Animosity Read online

  Kenya climbed out of bed, anxiously she moved out of the line of sight.

  Trev opened the door a crack. “Yes?”

  Gorgei held a gun, which he fired. The heated metal cracked Trev’s rib, and then opened a fiery passageway through flesh.

  The impact kicked Trev to the floor.

  Kenya screamed.

  Another bullet struck him in the gut. Trev collapsed, hearing her wail and that was more painful than the intense burning.

  “No Papa. We are engaged!” Kenya cried. She ran to Trev, kneeling over him as if her protection would spare the dying. “Shoot me, too you coward!”

  “Move you whore!” Her Papa scowled in disgust. Instead, Kenya attacked her father, striking him with fists, and nearly dislodging his weapon, until he twisted her away by the hair. Undeterred, she leapt on his back to pummel his head.

  “I hate you Papa! I hate you!” she shrieked while hitting the horrible man through a flood of violent tears.

  Gorgei seized the human monkey by a sleeve, flung her to the floor and pressed a hand to the stinging at his neck.

  She crawled to Trev, declaring her love, begging him not to die. Trev clutched his stomach; aware he had entered a dangerous union willingly and without fear.

  Kenya in Russian means harmless or innocent.

  To love her though was deadly.

  She placed a shaky palm on his chest to slow the stream of plasma, and then lay a cheek on his heart to whimper at her dream dying. “I will always love you.”

  The blood gushed more as Trev cupped her face determined to tell her. “I denounce the Bratva, and pledge only to you.” Then his eyes shut.

  “Trev! Trev! No…. no…no…come back…ahhhhhhh!” Kenya screamed as she yanked his shoulders, forcing his limp body to move, but when she released, he lay motionless, and she froze in disbelief. A man that loved nothing and scorned everything murdered years of their future. Behind the tatted flesh of a Mafiya, a beautiful soul had existed. He’d been stuck in her father’s poisonous web and death was the result of displaying affection.

  She rose from the floor. The blood of her fiancé clung to her robe. It seeped in her pores and filled her heart. Trev had taught her many things and a day would arrive when she’d show her father what his cruelty wrought.

  “I hate you Papa! I hate you!”

  The robe slid down to expose a blue star and Gorgei gasped. His daughter was lower than trash. She had shamed him and her fate as an outcast was sealed. He had planned to present a virgin daughter to Romanov as a sign of his sincerity to end their discourse. She was to be symbolic of a clean start in hopes of their future business ventures. However, unmarred and untouched was required for an elder man that sought to have a young wife to bear him more children.

  “Bring me the blade!” Gorgei barked before seizing the defiant slut by the throat.

  He planned to peel the stars personally from her shameless skin, perhaps gut her, too for the desecration to his name.

  Ivan, one of Gorgei’s henchmen, stepped forward, flipped open his switchblade, and thrust the handle toward the angry old man to grasp.

  Ivan never liked Trev, in fact, he was glad Gorgei witnessed firsthand the error in his judgment by favoring the brother of Fedrik over a seasoned killer as his successor.

  Gorgei holstered his gun to take the blade. "Hold her down."

  Ivan complied, straddling her and then pinning her legs with his powerful thighs as he stretched her arms over her head. The eyes that glared at him were such venomous pools; he smirked, thinking he'd enjoy having her in his bed. The spirited girl had been part of his lustful fantasies for many years.

  Ivan’s eyes took in her full breasts. They were round edible delights just as he dreamed.

  She must have seen his ardor and pushed upward to no avail, when her Papa used the sharp blade to cut layers of ink away. Ivan expected her to scream, to cry as he'd seen hearty men do, but she grit her teeth and huffed into his chest. He found her enticing, and utterly fuckable.

  When Gorgei moved to the opposite side to work, she growled. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth the harder she bit.

  Finally, Gorgei rose, tossed the soiled knife beside Trev’s lifeless body and snorted. He had taken a personal interest in Trev due to his experience and intelligence. He intended to pair him with Katia, his eldest daughter. They were best suited to carry on his businesses when he was gone. However, treachery foiled his plan.

  He barked an order to Ivan. “Strip her and then put her in the spare room. Lock the bitch there until I decide whether or not she is of use to me!” He then wiped the blood from his neck, where Kenya clawed him to the bone.

  Ivan nodded, smiling down at the lovely girl, the fighter with voluptuous tits. When the door slammed, he lowered his mouth to her bloody lip and had he not seen her hand lift, the knife she clutched would have punctured his brain. He caught her wrist, squeezing until she dropped the weapon. He did not give her time to recover. Instead, he applied pressure to her jugular and sent her to sleep –temporarily.

  Chapter One

  “My life is my message.”

  -Mahatma Gandhi

  "Signore Diaz, we immediately began once we received the necessary permits. The Soil Compaction Testing, excavation and trenching were complete. A separate soil sampling is not required for us to proceed. We pour the concrete today." The General Contractor assured his Boss in English without a hint of his native language.

  "Take your fucking ass to the site this minute and unlock the gate for the Environmentalist. You were told to contact me when the SCT engineer arrived but you didn't." Alfonzo seethed as he walked along the edge of his property in the hours before daylight.

  The moon followed his steps, elongating his shadow on the high cement walls. Alfonzo attempted a civil tone; however, the GC from Catania had failed to follow an important directive. That crap pissed him off.

  Alfonzo grunted; angered at the motherfucker for believing he deserved a detailed reason from his Boss why he wanted a soil sample. Alfonzo only shared classified information on a need to know basis. The GC was a loyal man, but Alfonzo's trust extended to a select few and even those numbers had dwindled over the years.

  When Nico removed that potent corrosive from the warehouse to cover his crime, he was unaware; the compound could seep into the soil, thus making it detectable on a granular level and become evidence of foul play.

  The latest incident involving Nicole might trigger questions. If that happened, Tiffany and Tony's accidental death case could be reopened and lead straight to his company. He fudged the inventory, but a smart investigator could build a case against his ass and he wasn't taking any chances of being hauled to jail on suspicion of murder.

  Damn straight, he experienced anxiety, especially with a potential medical crisis with Selange.

  The GC was right. The compaction test was a mandatory part of the building codes. The geotechnical study helped to ensure buildings weren’t constructed that might settle or crack. Tools in the industry when properly utilized lessened catastrophic failures.

  Aside from all that was going on, Alfonzo took pride in his construction business and didn't take shortcuts on materials. His reputation in the industry mattered. Before any of the organized crime stuff came into play, he was on the path to making a name for himself. By doing a good deed here and there, he figured, maybe it could neutralize the bad. There were rewards, too. The renovation of the opera house for example led to a billion dollar contract in Brussels. He didn't need the mafia affiliations, to be honest, and if he could, he'd pass everything to Giuseppe since he loved using the title of Don.

  Don Juan was more fitting. Alfonzo might've chosen that name or Don Quixote. However, Giuseppe was far from chivalrous, delusional perhaps. Anyway, he decided not to offend Cervantes. The author created one of his favorite pieces of literature. Even his kids delighted in the escapades of the misguided hidalgo and his squire.

  "Mi dispiace Signore Diaz, I forgo
t in the rush to proceed that you requested notification."

  Alfonzo's lower extremities flexed the cotton material that concealed his muscular legs as he strode barefoot across the lawn crushing the blades of green.

  "Next time just say that you forgot and cut the bullshit."

  "Yes, you are right."

  "Anyway, the Environmentalist will be there in thirty minutes. He only needs about an hour tops."

  "I will go there, ora!"

  "Good," Alfonzo replied as his pace slowed and the tension ebbed. "Text updates." He touched the bruise on his chest, a departing punch from his sister-in-law, Nicole. The bulletproof suit had stopped the slug from penetrating his skin, but the impact had caused a dime size indentation hidden by his tattoo. Damn thing hurt, for real.

  He could still recall Nicole's hatred, man, oh man, deep disgust registered in her cute face and that hurt his pride. Had that bruja gotten off that last shot, he'd be dead for sure!

  Did he deserve her scorn? Hell yeah, he did, for covering up her sister's murder. If the situation were reversed, he’d blast his ass, too and wouldn't have missed. Thank goodness, Nicole didn’t know how to use a gun, he lamented.

  "Yes." The GC spoke in his ear.

  "And don't forget," Alfonzo chuckled. "If it happens again I might cut your skull open to check for traces of Alzheimer’s or a false etymological disorder."

  "No I prefer my brain to remain intact."

  "That's good, because I'm not a surgeon, any operation I do might be messy."

  The GC's nervous laughter followed. "Uh, ha, ha."

  "All right, I gotta go," Alfonzo concluded, disconnected and gripped the cell in his fist. Some people required a foot in their ass to walk straight.

  He rolled his neck, stretched, sucked in a lung full of oxygen, expelled carbon dioxide and then started jogging. He had less than four hours before he learned the results of Selange's biopsy.

  His gut churned.

  A jog turned into a thirty minute run around the estate.

  Chapter Two

  9:27 a.m.

  The clock read.

  The circular timekeeper on the wall had become Selange’s focal point.

  A thin hand ticked off the seconds.

  A block desk, computer and medical expertise separated the professional from the patient.

  Does death keep time?

  A tricky riddle, because death is eternal and time is infinite.

  Does life keep time?

  Another quandary; isn't life limited? It varies for every living thing, though. A tree cares nothing of time. Only people worry and squander what they’re given. They track the hours with their invention –the timekeeper. They wear watches; hang the clocks on walls to keep it always in view and observe it ticking by.

  Such were the musings of Selange Diaz to pass the time while sitting in an office, peering through eyes that had seen death.

  The possibility hers might end abruptly was the choice she made when she stayed with Al once they learned of his mafia relatives. She understood the risks associated with having a husband deeply involved in the syndicate. To die from disease after experiencing the best of a man who gave her such wonderful children would be criminal.

  9:28 a.m.

  White walls, with framed degrees, a bookshelf with medical journals, and a photo of Dr. Answati’s smiling family are what faced Mr. and Mrs. Diaz. But, the Diaz’ had not stirred. They wore serious expressions after hearing Selange’s diagnosis.

  They were devastated.

  9:29 a.m.

  However, the notification wasn’t with a grim prognosis. They’d caught the cancer early, but the looming health crisis was the possibility the cancer could spread if she did not have surgery and return even if she did.

  Tragic news to the young Matriarch of a tight-knit Mafia family...a blow she never expected.

  9:38 a.m.

  Selange may have stopped listening somewhere between the Specialist’s explanatory review of the different stages. Whatever, else Dr. Answati may have said got lost in the intermittent breaks in her attention about what this might do to her kids.

  9:43 a.m.

  In situ, HER2 and medical terminology that she didn’t understand floated over her head. Images of Angie, Vincent, Allie and Sal appeared as they cried over her grave.

  She was numb, too shocked to ask about treatments. However, Alfonzo hadn’t faltered. Oh, her husband, the analytical problem solver went in hard. He spoke without using profanity, drilling the Doctor, questioning the findings, the diagnostic tools and declared on his wife’s behalf, they’d seek a second opinion. Alfonzo sought to fix it, Selange surmised, like a car, he wanted to repair her, but that was something he couldn’t do.

  9:57 a.m.

  She hadn’t done everything she wanted. There was living to do, but then she thought, how selfish is that when many had their lives cut abruptly. At least she had a warning, and an opportunity to slow the inevitable and spend more time with her children and man.

  10:19 a.m.

  She walked in a daze after the visit, slowly beginning to accept she had breast cancer and how it not only affected her but her family.

  “We’re flying to New York for a second opinion,” Alfonzo stated emphatically during the drive home.

  Selange didn’t reply. Her mind had gone from shock and panic to denial and then she calmed.

  Fatalism accompanied the optimism. She wondered stuff, such as, if she were to die what legacy would she have left behind.

  She hoped to leave smart, socially conscious, confident and kind people –yeah.

  “We’ll leave this afternoon. I’m not relying solely on what she said.”

  Alfonzo hadn’t exited the denial phase. It was okay, she thought. She hadn’t considered a routine physical and mammogram might result in a life-changing diagnosis. The misconception that she had to have some form of palpable lump or pitted abnormality to her breast wasn’t true for everyone. She hadn’t had any of that. Her prior annual hadn’t revealed anything, so she went into the test without a concern. The fact is cancer may also be hereditary. She didn’t know her mother or father’s medical history and the doctor suggested she have genetic testing. Her Aunt Elaine might know, but she’d given up on searching a long time ago. However, to be fair, she considered her Aunt might have remarried or even died.

  “I need to wrap my head around all of this first,” she said quietly, hoping her husband understood her next statement. “I’d like to go somewhere alone for a few days. I don’t want to break down in front of the children or have them notice I’m mentally absent.”

  Early morning, there were few cars on the road, and their vehicle rolled beneath clear blue skies. The picturesque landscape failed to soothe the catastrophic emotions swirling within a man that recently discovered his wife had cancer.

  Alfonzo tensed, and the vein in his forehead protruded like a garden snake under his skin. The pale blue eyes glittered in the sunlight. He had the look of someone that fell through a trap door.

  He leaned back, the shocked expression was erased and Selange knew he cleaned up his reply when he said, “You need alone time, not being around your family, all right, no sweat babe –no problema.”

  “Honey, it’ll be two -three days at most for me to clear my head. I haven’t stayed at Cirella Island in a while. That’s where I’ll go, plus, it isn’t far.” She sighed. “I have to collect myself before I face the children.”

  The mandibular angles sharpened when he frowned as if he held bile on his tongue. “When do you want to leave?”

  “Likely in the evening, once I’ve told the kids I’m going on an urgent business trip.”

  “Why not leave right now and let me talk to the kids since you’re emotionally distraught?” He asked with a brow angled at his hairline and a sneer.

  She turned to the window, took out her phone and scrolled through her messages. “You know what. Maybe I will. Call ahead and I’ll go,” she replied, calling his bluff. Sh
e really wanted to curse him out for his sarcastic remark. However, she let it go. The news was difficult for him to process. He was taking it harder than she was, apparently.

  At the bungalow on Cirella Island, there were clothes for her to wear. She planned to meditate and do yoga to replenish her spiritual energy. Right now, her supply of optimism was running low. She needed positive energy to duel cancer and handle everybody’s fear that she might croak.

  Taking a reprieve seemed the best preparation to cope with the different reactions once everyone found out. The island wasn’t large. In fact, it was small in circumference. The only thing there was an old fort and a bungalow. Alfonzo had purchased the land as a birthday gift several years ago. There were good memories of their in-depth conversations about family and their vision of the future. They were relaxed, appreciative of the sun and smiling at the stars, enjoying the simplicity of life, harmoniously.

  “Yeah have a chopper ready in twenty,” Alfonzo said into his phone.

  When Alfonzo was in a shitty mood, there’s no point in debating. He’d eventually realize he behaved like an ass, she mused. He likely wanted her to run straight to another doctor, undergo a similar Q&A about her condition and frankly, she wasn’t up to it. She’d go when she was good and damn ready!

  She read Cam’s message about a letter that arrived for her without a return address. She instructed him to forward the notice to Alfonzo’s office as a precaution. She received many solicitations. However, that might be a crazy person sending Anthrax through the mail. If it was anything toxic and the postal service hadn’t caught it, Alfonzo’s security would with their state of the art technology.

  Selange settled back after a while. Alfonzo had begun conducting business over the phone during the ride, making certain he kept busy to avoided conversation about cancer.

  They were close but distant.

  She reached out and gently squeezed his arm and he swiveled in her direction. “I’ll call you back,” he said into the air, and then disconnected, removed the earpiece and gave her his full attention. “What’s up?”