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And to his dying day,Gaetano would remember the child he had lost, saving the others.
CHAPTER NINETY-SEVEN
Sun blasted the cemetery with heat and light, and Sebastiano sat with his wife across from Don Franco’s casket. Sebastiano hadn’t loved the man, but he had respected him, so he mourned Don Franco and his own lost position asconsigliere.
Sebastiano didn’t know what would happen now, and neither did anybody else. The death of Don Franco, so soon after Don Roberto, rocked the family. The Fiorvantis started to fall apart, having no succession plan, and the business began to founder. Noblemen, businessmen, and shopkeepers didn’t pay. Deals were broken and trips to markets canceled. Politicians and functionaries went empty-handed. Gossip and speculation spread. Disquiet reigned.
Sebastiano lifted his troubled gaze to the casket, surprised to meet the cool blue eye of Patrizio, Don Roberto’s son, on the other side. The boy was only fourteen, but his gaze was mature and his eyes dry. The boy’s equanimity took Sebastiano aback, given that it was the funeral of a favored uncle, on the heels of his father’s death.
Sebastiano’s mind raced. He realized that Patrizio had a claim as the nextcapo di tutti capi, since Don Franco had no male heir. Patrizio was Don Roberto’s only son, so the men would acknowledge his legitimacy. They liked Don Roberto better than Don Franco anyway. Patrizio hadn’t been involved in the business yet, but he could learn.
Sebastiano realized that opportunity had just stared him in the face. He resolved to go to Patrizio after the funeral to pay his respects. Later, he would suggest the boy aim for the head of the family and offer to beconsigliere, since every boy king needed an advisor. Then, after Patrizio had risen to power, Sebastiano would do him in and take his place, as Don Franco had done to Don Roberto.
Sebastiano felt his spirits rise, his ambition resurrected. His career would soar frombracciantetoconsiglieretocapo di tutti capi.The Fiorvantis might have been the first Mafia family in Sicily, but his would be even greater. He had younger brothers he could call on, and he had to seize power as soon as possible.
The notion inspired him, filling him with hope. Sicily was opening up to all men, the good and the bad, the peaceful and the violent, and every man would take his share. If the poor weren’t permitted to go up, they would go around. It had ever been thus. As long as men contained both light and dark, there would be the righteous and the felonious.
Here, and in the world entire.
CHAPTER NINETY-EIGHT
Lucia labored in pain, pushing to deliver her baby. Sweat drenched her, and her nightgown stuck to her swollen belly. Gaetano’s wife, Maria, held one hand, and Alfredo’s wife, Simona, held the other. Her midwife was her best friend, Franca, who worked as a nurse at the new madhouse with Lucia. Dante, Gaetano, and Alfredo waited outside because there was only one room in the farmhouse.
“I can’t do this!” Lucia cried, like her mother, Mafalda, had so many years ago.
“You can do it! Push, push!” Maria squeezed her hand. “Keep going!”
Simona squeezed her other hand. “Yes, yes, push! Push!”
Franca chimed in, “Brava, Lucia!”
Lucia remembered what her mother had told her. “Maybe I should count my blessings?”
“Good idea! What are they?”
“Dante!” Lucia loved her husband deeply, for they had saved each other. They’d both flourished under Baron Pisani’s moral therapy.
“Good! What’s another blessing?”
Lucia gritted her teeth. “You, my friends! I love you all!”
“Oh my, I see the head!” Franca cried excitedly. “Push one more time!”
Lucia pushed, feeling excruciating pain that vanished when she heard a baby’s mild cry. “Thank God!”
“It’s a girl!” Franca brought her the baby, who quieted quickly. “Look, how good!”
“She’s so beautiful!” Lucia cradled the baby, gazing down at her. The infant was olive-skinned like Dante, which was fine with Lucia, as they had decided they would be grateful for any child God gave them. Her tiny nose was a bump, her mouth an adorable pucker, and her dark eyebrows matched a thatch of black hair.
“I love her already,” Lucia said, her heart brimming. “Is it possible to love a baby as soon as you hold her?”
“Yes,” the other mothers answered in happy unison.
Lucia’s gaze fell on the coiled cord of purplish blood that connected her to her baby, as she had been connected to her mother, and so had every woman in the world, connecting them all, one to the other.
“Your name is Mafalda,” Lucia told the baby, stroking her soft little cheek. She felt suffused with joy as well as grief, and somehow she sensed the presence of her beloved mother in this very room.
Tears filled her eyes, and she was overwhelmed by the memory of all she’d lost, all she’d found, and the long journey that led her to Dante and little Mafalda, so that they could become the most precious of all things.
A loving family.
