Page 2 of Ti Amo

They followed.

The family was barely keeping it together thanks to the weight of this never-ending war. Bologna, once neutral territory for Calderone and Battaglia, had now become the forbidden zone. Angelo took refuge under the protection of the Bonaduce’s in a secluded village that was always heavily armed. Don Francesco Bonaduce was extremely upset over the unrepentant way in which Giovanni had taken his thirst for vengeance out on all of northern Italy in pursuit of Angelo. Especially the unsanctioned murder of the now deceased Don Calderone and his son Giuseppe. Codes were broken and alliances soured. The families fought to hold on to their turf.

Without Flavio to consult, Don Giovanni Battaglia, led with an iron fist and a heart of stone. If he suspected another family aided Angelo in any way, he took extreme measures to make examples of them. The Polizia di Stato always remained one step behind, and the code of silence among these men prevented Giovanni’s name from being fingered as the cause of the mayhem. His gun dealing and trafficking with the Irish and subsequent trade in Sicily and some countries in Africa made any effort by other families to resist futile. Lorenzo once thirsted for this unyielding power and ruthlessness, but even he could no longer hold his head up without shame. They’d done some really brutal shit to those who were innocent and those who were guilty, all in the name of revenge. It had to end. Finding and killing the Fish and Angelo Calderone may finally bring his cousin back, the man of compassion who wanted to legitimize the family. It was his only hope, and tonight he had the future within his grasp.

****

“Have I told you I love you?” she whispered. “Ti amo. My beautiful, strong man, I love you so much.”

Full lips, soft and lush, brushed his. She cradled his face in her delicate hands and her fragrance, sweet as vanilla and crisp as a field of flowers in spring, unfurled in his nostrils. When he parted his lips to speak, her kiss greeted him. The tip of her tongue flicked the roof of his mouth before plunging inside in a tantalizing swirl that left him breathless, desperate and needy. No woman has said the word love to him since she died.

Giovanni drank the sweetness of her kiss, reclined into a stack of pillows with her breasts pressed against his chest. His senses reeled as if short-circuiting. His pulse raced and thoughts of loss, heartache, and lonely pain mixed in with this dreamlike reality. No. This wasn’t a dream. It was the death he prayed for. He found her again on the other side and he was free to have the love they shared for eternity.

Tightness coiled in his groin, and he could feel it bulk underneath the soft press of her sex. Her hands pushed gently against his shoulders, and her body covered his, keeping him conveniently in place. Now he felt loved. Whether she said it lately or not, he felt it deeply.

“Mirabella,” he breathed through their kiss. His beautiful Mirabella had only been his for a brief time but she forever changed his heart, his desires, and his peace of mind.

Her lush thighs, and the sweet moist center under the petals of her sex, buffeted him in warmth with her straddling his waist and moving in a lovely slow slide along his erection. The longing and desire he suffered day in and day out burned away his hope for them two years ago. How could she be dead when she was in his arms once more? To answer his question Mira released him from her teasing kisses and her head lifted. She smiled down at him. The smooth brown skin of her oval face held pale golden undertones. Eyes the deepest shade of hazel brown shone with brilliance, reflecting her forgiveness under a dark ring of lashes. Her slender nose and full lips rounded out the face of an angel.

“I’m yours. You’re safe with me,” Mira said.

“I lost you.”

“Shhh…” Mira pressed her finger to his lips and kissed his brow. “Have faith. Please Giovanni, for us.”

Giovanni blinked awake. The darkness of his room was complete. There wasn’t a sliver of light to focus on. He lay perfectly still staring into the empty void swallowing him. He waited for an eternity until his heart stabilized. It was the same dream, with her again reminding him to have faith.

He had none.

In the dark he dropped his hand to the side of the bed and wiggled his fingers in search of the wine bottle he’d turned to for comfort. He didn’t feel it. His head was weighed down with a throbbing headache reaching his temples and hammering the inner walls of his skull. Thanks to the late night binge he couldn’t summon the strength to lift it. Instead he turned over to his side and closed his eyes once more. This time he prayed he didn’t dream.

****

Fish saw them. Two tall, mean-looking motherfuckers in long dark coats headed his way. Then he caught the sneer of Lorenzo Battaglia and knew instantly who they were. He leapt to his feet shoving a waitress so hard she fell backward on to the table behind her. Running toward the side exit he pushed other patrons out of his way and didn’t bother to look back, but he heard Lorenzo and Carlo knock over chairs and tables in pursuit of him.How the fuck did they find him?

The titty club was located in the seedy countryside of Bologna. He’d only been back in Italy for two days. A trip he made because of his ailing mother. He kept his head low and his business short during his stay. Tonight would have been more of the same if he hadn’t had a raging hard-on for a dancer named Kamilla. He lost his woman to Angelo after his life went to hell. Kamilla was the closest beauty he’d seen next to hers.

The taverns were all lined up in an intricate maze of block shaped buildings with narrow cobblestone roads and alleys. Sloshing through rank puddles of rainwater, barely able to see in front of him as pockets of moonlight guided his way, he paced himself trying to gain his bearings. Fear had a hold of him now, and Fish never responded well on the rare occasions that he was scared. He drew both knives he kept on him. Their long blades shielded in leather, he stumbled twice to unsheathe them. He’d cut and gut both those motherfuckers if he must to survive.

An unmistakable sound of running feet echoed behind him. They were close. He looked up and the darkness prevented him from seeing the end of the alley. He didn’t know how many Battaglia goons were in pursuit of him or if any waited with guns raised.

“Fuck! Fuck!” he panted.

Fish would have to take a stand. The darkness could be his friend. It was so thick thanks to the cloudy sky it would be possible to surprise ambush one if not both of them. He may be trapped, but he would take those bastards out with him. And it had been some time since he ran his blade into soft flesh.

When he stopped running, the men chasing did as well. Fish stood there with both knives in his hand, breathing hard, face drenched in sweat. The temperature was much colder in northern Italy than the southern region this time of the year yet his fear had sent a fever through him and boiled his gut.

Lorenzo stepped out of the shadows.

Fish licked his chapped lips. The pair curled into snarl. “Mi difenderò!I will defend myself,” Fish shouted.

“Lecchino!” A younger voice snapped. Carmine stepped out from the shadows and came up behind Fish. He pointed the gun to the back of Fish’s skull, and Lorenzo’s brow arched in amusement. Apparently Carlo had thought to put some assistance in the alley. It was time for Fish to squirm, and tell him where the fuck Angelo hid. Fish’s shifty gaze lowered, and the blades dropped from his hands.

“Lorenzo?” he spoke in a breathless voice. “You have to know it was never personal.”

“It has always been personal.” Lorenzo challenged.

“Where is Dominic? I worked in favor of the Battaglia’s against the Calderone’s for years. I can be of use to you again.”

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