Destino (Battaglia Mafia Series) Read online

  “I stepped in.” Lorenzo announced. Giovanni glanced up. “They’re here to meet me. With Flavio in Sicily I know there are matters that need a more skilled approach. I can assist cousin, no disrespect Domi.”

  “I thought you preferred to deal in the business of whores.” Giovanni sneered.

  Lorenzo chuckled, dismissing the sting of the comment. “The Irish hold more interest to me. Would you not agree that it’s best we transact business without attention? The canals have to be open to us.” Lorenzo leaned forward. “Those two designers can serve us well, by running the store above. The Polizia di Stato would never suspect.”

  The Polizia Di Stato was the Italian Republic’s response to organized crime and the Mafia. Staying a step ahead of them was critical to men such as them. Lorenzo unfolded from inside of the booth and ran his hand down his black silk tie, smoothing it across his equally dark shirt. He gave Giovanni a respectful nod then turned and left.

  A refreshed glass of Giovanni’s favorite malt was delivered to the table. The brunette leaned in extra close to give him a full view of her supple cleavage before she withdrew. The young woman was then snatched by the hips and drawn to the lap of Carlo. Laughter exploded from some of the men as the woman fought Carlo to be set free, and he buried his face in the pair of ample breasts she thought would entice Giovanni. The scene was typical of his men. He ignored them both. How could he concentrate on anything other than the warmth in his chest from the mere sight of the dark beauty who passed him by? He’d been told her name was Mira Ellison, a high profile designer out of America. Twice he’d invited her to meet with him to discuss the boutique she opened in his territory, prime real estate that his father had extended to that Sicilian bastard Mancini. The only reason Mancini wasn’t forced to turn it over after Don Tomosino’s death was because it served Giovanni’s purpose as a discreet cover for his business dealings. Mancini thought himself above the Cammora because of his reign and prominence within the Sicilian Mafioso. But even Giovanni was surprised when Mancini turned the keys over to the Americans without his permission. He would not tolerate the insult. The last invitation extended to Mira Ellison had been a dinner invite. He picked up the glass and drank the contents down. Maybe he should handle introductions personally?

  “Grazie.” Mira smiled up at the server and accepted the menu.

  “Prego.” The tall Italian with dark olive skin and eyes the color of honey smiled down at her. He looked to be her age, and god he was handsome, but his keen stare made her bravery slip and her gaze flickered away. Thankfully he moved on.

  “He’s cute. Huh?”

  “I guess.” Mira shrugged. “I want to strengthen my Italian. So continue to practice with me, okay?”

  Fabiana winked. In every occasion she tried to use a word or two in conversation. The problem was she found herself stuck on the basics. Living in Italy would surely expand her vocabulary; just as dating Kei had taught her some of the most beautiful words in Mandarin. She glanced to Fabiana. “This is a nice place. Really nice. You said Teddy came here?”

  “Oh yes, girl. He and I tried every restaurant along via Posillipo. This house vino is so good. Up here and below is a lot of nice dining. However, there’s a bit more than meets the eye.”

  Mira glanced up from her menu. “What do you mean?”

  Fabiana lowered her menu and leaned across her plate to smirk. Her red lips glistened by the candlelight on the table. “Teddy said that the basement is where people gamble, among other things. Some real freak nasty stuff if you’re into it.”

  Mira laughed. “Bullshit.”

  Theodore Tate was their financial advisor and attorney. Mira trusted him and Fabiana on all business affairs. However, Mira knew Teddy, as they called him, had an affinity for fast living; women and gambling were a constant in his life. Kei would constantly question her over his abilities, and though she may not have agreed with Teddy’s methods, he found loopholes and opened doors no other man under her employ could. If Teddy said there was something more to this place, she was inclined to believe him.

  “It’s true. Isn’t it just decadent! Gosh I love Italy!”

  “You being Italian have something to do with it?” Mira joked.

  Fabiana shrugged. “It’s like coming to the home you never knew. Being around family you always dreamed you had. Bet you’d feel that way if you went to Africa.”

  Mira considered the comparison. She wondered if a trip to the mother continent would do for her what being in Italy for three weeks had done for Fabiana. She’d never seen her friend so excited and happy.

  A hot breeze blew in causing the string of lights above their heads to sway. The balcony setting was very serene with large leafy plants and candle lit lanterns. The tables were covered in white linen and the plush chairs with white cushions. All tension drained from her bones. She relaxed in front of a spectacular view of the Amalfi coast with luxury yachts resting upon the dark calm waters.

  The manager of Isabella’s, who Fabiana introduced as Francesco, brought his chair inappropriately close to hers. She offered a curt, yet universal smile of decline to no avail. He stretched his arm around the back of her chair, and she could have sworn he let a few fingers brush her shoulder.

  “Benevenuti a Napoli,” Francesco said, his raspy voice only inches from her ear. His breath, hot and garlicky, became a pungent wash across the side of her face, and her stomach muscles clenched in response. Francesco was a short man with wide nostrils, thick pink lips, and brown stained teeth, but he wore a nice suit and had taken the time to curl the tips of his mustache upward.

  “Grazie,” she answered to his welcome.

  “The place looks wonderful! You’ve done so much with it since I last visited.” Fabiana gushed. “We’ve been here three weeks and do you know this is the first time either of us have ventured out at night?”

  “It is lovely.” Mira tried to force a light jovial tone to her voice. His close proximity didn’t help. She swore she’d leap from her chair and throw herself over the balcony if he touched her again.

  Francesco whispered in Italian. From the hard look of lust in his eyes she had to wonder if it was indecent. Fabiana laughed. Mira frowned.

  “Mi scusi, can you move your arm per favore,” Mira said through clenched teeth. Francesco obliged and Fabiana ignored her discomfort and sipped her wine. The antipasti was delivered first to their table. A mouthwatering mix of cured meats, olives, fresh ricotta and a crostini with vine ripened tomatoes. Mira reached with her fork, and Francesco stayed her hand. He leaned in speaking directly into her face a mix of garbled words that made no sense. Before she could politely ask her suitor to allow her the liberty to breathe clean air, another man approached. He was vastly different than the guy seated to her left.

  Darkly tanned, his handsomeness was strengthened by the serious glint in his eye. He fixed his piercing stare on Fabiana first. He was tall. Very tall. She guessed his height to be just over six-foot five or six. And though she admittedly loved to tailor suits for men of his stature she was quite impressed with how nice and trim his attire fit his large frame. When he lifted his hand to smooth his tight dark locks his expensive watch gleamed on his wrist then slipped back under his sleeve. He exuded masculinity certain to stir desire in any woman. She bet he smelled good, too. This meant trouble for her friend. Mira volleyed her gaze between the man and Fabiana. Her suspicions were right. Fabiana’s face flushed and she stared up at the guy with open adoration.

  “Ciao Lorenzo,” Fabiana breathed in her sex kitten voice.

  “Signora Girelli. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you all evening.” Lorenzo’s accent wrapped warmly around his words, and Mira thought her friend would drift up from her seat into his arms. He lifted Fabiana’s hand to his lips, pressed a kiss to her knuckles, and then leaned forward to kiss both of her cheeks. His gaze then shifted over to Mira. “And who is this?”

  “This is Mira Ellison.” Fabiana extended her hand to her friend with a radiant gri
n.

  “Ah, the renowned designer. There has been much talk of the fashion events in Milan this year, and I’ve heard your name mentioned more than once. Congratulations.”

  Mira nodded her thanks.

  “May I join you?”

  “Of course, you and Francesco invited us.” Fabiana gushed.

  What did she mean Francesco invited them? She glanced to her left and noticed Francesco’s wicked grin. Dammit, this is a double date. A setup. She should have known better than to trust Fabiana’s girls night out invitation. She had half a mind to get up and walk out. Before she could question her friend a conversation began at the table in mostly Italian between the three and she felt angrier.

  More wine was poured.

  Mira took a sip and smiled at the garbage breath man. He ogled her breasts as if they were a pair of pork chop sandwiches. It felt degradingly icky and was the final straw. She’d give it maybe ten minutes, and then she’d announce a headache and make a break for the door. Surely she knew enough Italian to get a taxi back to the hotel.

  To her relief a reprieve came. A member of Francesco’s staff approached. He offered apologies with an unsolicited kiss to her cheek and promised to return. All of which he said in Italian. Unfortunately, this Mira understood. Fabiana seized on his departure, and she did so in English. “Lorenzo what’s with your friend? I thought you said he was one of the most sought after bachelors in Napoli?” She slipped Mira an apologetic wink. “He’s not what she expected.”

  “Please don’t speak like I’m not at the table.” Mira said. “Besides, I never told you I wanted to double date.”

  “I know. But you need to double date.”

  “Fabiana!”

  “Ladies.” Lorenzo chuckled. “Francesco isn’t just the manager here. He’s part owner of Isabella’s along with me. Here in Napoli he’s the most sought after bachelor. Women are constantly climbing over each other to gain his affection.”

  “Then someone should give him a toothbrush.” Mira mumbled.

  Fabiana laughed. The humor drained from Lorenzo’s sly smile and gleamed in his unwavering stare. Mira felt a bit uncomfortable with the depths of the baby blues fixed on her. She sipped her wine and tried to ignore it. The conversation became less strained when Lorenzo asked her about Naples and how she enjoyed his city.

  “Unfortunately, we haven’t seen much of it, have we?”

  “No.” Mira conceded. Naples was an interesting city. Certain areas reminded her of the slums of certain boroughs in New York, and others were so pretty it had to be plucked right out of her dreams.

  Fabiana continued. “I would have preferred to purchase property in Milan to start Mirabella’s Design House. The Republic would not grant it.”

  “You mentioned a sponsor?” Lorenzo slipped Fabiana a look. “It’s unfortunate your building was closed, and he couldn’t aid you.”

  Fabiana flashed Mira a smile, and she gave one in return. Her girl could always find a way where there was none, now she was stumped. The politics of this country had them caught in the middle and even Fabiana couldn’t undo it. Kei, Mira’s former lover, said he would no longer fund her company and pulled out a large investment. It hurt deeply, both financially and emotionally.

  “My family may be able to help. I’ve already discussed it with my cousin.”

  Mira cleared her throat, noticing the uncomfortable tension rising over the conversation. Their benefactor wanted to remain anonymous. Fabiana refused to drag him into the matter further. Instead she wanted the help of this man? Why?

  “Can I offer a toast?” Mira asked. The two looked up at Mira’s request. After a pause they reached for their glasses. “To Napoli and all the wonderful friendships to come.”

  Glasses clinked and the tension eased.

  Lorenzo set his glass back on the table. “Where have you been since your arrival in Italy? Have you visited Capri yet?” Lorenzo pressed.

  “Mira hasn’t ventured out of our place in the evening since the incident.” Fabiana said.

  Lorenzo’s eyes stretched. “Incident?”

  “It’s nothing. I’m over it.”

  “No, you aren’t.” Fabiana frowned.

  “May I ask? What happened?” Lorenzo pressed.

  Mira really didn’t want to share her embarrassment, but she saw no way out of the conversation. With a burdened sigh she relented. “We were walking down via Toledo in the evening doing some light shopping. There was a scuffle or argument between two people in the street.”

  “It started from nowhere,” Fabiana interjected. “Pushing and shoving, loud voices. Kind of startled us both.”

  “Yes.” Mira nodded. “And then it happened. A man on a motorbike sped bye and snatched my purse from my arm. So forceful the strap broke.” She snapped her fingers. “In a flash. Gone.”

  “It was awful,” Fabiana added. “Scared the hell out of both of us.”

  “I lost my passport. The embassy is helping me obtain a new one. Doesn’t matter. I lost something irreplaceable in that purse.”

  “Che?” Lorenzo asked.

  She ignored the ache in her heart and stole a deep breath before she could speak. “It’s personal and it’s gone. I can’t believe I was stupid enough to keep it in my purse.”

  “You didn’t lose it. Someone stole it from you.” Lorenzo corrected.

  “She’s been on edge since it happened. Damn bastards.” Fabiana grumbled.

  “Safety is important ladies. You need to rethink my offer; I can ensure you’ll have the protection you need.” Lorenzo said.

  “Excuse me?” Mira lowered her glass. “What kind of protection?”

  “You plan to make Napoli, Campania your home? Open a business in the heart of the city, and crime can be an unfortunate consequence. Sometimes it’s best to have allies. Though I can’t guarantee a gypsy won’t go after your purse again.” Lorenzo kept his gaze leveled on her. “I can however, promise he’ll wish he didn’t.”

  Mira grappled with understanding what he was suggesting, and her best friend looked incensed. She spoke hurriedly to Lorenzo in a cool exact manner. She did so in Italian. Lorenzo sipped his wine and listened. He didn’t seem fazed or impressed by Fabiana’s short rant. His steely gaze slipped over to Fabiana who held firm in her position. “Beh... Have it your way.”

  “What’s going on? Stop speaking in Italian to keep me out of the conversation, it’s rude!”

  “We’ll talk about it later.” Fabiana waved off her concern.

  “No. We’ll talk about it now.” Mira demanded. She returned her focus to Lorenzo. “What are your terms?”

  An easy smile crossed Lorenzo’s lips. “Things are done differently here. I’ll let Signora Girelli explain. Mi scusi belle.” He eased his chair back and rose. Fabiana forced a wan smile before she drank down the contents of her wineglass and reached for the bottle to pour more. Mira shook her head at her friend’s attempt to shield her from the dirty details of their business. Of course, she couldn’t blame her. Both had been stressed since they decided to relocate to Italy.

  “What is it now? First the store closes and my designs are locked up in there and now there is more?”

  “Mafia.” Fabiana blurted.

  Mira sat back. “Huh?”

  Fabiana chuckled. “We’re in Italy girl. Don’t be surprised.”

  “What the hell does the Mafia have to do with you?” Mira asked concerned.

  “Not me. Us. We’ve had a few encounters.”

  “We? From who?” she glanced around the empty balcony for Lorenzo. “Did he threaten you? Is he part of the Mafia?”

  “Lorenzo? No. Well, I don’t think so. He’s from a very powerful family in Napoli. The Battaglia’s. They’re well respected throughout the southern region. He’s been trying to advise me. I just don’t like his advice. Those terms he’s speaking of involve weekly payments to men you don’t want to know, men in the Cammora.”

  “Okay I’m afraid to ask. What is the Cammora?”


  “It’s what the Mafia is called here. Several families make up the Cammora, and they run things inside and out of the Republic. Very corrupt. There’s nothing to worry about. We don’t need that kind of help. Those leeches pray on naïve Americans. Trust me you’re a celebrity, and our being American protects us.”

  “You’re leaving something out.” Mira felt like an idiot for not knowing more of this end of her business. “I want to hear about these encounters. Details.”

  “Actually you don’t. Besides it’s not a big deal. We have friends on our side, remember the Sicilian investor, our sponsor? Name’s Mancini, he’s a good ally.”

  “But you didn’t want to involve him I thought?”

  “Our boutique being closed has nothing to do with Cammora, just some red tape that we can cut through with the local authorities. That’s where the Battaglia’s are useful. If I drag Mancini into the matter it will just become more complicated, since he’s not a favorite with these men. That’s the only help we need from Lorenzo’s family and that’s what I told him before he left.”

  “I don’t like this.” Mira could feel her skin goose pimple and rubbed her arm against the night breeze. “Feels off to me.”

  “We are to refuse all contact with the Cammora. We start paying these men their little taxes and before you know it you’ll have investors you don’t want.”

  They’d been together since Parsons and were closer than sisters. It was Fabiana who introduced her to Kei, a Chinese Wall Street businessman who would keep her naked and in bed all day in the beginning of their relationship because he couldn’t let her out of his sight. He later became the first investor in Mirabella Couture and secured her a spot at New York Fashion Week. Now they were over. Their love affair had been strangely fulfilling and different compared to the limited love life she’d had in Virginia. She’d never dated outside of her race or been around so many people from different cultures. New York was an explosion of new experiences. Several years later Fabiana was her best friend, and she had found the courage to start a new life in Italy.