La Famiglia (52 page)

“She’s naming them after you, silly,” Catalina grinned.

Giovanni’s brows lifted and his eyes stretched. He hadn’t made the connection. How could he have missed it? He smiled behind the mask covering his mouth. “Yes, I think she was. Even now she gives me what my heart wants.” He glanced back to the door. “And what have I given her?”

“A family, Gio. Our family. She’s told me more than once she always wanted one again after she lost Fabiana and her grandparents. You gave her a family.” Catalina said. “Mira is so proud to be your wife.”

“I need to see if she’s out of surgery,” Giovanni said.

“Go. I’ll stay with the
bambini
. They will know we’re here for them.”

Giovanni kissed the top of his sister’s head. “
Grazie, cara mia
, I will come again as soon as I know Mira is out of danger.”

“Go.” Catalina waved him off. She stepped to the incubator. She touched the top of it smiling down at the baby inside. “I can handle it, Gio. Isn’t that right Gianni?
Sei incredibile.
Zia Catalina is here for you little one.
Per sempre
.”

He turned and walked out.

* B
*

“How did you learn the truth?” Lorenzo asked. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and stared straight ahead. Lorenzo always wore leather driving gloves when he drove a car and his dark lenses on his sunglasses concealed his eyes. But she sensed the hard way in which he stared.

“I tried to call you. The moment I found out I sent you a page. Two pages,” Marietta said. She looked over at him. “You told me that you’d always call back. You didn’t.”

“I want to know, Marie. Tell me the truth. How did you find out?” Lorenzo asked again.

“Why? What difference does it make? You of all people shouldn’t demand the truth,” Marietta answered. If he learned that Gemma was the one to deliver the news her lifelong friend and surrogate mother would be dead. She was certain of it. And right now no matter how badly she hurt over Gemma’s lies she wouldn’t put her at risk.

“You will tell me, Marie. Sooner or later.” Lorenzo started the car. She cut her gaze away and stared out of the window. She glanced back to the cottage where she and Carlo nearly committed the most unforgivable sin. She was grateful he stopped her. But how could she ever look him in the eye again?

* B
*

There was a war raging. An eternal battle of personal restraint against crippling grief, it controlled his emotions. Giovanni concealed the inner conflict like that of a man born to live on the edge of death and consequence. He was a master at this game. However, each time a nurse or doctor appeared in the hall his façade chipped, weakened. If God took her from him he could not predict his future or be held responsible for the consequences. And there would be consequences.

The doctor approached. Giovanni held his breath.

“We’re taking her to recovery,” Dr. Buhari said. The man looked exhausted.

“Then she’s okay?”

“We’ve stopped the hemorrhaging. Her uterus is in tact. She’s lost a lot of blood. We’re concerned about her… her heart.
Signor
Giovanni, we’ve induced a coma for her. It’s a waiting game now.”

“Waiting game? I don’t understand. You took the babies. What else is wrong? You’re keeping something from me.” Giovanni slowly stood. He could smell the cowardice on the doctor. He could read the deception in the chosen words the doctor selectively used. The man said heart. Why would his Bella have a problem with her heart? “Tell me what is wrong with my wife?”

“I’m sorry,
signor
.” The doctor put both hands up as if to back Giovanni away. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this.”

“TELL ME!” he shouted and he felt the veins in his neck and forehead bulge.

“Your wife had a stroke.” The doctor said.

Giovanni shook off the news. “No! She didn’t.”

The doctor blinked in puzzlement. He glanced to Giovanni’s men and then back to him. “
Signor
, she did. We aren’t sure how bad things are, but we got her heart started again,” the doctor said in a tremulous voice.

“How the hell did she have a stroke?” Giovanni grabbed the man by the collar. He shook him. “How?”

“It’s rare but it happens. Your wife arrived with a severe case of hypertension. We are lucky we brought her here in time. I don’t know what caused it. I had just examined her and her blood pressure wasn’t nearly as high.”

Giovanni let the man go and shoved him so hard he was cast several feet away. The doctor stumbled and nearly tripped over his feet.  He rubbed his temples and processed the news. A stroke? He imagined a lot of things, but a stroke was never one of them. He glared at the doctor. “Don’t hold back information. I want to know everything.”

For an African man his face was flushed and red. “
Signor
, your method, your threats, it’s not helping. I’m her doctor and it is my duty to do the best that I can. You told me if she died so would I. Trust me I am doing everything in my power to make sure that does not happen. But she must not have stress, or chaos now. Do we understand each other?”

The doctor’s gaze swung left. The man’s eyes stretched with recognition. Giovanni’s head turned and he sought what had the doctor so caught off guard. And suddenly it all made sense. Armando wheeled his father
Don
Mancini down the hospital hall. The old man had dressed for the occasion in a suit and tie, with a dark fedora on his head. He would look as imposing as his son if it weren’t for the oxygen tubing out of his nose and hooked around his ears. And behind the father and son were eight of Mancini’s men.

“What are they doing here?” Giovanni said under a stilted breath. He approached the troupe. Two of Giovanni’s men were right on his heels. The Battaglias met the Mancinis halfway in the hall. “Leave,” Giovanni said.

“You are in my home, Giovanni. Everyone and everything here belongs to me.” The old man said and then coughed. “I will not go anywhere until I know how Mirabella is.”

Giovanni glanced over to Armando and caught the gleam of smug defiance in his eyes. It was true that he had chosen Mancinis territory to have his children. Any conflict with the Mancinis now in the hospital would put his family in jeopardy. Again he had calculated things wrong. He wasn’t sure how Mira and Marietta learned the truth but one look at Armando and he sensed the son-of-a-bitch knew that Mira and Marietta were his sisters. He couldn’t risk his men finding out this way. He was certain Mancini wanted the same.

“You and I will talk, and then you will go old man. I can give a shit about territory. I can give a shit about your authority.” Giovanni said.

Don
Mancini’s head tilted back. Steely dark eyes glared up at Giovanni from under the shadow of his fedora. “We shall see what is important to you, Giovanni. Yes. Let’s talk.”

Armando wheeled his father toward the waiting rooms. Giovanni wiped his hand down his face and calmed himself. He had no choice but to follow. 

15.

“I can’t go in there, Lo,” Marietta said. “I thought I could, but I can’t.”

Lorenzo sat with her in the car. He stared at those arriving and leaving the
ospedale
. Marietta’s fear was understandable. He wouldn’t, however, let her be ruled by it. He hadn’t lied when he said he wanted to unite her with her sister. He truly wanted to heal what was broken in his wife. Maybe if he did so he’d find a way to heal what was broken in him?

“Did you hear me? I said I can’t go in there,” Marietta said.

“You can. We’ll sit here until you accept it.” Lorenzo’s gaze slipped over to her. “What are you afraid of?”

“Well for one your evil cousin. He’ll blame me for what happened,” Marietta said.

Lorenzo smiled. “You aren’t afraid of him. You should be,” Lorenzo chuckled. “But you’re too damned stubborn to realize it. Now, tell me who you are really afraid of.”

Marietta combed her fingers back through her thick bushy locks. She sucked down a deep breath. She spoke with her head down. “Mirabella. I’m afraid for her, my sister. What if something happens to the babies? She won’t forgive me for telling her the truth. She’s all I’ve got and I’ve been a bitch to her from the day I met her.” Marietta lowered her hands. “I’m not good at this. I don’t know how to make things right with people. Look at us. I should be wearing your balls as earrings after the way you deceived me.”

Lorenzo lifted her chin with his finger. “It’s not for you to make right. She’s your blood. She’s your family. What happened to you happened to her. Go in there and help your sister. You need this, Marie, and she does too,” he chuckled. “As for my balls, I’d rather them in your mouth than on your ears.”

Marietta smacked him playfully. He reached over and hugged her. She kissed him. “How come I can’t stay mad at you?” she asked.

“Because you and I don’t deal in bullshit. We are who we are, and we accept it.” Lorenzo teased with a sly smile. “Besides, I think we should fight more later. It’s good for us.”

Marietta let him go. She looked to the hospital. “Can we stay in the car for a little longer? I think I need a little longer,” she said.

Lorenzo turned on the car and put the a/c on full blast. “Take all the time you need.”

* B
*

Giovanni paced. It was just he and Mancini. Not even Armando was allowed in for their closed-door meeting. The old man watched him from his chair. He showed no fear or concern for his safety. Men like him never did. Mancini had crushed so many others’ lives that he now had little respect for his own. Giovanni had to force down the urge to not snatch him from his wheelchair and body slam him into the wall.

“How is my daughter?” the old man asked.

“Don’t fucking call her that!” Giovanni seethed.

Mancini arched a brow. “
Perchè?
She’s mine, Gio. I made her.” He sneered. “She has my blood in her veins.” The last of his comment stripped Giovanni of his restraint but Mancini continued and his pursuit stopped him cold. “You have a daughter. What is the child’s name? Eve? Ah, yes you named her after your mother. Would you let any man stand between you and Eve?”

“You fool, no one old man. You can give a shit about the twin daughters you left in America. Who she is has nothing, absolutely nothing to do with why you are here now!”

“Then enlighten me. Why am I here now?” Mancini choked down a cough that broke his question midway through.

“To test me. To find my weakness. To destroy my marriage!” Giovanni shouted.

“Son,” Mancini smiled, and to Giovanni he seemed more confident than he should. “I’ve told you. I want Mirabella, not you. Only her.”

“Bomba!”
Giovanni shouted. “She wants nothing to do with you.”

“Then tell her who I am,” Mancini replied with the upward toss of his chin. “Let her tell me to my face.”

“How did you know we were here? How?” Giovanni demanded.

Mancini wheezed. He inhaled a deep dose of oxygen before he spoke. “Her mother, that’s how I knew, that’s why I came.”

“Her mother’s dead,” Giovanni said.

“Yes. But they are connected on this day in ways you don’t know. Lisa, Mirabella’s mother, almost died when she delivered my girls.” Mancini did a deliberate pause and Giovanni held his breath for the rest of the news. The old man took his sweet time in sharing it. After several seconds of him dragging air from his tank he spoke. “She had a stroke when giving birth. It was bad. She could no longer have children. She sat in a coma for days.”

The news twisted and turned his gut. He never considered the medical information Mancini may have on his Bella’s mother. Mancini’s defiance and entitlement did not overshadow the hurt and longing that lay naked in his eyes. “Is it true? Did Mira deliver my grandsons early?”

“She did.” Giovanni turned away. He closed his eyes and struggled for his own breath. He felt as if his heart had been squeezed by a vice in his chest.

“And how is she?” Mancini asked He nearly pleaded with a tremor in his voice.

Giovanni didn’t answer.

“How is she?” Mancini barked.

“Her heart stopped.” Giovanni confessed in a voice heavy with anguish.

“This is your fault, Gio. Yours. Bringing her here. Feeding your ego to have all things Sicilian when you’re not.”

“I’m as much Sicilian as you.” Giovanni answered.

Mancini chuckled, “No, but thanks to my daughter your sons are more Sicilian than you.”

Giovanni cut his gaze back over his shoulder. Mancini smiled as he spoke, a sadistic turn of his lips that had no humor present. “Ignoring the doctor’s warnings. Keeping her locked away from me. All of it put her in jeopardy.”

“My wife, my kids, my
famiglia
old man. Mine!” he shouted. “I brought her here because I am Sicilian and so is she—we belonged here. You were never a fucking factor!”

Mancini sucked down more oxygen.

Giovanni leaned in. “She knows about you, Marsuvio. I told her the truth.”

Mancini gaped.

Giovanni nodded that he was telling the truth.

“She knows?” Mancini asked.

“Yes. And it didn’t matter to her. You were not even a consideration for her.”

“Does she know what Tomosino had done?” Mancini replied. “Did that matter?”

“She’s a Battaglia, it ends there. She’s Catholic now, married me before God. My father’s sins and yours can never change the fact that she is my wife. Never. You can go.” Giovanni turned for the door.

“Gio!”

He stopped.

“You don’t want to go to war with me, son. Not over this. I have nothing to lose. Death is the only thing waiting for me now. I’ll take you with me to have five minutes with my daughters.”

He glanced back. “And Armando? Does he want to know his little sisters?”

Mancini picked his hat up from his knees and rested the fedora on the top of his head. “My son puts family first in all things. Like you.”

“Bullshit! Your late need to be a father makes my wife and her sister a target in your son’s eyes, you and I both know it. Your men learn that you have a daughter who is my wife what does that do for you, for him? Huh?” Giovanni expelled a deep sigh. “I’ll tell you what happens next. We go to war. Because there is no way the Mancinis and the Battaglias can be family. And for the first time since we were fifteen Armando and I agree on something.”

“I’ve put Mira in my will. I’ve put Marietta in my will.” Mancini wheezed. “When I die they inherit everything with their brother. If anything happens to them he loses his fortune. I have planned this for years, Gio. Have you done the same?”

Giovanni shoved the door open and stormed out. He wouldn’t hear another word. Armando glanced up when he walked out into the hall. Their eyes connected and locked.

Marietta walked a step behind Lorenzo. He held her hand. When they arrived in the wing of the hospital where Mira was her courage had all but evaporated. Just as they turned the corner she saw Giovanni step out of a door. He glared at a strikingly handsome Sicilian who leaned against the wall in a tailored suit.

Lorenzo stopped. So Marietta had to as well.

“What is it, Lo?” Marietta asked.

Another man wheeled out of the room Giovanni exited. He was older. He had an oxygen tank fastened to the back of his chair. At first none of the men saw them. It was Giovanni who looked left and his eyes connected with hers.

“Who is it, Lo?” Marietta asked.

The old man in the wheelchair’s gaze turned her way. He stared at her.

“It’s your father, sweetheart,” Lorenzo said.

“My fa-ther?” Marietta asked. Surprise stabbed her heart. “That’s him? Marsuvio?”

“Now is not a good time, Marietta. Do you understand?” Lorenzo said through his teeth. “We are here for Mira. Only Mira.”

The suffocating feeling of restraint tightened her throat. She couldn’t reply. She stared into the eyes of the man and felt so many things at once. He looked powerful. Even in his chair he looked intimidating. The fedora on his head didn’t give her a clear look at his dark penetrating eyes. But she could tell at one time he’d been strikingly handsome. His broad shoulders and long legs in the chair made him over six foot tall at the very least. The inner torment over the confrontation she’s wanted to have with this man since she learned Octavio Leone was not her birth father tore at her heart.

The bastard wanted her dead.
It’s what Gemma told her. And he was a rapist. It’s what Gemma said of him. He was the man who destroyed her mother—made her a junkie and left her for his enemies. She wished she had a gun to unload on him. Lorenzo began to walk. Marietta knew she matched his pace but somehow she felt as if he dragged her along. She went numb all over. Her eyes never left the old man. He may have been feeble in the chair he sat in but his eyes were alarmingly focused.

“Gio? How is Mirabella?” Lorenzo asked.

Giovanni’s stare never wavered. Marietta sensed she shouldn’t look away and she didn’t. But she ached to look to her father who watched her.

“I want to see her,” Marietta said.

Giovanni frowned. He glanced up at Lorenzo. Neither spoke but Marietta sensed they communicated. The men in the hall stared on in silence. Her father stared on in silence. Giovanni turned and started off. Lorenzo’s gaze lowered to Marietta. “Go with him.”

“What?” Marietta asked alarmed. “Without you?”

“Go. I need to deal with our guests.” Lorenzo glanced over to Marsuvio. She dared look at the man. He said nothing. She felt nothing for him. Without another word of objection she did what she was asked. She glanced back twice to Mancini. The old man never took his eyes off her.

When she caught up to Giovanni around the corner, he stood there waiting for her. “I will let you see her, because I owe it to her and maybe you. But let’s be clear, I have not forgotten your role in this. I will not have you or anyone say or do anything to harm her.”

“I understand,” Marietta said. “I have not forgotten your role in this also.”

Giovanni’s left brow arched. He looked her over. “You’re nothing like my Bella,” he said with disgust and walked off. Marietta shot her middle finger at him when his back was turned. She followed him. He stopped and spoke to a nurse. She said a few things and then pointed.

He addressed Marietta without a glance backward. “Stay out here until I send for you.”

“Wait! You said I could see her,” Marietta said.

Giovanni didn’t respond and walked inside the room. Marietta crossed her arms and dropped back on the wall to wait. She’d wait all night if she had to. The hall, rooms, staff, everyone was extra quiet. She assumed they were in the ICU wing of the hospital, but didn’t ask.

* B
*

Mira lay tucked under a thin blanket with a breathing tube down her throat. Like her sons she needed the oxygen fed to her. Her hair was thick and untamed, her body still and quiet. Giovanni stepped to the foot of her bed. The endless day of waiting had finally grayed into this despondent dawn. A new anguish seared his heart. Giovanni wondered if she suffered. He gripped the railing at the foot of the bed and dropped his head.

Did she suffer because of me?

For the first time since he thought she had died because of his negligence, he wept. Not since the nightmare started did he allow himself a single tear. But alone with her in that moment he couldn’t hold his anguish back any longer. Terrible regrets assailed him. Smothering his sob, his fingers curled and his fists tightened as he gripped the cool steel of the footboard. The release freed him. It took several long minutes before he could regain control of himself. He did.

He walked around the bed to the other side. He grabbed a chair and pulled it close and sat in it. With extreme care Giovanni took her listless hand into his. It felt warm to the touch. A smile formed on his lips. Often when they slept he’d feel her touch in their bed either to his chest or his face. He’d open his eyes to find she’d reached for him in her sleep. Giovanni pressed his lips to her knuckles and closed his eyes.

“Bella,” Giovanni cleared his throat. “You did it,” he paused only because he found it hard to breathe at the moment. He pressed on past his anxiety and smiled to keep back the tears. “Our sons are alive, they are beautiful little ones. Gianni is three pounds. Gino is two. He had the toughest time. But he’s strong, like you. He will survive. We are survivors, you and me.”