MOSTLY MURDER: Till Death: a mystery anthology Page 14

  “Let’s just say Papa had a deal with the nunnery. He’d give them a sizable chunk of money—clean money—if they’d report on you every now and then. You know Pops has always had a thing about control.”

  “Yes, I know. One of the reasons I joined the convent. As much as I love everyone in the family, I didn’t like being treated as a princess.”

  Joey leaned over and touched my shoulder. “Jordana, you’ll always be our princess, no matter where you live. You’re the only girl in the family. We can’t help it.”

  “Okay,” I said as I shrugged my shoulder away. “Tell me why he kept tabs and why you picked me up.”

  “That I can’t say.” At my look, he added, “Papa will tell you. It’s not my place.”

  “And when will I see Papa?”

  “Right now,” a booming voice said from the driver’s seat.

  The car pulled to the curb, and the driver turned around.

  “Papa!” As angry as I was, I was overjoyed to see my dad.

  We both jumped out of the car, me a little quicker, and met behind the limo. I was engulfed in a hug that helped describe why he was called Orso, the Italian word for bear. He was indeed a great bear of a man. I called him a “Teddy Bear,” but others might have suggested he was more of a grizzly.

  After the hug, I hit him in the chest, “Papa, why are you keeping tabs on me?”

  “It’s not simple, cara mia. Not simple at all.” He put his arm around me. “Let’s have lunch. We’ll talk.”

  I knew I wouldn’t win this argument with him. So I didn’t say anything.

  Joey had exchanged seats with Papa, and Papa was now sitting with me.

  “Why did you want to leave the convent?”

  I could tell my father was using his “gentle” voice, reserved for children and for me.

  “I didn’t really leave,” I answered. “It’s just that I have some doubts. And I thought I could think more clearly if I got away for awhile.” I looked at his face, lined with concern. “Do you understand?”

  “I don’t know, Jordana. I never really understood why you joined in the first place. However, I do know I’m happy to see you and actually happy you are free.”

  When he saw my face, he added, “You know what I mean. Free, as in the ability to roam about freely and, of course, to visit with me.”

  “But there’s something in particular you want to talk to me about.” I didn’t have the patience to wait too long.

  “Yes, and I’ll tell you when we sit down to eat.”

  When Papa made a decision, it was usually a done deal with no negotiating, no compromising. The only exception had been when I decided to enter the convent. He accepted my choice, especially after I reminded him that I was over 18 and could make my own decisions.

  So on the way to the restaurant we spoke about family things. Real family, not “THE FAMILY.” All my brothers were doing well, most of them in the family business. Mama was at home cooking a welcome dinner for me for later tonight. Uncles, aunts, and cousins were all happy with their lives. Everything seemed fine.

  We finally got to Cara Mia, the restaurant Papa bought when I was born and named after the endearment he used for me—“My Dear.” I always considered it mine, even though I had no financial interest in the place.

  “It’s good to be here,” I said as I looked around the familiar warm room.

  Papa beamed.

  “It’s just too bad Mama isn’t here, but I suppose I’ll see her soon?”

  He answered my question with a nod.

  It was only then I noticed that the restaurant was empty except for one server. I assumed there was someone in the kitchen cooking for us.

  “I ordered already,” Papa said before I could venture a question. “I need to talk to you privately.”

  Joey and the other guy in the car were also absent. I was almost scared, except I knew Papa would never do anything to hurt me.

  “We’re going to eat first,” he asserted.

  I long ago learned to choose my battles. This was not a hill I was willing to die on, so I just smiled.

  The meal was exquisite: veal scallopini, pasta with mushroom sauce, a salad with olives, pimentos, and salami. Although it was a little too hearty for me after my convent fare, which had been plain but serviceable. Everything was covered with freshly shaved Parmesan. With it we had a red table wine, which was a far cry from the communion wine I tasted every day at Mass.

  Like someone who overindulged on Thanksgiving, I pushed myself back from the table a bit then gave an uncharacteristic burp.

  My father laughed, which pleased me to no end.

  Finally I said, “Now, Papa.” This time it wasn’t a question.

  “Sure.” He motioned for the server to fill our glasses and then excused him from the room. He looked around to make sure we were truly alone.

  “Okay, cara, I have a confession to make.”

  “Papa, I’m not a priest.”

  He scrunched up his face. “Not that kind of confession.” He pulled his chair over near my side of the table and touched my hand.

  “I have to tell you a story.” And so he did.

  “Many years ago, when you were a little girl, we got in a turf war with the Moselli family. You won’t remember it; you were maybe four or five. It was bad. Some people were getting hurt, even killed.” He held my hand a little tighter. “I know I told you we don’t kill in our branch of The Family, but there were exceptions at that time.” He let go of my hand and took a drink of wine.

  After a sigh, he continued. “It’s not something I’m proud of.”

  At this point he stopped making eye contact with me, causing me some concern. Again, I was scared, but not really of Papa. I was scared of something unknown that might threaten me, like the boogeyman when I was a kid.

  “It got so bad that other families intervened and told us we had to stop. It was hurting everyone’s businesses, and that wouldn’t be tolerated.” He glanced at me so briefly I almost missed it. “Sal Moselli and I didn’t trust each other. Still don’t. However, we had to do something to cement a peace deal. Something that was unprecedented.”

  He stopped. I thought he would never talk again. This time I took a drink of wine—a healthy one.

  I said, “Go on, Papa. Tell me the rest. Tell me why you’re talking about all this now. Why now? And what does it have to do with me?”

  “First, I want to tell you that if you hadn’t walked out of the convent voluntarily, I would have gotten you to leave in a year or so.”

  I didn’t want to tell him that he couldn’t have made me leave if I hadn’t wanted to. That would just have challenged him. So I didn’t say anything.

  “In order to broker the peace, both Sal and I offered our child in marriage to the other one. We joined our families. Even though I still distrusted him and disliked him, I couldn’t harm any of his kids. They were now mine as well, as much as I hated it.”

  I couldn’t be still. “I don’t remember anyone getting married back then. All my brothers were too young.”

  He shook his head very slowly and said, “Not your brothers.”

  I stood up and I knew my mouth dropped open as I stared at Papa. I pounded my fist on the table, “You did not marry me off when I was five years old. That’s obscene.” As much as I hated it, I began crying. Papa always thought crying showed weakness.

  “Just so you know,” I said, “I’m not crying because I’m weak. I’m crying because I am full of rage.” I spat out the last part. Then just as quickly, the anger released, leaving only hurt. “How could you do this to me?”

  “At the time, I was desperate.” He put his hand lovingly on my arm. “Plus I never thought Sal would insist on consummation.”

  “What? I have to have sex?” I practically yelled it. “I’ve taken a temporary vow of chastity.”

  “That’s why I’m glad this whole thing happened now, while your vows are temporary instead of permanent. You can easily be released from them. I
checked with the priest at St. Teresa’s.”

  “Maybe I can be easily released. That doesn’t mean I want to be. I took this time to think about my calling, my vocation. I’m not ready to leave for good.”

  “I’m sorry, cara mia. If you don’t consummate the marriage with Sal, Jr., it will cause another war, more deaths. And I’m also sorry to say that this time it will be on your head.”

  “What,” I screamed. I jumped up and headed out of the room. That’s when I found out that Joey and Nameless were right outside the door.

  Joey, showing pain in his eyes, grabbed me and said, “I’m sorry, Jordie. I’m really sorry. I can’t let you go.”

  Betrayed by both my father and my twin brother, I just gave up and quit fighting. I allowed Joey to escort me back to Papa.

  Without acknowledging that I’d left, Papa said, “Sal thinks we need grandchildren in common in order to keep the peace going for the next generations. I think it’s a good idea.”

  “So not only am I to have sex with a guy I’ve never met, but I’m to bear him children? This is unconscionable.”

  “You met him,” Papa said. He paused. “At your wedding.”

  “There was really a wedding when I was five? No wonder I’ve blocked it out.” Although most girls dreamed of getting married and would have loved a ceremony at that age, even at five I felt the call to be a nun. “Did we kiss? Did anything else happen?”

  Then it hit me. “That’s ridiculous. How could you get a priest to marry us at five?”

  “Well, Sal Jr. was seven.”

  “Still crazy.” I was adamant. “How did you get a priest to marry us?”

  “You can pretty much get anyone to do anything.” That’s all he said by way of explanation.

  “But it can’t be legal. Not in this state. Certainly not in the Church. I was too young to give legal consent.”

  “It’s legal and binding within the two families, and that’s all that matters.”

  I could tell this was one of those times where I had no choice in the matter. Papa had made up his mind, and he was intractable.

  So there I was, surrounded by goons. Yeah, that’s how I saw my dad, brother, and Nameless at that moment. What was I to do?

  “All right. I’ll do it for the family.” I hung my head, and hoped Papa was buying what I was selling.

  He was pathetically happy. He held my head, kissed me on both cheeks, and said, “We’ll plan a celebration for tomorrow. Tonight you eat Mama’s cooking. Tomorrow you celebrate with your husband.”

  “I don’t think I can be exempted from my vows by tomorrow.” I really wanted to buy some time, so I could figure out how to stop this farce, and return to the life I had chosen. All I wanted in that second was to go back to my life in the convent.

  “Don’t worry about that. I’ve got that covered.”

  I had no idea what he meant, but I didn’t like the implication, not one little bit.

  “I want Mama. I want my mom.” My eyes welled with tears again. Some were left from my anger and hurt, but some were because I missed my warm, sweet Mama.

  “Sure, hon,” Papa said, as if I’d never screamed at him. Was he this easily fooled? Did he really think I’d give up this easily?

  “Joey, go with her and make sure she’s okay.”

  Right then, I knew. Papa wasn’t fooled at all. He was sending my brother to be my bodyguard. I also knew that if I left while Joey was in charge of me, there would be hell to pay for him. As angry as I was, Joey was not just my brother, he was my twin. We’d always been close, and I’d missed him horribly.

  Another kiss from Papa, and we were on our way.

  When we got in the car, the first thing I said was, “Is the car bugged? Are you bugged?”

  He shook his head.

  “That’s not good enough, Joey. Say it.”

  “No, Jord. The car’s not bugged. I’m not bugged. He can’t hear what we’re saying.”

  “Then why in the hell are you doing this to me?” The hurt ran even deeper that my Joey would betray me.

  I knew the answer but wanted to hear him say it.

  “Because I think it’s the right thing to do.”

  “Whoa!” I said. “I can’t believe it. I thought you were doing it because you were scared of Pop.”

  “Well, there’s that.” Joey gave a half smile as he expertly wove in and out of traffic on the way home. He got serious again. “By doing this one thing, Jordana, you can make peace between two warring families. There’s been peace the last 20 years, but it was kind of unreal, waiting for you and Sal, Jr. to, you know, do it.” He blushed as he said it.

  Our home wasn’t far from the restaurant. It was palatial by the standards of the neighborhood—a lot of acreage and a huge house surrounded by a fence, with a guard at the gate. Yeah, that’s the place I grew up.

  A guy I didn’t recognize waved us through, and we drove the winding road to the front of the house. Normally Joey would have parked in the garage, but this was probably considered an important occasion, the only daughter returning home.

  There she stood in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron, beaming, a stereotypical Italian mama and grandma.

  “Jordana!”

  “Mama!”

  Both were said at exactly the same time.

  Joey stayed with me as I followed Mama into the kitchen.

  She was still beautiful, although I noticed a few gray hairs had crept into the black mane she always had, and now she wore it in a bun.

  Mama chattered about a lot of inconsequential things. She seemed nervous.

  I picked up a bowl of pea pods and started shelling.

  “What’s wrong, Ma?”

  “Nothing, cara, nothing.”

  But I didn’t believe her.

  I turned to my twin. “Joey, will you please give me a moment alone with Ma? I swear that I won’t try to leave.”

  He nodded, but said, “Even if you tried to leave, you couldn’t. Dad’s got a man at each door.”

  I was stunned. “He must think I’m some kind of escape artist.” I looked Joey straight in the eye. “Why doesn’t he trust me?” This wasn’t the Papa I loved.

  Joey looked around to make sure no one else was listening. “This is a lot bigger than Dad let on to you. That’s all I’ll say.”

  With that, he left the kitchen, but I could sense he was nearby.

  I touched Mama’s arm so she would look at me.

  “Tell me. Please. What in the world is going on? I feel like Alice in Wonderland.”

  She hesitated, then looked around like Joey had, “I don’t know what your Papa told you.”

  I then repeated what Papa had said.

  “Nothing more. I can say nothing more.” She put down the pasta and turned to me. Mama took my head in her hands like Papa had done a short time ago. “I love you, cara mia.”

  “It doesn’t feel like anyone loves me, Ma.”

  At that I ran up to my room and heard Joey following me. I threw myself on my childhood bed, sobbing. Joey didn’t come in, but I did hear him say, “I’m sorry.”

  My head whirled with thoughts. I felt unloved at that moment, abandoned even by God. I pulled myself up, then knelt by my bed, as I’d done most of my life, and I prayed.

  Nothing felt right, though. I felt like I was losing myself. Going from nun to wife in a few minutes was more than I could handle.

  I must have slept, because the next thing I knew Joey shook me and said it was time for dinner.

  Papa was really the only one who talked. He spoke of plans, parties, celebrations, and even the consummation. He was the puppeteer, and I was his own little Pinocchio.

  Who was this man? And what had he done to my beloved Papa?

  Finally, I interrupted him.

  “When do I meet him?”

  “Tomorrow at the celebration,” Dad said.

  “No. I want to meet him tonight. Privately.” This was a hill I was willing to die on. “Tonight,” I repeated.
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  Papa knew when I wouldn’t budge, and it was my turn to be intractable.

  He looked at his watch, then beckoned to a man who was standing at the dining room door. Papa whispered in the man’s ear, and the guy took off.

  I would meet Sal, Jr. tonight.

  The rest of the meal was uneventful, although it was not a cheerful homecoming.

  I said to Mama, “I was coming here today anyway to get some better clothes. I can’t really wear this,” indicating the out-of-date outfit supplied by the convent. How I’d longed to wear fashionable clothing and high heels again.

  When I got back to my room and opened the closet, however, I was surprised to see that nothing interested me. I finally chose a pair of jeans, black sneakers, and a blue pullover.

  “I don’t really care if he likes me or thinks I’m pretty,” I said aloud to myself. But secretly, I did care. If I had to marry, I wanted him to be nice. I wanted him to think I was lovely. I hadn’t thought about marriage for myself ever, really, but now it was kind of fun fantasizing about a prince to go with this princess.

  While I waited for Sal to arrive, I thought about him. Was he tall, dark and handsome? He didn’t really have to be tall, since I wasn’t. But handsome would be nice, or even just cute. Kind was the most important.

  I didn’t want to talk to Papa, because I still didn’t understand the importance of this whole arrangement. How could he sell me like this? Sure, peace was what I wanted, but it wasn’t like he and Sal, Sr. were kings of adjoining countries. They were mafiosi, controlling jobs, information, people, and money.

  Dad knocked on my door. “May I come in, Jordana?”

  I didn’t answer, and he walked in slowly. He sat on my bed and watched as I walked around the room, touching various favorite objects of my childhood.

  He said, “I told your Mama that she made this into a shrine for you.”

  “She’s so proud that I went to the convent.”’

  “I was too, even though I fought it. It was because I knew it would have to end some day, if I couldn’t convince Sal to change his mind.”

  I finally turned to him, “You mean you tried?”