Page 188 of La Dolce Vita

Giovanni’s jaw twitched. It was the only outpour of emotion from him. He was in a different country. In a bar filled with men, he didn't own. He could take the bottle on the table break and cut his Cutters throat before the two men drew the guns they had tucked in the back of their pants. But that would be a headache he didn't need.

Cutter chuckled because men like him knew their opponent. He knew insulting Mirabella to Giovanni’s face would be the knife to turn in Giovanni’s gut. So Cutter leaned in and continued. "You know in these parts men know the best girl to have is a preacher's daughter. Biggest freak in the bed. Except your wife was a little more. She's a baby killer."

The entire bar went silent. Cutter stared at him. "She killed my kid. Thought I didn't know. And when I confronted her about it and she put on the tears. Pretended to be confused and scared. Then she kills her grandfather. Yeah. Him too. He showed up at the farmhouse and caught me two seconds from strangling her fucking throat. Tried to stop me. But I made her confess. Tell him what she did. That she was a murdering bitch. And the old man fell over. Dropped to his knees right there on the spot. Took him a couple of weeks to die, though. And she just walked away. Cashed out on that money he had for her and left before his body cold in the ground."

Lorenzo made a move and Giovanni cut his gaze to him and ordered him to remain still. Lorenzo jaw clenched, but he remained seated. Clyde looked like the vein in the center of his forehead would burst. He too was close to a rage filled explosion.

“We’re done here,” Giovanni announced. Clyde stood first. He dropped money on the table. Cutter laughed. Hard gusts of laughter hurled at Giovanni as he and his cousin stood.

"Aren't you supposed to be some big time Mafia guy out of Italy? Real scary. Fuck off, you piece of shit! Take that baby killer with you and get the fuck out of my town. Motherfucker!"

Giovanni cast his gaze over his shoulder at Cutter, who grinned.

"Tell Mia I'll come over and remind her what a real man gives. Goes down better than that pink stick of yours!"

The men inside of the bar roared with laughter. Lorenzo made to go for Cutter. Giovanni through up his hand and stopped his cousin. "Get in the car. Now."

"Gio?Che palle!Let’s..."

“I have what I needed cousin. We leave now.”

“What? What do you have?”

Giovanni smiled. “A reason to kill Cutter.”

Lorenzo grunted and did as he was told. All three men got inside the car.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t bring you to be disrespected like that. In front of the whole town. I’m sorry,” Clyde said.

“It happens. This is Cutter’s town. I’m a big boy I can handle it," Giovanni said.

“But... what he said I mean it’s true. You are some kind of Mafia guy? Right?”

“There is no such thing as the Mafia. Not where I come from. Just families that protect each other. And we’re family. Right?”

Clyde smiled. “Yeah, we are."

"Va bene, I am not here to cause trouble. I only wanted to meet my wife's family. There is no problem," Giovanni said.

"You’re pretty cool. When I first met you. Well, you gave the impression of a no-nonsense kind of guy. Took class not to punch Cutter in the face.”

Giovanni smiled. “Yea, I’m a classy guy.”

Lorenzo chuckled from the backseat.

***

"Man, Cutter! You so crazy." Jerome laughed. He hit the dashboard with his fist.

"You see the look on that motherfucker's face?" Evan asked. "He looked like he would explode or shit his pants."

"Nah, he looks like he was gonna cry," Jerome laughed.

Cutter rode in the back seat. Evan was behind the wheel, and Jerome rode shotgun. They were both loyal employees and good students of his. He'd make Jerome into a prize fighter soon enough. Everyone said it. And he knew the young bloods looked up to him to be a tough guy. A bad ass. The truth was he felt like shit. Hurting her through her husband wasn't as gratifying as he first thought. Who he really needed to see and bring to their knees was Mia. The pain when she left had turned to hatred over the years, and then one day he turned on the television and learned she had died. The hatred in his heart melted to regret and grief.

Mirabella was the only woman, girl, whatever, he ever loved, and losing her hurt as much today as it ever it did. Now she was alive, with children, living a life that he had offered her. It was like an emotional rollercoaster, and he was the only passenger.

If he could put his hands around her throat, he would squeeze until the last of her disappeared. But in his heart, he knew that wouldn't be the case. If he put his hands around her throat, he would only do so to keep her still so she could tell him the answers he’d ben seeking since he lost her. Did she ever care about him and the kid she murdered? Did she ever think of him and their child at all? Did she ever love him?

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