Mercenary (Gangsters of New York #3) - Bella Di Corte Page 0,8
be taken back to New York, never to be heard from again.
Papà was old school, not unfamiliar with arranged marriages, but I had never wanted that for myself. I wanted the freedom to choose. Under different circumstances, papà would have wanted that for me, too.
I glanced to the left, at my sister Anna, when she reached out and wove her fingers together with mine. She didn’t open her eyes, but she squeezed, letting me know that she agreed. Sometimes we could read each other’s thoughts, like mamma shed the tears that I could not.
My sister’s marriage was not arranged. It was love at first sight. What most parents want for their children—the power to decide.
A woman dragging a little boy with her sat across from us. She took her seat first, him right behind, and then she told him something in a hushed whisper. He bent his head right after.
Accussi normale. So normal.
I found myself watching other people from time to time. Imagining that her life—or his—was much easier than mine. My grip on the rosary grew tighter. Sadness, the cold ache for something better, overwhelmed me and drug my heart deeper into darkness.
I closed my eyes to the overwhelming feeling, letting my mind get lost in the warmth of the amber, before I heard my name.
“Alcina,” mamma whispered.
I opened my eyes to find her waiting for me. My sister stood next to her.
“Time to go,” she said in Sicilian.
I sighed, standing and slipping my rosary into my pocket. I felt darkness pushing in on me as I stepped out of the doors. Night usually sheltered me and allowed me to burn brightly, as if I was a lit flame, but the cold wind struck me, and I flickered against its strength—my light as uncertain as the months to come.
5
Corrado
The paper in my hand had become creased and worn, but I would never forget the writing that inked my memories.
Alcina Maria Parisi
Around 5’5, brown hair, dark brown eyes, 25 years old
Parents—Giuseppe and Angela
Sister— Anna
Anna is married to…?
Alcina was born in Forza d’Agrò on May 8, 1995; her parents still live there
She was baptized at Maria S. Annunziata e Assunta
It seemed like Silvio had scribbled down the information as Junior was telling it to him, probably trying to remember all of the things he knew about his wife and her family. There were no pictures of her, only the paper he’d ripped from a notebook in a rush.
I glanced between the paper and a sign in front of the church: Cattedrale Maria S. Annunziata e Assunta. It marked the location in case anyone was looking for it and needed confirmation.
From my explorations around the area, the church was also referred to as chiesa della Santissima Annunziata. One local told me the church had been there since the 1400s and was the second oldest church in the country. It was located in the small town of Forza d’Agrò, only about two hours from where my grandfather had sent me in Ragusa.
Forza d’Agrò looked as old as the baroque-style church. It was at the base of a mountain, and overlooking it, at the peak, was a Norman castle in ruins. The town itself had narrow streets and casas that looked like they belonged in another time—balconies with iron details, clothes hanging out to dry on lines, overflowing planters, wooden shutters, multicolored chipped stone, lanterns on buildings, and cobblestone alleyways. The only sign that we were in modern times was the lines running from one building to another supplying power.
In the distance towered the rough terrain of the mountains, outlined by the Ionian Sea, the part of the Mediterranean that separated southern Italy from western Greece.
I’d been coming here often ever since my arrival in Sicily—long enough that the cold of winter had turned into the warmth of summer. The day after I stepped off the plane and a few men my grandfather had been in touch with had met me, I directed them to take me here.
People don’t stray from where their hearts belong, and something told me Alcina Maria Parisi was never far from hers. The problem with looking for someone who belonged to such a small community, though, was that they were wary of new people.
Whoever Silvio had looking for her had come in like a wrecking-ball, and besides a few old men willing to give me a few history lessons and stories, they gave me side-eye looks that would’ve pushed me off a cliff if possible.