, Lo. He needs to step aside and let the sisters know each other. I lost a brother. If I had done things differently with Carmine he’d be alive. I have to live with that. What you do for the
Donna
and Marietta is just.”

The truth was very sobering. Lorenzo churned on it. “I regret what happened with Carmine. You do know that. Don’t you?”

Carlo didn’t answer. The pain for him must still be too raw. Lorenzo relaxed. The page from Marietta could only mean she was bored. He’d make it up to her later. “After we conclude our business we find the first thing out of this country.” Lorenzo said.

“Strange, you and her. Never seen you like this.” Carlo shrugged.

“Like you said, she’s my heart. I won’t fuck this up. Not her. Not this time. I learned my lesson with Fabiana. No one will hurt Marietta.”

“She’s different,” Carlo said. “Different in a good way. I think she’s perfect…uh, for you.”

Lorenzo looked over to his friend. “You do?”

Carlo forced a half-smile. “Not easy to find a woman who can stand at your side. You and Gio are lucky to have these sisters. That’s what I think.”

Lorenzo laughed. “Since when do you have a soft spot for women?”

“I’m not a monster,” Carlo grumbled.

“Says who? I know your ass. You’ve been a monster since you crawled out of your mother’s snatch!” Lorenzo teased. When Carlo didn’t laugh in response he stopped smiling. They were boys, only fifteen when a girl in the village accused Carlo of raping her. Lorenzo knew his friend didn’t do it. Yes they loved their dicks but they never forced any girl into sex. No one believed Carlo. Not even Patri Tomosino. The girl only made the accusation because she was caught, and losing her virginity to a village boy like Carlo was blasphemous. She was a distant cousin of the Mancinis. Because of the accusation Mancini made sure Carlo was sent to a juvenile center until he was eighteen. Locked away for three years. When he came out he had changed, particularly his attitude toward women. Lorenzo saw the anger he flashed the other sex in an instant and ignored it. He watched over the years the trail of tears after Carlo seduced, romanced and quickly discarded girlfriends. It became an unstated rule amongst the men to never leave their woman alone with Carlo. That might be unfair, but behind every lie there is a little bit of truth. Besides Carlo’s mother, sister and the women in the Battaglia family, Carlo showed no person of the opposite sex respect. It was the way it was.

“I’m kidding. You aren’t a monster.” Lorenzo said.

“Yeah, fuck you,” Carlo mumbled making the lane change. Lorenzo relaxed. He’d deal with his Marietta later. They had business to conclude.

* B
*

Marietta wept. She paced. She waited for the phone to ring. Lorenzo swore to her if she were ever in trouble she could page him. No matter the distance between them he made the sacred vow to protect her even from herself. And she vowed to do the same. Until death do they part.

After thirty minutes of waiting, pacing and waiting she was in a state of sheer panic. She needed to hear his voice. Tell him of the letter. Let him convince her not to read it. Trust him again.
But he hadn’t called!
And the letter taunted her. Called her name.

To silence the doubts Marietta put her hands to her ears. “Stop!” she begged. But nothing stopped the voices in her head. The lies of Teresa Leone, Gemma, the nasty predictions from her so-called father that she’d be nothing but a whore like her mother. She shook her head hard to stop the voices.

“Please call me, Lo. Please.” she wept.

Marietta dropped to her knees. He would call. He had to. He was all she had. And she sat there for thirty more minutes believing in him. After the last of her tears fell she knew a different truth. He would not save her, no one could. Marietta glanced to the letter on the bed. She stared at it. If she didn’t read the letter she would be running again. If she did read it she could prove it was lies.

There was something else to consider. If the letter had been given to her by anyone other than Gemma she’d have tossed it in the trash. What was Gemma’s angle? The bitch had more than enough opportunities to share this truth with her. Why confess it all to her now?

She sniffed, wiped her tears with a shaky hand. Catalina said Mirabella owned a bracelet like the one she’s cherished.
Proof.
Gemma said that Mirabella possessed the evidence.

“No. No it’s a lie.” She shook her head hard. She felt her sanity slip. It was as if the darkness in her life was slowly winning. “Not true. It’s not true,” she said.

Someone knocked at the door. Marietta nearly jumped out of her skin. She wiped at her smeared mascara and managed to get to her feet. “Yes?” she answered.

“
Ciao!
The
Donna
asked that I check on you. Do you need anything?” a voice inquired.

“Go away!” Marietta shouted.

Whoever it was walked off. Marietta’s gaze returned to the envelope. She looked away. “Call me, Lorenzo. Please, my love. Please,” she said trying to hold on to some hope. She forced herself to wait.

* B
*

Carlo stood outside of the car. Lorenzo remained inside. He watched the few pedestrians strolling along the sidewalk in front of the church. They’d been waiting for close to an hour. Yeremian was a friend of the family, but in their world the definition of friend was always shifting. With Mottola now trying to cut deals with the
`Ndrangheta
and the Armenians, Lorenzo had to wonder if Alik was in on it. The meeting he’d asked for could be his last if Yeremian had decided so.

He opened his car door to tell Carlo his suspicions when two passenger vans arrived. They boxed him and Carlo in. A dark window with tinted glass rolled down. “Get in!” a man said.

Lorenzo and Carlo entered the vehicle without a word passing between them. The van sped off. Neither the man behind the wheel, nor the one on the passenger side spoke. Lorenzo glanced back to see the van following could have up to six or eight along for the ride. He glanced to Carlo. They exchanged a look to be ready no matter what was to come next.

There were brutal men and crime families across the globe and they’ve dealt with many. But the Armenians were different. They lived by a code unmatched by any other. Like the
Camorra
they had clans and clan bosses who ruled by regions. They were known as the ‘Akhperutyuns’.  Most of the clan bosses learned and organized the rules of their brotherhood in Russian and Turkish prison camps. Each clan could be recognized for their ruthless and often sadistic forms of torture. Having the Akhperutyuns as allies after Mottola’s betrayal was a must. Having them as an enemy would be an entirely different matter.

They drove out of the city toward the mountains. Lorenzo reflected on his last visit and how many times he had put his life on the line for the family. Now he did care to live. He had someone to live for. It gave him a perspective he rarely accepted in his life. The silent buzz of his beeper in his pocket vibrated once more. He removed the pager to see it was Marietta.

He frowned with concern.

* B
*

“Damn you!” Marietta yanked the phone from the wall and threw it across the room. “Damn you, Lorenzo-Asshole-Battaglia! Damn you to hell!” she yelled.

Marietta didn’t care who heard her. The truth sank like a steel blade into her heart. Never had a betrayal of anyone in her life hurt so badly. Desperate for relief she marched over to the bed and threw herself on it. She rolled away and her eyes fastened to the letter. Marietta squeezed her eyes shut. To read it would only make her suffering worse. To ignore it would only prolong the inevitable. She sat up and snatched letter. Through a veil of tears she opened it.

Marietta,

When I learned you had arrived in Sicily I came. I’ve been in Milano for months waiting to hear from you. In my heart I knew this is where I would find you. I write this letter in haste to get the news to you. My prayer is you will believe and forgive me for all that I have kept from you.

I’ve closely guarded the secret of who you are for years. Not to hurt you, or deny you, but to protect you. I had hoped that what Capriccio and I did would keep you far away from the people who harmed your mother.

It has gone beyond that now.

First, I must confess who your mother is. Her name was Melissa Ellison. We called her Lisa. And yes, I lied to you, I knew her well before she died. The question I must answer for you is why I kept her identity a secret. Lisa was a sweet generous girl when I knew her. She hated and feared a man named Marsuvio Mancini. He was and still is an evil Sicilian monster who went by the name Manny Cigars. He terrorized many people in Philadelphia, black or white, it didn’t matter. He stole your mother from her family and kept her with him for years. He put her on drugs. He raped and brutalized her until she had nothing in her life to hope for.

I first met your mother at a club Manny owned. She was a very shy, very nice girl. She had the voice of an angel. She used to sing, and sew costumes for us girls who did other things for Manny Cigars and his men. Until she gave birth to you and everything changed.

I’m sorry to tell you that she’s dead. This is important for you to understand, Marietta. Your mother was murdered. A contract was put out on her life, yours, and your twin sister Mirabella Ellison. I’m sorry to have kept this from you. I was the one that helped hide Lisa from the Sicilians. I was the one that kept your identity secret along with your birth father. Capriccio and I only wanted to make sure that the Battaglias and Mancinis never knew you lived. Mirabella was given to her grandparents. She does not know she has a twin sister. She never knew her mother’s story.

I know this is confusing. There is so much more to this story to tell. But for now you have to get out of Sicilia. You have to get away from these people. Don Giovanni knows who you are. Lorenzo Battaglia only married you to control you. He will kill you, Marietta. Please heed my warning.

If you doubt what I am saying then seek proof. Mirabella owned a bracelet. A childs’ bracelet. I don’t know if she keeps it still but she owned it at one time. Show her your necklace. Ask her the name of her mother. And then give her this letter. But leave.

Call me. I will help you Marietta. I swear it on my life.

Forgive me,

Gemma

Marietta turned the letter over and read the number scribbled on the back. There had been so many lies. All her life she had been lied to. And Gemma was now the queen of lies. How many times had she wept against her breast after suffering so much physical and mental abuse from her adoptive father? How many times had she begged Gemma to help her find her mother? What about the trip to Milano? What about the hunt for a father by the name of Capriccio? What about the fake birth certificate that sent her on a wild goose chase? A lie. All orchestrated by Gemma way before she met Lorenzo.

She could trust no one.

Except Mirabella. Her sister was being deceived. Marietta dropped over to the bed and closed her eyes. She clutched the letter to her chest and wept.