Chapter 8 Part 1
Parking
my bike in my reserved underground parking space, near the Café de Paris just
one of the many legitimate businesses my family held, I walked through the back
entrance heading straight toward the office. There was something I needed to
retrieve from the safe before I made my way to the metro and over to San Pietro
in Vincoli. Opening the safe I pulled out the worn red velvet pouch and placed
it in the pocket of my jacket. Locking the safe back up, I made my way back
through the kitchen.
“Nel
pomeriggio la mia ragazza dolce!” (Good afternoon my sweet girl)
“Ora se non è la mia persona preferita in tutto il mondo,” (Now if it isn’t my favorite person in the whole world.) I replied to Marccello the head chef, who was more like
my uncle being that I have known him my entire life.
“So…la
mia ragazza dolce (my sweet girl), you didn’t think that you were going to sneak in and out
of il mio ristorante without so much as a word now were you?” His devilish
smirk was set fully in place while he held his arms open to me. Always ready
and welcoming. The man stood at 6’4” tall and was a complete beast of a man,
but really just a giant teddy bear, with a heart just as big. Walking over I
wrapped my arms around him, well as much of him as I could. He smelled of fresh
herbs and garlic, and the slightest hint of lemons and sugar (most likely from
him making his infamous lemon cello). His scent was one of those that just made
you feel at home. Taking a deep breath, I gave him a tight squeeze before I
pulled away. “So…this is not a
social visit?”
I
didn’t answer I knew it wasn’t a question, but rather a statement. “I keep it
safe, to keep you safe la mia ragazza dolce.” He paused for a moment, searching
my eyes for something, his gaze intense for a moment before returning to the
warm, deep, brown of compassion and understanding. For what he was searching for I will never know, sometimes I
feel as though he is saying a silent prayer for me, sending it directly to my
soul. After the moment passed he pulled me into his side, “Well, before you are
off I must feed you, besides you are to skinny il mio lovelie (my lovelie).”
I just smiled up at him and chuckled.
“Well,
who am I to pass up a meal from the one and only Maestro della cucina (master of the kitchen) himself, especially if I get some of your infamous panna
cotta!” I was hungry after my ride in and to be honest I needed the distraction
from Mr. Cullen-asshole-with completely and
utterly-comma-inducing-kissing-skills that piss me right the fuck off, because
if I were truly honest with myself I would never allow a
kissembargo/dry-humping on the motor cycle-embargo with those delectable,
nibble-worthy lips, ever! FUCK! But, that can’t happen, I have a job to do, and
his dazzling, smirky ass is getting in my fucking way. “So, what is on the menu today il
Maestro?”
“Oh!
la mia ragazza (my girl) I am going to make your favorite, something tells me that
you need it. Am I right?” Damn Marcello and his all-knowing-chefy-psychic
abilities. “So, un fungo ravioli
con salvia e panna (one mushroom ravioli with sage
cream) coming up, just
for you! You just go and take a seat and tell Felipe to get you a nice cold
glass of acqua (water) and some pane appena sfornato (fresh baked
bread), it just came out of
the oven before you popped out of the office.”
“Grazie
Marcello…how do you always know what I need?” I asked with a slight smile, his
comfort meant more to me than he knew at the moment, but then again, maybe he
did know. “Si tratta di un regalo di mia dolce (it’s a gift
my sweet) what can I say San
Francis Caracciolo blessed me, as does your San Pietro.” And with a wink and
know-it-all smirk he shooed me out of his kitchen.
I
went and sat at my usual table and Felipe immediately brought over my water and
bread. Just as I was about to take a bite my phone vibrated in my pocked,
looking at the screen I saw that it was a text from Jake letting me know that
he had arrived and had dropped everything at the house, and shouty-capitaled me
that my car was in perfect condition. I text him back that I was at the usual
spot and he said he would be on his way over.
“Mi
scusi (excuse me) Felipe…can you do me a favor and let Marcello know that
Jake is on his way over, so he might want to prepare to have an extra delivery
made.” I said to Felipe while we both tried to contain our laughter knowing
both knowing full well how much Jake could eat and how much Marcello would
bitch at him for depleting his inventory. I went back to my warm bread, taking a
bite and my mind wandered to the red velvet pouch in my pocket. I could always
feel its weight when I carried it with me, feeling more like hundreds of pounds
than the mere ounces that it actually was. But, it was simply something I would
not risk given what I was about to do tonight. And with that thought I pulled
the envelope out of my pocket. Going over the information one more time, making
sure it was fully committed to memory, even though I had as close to
photographic memory as you could get.
“Hey
Bells is that fresh bread? I’m fucking starved.” Jake bellowed as he plopped
down in the seat across from me. “Damn I hope that Celli has some of those
marinated potatoes he had last time, throw those on a big pizza pie with some
sausage and a grip of cheese and a happy man I will be.”
“Jake
do you ever think about anything other than your stomach?” I asked only half
paying attention at his rant.
“Yeah,
I think about your fuck awesome care, fuck I love driving that fine little
piece of machinery, I swear if I could I would marry it.”
“Jake
stop the fuck right there, I don’t need to hear about you getting hard over my
car…fuck now I am going to have to have the interior detailed thanks to you and
your purvey car fantasies.” Rolling my eyes at him I swiped my last little bit
of bread from him. “Anyway…we good? I told Mom I was going to Mass tonight are
you coming with me or what?” Really I was just asking in mob-speak if we were
all set for tonight. “Yep…I let Auntie Rene know I was going with…apparently
she thinks I need to have a chat with the Padre. Telling me something about
making sure that I am staying on the right path.” Honestly, in my mind there
was more truth to that statement than what our coded conversation was actually
saying. “Hey don’t look at me like that…She said she was 21!”
“Fuck
Jake! What the Hell?” I just shook my head at him and chucked a piece of bread
at him. “Hey don’t waste the food, there are starving kids in Africa, besides
I’m a growing boy and need all the sustenance I can get.”
“Oh
for what? To keep up with the next “21 year old girl” you meet.” What can I say
we were like bickering siblings most of the time, rather than him being my body
guard/ suedo partner in crime?
“Hey
you two behave or I will make sure that Padre tacks on to your already, what I
am sure is a lengthy penance. Now eat your food and stop bother the customers
with your foul mouths, what would your Nonna (Grandma) say Isabella?” Marcello scolded as he and Felipe laid out
our food on the table. “Mi dispiace (I’m sorry),” I said while batting my eyelashes, “Ti prego di
perdonarmi (please forgive me) I love you Marcello.” I said with my best pouty smile.
“Oh
il mia ragazza dolce you are lucky I have known you since you were in your
mother’s belly and was at the whim of her mushroom ravioli cravings, no doubt
caused by you zucchero (sugar) but there is no denying I love you as if you were mia
figlia (my own daughter).”
“Yeah…Sworrey
Celli,” Jake managed to choke out between shoving food into his trough other
wise known as his mouth. Marcello just smacked on the back of the head and gave
him “The Look” and I just laughed while Jake glared at me. No doubt wanting to
say something back if he was physically capable, but couldn’t due to the
unnatural amount of food in his mouth.
“Stai
leggendo il mio non successiva del menu settimanale? (Are you done reading my weekly menu) If you are I am going to go get my orders ready.” Marcello
asked, referring to my envelope so he could go and dispose of the information
in the 1,500-degree brick oven, thus leaving no trace. “Si, grazie. (Yes, thank you)
Everything looks delicious.” I replied. Marcello took the papers placing them
back into the envelope, not even bothering to look at them and walked back into
the kitchen to continue on about his day.
“So,
Bells any idea what Cullen is doing here?” Jake asked between bites, I could
only assume he was taking a breath.
“What
do you mean, here? He was at still at Zio’s when I left, or are you just asking
about why he is in Italy in general?” I tried to respond as nonchalantly as
possible, trying to seem like I really didn’t give a shit about
Edward-sexy-lips-Cullen.
“No,
I mean do you know why he is here is Rome? When I was on my way here I could
have sworn I saw him getting out of a car outside of the Regina Hotel Baglioni,
I mean no offense, but that dudes hair isn’t exactly subtle.”
“Hell
if I know Jake, Aro didn’t say anything to me, and neither did Alec, so as far
as I know, pretty boy is meeting one of his goomahs for an afternoon delight, I
really don’t give a shit.” Shit! Why the fuck was Cullen here and how the fuck
did he get here so damn fast?
“Damn
Bells, I was just asking no need to go all P.M.S. Barbie on me…shit!”
“Shut
the fuck up you human garbage disposal, or I will cut your tongue out and you
won’t ever have the pleasure of tasting another bite of a Big Mac.” I spat back
at him.
“Fuck
girl, no need to go there. Are you sure it’s not that time of the month? I mean
I can have Celli get you some chocolate, gelato or whatever shit it is you
chic’s would run over puppies for during your thingy.” The look on Jake’s face
was fucking hilarious.
“It’s
called a period Jake…come on you can say it. PERIOD.” I just laughed at him as
I watched his face start to turn green. I was broken out of my moment of
laughter when I saw my phone light up on the table. It was Alec. That was
interesting. I quickly got up and made my way to the back to go to the office
to take the call. Just in case anyone with over sensitive ears was listening,
that didn’t need to be. Meaning the office had scramblers and the cops wouldn’t
be able to hear us talking or get traces of our numbers or anything of the sort.
“Alec,
what a surprise twice in one day, I know it’s not my birthday.” I answered.
“Oh,
aren’t you just the a delight, but unfortunately this is not a social call
where we get to chat about the latest and greatest gossip of who’s doing who.”
He paused for a second snickering at his statement, considering the irony.
“Well, you know what I mean. What I was calling about is that you have an extra
player. It seems that young master Cullen departed right after you and is now
gracing Rome with his presence. And before you ask, no it is not for pleasure.
After you left I received a phone call, it seems that Cullen has called in his
buddies. And I still don’t think he is any closer as to knowing why Aro has
asked him here in the first place. It’s not as though he has called for a
formal sit down with all the families. So, I of course am heading back to my
fair lady Roma this evening to check out the scene. But, as for now your plans
have not changed. Besides, the Cullen’s don’t really have any Beef with he-who-shall-not
be-living…oops I mean-named. We all know the Cullen’s detest what the Russians
do as much as we do, but they would never step on our toes; especially given
the personal invitation from Aro Vulturi to the acting head of the Cullen
family.”
“Yeah,
well just keep me informed if you hear anything, and I will do the same. Jake
said he thought he saw him going into the Baglioni, but for him to go there is
like him basically walking into Aro’s second house. But, on the other hand, as
the saying goes, “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.” I couldn’t
help but toss out an adage, as it seemed fitting to give Alec’s saying from
this morning a metaphorical wink.
“Well,
aren’t you just full of sass today. Well, save that snark for later il mio
piccolo assassino (my little assassin) because you are going to need it later tonight and I
wouldn’t want you to over exert yourself. Okay, I will keep you posted. Ciao!
Oh and don’t forget il poco fascino (your little charm) I wouldn’t want anything to happen and as always give the
Padre my best.” Alec said as he chuckled at his last statement about the Padre.
“I
won’t forget, it’s already tucked in my inside pocket, and as for the Padre, I
think I will pass. He is still trying to recover from your last confession.”
“Well,
regardless amore, Per la mia famiglia (for my
family).”
“Per
la mia famiglia,” and with that we both hung up. I reached into my pocket and
pulled out the small red velvet bag, rubbing it between my fingers. Despite the
invisible weight that it held, it always brought me a sense of peace, a sense
of calm that could only come from the marrow of my soul, and once again the
words looped through my mind and slipped off of my tongue in the faintest of
whispers, “Per la mia famiglia.” And that is all that mattered, my family.
Because without them I would be nothing, have nothing, despite how the world
may see us. There is more to the Mafioso than what it seems, it runs so much
deeper, it is so much older, and spans so much farther, than what the outside
thinks. Because unless you are la famiglia you will never know, regardless if
you are a made man, the only way to truly know is by blood. La Costra Nostra is really only the
icing on the top tier of a 7 tiered wedding cake, it only covers the outside,
and only that tier. And that is why I take no issue with what I am about to do,
because what I am about to do, is at the least only going to strengthen and
uphold what being truly accountable and moral is in this world.
I
say goodbye to Felipe and Marcello, both just give me a hug, no words
exchanged. Jake just gives me a nod and I make my way to the V. Cavour Metro to
take me to my next destination, San Pietro in Vincoli. I can’t help but feel
sometimes that this holy place was built partly for me, one of God’s great
plans, he just knows, fate just knows. The legend of Saint Peters bonds, the
very chains used to imprison him, and how they miraculously fused together. Two
different pieces made of the same material, serving the purpose of submission,
but clearly strong in their own right, without any direction, still come
together because they must. I can’t help but identify with that, it is Isabella
Princapessa, it is The Swan, both made of the same material, both serving the
purpose of submission one to her family, one to her Dom, but both are clearly
strong in there own right and hold the power, and it all happens because it
must, because that is why they and I exist. And that is where I find my
strength. That is how I know I am good, despite how some may see some of my
actions as bad.
I
look up from my inter thoughts as my stop nears, looking through the dingy
glass of the door I see sticker on the side of a newsstand, ADDIOPIZZO (this is a movement that is taking place in Sicily and Italy where
business are starting to revolt against the mafia, specifically against the
concept of the imposed tax to bring territory under control and protection by
the mafia. It’s an actual public awareness campaign where you can even donate
money, and the businesses who are apart of this campaign put up these
ADDIOPIZZO stickers in their places of business). I shake my head as I walk by and all I want to do is
turn and shout at him “Viva la rivoluzione!!” But, I would never do that, because as I said before La
Costra Nostra is just the icing on the top tier of a 7 tiered wedding cake. If
they really knew, that really only affects the made men, if really has no
bearing on myself or my family, but I get a kick out of it none the less.
Because quite honestly I respect those individual’s that actually show even the
slightest shred of integrity especially in today’s society. So, I say more
power to them. But, I digress…
The
doors of my sanctuary await me, and with a deep breath I walk through. Dipping
my fingers into the holy water, I make the sign of the cross. I walk over to
the confessional, all the while still rubbing the velvet bag between the
fingers of my other hand. Opening the door I step inside and kneel. The screen
open in a whoosh and I can smell the wood polish and dust in the air as I take
a deep breath before I speak, “Padre, forgive me for what I am about to do, I
beseech you, and the Lord Jesus Christ our Lord and Savior.
Okay Monkey’s there it is.
Sorry it has been forever and like a millennium. I also apologize for any
grammatical errors etc. as this has not been edited in anyway shape or form,
this is as raw as it comes. Big GRAZIE for sticking with me. I love you like an
Italian love Meatballs. I would love to hear from you, let me
know what you are thinking….any ideas on why you think Mr. Cullen sexy lips
jotted off to Roma???? Also, I apologize if any of my Italian is wrong, I DO
NOT SPEAK ITALIAN FLUENTLY IN ANY WAY SHAPE OR FORM. What I know is very basic,
so if it is wrong, BLAME GOOGLE TRANSLATOR!!! Also, I hope that it helped that
I put the translations in italics after so you know what was being said. Also,
the places that were mentioned in this chappy are real, and the legend about Saint
Peter is true, and the Café De Paris is a real restaurant in Rome and is
actually rumored to be owned by the mafia. Also the ADDIOPIZZO is a very real
thing that is going on as we speak. And yes Saint Francis Caracciolo is the
patron saint of Chefs and Saint Lorenzo of the patron saint of cooks. I love
you Monkey’s until next time.
Huggies and Squishies,
CrazyKate xoxox
