Crown of confessions, p.1
Crown of Confessions, page 1
Copyright © 2023 by E.J. Tanda
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Tanda, E.J.
Crown of Confessions/by E.J. Tanda
ISBN: 979-8-9857497-2-4 (eBook)
ISBN: 979-8-9857497-3-1 (paperback)
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, storylines, and encounters come from the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, live or deceased, events, organizations, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Edited by Laura Mitchell
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
Title Page
Dedication
Part One
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Part Two
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Part Three
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
About the Author
Acknowledgments
To my boys: Michael, Patrick, and Justin, my “silly rabbits,” remember to always follow your hearts and never give up on your dreams.
And to all the escape artists like me who fall in love with imaginary friends, this story is for you.
In memory of Julia Marie Langone Tanda, March 8, 1921–July 26, 2022.
Nani, may our little story serve as a beacon of hope and possibility for all those in need of reminding.
I miss you every day and love you always.
Your Pumpkin #1
Una Nuova Recluta
Mafia Man
San Jose, California
May 2003
Barbara
Poor Ms. G.
Red rosary beads wove through her fingers. Her eyes were closed.
My heart ached. It seemed like only yesterday I’d said goodbye to my former patient, Mrs. Passarelli. Here I was again.
Chants echoed through the mortuary. “Pray for us sinners, now, and at the hour of our death . . .”
For the past few months, Ms. G. divulged secrets to me about her forbidden love affair with her beloved, Gaetano, and her arranged marriage to one of the most famous gangsters in the country. I’d learned of the damage the Mafia did to her soul and of her eventual comeback. I thought of the picture I’d found in her hope chest of her and Gaetano after the war. Her face lit up when she saw her grape grower in the old photo. I couldn’t wait to hear the rest of the story.
Then everything changed.
I looked at the coffin before me. To my right, Ms. G.’s great-niece, Sofia, blew her nose into her handkerchief. Her tears caused a pang of sadness to ripple through my gut. I put my hand on her back to steady her as her body shook with grief. I patted my eyes with a tissue.
A familiar hum echoed through the room, followed by a loud whistle. The sound blared through the mortuary.
“God damn this thing,” Ms. G. roared. “I can’t hear shit with this stupid hearing aid.”
The ceremony stopped. Everyone looked at us.
“Here,” I whispered, embarrassed we’d interrupted the entire ceremony. I pulled another hearing aid from my purse and handed it to her. “This is the third one this month. You’d better not throw this one away.”
“They don’t work. And then I don’t have to hear you going on all day. Gives me peace and quiet for once,” Ms. G. snapped back, then rolled her eyes as she shoved the tiny object into her ear.
“Yeah, all right. Until you want to watch Judge Judy. Then whatcha gonna do, huh?”
“Okay, smart ass.”
“Shhh,” hissed a voice from the back.
“You shhh,” Ms. G. fired back and scanned the room. “This is my brother’s funeral. I’ll be as loud as I God damn want!”
The room erupted with laughter. Sofia gave a look to signal me to quiet Ms. G.
My cheeks warmed. “Everyone’s staring at us, even the priest. We have to be quiet,” I whispered. I put my hand on her arm.
“Yeah, yeah. Minchia. How much longer is this guy gonna talk anyway?” She tapped her wristwatch.
I gave Sofia an apologetic grin. She smiled back through tears and swollen eyes. Eyes that, months ago, seemed to look right through me when she handed me the non-disclosure agreement and offered a threat-filled job offer to care for her rambunctious great-aunt. I felt guilt when I looked at the young woman.
Days ago, Ms. G. was about to tell me how she and Gaetano got back together in Rome when the phone rang. Selfishly, I told Ms. G. to continue with her story and let the machine pick it up. Sofia’s voice sobbed on the recording as she broke the news that her grandfather had suffered a heart attack. Ms. G. trembled in my arms. Listening to her cry hurt my heart. Sofia had arranged for his body to be brought to San Jose and buried here with his family.
The next few weeks would be difficult. With advanced Alzheimer’s, Ms. G. would forget what happened to her brother. She’d forget we were at his funeral today. I didn’t want to think about her expression every time she’d ask why Vinny didn’t call. Part of me wanted to lie, say he was busy, and hope she’d let it go. But since we’d exposed our pasts and our shared bond of domestic abuse, she knew me better than anyone. I couldn’t lie to her. The truth meant I’d have to break the news to her repeatedly.
I hated her disease.
Ms. G. was my dearest friend now—a second mother to me. I smiled down at her little head of grey hair and placed my hand on top of hers. I’d help her through it. I wasn’t just her caretaker anymore. We were family.
“I’m fine. I’m fine,” she snarled and brushed my hand away.
Hmmph. Still a pain in the ass, but I loved her. She saved my life. In some ways, I’d saved hers.
I glanced around the room. Men in tailored three-piece suits with matching pocket squares and trench coats sat in the back. Typical mourners to most. After everything Ms. G. told me, I knew better.
They were Mafia.
One of the men gave me a nod.
My spine stiffened.
A few of them smiled, but one old man had my attention. A single red rose clung to his lapel. Two guards flanked his sides. He had to be someone important. Mafia important.
We exchanged stares. He scowled at me.
The man to his right unbuttoned his suit coat and revealed a gun holster at his waistline. He caught me inspecting him, squared his shoulders, then shot me a death glare. I swallowed against a bone-dry throat and forced a faint smile to break the tension. The man adjusted his jacket and bent over to whisper something into the ear of the man with the red rose. They probably wondered who I was and why I was there. I was the only non-Italian in the place.
I definitely stuck out in this crowd.
I wanted the service to be over. I needed to get away from the grief-stricken faces. Away from men who could kill me without a thought. I gripped the wooden pew in front of me while the priest finished the service.
“Let’s pay our respects and then get some fresh air.” I reached for our belongings and handed Ms. G. her cane. “How’s the ankle feeling? It looks better today, but you should still use the cane. No more sneaking out in the garden without my help, okay?”
“I don’t need it except maybe to hit someone with it. I told ya, Barbara, I’m fine.” She stood, then winced.
“Fine, huh?” I shook my head.
“All right, all right.” She yanked the cane from my hands.
I followed her to the front of the mortuary. She approached the casket and bent her head over her brother’s body. “I’m gonna miss you, Vin.” She brushed away a loose tear. “Tell Mama and Pop I love ’em. Peace be with you, brother. I love you, kid.”
She grabbed my hand.
As we walked out, I focused on the entrance doors. I wanted to avoid more dirty looks. Something in my peripheral vision shifted my attention to the right.
A man with teal blue eyes fixated on me. The same eyes I’d met the first tim
Ms. G. and I were about to pass his row when our eyes locked. My forehead felt feverish.
Alessandro looked handsome in a black suit and tie. His shiny black hair crested over his brow. A slight smile escaped his lips.
I smiled back, then lowered my head and ushered Ms. G. toward the door.
My attraction to Alessandro was inescapable. From the first day I’d moved into the ranch, he’d poke his head around every corner. Some days, he’d say he was there to bring his aunt her favorite sausage and peppers. Other days, he did odd jobs around the ranch, from installing security cameras to constructing a ten-foot-tall iron gate with a keypad. After the night my ex-boyfriend, Marcus, forced his way in and tried to kill us, Ms. G. “made the call.”
Overnight, the once-open ranch turned into a top-secret fortress. But I suspected there was more to why Alessandro came around. He looked at me like my forehead scar didn’t exist. His jeweled eyes had some strange sort of power. They were hypnotic and dangerous and pulled me toward him when I should have run the other way. He was Mafia, and that scared me.
I didn’t need more problems. Nope. My days with bad men were over.
With Ms. G. by my side, I stepped through the doors of the mortuary, eager for a change of scenery.
“Let’s find a place to sit. I know just the spot.” I aimed us toward the wooden bench where I’d met Sofia months earlier. “I’m sure your family and friends will want to pay their respects.”
“Family and friends, huh? What kind of family leaves you here to die? Friends? Yeah, I saw them in the back. There are only a few wise guys left that I care about anymore.”
Men in trench coats with guns at their sides ambushed my memory.
Hit men.
Killers.
Thieves.
Mafia henchmen.
And so was he. Alessandro. In this family, he had to be.
We sat under the shade of a weeping willow as mourners trickled from the building. They gathered, hugged, and lit cigarettes. I was about to pull my pocket mirror from my purse when the man with the red rose walked over to us with guards at his sides.
Hairs on the back of my neck tingled.
“Hello, Violetta. How you been?” the man asked with a wolfish grin.
Ms. G. gave him a careful glance. “Hello, Anthony.” She shook his hand. “It’s been a long time.”
“Yes, it has. How are things with you? You still at the ranch?” he asked.
“Where else would I be? Back in New York under your protection? No way. My brother died an early death because of you,” Ms. G. said with an icy tone. “He was your slave.”
“Feisty as ever. I see there are still hard feelings here.”
“Hard feelings? You got to be kiddin’ me.” Ms. G. reached for her cane.
I grabbed her arm.
“Who are you?” the man asked.
“Her caretaker. And you are . . . ?” I asked protectively.
“He’s Anthony Molanano,” Ms. G. blurted out in a glacial tone.
Holy shit. Is this the boss of the Molanano family standing right in front of me? My legs shook.
“Caretaker, huh? Good to know that someone is caring for this sweet lady.” Mr. Molanano patted Ms. G. on the cheek.
She swatted his hand from her face. “Get your God damn hands off me.”
“Let’s not be disrespectful. It’s your brother’s funeral, for Christ’s sake,” the man admonished.
Ms. G. stood and lurched forward with her hand poised to strike. One of his bodyguards charged us.
I pulled her back. “Easy, Ms. G. Calm down.”
“I tried to make peace, Violetta,” he said. “It’s obvious we’ll never break bread.”
“Peace, my ass,” Ms. G. scoffed, then slumped back onto the bench.
“Take care.” He smirked, then placed his hat on his head and walked away, mumbling, “Rat bitch.”
Ms. G. jumped up and hit him in the back of the neck with her cane.
Mr. Molanano yelped and crouched down. A guard pulled the crime boss close to him.
I pulled her back and seized the cane. The other guard got in my face, his hand on his gun.
“Please, no. She has Alzheimer’s. She doesn’t know what she’s doing,” I begged.
“I know what I’m doing all right,” she said through clenched teeth.
Mr. Molanano locked eyes with Ms. G. “Frank shoulda killed ya when he had the chance.”
She spit at the ground near his feet.
“Stop it. Sit.” I pointed to the bench.
Ms. G. plopped herself onto the bench but not before she gave him the finger.
“Come on, fellas. Let’s leave this bitter old bat to mourn.” The men laughed. Mr. Molanano turned on his heels. Bodyguards followed.
“Are you crazy?” My voice was pitched high enough to squeak. “What’s gotten into you? Is he who I think he is?”
“Yes, his nephew. The new Don,” she said, winded from her attack. She reached for her ankle. “He took over the business a few years ago. I knew him when he was a teenager. He’s still the same cocky brat he was before, only more powerful now.”
“See, you’ve inflamed it.” I placed my hand on her ankle. “That’s what you get for being a tough ass. You’ll get us killed!”
“Let ’em try. He won’t do anything unless he wants a war.”
“I just want to get out of here alive. Can we do that, please?” I handed her back the cane. This is for walking only,” I admonished.
I grabbed our things to make our way to the car. Angelo and Alessandro approached.
What now? One minute I’m getting a gun pulled on me, and now him? This day can’t get any worse.
Angelo hugged Ms. G. “I always liked Vinny. He was a good man.”
“To me, he’ll always be my pesky little brother who hid cigars and nude pics under his bed. I’ll miss him dearly.” Ms. G. brushed a straggling tear from her cheek.
“Hey, Zia Vi.” Alessandro leaned over to kiss his aunt on the cheek. “I’m sorry. You gonna be all right?”
“I’ll be fine.” She patted his cheek.
While Angelo spoke to Ms. G., Alessandro stood next to me. With his body close, my breathing accelerated. I reached for my hat and pulled it down over my new scar, compliments of Marcus on that dreadful night. The gash above my right brow made me look like a monster. There was no way I’d let Alessandro see that.
“Hello, Barbara.” A grin played across his lips.
“Hello.” I tried to avoid his hypnotic stare.
“I came to the ranch the other day to bring some food, but you weren’t there. Your daughter told me you were at a doctor’s appointment.”
“Leticia said you came by. She helps when I have errands and such. She’s training to be a doctor. Ms. G. was in good hands.”
“Of course. The family has full confidence in you.” He nodded. “So, Dad and I are hosting a reception at the deli. A celebration of life for my Zio Vin. You and Zia are coming, right?”
“I’m not sure it’s a good idea. She’ll be exhausted after the burial service. We’re headed there next. She wants to see her brother laid to rest.” After just having a gun pulled on me, I wanted to get the hell out of there. More than anything, I needed to get away from him. Alessandro.
His face dropped. Light in his eyes dimmed. “Really? That’s too bad,” he said softly. “Dad went all out. We made every Italian dish you can think of.”
“Hell yeah, we’re coming,” Ms. G. interrupted. “I’m starving.” She grabbed her cane, stood, and pushed past me. “The food will be better than anything this one cooks.”
Damn it. Of all the times I wanted her to hear me—this wasn’t one of them. I should have never given her the new hearing aid.
I sighed. “Sounds like we’re coming.”
“Good.” Hope returned to his face. “I look forward to seeing you later,” he said with a teasing twinkle in his eyes.
Waves of heat burned onto my cheeks.
What’s gotten into me? You’re at a funeral, for God’s sake. He can read right through you. Mafia man, remember? Why am I such a magnet for trouble? Look away from his eyes.
“See you there,” I said, trying to sound impassive.
“Time to go, Pop. We gotta get ready for the guests.” The two turned and made their way to the parking area.
