Luzo: Reign of a Mafia Don by S. W. Frank Page A

have a say in who I will court.”
    Ernesto’s chest flared out with an inhalation. Upon exhalation he said with patience, “To make such a declaration suggests there is doubt. Therefore, let me tell you what an observer sees. He sees a young man who has behaved like a child. You used words as fists to strike first, but did not expect the return blow. That shows you did not consider the reaction. Luzo was a boy when he was sent to France. He did not go against his father. In his absence tragedy occurred, which he could not foresee or halt, yet you injure him deliberately. Listening would have sufficed. That would have been a wiser action of a loving brother who believes himself a uomo. Luzo suffers but you are blind. He sacrifices, yet you are uncaring. Everything he does is for the love of famiglia which makes him dutiful to a fault. Where is this loyalty or forgiveness to blood that you can willingly give a girl whose reprehensible actions nearly killed your sons, eh ragazzo?” The booming sound of an angered Protezione asked in the quiet room.
    Alberti was shamed. He had not considered Luzo’s feelings; this brought a frown. “Mi dispiace.”
    “Bene. You have remorse. You have taken the first step by accepting responsibility. Tomorrow your mama and I will have the documents prepared for the bambini. We will care for them as our own. I will teach the bambini the way of the Protezione.”
    “Sí.”
    “Reparations between you and your brother must begin as well. A contemptuous string cannot exist for an enemy to pluck. You will spend more time with Luzo. See beyond his shell the heart of brotherhood and love.”
    “Sí,” Alberti said rubbing his sore jaw.
    “What are we to call the bambini?” Ernesto asked. He had yet to move out of his comfortable seat.
    Alberti’s eyes looked toward the stairs. In his former room the bambini slept. Under the care of such loving parents he was certain they could not have a better home. His father had shared many secrets about their family. These were the first of the next generation in the line for a nonexistent throne. He could not forget Sabrina’s repulsion when she learned he was The Butcher’s son. Her father had poisoned her mind, made her hate with an intensity which rivaled their love, but one cannot shut off emotions like a faucet. He still cared and worried about her well-being, after-all she was the mother of his sons. If he had to choose names, then he wanted to honor his family. Luzo was proud of his blood, thus it was fitting that he named the twins after his grandfather and his twin brother.
    “Vincenzo and Nicolo.”
    “Excellent choice.”
    Then the babies cried loudly. The boy’s lungs were unaffected by the water that days ago could have silenced them forever.
    Ernesto abandoned comfort to assist Alberti in tending to their needs. Alberti did not see a killer, but a loving man that one day he aspired to be.
    ***
     
     
     
     
     
    Luzo dangled the bottle of scotch in his hand and reclined his head to the backrest of the comfortable winged chair. The staff retired, his wife had not returned home and Giuseppe had yet to phone. He had good news. He would have the territories south of Palermo without interference. Luzo had met with the families, regaled them with his charm and of course assurances that he would hire able-bodied relatives willing to learn the construction trade. Many had smiles, because in every family there is a boy who seeks alternative employment. Not every child wants to shoot or engage in racketeering.
    Umberto Cigliari had begun to warm to him. Luzo chuckled; money going in to a person’s pocket from someone with insider’s knowledge on stocks or technology and yields hefty dividends for the greedy is a seduction equal to sex.
    Other influential people sought his friendship, ah wealth and power can never warm a bed. Genuine friends cannot be bought. But, a wife can.
    What w as the chance a snot-nosed boy would find love before a