ON TERMINOLOGIES:
Meanings of words/phrases with a (*) can be found in the Glossary.
Chapter 1-2's Umore are:
♪ Boccuccia di rosa by Fred Buscaglione
♪ Tuxedo Junction by The Andrews Sisters
♪ Strangers by Wingtip
Link to the Spotify playlist: https://tinyurl.com/yyj9cx5q
Gianni Mancuso was trying gamely to maintain a calm exterior but the more people hounded him, the more distressed he felt. For a moment, he looked at the people surrounding him, gazing at each smiling face like a lost child, searching for some recognition.
That's right. All are familiar faces. Some he hadn't seen in years. People whose faces only reminded him of the past. People who, if he were given a choice, wouldn't want to see ever again.
"I just knew I've chosen the right man for the job." Don Flavio Rossi's voice snapped the Lone Wolf out of his troubled thoughts. "If it were some other goombah, my son would've ended up doing the thing himself. The boy can be careless with these things, but I told him over and over that no son or daughter of Flavio Rossi is a murderer. Matters concerning G-men* should be handled by the real experts. Am I right, my friend?" He patted Gianni on the shoulder.
The Lone Wolf didn't know what the Don was talking about at first, until he mentioned the word 'G-men'. He blinked several times, as though trying to get his bearings and thoughts in order before he forced another smile and replied, "Yes. Besides, you wouldn't want to be seen prowling around the red-light district."
"Yes, yes. I heard you found the scoundrel at a whorehouse," Don Rossi said with a laugh and mocking tone. "The Voltolinis' turf, was it? Well, I'll be!"
"Well, if not for the Detail, things would've been more complicated for me," Gianni said. "Details can work wonders."
"My son should come to thank you personally," Don Rossi said as he looked around the banquet hall. Clapping his hands together, he yelled to one of his men, "Fetch Vanni for me, will you? Where's that boy, anyway? Sbrigati!" He then looked at his guests, smiling as he waved a hand. "Now, then. You all must be hungry. Everybody, let's take our seats!"
A roar of cheers and applause came all at once as glasses were raised.
"Buon compleanno, Don Flavio!"
"Auguri di tanta salute!"
"Tanti auguri!"
When the round of cheers and glass-clinking died down, Don Flavio showed Gianni to a large, round table in the center of the hall, where waiters and waitresses scurried back and forth, carrying platters of meat, pasta, and vegetables, and trays filled with hot and cold soups.
"So, let's pick up where we left off," said the Don as he sank into the chair next to Gianni.
Several other guests joined them at the table, most of whom were Dons and Donnas from other families.
Never in his whole life had Gianni felt so small like today. Yet somehow, the spotlight shone on him.
The day's first feast began as soon as Don Rossi took his seat. Gianni sat between him and his son, Vanni, who looked every bit like his father – except he was twenty-odd years younger.
A lean-looking Alpha in his mid-twenties, the young heir had the typical features of a pure-blooded Italian: jet-black hair, thick brows, round dark green eyes, sharp nose, and strong jaw. He was dressed in an all-black suit that made him look like he's attending a funeral than his father's birthday. Gianni couldn't tell where one piece of clothing started and where the other one ended.
Being the first Alpha offspring, Vanni was already the destined successor of Don Flavio. The young man's aura fell somewhere between aggressive and respectful, not yet seasoned enough to assume command, but was clearly headed in that direction. Don Flavio made sure his heir would learn the ropes before he turns fifty the following year.
Sitting directly across from Gianni were Donna Margareta from the Lagorio crime family and Don Julian from the Esposito family, together with his eldest daughter, Emilia. Sitting at the further end of the table were Signora Donatella, the wife of Don Abramo of the Gismondi family, along with two of her young children, Enzo and Luca; and Don Christoph from the Napoleoni family, who had the most number of escorts in the party. He was accompanied by his three wives, all of whom are Alphas.
The way Gianni sees it, it was looking more like a congregation of wolves than a mere birthday celebration.
Don Flavio refilled his glass with wine and raised it for a toast. "Here's to the Lone Wolf!" He then clinked his glass with Gianni's and took a sip. "To future partnerships."
Some of the guests at the table raised their glasses to Gianni, except of course for the Napoleonis, who don't seem to have high regard for Omegas outside their own "kind".
Christoph Napoleoni was taller than anyone there, and a little on the burly side – lean and defined, with a menacing look that's typical of a dominant Alpha. The man had intimidating dark brown eyes and neatly cut black hair with some gray at the sides. His light brown skin told Gianni he was a native of southern Italy.
The Lone Wolf didn't mean to stare, but he couldn't resist it. Not until Don Christoph looked back at him did he finally look away. He turned his attention back to Don Flavio, who whispered into his ear. "Ignore the man. I hear his family's going through a difficult transition these days."
Gianni set his glass down. "What could be difficult for an all-Alpha family like theirs?" he asked, keeping sarcasm to a bare minimum.
"That there, is the problem. I heard Christoph's taken in a goomar*. A male Omega at that." Don Flavio paused dramatically for this to sink in. "I'm telling you now, friend. If you can't produce an heir to carry on the family name, an Alpha's pride will only get you so far."
"Is that so..." Gianni glanced at Don Christoph one last time and broke into a wry smile. "Things do change over time, don't they?" He took a long, satisfying sip of his wine.
"Flavio told us a little bit about it," Margareta Lagorio said across the table to Gianni, breaking into the conversation. "It's all over the news right now, see?" She showed Gianni her phone, the screenshot of a news article that had just come through in her inbox.
'N.Y. Police: Fed Deputy Director missing, suspected for dereliction of duty, connection with illegal rambling ring'
Below the sensationalized headline was a photo of a man in uniform, looking far more dignified and respectable than when Gianni had last seen him: Deputy Director Christian Harper.
Donna Margareta put the phone down and smiled whimsically at Gianni. "Excellent work as always, caro mio."
The Lagorios are frequent clients of the Lone Wolf, second to the Espositos. He loves working for them as they pay promptly and generously, and know just how to tickle his fancy by giving expensive incentives. The last gift Gianni had received from them was a rare and magnificent flintlock gun called The Purdey Over and Under, with a market price of $200,000.
A small gift, really, for disposing of a senator who threatened to expose the family after being refused to borrow money for electoral funds.
"The last thing I need are friends only when there's an opportunity," Donna Margareta once told Gianni. "I only invest my money on things I can gain profit from, and the man's far from profitable. He's not worth the trouble."
Eventually, the case of the missing senator reached a dead-end and concluded as another Lupara Bianca*, later turned over to INTERPOL.
Now, back at the party, Gianni raised his glass and looked at Margareta Lagorio with a knowing smile. "How good to see you today, Donna. Had I known it's a birthday party I'm attending, I would've brought something nice for everyone."
Don Flavio laughed beside him. "I instructed Martel not to tell you. He was sure you'd refuse to come had you known there's a gathering here today."
"Yes, well... I'm afraid I'm not much of a social animal." Gianni conceded with a shrug as he took a long sip of his wine.
"I'm so sorry I'm late!" A voice chimed from behind Gianni. He turned around to see a man dressed in a black pinstripe suit with a red paisley tie. He stood out from most of the people at the hall, particularly because he had pale skin, with striking light-blue eyes, light-brown hair, high cheekbones, and a sharp jawline. The man spoke in English but with a guttural, central European accent.
"Amore mio..." Don Flavio said endearingly, as the newcomer came to him and stooped to kiss him on the lips. "What took you so long?"
"I'm sorry. I had to put Klaus to sleep. It's past his nap time, you know," the newcomer explained, as he sat in the empty chair next to the Don.
"Gianni, I don't believe you've met my husband," said the Don, holding the newcomer's hand between his.
"No, I haven't had the pleasure." Gianni craned his neck and smiled at the newcomer.
"Stellan, this is Giovanni Mancuso. He's the associate I've been telling you about."
"Of course," the man nodded. "How do you do, Signore Mancuso?"
"May I present my husband, Stellan von Bergen," Don Flavio finished.
"I've heard a great deal about you, Signore Mancuso, but my Flavio hasn't managed to convey how very handsome you are." Stellan von Bergen reached out to shake Gianni's hand, smiling from ear to ear.
"Oh please, you flatter me, Signore. And you can just call me Gianni," the Lone Wolf replied as he took the other's hand and squeezed it lightly.
"Stellan is my long-time partner in crime, so to speak," Don Flavio quipped as he lifted Stellan's chin to kiss him on the cheek. "He's a prince – quite literally – that I've stolen from a castle in Germany."
Stellan's grin was miles wide. "Oh please, you make it sound so poetic. This man hatched a madcap plan to elope, by dragging me out of boarding school and whisking me away on his private jet," he said, gazing lovingly at his husband of fifteen years with eyes full of utmost adoration.
The women at the table had gone all melty from the display of affection between the Rossi couple.
As it turned out, Stellan von Bergen was the third son of the Duke and Duchess of Bergen. Born as the only Omega in a long line of Alphas, he was arranged to marry an Alpha countess to continue the family line. But the lineage was destined to end with his siblings, the moment he met Flavio Rossi.
Since then, Stellan had renounced his right as heir apparent to the title of Duke of Bergen, to be with "the one". He now has two children with the Don, the youngest being Klaus who just turned five.
The rest, as they say, is history.
"You two really are disgustingly sweet together, you know that?" Donatella Gismondi commented with a pained sigh. "I wish my Abramo could be half as affectionate."
Donna Margareta chuckled into her glass. "Do you remember how moony you two were back when you were newlyweds? I thought I'd get a cavity."
"Whoever said you should stop expressing love and affection once you get married, hmm?" Stellan challenged, poking his husband in the side and looking at him for support. The Don replied with a coy shrug.
"Anyway," Gianni said, joining the conversation once more, "it's a real pleasure to finally meet you, Signore." He raised his glass to Stellan.
"Pleasure's all mine." Stellan raised his glass to his lips and took a slow, leisurely sip. Even if the man hadn't revealed his background, he nevertheless exuded an air of royalty. "I'm impressed with your work, Gianni. Consider me your biggest fan."
"Causing a bit of ruckus right under the noses of those damned Voltolinis was a nice touch, too!" Don Flavio said with a satisfied grin.
Stellan coughed. "I'm afraid we're still not on good terms with Seraphina," he said, an obvious bitterness in his voice at the mention of the Voltolini Donna's name. "She has a resolute and tough character, that lady. But she can be a real pain in the ass. She refuses to let us build a house for Vanni and his fiancée at Pelham Manor. Later on, we found out she'd given that piece of land to the Moschellas. Oh, the amount of disrespect!"
Don Flavio gave his husband's hand a light squeeze, which told the other he shouldn't say anything more.
Gianni was quick to pick up this air of hesitation and sought to change the topic. "Speaking of the Moschellas... I don't see them around," he said, quickly scanning the crowd.
"Oh, that's a tragic story right there," Donna Margareta interrupted, her voice filled with sadness.
"Why, what happened?" Gianni asked, his smile disappearing.
The Donna glanced at her companions before gazing back at Gianni. "You see... Olivia, Franco Moschella's wife, died a month ago. It's a sad story, really."
"She died on their anniversary trip to the Maldives," Don Julian Esposito continued, who spoke for the first time since they sat around at the table. "It was an accident. Drowned after getting a leg cramp while snorkeling. They found her body a day later, washed up on the beach of a nearby island."
Gianni's mouth hung open in shock and disbelief. "I... I didn't know that. I haven't worked for the family for over a year now..."
"Well..." Donna Margareta hesitated a moment before saying in a hushed tone, "The Moschellas are trying to keep mum on the issue right now, especially when there's a power struggle between Franco's siblings."
"But... why? Don Franco is well and alive though, isn't he?" the Lone Wolf wondered.
Donna Margareta set her glass down as she looked at Gianni with a crestfallen face. "Caro mio... Things are a little... complicated when an Alpha or Omega suddenly loses their mate-bond." She heaved a deep sigh before continuing. "It comes with a lot of names, you know? Chronic Bereavement Syndrome, Lost Soul Syndrome, Prolonged Grief Disorder, Melancholia... It's a disease of the mind and soul."
The last time Gianni heard about such a thing was in middle school during health class. At first, he thought it was no different from any other form of grief. But for Alphas and Omegas, the grief of losing a mate-bond could be a lot like a ticking time bomb, eating their life away like cancer.
The painful emotions tend to be long-lasting and severe. The bereaved struggles to recover from the loss to the point they couldn't maintain a healthy state of mind. And while most Alphas and Omegas manage to get themselves out of this terrible phase, many hardly return to how they used to be.
Almost as if a part of their soul had died with their mate.
"Franco hasn't been the same since. I mean, who wouldn't be? The poor fella' lost the love of his life!" the Donna continued.
"I know it's an awful shock for the family, but the last thing they need right now is an incapacitated patriarch," added Don Julian.
"Franco's brothers are taking advantage of his moment of weakness," muttered Signora Donatella.
Gianni didn't realize it was a touchy subject until it was too late. He felt bad for suddenly creating an uncomfortable atmosphere. "I should probably pay Don Franco a visit one of these days," he said, putting an end to the topic.
Everyone fell completely silent. Gianni felt uneasy and didn't know what to think.
Until suddenly, Don Flavio's loud and lively voice cracked the silence. "So then! Let's put off grim topics for another day, shall we? Gianni." He turned to his special guest with a smile. "Why don't you tell us all about your little conquest in The Bronx?"
The young ones immediately left the table when they finished eating, leaving only the adults to talk among themselves. And for the men and women of the Cosa Nostra, discussing things like murder is perhaps a topic as common as any other.
But, charmed as almost everyone was by Gianni, he now had a look about him that said he was barely hanging on.
The Lone Wolf's companions were eager to hear more of his stories, but he was far less enthusiastic to stay a minute longer. Half an hour into his late lunch and he wanted to just disappear like a bubble. Social anxiety was creeping in fast.
"I'll tell you more about them some other time," he promised, "because if I share them with you now, I should think it'll take at least two more weeks." The guests chuckled warmly, as did Don Flavio.
Yet the party didn't seem like it's about to end anytime soon. In fact, it's barely even started. The drinks kept flowing. The food kept coming. The music played on. Before Gianni realized it, the hall was jam-packed with people eagerly seeking audience with the birthday celebrant.
Gianni fumbled for a napkin and wiped his mouth. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I have an appointment with a client in Queens. I'm sorry to be a buzzkill but, I should probably get going." It wasn't that late – just a little past two in the afternoon – but he didn't feel like talking anymore. He wanted to get home before the ballroom dance begins.
"Are you serious? Flavio hasn't even blown his birthday candles yet," said Don Julian as he got up from his chair.
"I'm sorry I have to rush off like this," Gianni said contritely, then turned to Don Flavio. "I'll find a way to make it up to you somehow." He got up, straightened his slacks, and got his suit jacket from the back of his chair.
Don Flavio got up and put an arm around Gianni's shoulders. "Well, I hoped you could stay longer until the performances at the ballroom, but I won't be keeping you."
Save for the Napoleonis who seemed to have a world of their own, all the other guests got up and walked around the table to give Gianni a hug.
"Let's get together again soon. I need to get something settled before the end of the season," said Don Julian, shaking Gianni's hand vigorously. "Most of my kids are out in Cuba this month, so I need extra hands here in the city."
"Of course. I'm just a call away," the Lone Wolf assured, patting the Don's hand before letting it go.
"Just make sure it's not anytime in mid-September, Julian," Signora Donatella broke in. "My Abramo's looking to arrange an appointment with Gianni."
"Don't hog him all to yourselves," said Don Flavio. "I still have a task set out for him in the coming weeks. Isn't that right, my friend?" He looked over at Gianni, seeking confirmation.
Gianni didn't even know which to answer first. "Uh, this is a little too much to take in," he admitted, chuckling nervously. "I'll need to check my schedule and uh, the truth is, I'm planning an out-of-country trip next month." This time, though, he was being honest.
The ladies gasped in unison.
"Oh, don't be like that. Maybe you can move it until after we book you next month?" pleaded Donatella Gismondi. "If you must know, there are things that need to be pursued and accomplished by more capable hands." She took Gianni's hands and squeezed them firmly. "Hands like yours, Mr. Mancuso."
Donna Margareta gave the other woman a chagrined look. "Look at you sucking up to Gi. Don't be so selfish, Donatella. The man needs a break, too. Isn't that right, caro mio?"
Gianni put on a nervous smile and nodded. "But, well, nothing's set in stone yet so a plan is just a plan."
"Wonderful!" Signora Donatella exclaimed, clapping her hands together in obvious delight. "Keep your mid-September reserved for my husband, please. Okay?"
Donna Margareta rolled her eyes as she took a sip of her wine, draining most of it before setting the glass down on the table. "Come, Julian," she said, grabbing Don Esposito by the arm. "Let's see Gianni off."
"Oh no, you don't have to," Gianni said, refusing politely. But before he knew it, the two already had their arms entwined into his, gently prodding him forward. "Well, alright. You can see me off at the gates."
A band had started playing at the ballroom as dozens of guests milled about, getting ready to witness the party's main event: the blowing of birthday candles, followed by a few hearty messages from Don Flavio's most important guests and then, finally, the dancing and the singing.
Gianni bade farewell to his hosts and, after ten minutes, was finally out of the now hot and crowded mansion.
Walking arm in arm along the manor's gravel pathway, Donna Margareta took a deep breath as she patted Gianni on the elbow. "It's been a while since we've last seen each other," she started. "We've been meaning to speak with you privately, Gi."
Gianni felt his stomach tighten into a knot. This was exactly what he'd been trying to avoid all day.
"I see you're doing well for yourself," Don Julian said with a soft smile. "It must be nice, not being tied up to... to any of this."
The Lone Wolf couldn't help but snicker. "You think so? If anything, I think I'm tied up to everyone now." He sighed before continuing, and said in a somber tone, "I'm in a much better place now, if that's what you wanted to know."
The Donna gave him a sad smile as she placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Listen. Valentina still isn't on good terms with Flavio," she said, her voice close to a whisper. "She's not coming over today, that's for sure."
The very mention of the name was enough to ruin the rest of Gianni's day. "L- Listen, I really don't –"
"But the husband's coming over," said Don Julian, glancing down at his watch to check the time. "He's running awfully late though, that fella'. But I'm guessing he'll be here soon."
Donna Margareta let out a low gasp. "Really, Alessio's coming over? That's great, then! I haven't seen his pretty face in ages."
Another name Gianni didn't wish to hear.
He stepped aside, shoving his shaking hands into his pockets to hide them. "I think... I think I should get going now," he said in a scarcely audible voice.
"I heard that Don Filipo's health is deteriorating," the Donna mentioned, "which means that the De Laurentiises are preparing Alessio to take over as the new patriarch. We rarely got a glimpse of him the past couple of years but given what's happening, we'll be seeing him more often."
Gianni felt his throat dry up, and his tie felt too tight. "W-Well... It sounds like things are going well for him. I – I mean, except for Don Filipo's health, I guess he's –"
"Caro mio..." the Donna said in the most lamentable tone of voice, "I know things haven't been great between you and those two, but... don't you think it's time to bury past grudges? You haven't talked to them in years. It saddens me, and I know Val and Alessio feel the same way."
Do they now? I highly doubt it.
Gianni hated the look on Margareta Lagorio's face. If there's anything else he hated more than being reminded of the past, it would be when people look at him like he was pitiful.
In the end, all he could manage was a scoff, a sense of anger funneling inside him.
"Listen. I don't want to hurt your feelings," Gianni said. "I know you're trying to make me feel better. But... you're not. The fact is that you guys don't know what I've done or what I've been through these last few years." For a moment, he forgot he was talking to a crime family's boss.
Donna Margareta covered her mouth and muttered an apology. "I'm sorry, Gi. I didn't mean to..."
"Cut her some slack, Gianni. Margie's just trying to help," Don Julian said as he took the Donna's hand.
At this point, Gianni had completely exhausted his one-year supply of tolerance for small talks. Feeling resigned, he put his arm around his two companions, gave them a quick hug, and kissed each of them on the cheek.
"You know I have a soft spot for you both but please, just... just don't. I'm... just not there yet. I'm not ready. And I'm sorry. I simply can't."
Donna Margareta nodded as she gave the other a tight embrace. "It's okay. I understand. You're right, I shouldn't have pried like that. You take care of yourself. Okay, caro mio?"
Don Julian patted Gianni's shoulder. "Don't let this be the last time we see you in a while, friend. We could really use your company."
Gianni smiled weakly as he patted the Don's hand before turning away. "I'll see you again soon. Ciao."
Just then, Martel Stanford came running to them, catching his breath as he went. "Don Julian, Donna Margareta! What are you two doing out here?" He said almost in a panic while looking around vigilantly. "There could be reporters and paparazzi lurking nearby. Please go back inside right now."
"Yes, yes, Martel, we know," Donna Margareta said with an exasperated sigh. "Andiamo, Julian. I'll be seeing you around, Gianni!" She waved good-bye to Gianni as she and Don Julian turned to go back inside the mansion.
Stanford and Gianni stood in silence for a moment.
"I was wrong about you." Stanford turned to look at the Lone Wolf, mildly amused. "I see that you're the 'man of the hour' here."
Gianni rolled his eyes and huffed as he turned to walk toward his car. "I told you this was a bad idea."
Stanford followed him closely behind. "There's no need to rush. Or were you really serious about having an appointment in Queens?"
Gianni took out his car keys, unlocked the door, and climbed into the driver's seat before starting up the car. "I'm actually running late now," was the only thing he could say to the Capo.
For a moment, he sat and squinted from the blazing afternoon sun as he stared into the distance. He suddenly found the cramped space intolerably hot, making him breathless and sweat profusely. He loosened the knot in his tie and undid the top button on his shirt.
"Are you okay?" Stanford dipped his head down to get a better look at Gianni's flushed face, frowning as he did. "You don't look so well. Must be the alcohol, eh? Well, make sure not to get caught by the cops." He straightened up and pointed to his left. "There's a bunch of them parked out at Stanford Street with a breathalyzer, just a mile from here. Make sure to find a different route, m'kay?"
Gianni was getting more and more frantic about leaving. He started the engine and turned on the air-conditioning full blast, hoping it would cool him down.
Impossible... This can't be. Is it that time of the month again? I've completely lost track.
"T – Thanks, Martel. Be seeing you. Ciao," he stammered, forcing a smile as he looked up at the Capo. He quickly rolled up his car window and backed out of the parking space as fast as he could.
The main exit was far away and clogged up with double-parking cars. Gianni couldn't even see where he should turn without scraping someone else's car door. Thankfully, he found an exit down to the main road on his side of the driveway so he steered for it.
Gianni was anxious to leave the premises and run the car at full speed. Up ahead, however, he had to give way and wait for a newly arrived limousine to get past the gates.
Who could be the idiot who dares to show up late at a Don's party? The Lone Wolf wondered. And so, his eyes traveled down to the family crest attached to the vehicle's front fenders.
A shield with three crosses. Well, that could only mean bad news.
The De Laurentiis family crest.
Gianni gripped the steering wheel with both hands, willing himself to calm down as a wave of longing and desire suddenly hit him out of nowhere, flooding his entire body, pulling him into very dangerous currents.
He's in that car. He's actually here. Oh god, please let me catch a glimpse of him.
He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut, cursing under his breath.
Fuck it. It's just your heat, Giovanni Mancuso. And it's screwing with your mind!
Distance. He needed distance. And fast.
Gianni breathed heavily, praying he'd make it to the townhouse before his heat went into full swing.
God damn it. Please. Get me there. Get me there before I lose my mind.
TO BE CONTINUED.
SOME SIDE NOTES:
Most of the characters in this story are Italians, so expect to see some common Italian greetings and terms from time-to-time.
The INTERPOL, or The International Criminal Police Organization, is a group of 194 member countries that work together to fight international crime by facilitating worldwide police cooperation. It is the world's largest police organization and is headquartered in Lyon, France.
