Mafia Marriage

XXXIV

Giovanni took a quick shower, just to rid himself of the blood while Dante sat on a bench outside of the shower, scrubbing at the expensive shoes. As Gio watch the blood swirl down the drain as his thoughts went to his awaiting wife. She was the only person that had the ability to keep this dark said of him locked away, and she didn't even know it. He couldn't wait to see her again, to smell her flowery perfume and run his hands through her dark hair. When he had begrudgingly agreed to the marital contract he couldn't have foreseen how much he would come to rely on her, on her mere presence. He had to calm himself down and reign himself in before he saw her, she was too precious to see this side of him. Giovanni had not spoken to her again since she had called him irate and crying. The hourly updates he got from David and Adamo gave him only limited peace of mind, he still had to see her for himself to be completely at ease.

He got out of the shower and got dressed in his second suit, Dante handed him his freshly clean shoes. "How long are you going to be gone?" Dante was a bit nervous that Giovanni was going to be gone, even if it was for short time. Giovanni was the one calling the shots, he was leading the Graziano Family through this mafia war. Anthony had basically been MIA, spending most of his time with his mistresses around the city, rather than forming a plan against the Santorelli's. It was the three brothers who were in the trenches, but Gio had emerged as the true leader of the Family.

"A few hours, I'll leave before she wakes up in the morning," Giovanni answered. He pulled on his socks and tied his Oxfords before standing up. "I won't be gone longer than six hours, I'll just check on her and will be back."

Dante nodded, "Alright. I just don't want Anthony to take control when you're gone."

"If he does, kill him," Giovanni instructed. "Just make sure that none of his loyalists know that it was you, make it look like the Santorelli's did it." Since the war had finally broken out Giovanni had been speaking freely about killing his father, he only mentioned it in front of his brothers since he knew they would agree with him. The thought had always been in the back of his mind, but he had never entertained it. But now that he had someone else to care for, someone that he loved more than anything else in the world, he would do anything to ensure that her life was as close to perfect as he could make it. He also was keeping their future children in mind, and how Anthony could negatively affect their lives.

Dante didn't know how to respond to Giovanni. He too had thought about what life would be like with his father finally out of the way, but he had never voiced it. It was practically sacrilege to wish death to the Boss of the Family, it was even worse if the Boss was your own flesh and blood. However, Dante certainly wouldn't miss the old man when he finally kicked the bucket, if anything he'd designate it a reason to celebrate.

Giovanni started walking towards the front door of the warehouse, where the cleanup crew was carrying a body bag out of the holding room it had previously been in. They would dump it in Santorelli territory, he was just another soldier that had fallen victim to Giovanni's wrath.

"I'll be back in the morning, probably around four or five." Giovanni reassured Dante as he climbed into the driver's seat of a black Tahoe. He wasn't driving his own vehicles, his enemies could easily find him if he was seen in the same cars.

"I'll go check on Ma, I doubt Anthony has been to see her." Dante was worried about his mother, she was forced to stay home alone and his father had probably not been home in weeks.

"Good, she shouldn't be alone," Gio said.

"Tell Giuliana I say hi," Dante stepped away from the SUV as Giovanni put it in drive.

"I will. I'll see you tomorrow." Giovanni waved at Dante as he drove off to see his wife.

The closer he got towards the cabin in the Catskills, the lighter he felt. The very thought of being near her was making him feel like he didn't have the weight of the world on his shoulders. He was beginning to feel like his age of twenty-seven, and not like an old man.