“You’ll die if you go back there. Your spirit will die,” he clarified, “I’ve never seen anything with a spirit like yours.”
“But it’s not the kind of spirit your wife should have, is it?”
“It is. As long as she never forgets she’s my wife and what that means,” he touched her cheek, his eyes following the line his thumb traced down its supple curve. “I still want that woman to be you. Can the woman you are accept the man that I am, Athena Cavalese? Be certain,” he cautioned when she was about to answer. “I told you once, you won’t like the consequences if you ever betray me.” He moved close to kiss her cheek then left her alone on the porch.
***
The next afternoon, Liam met with Carlos DiCenzo at his shop. Liam was surprised to see who joined them in DiCenzo’s small office and gave a reverent bow when he was introduced to Don Sante Alma.
The Don was almost a mirror image of DiCenzo. The men’s features and builds were where the similarities ended however. DiCenzo kept his emotions sheltered and focused on the words of others. Don Alma, on the other hand, was a lively sort-quick to roaring laughter and bellowing speech.
At first, Liam found it hard to believe two such different men could’ve been such close friends as the Don informed him when he and Liam shook hands. Liam couldn’t help but to think of himself and Nandi.
“I’ve never known my friend to lie, young Tesano, but I swore he was in the way he raved about you these past months. When he said your people could be trusted to deliver weapons to the soldiers, I took him at his word and was glad I did. Grazi, nino.”
“Prego,” Liam tilted his head in a bow. “May I ask a question, Signor?”
The Don spread his hands in a gesture of approval.
“Why us? There must have been many men who could’ve taken those weapons to the soldiers. Plenty of other trucks as well.”
“Told you he was sharp!” DiCenzo said from behind his desk.
“Too right!” Don Alma agreed. “It is true, I have many men who could’ve done the job. Many trucks they could have done it in-trust me when I say, all would have been spotted. You and your crew would also be noticed, but people would expect you to be transporting fabrics not weapons, uh?”
“See Liam, you are not the only visionary among us,” DiCenzo teased.
Alma clapped Liam’s shoulder. “Pay him no mind. I am in your debt!”
Liam shook his head. “You’ve already thanked me more generously than anyone ever has.”
Alma sent his old friend a knowing look. “You were right about that too. He’s humble to the bone,” Alma clapped both Liam’s arms that time. “Apologies, kid, but I haven’t even started to thank you,” he handed Liam a large sheet folded into quarters.
Liam saw that it was a folded parchment slightly curled at the edges. “Proclamazione!’ Proclamation, it read across the top.
The Don smiled a dangerous smile. “We are to have a trial like the old days. Going to make an example of the black hearted cowards.”
Liam studied the notice which featured the likenesses of the two ‘black-hearted cowards’. Beneath the drawings were the names Dante Borja and Georgano Llama. The images and names of three other men were listed beneath.
“The bandits,” Liam murmured.
“Black hearts,” Alma added. “They are to be tried, castrated and hung.”
Liam didn’t bother asking what happened if they were found not guilty. Like the old days indeed. Accusation equaled guilt.
“I’m happy to see your daughter get her justice.” Liam said.
“And I have you to thank.”
Liam remained silent which wasn’t an unthinkable move. The Don’s next words struck him speechless.
“Carlo has told me of your plans to introduce his fabrics to the world and the efforts you’ve made shipping some east to Venice, west to Milan and your most ambitious drive south to Florence.”
“It’s fine fabric. Deserves to be on the world stage,” Liam said.
“Quite right! ‘Los says you think the world stage should include America.”
“A dream,” Liam’s shrug sent faint wrinkles down his worn linen shirt. “A far fetched dream, you could say.”
“Don’t be so certain, my young friend. A dream needs only a puff of air to take flight, yes?”
Liam didn’t seem convinced. “It would need to be a substantial puff,” he said.
“I like you, Tesano!” Don Alma reclined in his chair and withdrew a long cigar from the pocket of the jacket which lay across the back of the sofa near DiCenzo’s desk. “You’re a smart, good looking, well-spoken kid. You’re not about the high flash and low work like other kids your age,” he used the clip he’d taken from DiCenzo’s desk to remove the tip from the cigar. “Your buddies,” he noted while waving a match beneath the cigar tip, “you trust them?”
“With my life.” Liam offered no hesitation.
Alma took several quick drags from the cigar. “And the young lady on your arm? Ronaldo Cavalese’s daughter, no?”
“Are you asking if I trust her, Signor?”
Alma began to pull lazily on the cigar. “I don’t think I will. You don’t seem sure of the answer you want to give.” He laughed. “We have more important things to discuss, anyway. Like how you are going to make my friend a millionaire off the backs of the Americans!”
Liam smiled as the Don laughed and coughed amidst a haze of white smoke. “That may not be possible for some,” he said. “The country’s still in the grips of a massive depression. It’s doubtful fine fabrics could outmatch a fine meal no matter what country they’re from. Speculation is the situation could last at least three additional years. I uh, have the chance to read the Wall Street Journal sometimes,” he said when the older men traded looks.
Alma’s uproarious laughter mingled with more coughing. “‘Los, I like this kid!” He declared before fixing Liam with a steady look. “The Americans are soft, young Tesano. They don’t know true strength like Italians do. They enslaved the Africans to build their country for them, yes? Soft, uh?”
“Soft,” Liam agreed.
