If Ever I Fall, page 10
Vittoria, Sicily
Matteo
After church, Enzo approached Matteo and said, “Let’s walk.”
Matteo turned to tell his father to wait, but the old man, who’d aged fifty years since his sons had died, had taken in the situation and waved at Matteo to go with Enzo. Dad was chatting with the priest and a few neighbors, and would probably be in that exact spot when Matteo got back after hearing whatever Enzo had to say.
With the exception of the Di Caro family coming to Vittoria, Matteo’s family had little to do with the Contis. From what Matteo’s father had told him, the Parisis and the Contis were cordial, but they didn’t socialize. No bad blood, simply a matter of different business interests and alliances.
The moment Enzo had moved into the center aisle after mass and headed in Matteo’s direction, he knew Enzo was delivering a message from the Don. When Don Alessandro had come to the Parisi family home after Matteo had kept Sofia out all night, the Don had told him any further communications would go through Enzo.
That was the easiest part of a conversation Matteo would have given his left nut not to’ve had.
After Matteo had seen Sofia slip into the back door of the house, he’d walked the kilometre to his car, got in and sat, staring out the windshield at the lightening sky. Everything about the previous seven hours had been glorious and tragic. He’d never believed soul mates existed. To’ve found his in a seventeen-year-old girl had been a cruel twist of fate, and it felt as if the cosmos were laughing at him. There were so many “ifs” attached to him and Sofia, neither Sophocles nor Shakespeare could’ve conjured a play with more heartbreak attached to it.
As he started the ignition, Matteo wished he could be that guy. The one who fucked his sorrow away. But he wasn’t built like that. While he’d had his share of lovers, they’d all meant something, even if their liaisons had been brief. If he were the type of man who could bury his cock in a random as a means to obliterate his heartache, it wouldn’t change his underlying reality: he’d never find another Sofia.
Nothing for it, he’d put his car in gear and drove home.
Going to bed would have been folly. He would have lain there, staring at the ceiling for hours. Instead, he’d gone into the kitchen, had a quick conversation with Lina, their housekeeper, who left the room to get on with her morning routine. Matteo made coffee and put out the fresh cornetto on a large round plate. By the time his father came into the kitchen, fully dressed in his dark grey suit and solid dark blue silk tie set against a crisp white shirt, Matteo was leaning against the large marble-topped center island reading the newspaper, his cappuccino steaming from the cup next to his elbow.
“Ciao, Papa. Espresso o cappuccino?”
“Cappuccino, figliolo.” Matteo nodded at his dad, wondering if calling him son dug a knife into his father’s heart as much as it hurt Matteo to hear it. He was his father’s only living child now, and knowing what Matteo had to do, that designation might not be true in a couple of months. “Vado in citta' per oggi. Forse ceneremo più tardi.”
“Sure, Papa,” Matteo told his father in Italian. “Do you want to have dinner here or in town?”
“Ti chiamo più tardi e ti faccio sapere.” His father took his cappuccino and put a cornetto on a small plate, and then stood across the island from Matteo, who’d pushed the sports section to his father.
“Okay. I’ll wait for your call.”
At nine on the dot, his father exited through the kitchen door, crossed the long tiled patio, his gait no longer spry, and climbed into the backseat of his waiting car, his driver, Vito, shutting the door after a much aged-looking Edoardo Parisi.
Matteo finished his coffee and walked up the back staircase to his rooms. Lina had thrown open the curtains and all the doors to the balcony, letting in a breeze that portended colder weather. He’d felt the chill settle in him last night and figured, regardless of the weather, he’d never truly be warm again.
When Lina came in to tell him he had a visitor, Matteo had been working at his desk. He checked his phone, saw it was three in the afternoon, and said to himself, right on time. The morning had come and gone, and Enzo hadn’t come by to beat the shit of out him, which meant that honour would be reserved for Don Alessandro, who, as sure as the sun rose in the east, would not let Matteo’s behaviour stand, and would fly across the Atlantic to take that message to him personally.
The Don was in the library where Lina had left him, standing in the middle of the room, his gaze trained on the doorway. Everything Matteo had heard about the man was true, and then some. Tall, a powerful trim build, classically handsome, a light dusting of silver threaded through his black hair at his temples and around his crown. He wore a bespoke suit and did not look like he’d made a ten-hour trip from Boston to Vittoria. He appeared calm and collected. But Matteo understood the illusion for what it was. He felt the man’s restrained power bouncing off the walls of the vast library.
Matteo walked right up to the Don, stuck out his hand, and said, “On my honour, nothing happened last night, and I swear, such an evening will not be repeated. I promise you, I will not contact her again.”
Up close, Matteo could see the Don’s bright blue eyes blazed like a flame, his scrutiny sharp and thorough as he assessed the veracity of Matteo’s statement. After what seemed like two days, the Don grasped Matteo’s hand and held on tight when he said, “You understand I take promises seriously.”
Matteo would’ve gulped if there were any saliva left in his mouth. “I do, sir.”
The Don nodded once, released Matteo’s hand then walked right by him. Between exhaustion and the vacuum the Don’s forceful exit created, Matteo could have sworn he swayed. He heard the Don’s heavy footfall on the marble-tiled floor before the front door closed a minute later.
Now, walking alongside Enzo, Matteo tried to prepare himself for the Don’s message, which he was certain was not going to be good. He presumed the Don had learned Matteo had broken his promise, and it didn’t surprise him Sofia and Matteo’s letters had been discovered. Matteo almost chuckled thinking about how careful Sofia believed she’d been. Surely, after her father had “rescued” her from Sicily following her having spent an entire night with a twenty-two-year-old man, the Don would go beyond his usual diligence to make beyond certain he was fully apprised of Sofia’s every move.
Matteo and Enzo walked down the hill to the bottom of the parking lot, where Enzo stopped and turned slowly in a circle, scanning the lot and the trees beyond before placing himself in front of Matteo. Enzo leaned in, and in a raspy whisper said, “One week from this Wednesday, be at a place with good security somewhere in Germany or the Netherlands. Next Sunday, after mass, you’ll tell me where.”
Matteo nodded, Enzo stepped back, and they made their way back through the parking lot to the bottom of the church steps, where Edoardo Parisi was talking to his neighbors and the priest, exactly where Matteo had left him.
***
The next day, Matteo made the arrangements, which was the easiest thing he’d tackled in the past twenty-four hours. The evening before his father had gone off the rails, unfortunately an increasingly common occurrence. There was nothing Matteo could say to relieve his father’s unrelenting self-recriminations. For hours, he’d listened to his dad alternately yell and sob over the loss of his sons. In between the bouts of anger and grief, Matteo was re-reminded of his duties to his family. As if he needed his memory jogged since that had been, singularly, the constant topic of discussion from the moment Matteo had returned to Sicily. His father was past impatient, believing swift and violent retribution was the only solution while Matteo had other ideas, and was slow to execute them in the hopes he could talk his father off his vengeance ledge.
As expected, after Due and Mariano had been killed, Dad had been inconsolable. Matteo had gotten the news early the morning after their deaths had been discovered. He’d been in his flat sleeping off one of his last nights of carousing with his mates before he was scheduled to start working in his new position – his dream job – the following Monday.
Between his third and fourth year at Cambridge, he’d had an internship with a high-profile London finance firm that specialized in funding sustainable and renewable energy companies worldwide. They’d thought well of his work and offered him a position after graduation. He’d been scheduled to start the third week in June and had been enjoying a few weeks of freedom when his father had called with the devastating news.
Half drunk, he’d called the managing partner at the firm and explained why he couldn’t take the job. To his great relief and surprise, he was told they’d hold the position for him when he returned from his bereavement. Unbelievably, every month when he called to say he needed more time, he was told his job would be waiting for him when he returned. While his best mate from Eton and Cambridge, whose grandfather had been the founding partner of the firm, denied being Matteo’s champion, he knew better.
Nearly nine months had passed since he’d learned his was an only child, and he was no closer to returning to London and his old life than a dodo had a chance of flying. Matteo felt much like that unfortunate extinct bird. He’d been the one who got away. A Parisi not chained to his familial history. A man who’d adapted to his new environment and had thrived, only to be pulled back and tasked to become the person he was never meant to be, and who he despised: the avenging angel of his brothers’ murders.
In general, Matteo had always known about his family’s “business,” but he’d left Sicily at the age when he would’ve begun being in schooled in what that “business” entailed. Only when he had been sitting next to his father in the family’s private plane on the tarmac of a private airfield in Berkshire, England, had Matteo learned he was being sent to Eton for his own good, was to remain in England to continue his studies, and stay in England when he began a career befitting his education. Briefly, but with absolute conviction, his father had informed him his life was to take a different path than the rest of the Parisis. After a hug and kisses on both cheeks, thirteen-year-old Matteo had de-planed alone, gotten into a waiting limousine, and was taken to Eton College.
Now, as far removed from the life his father and brothers had lived, Matteo had to do the unthinkable: annihilate the La Rosa family for killing Due and Mariano.
***
One Year Ago
Due couldn’t believe this shit. Thirty-three years old and he was still dragging his thirty-one-year-old brother’s ass out from between a woman’s legs. But this time when Due lifted Mariano off his bed, Due cursed and smacked his brother across the face, then threw the covers over the naked girl tangled in his brother’s sheets.
“What the fuck were you thinking?”
Mariano stirred, leaning his naked body against his brother and slurred, “That that was my pussy.”
Goddamn it. This time Mariano had fucked the wrong girl. Nineteen-year-old Adriana La Rosa was a notorious wildcat. The girl raised more hell than all five of her brothers combined. The baby of the family had been too babied and hadn’t grown out of being a willful brat. It didn’t help that she looked like a young Gina Lollobrigida with her long dark hair and a body that defined the word sin.
“Her old man and all five of her brothers are going to kill you slowly if you don’t marry her.”
Mariano shrugged. “I wanna marry her. She’s pregnant with my kid.”
Due pushed his brother into a chair and threw his jeans at him. “So what’s the fucking problem?”
“She doesn’t wanna get married.” He tried three times to get his leg into the jeans, gave up, and slouched back in the chair. “Says I won’t make a good husband. I’ll run around on her and shit like that.”
Apparently, Adriana was smarter than Due gave her credit for. “Take a shower. Drink coffee. Then wake her up. I don’t care what the fuck you have to do, but by five o’clock this afternoon she better be wearing your engagement ring. I’ll go with you when you take her home to her father and ask his permission to marry her.”
Mariano shook his head. “Man, I’m telling you, she won’t do it.” He stood on wobbly legs and half stumbled to the nightstand where he took a blue velvet box out of the drawer and then threw it to Due. “Got the ring two months ago and I’ve been trying to give it to her practically every night since.”
Due opened the box and saw a big-ass diamond surrounded by rubies. “No more trying. Today you’re going to do it.”
Mariano made it back to the chair and collapsed. “Don’t Yoda my ass.”
“I’m going to beat your ass if this shit isn’t settled by the time I get back this afternoon.”
Due left to take care of business his brother was to supposed to do along with him. When Due returned, he found Mariano at his desk working on his laptop. “So?”
“So she left before I got out the shower. She won’t answer my calls or texts. I have no idea where the fuck she is.”
Due ran his fingers through his hair. “Did you look for her?”
“Man, she’s been playing this game with me for five fuckin’ months. She could be anywhere. Malta for all I know.” He got up and paced behind his desk. “Into her. Love her. She doesn’t believe me. I don’t mind working for it, but I’m done chasing her. She’ll show up when she shows up. We’ll fight. We’ll fuck, and she’ll stay for a while, then she’ll get a wild hair and take off.”
“Where does her father think she is?”
“In college. Studying.”
“Is she?”
“When the spirit moves her.”
“Enough. You got to nail this shit down, brother. C’mon. Bring the ring.”
Three hours later they found her sitting alone poolside at a girlfriend’s house, an iPad propped on bended knees. Due stood in front of the door leading into the house and watched his brother move across the deck. He stood staring at his girl before he sat on the edge of her longue. He took the iPad and put it on the ground before he leaned in and pressed his hand against her belly. Whatever he said, and he talked a while, made her dip her chin then nod. He took out the ring and slid it on finger. She scooted down and kissed him like she hadn’t seen him in months. Smiling, he wrapped his arm around her waist and helped her up. She grabbed her bag from the table beside the longue, bent to get the iPad, pushed it into the bag, then slung it over her shoulder.
Mariano took her hand, and they walked to Due.
An hour later Due was sitting across from Adriana at the kitchen table in her father’s house sipping espresso waiting for Mariano to come back from talking with her father in his study.
When Mariano finally walked in, he had a wad of tissues pressed against his bleeding bottom lip. He held out the tissues. “Don La Rosa wasn’t happy the wedding has to happen within the next two weeks.”
Adriana groaned. “You can’t be surprised.”
“Not complaining, bella.”
She smiled, and he bent down and kissed the tip of her nose.
Two weeks and two days later, they had a huge church wedding, festooned with flowers, bows, bridesmaids and groomsmen, as if the spectacle had been planned for months. An ostentatious reception was held on the grounds of Don La Rosa’s home and was attended by over two hundred people.
Three months later, Adriana, six months pregnant, was heading home to her and Mariano’s house in the hills above Vittoria after she’d had dinner with a couple of girlfriends. When she drove past a hotel in town and saw Mariano kissing a woman on the cheek in front of his car, Adriana, being Adriana, pulled up alongside the car and yelled, “I knew it. You bastard. You promised.” She sped off, and Mariano followed. The woman whom he’d been kissing good-bye on the cheek was one of the Parisi’s attorneys.
Adriana had driven erratically for eight kilometres when she made a sharp turn onto a narrow road going up a hill leading out of town. Mariano watched as his wife’s car went off the road. He jumped out of his car and saw his wife’s vehicle roll into a ravine, coming to a stop after it slammed into an old olive tree.
Three days after burying his wife and unborn child, Mariano Parisi’s dead body was left on the back patio of his house alongside the dead body of his brother, Due. Payment for the two lives Don La Rosa had lost, which he blamed on Mariano.
***
His father had told Matteo the story so many times, he felt like he’d been there. Each time, his father ended with a slew of rhetorical questions, most of which boiled down to, “Why?” Then the rants would start, voicing in lurid detail all the horrors Edoardo Parisi intended Matteo to rain down on the La Rosa family in retribution for the deaths of Due and Mariano. Matteo. A finance guy who went to Eton and Cambridge and had a job waiting for him at a prestigious London firm where he intended to help the earth by getting money to renewable and sustainable energy companies.
Maybe when he met with Don Alessandro next week, Matteo would lead with his alternative method of annihilating the La Rosa family. He prayed the request, and its implementation, would serve as a distraction and keep Matteo alive after breaking his promise.
It seemed the Parisi brothers couldn’t help but fuck up royally when it came to whom they fell in love with and how they handled it.
Soho House
Berlin, Germany
Matteo
“Good afternoon, Don.” Matteo motioned Don Alessandro into the suite and saw a large, menacing man take position in the hallway outside the suite’s door.
The Don nodded his greeting. Matteo took the Don’s coat and hung it in the front closet as Don Alessandro looked around the lushly appointed suite. “When did you become a member?”
Matteo went to the sideboard and poured two fingers of an exclusive small-batch whiskey into a tumbler, added two cubes of ice, then crossed to the large side chair beside which Don Alessandro stood straight and tall. After handing him the glass, Matteo replied, “I’m not. A mate from Cambridge is and arranged the suite for me.”
Don Alessandro lowered himself into the chair, and Matteo went to the sofa and sat opposite him, watching as the long-limbed, elegant man crossed his legs at the knee, brushed the material, then took a sip of the whiskey. He gave Matteo a small grin, then rested his hand holding the tumbler on the arm of the chair.
