Forced to Marry into a Mafia Family, Part 2

Chapter One- Buddha

I didn’t know what was going on, but all I knew was that my head was about to hurt. I stared at Enzo long and hard, trying to spot any similarities between him and me. Other than his skin tone, which was a dark hue, he didn’t look like me. That doesn’t mean that he couldn’t be mine.

I looked at Catalina and cursed in my head. Seeing her standing here in front of me brought back feelings that I didn’t know still existed. Then, I turned to Dior. I could tell she was in shock, and with the shock, I could also see the hurt in her eyes.

Enzo was indeed the correct age, but I wasn’t about to let myself get caught up in whatever this was.

“Phillipe, it’s been a while,” Catalina said, with a soft smile. I would be lying if I said she didn’t look good as fuck. Catalina hadn’t changed much; she was still a very beautiful woman.

“No shit,” was the only thing I could say. Turning her attention to Dior, she stretched her hand out.

“Hello, I’m Catalina.

“Hello, I’m the wife.” Dior just couldn’t help herself. She accepted Catalina’s hand as they greeted each other.

“Wife? My, my, Buddha, I never thought the day would come when I would hear that you got married, congratulations.” Catalina smiled, and she was beginning to piss me off the way she was avoiding the elephant in the room.

“Enzo, is your father around? I’d love to meet him,” I said, turning my attention to the young man. Just as he was about to answer my question, Catalina grabbed his hand.

“Enzo, honey, why don’t you go into the kitchen and check on the bread in the oven?” Catalina said, facing her son. She gave him a motherly smile and touched his cheek.

“Ok, mamma,” he said obediently, turning around and disappearing into the kitchen.

“I know this is a bit much and probably very confusing,” Catalina began to explain.

“Ya think?” I shoved my hands inside the pockets of my pants, staring straight into her soul. I was pissed as a mothafucka.

“Are you two about to keep standing here making googly eyes at each other? Or is some sort of explanation going to be given?” Dior demanded, folding her arms under her breasts.

“I’m sorry, but this is a conversation that needs to happen between only Phillipe and me.”

“Excuse you?” Dior said, taking a couple of steps forward to get up in Catalina’s face. I grabbed her elbow and pulled her back.

“Aye, relax. Come here, let me talk to you outside,” I said, practically dragging Dior out of the cafe. “Go back to the hotel. Let me speak with her and find out what the fuck is going on.” From the moment Dior heard me say she needed to leave, she snatched her hand out of my reach.

“What the fuck you just say to me?” She asked angrily, her eyes glaring daggers in my head, daring me to repeat what I said. She had one more outburst, talking to me crazy before I snatched her ass up.

“Na, the real question is, who the fuck do you think you’re catching an attitude with.

Let me go in there and sort this shit out.

As I said, let me call you an Uber, so you can go wait for me back at the hotel,” I kept my tone calm because I knew she was rightfully upset.

I took my phone out and did just what I said I would.

“The Uber will be here in three minutes,” I told her, shoving my phone back into my pocket. Dior was looking everywhere but at me, anger etched across her entire face.

“What are you gonna do if he’s yours?” Dior asked eventually, looking me up and down.

“Then he’s mine; there’s nothing I can do,” I shrugged my shoulders, not knowing what else I could say. A taxi slowly pulled up and stopped where we stood. I reached for her hand to walk her over, but being the drama queen she was, Dior pulled her hand away.

Opening the door, I waited for her to get in.

“I’ll see you in a bit,” I told her, closing the door.

Instead of simply agreeing, she lifted her hand and flipped her middle finger at me.

My mind was too fucking buzzed to deal with her tantrum.

I waited for the car to drive away before I stepped back inside the cafe.

Catalina was waiting for my return. I marched up to her, ready to start some shit.

“You sure are a piece of fucking work,” I eyed her up and down, wanting nothing more than to grab her by her upper arms and shake her ass up.

“Your wife is pretty,” she responded, smiling as though this were some game.

“Don’t fuck around. Is Edwardo, Enzo’s father?” I demanded, staring at her closely.

“What do you think? Do you really believe that if Edwardo was indeed Enzo’s father, he would have shipped my ass off to Italy? Banishing my child and me from ever setting foot in the US. I don’t think so.” The palms of my hands grew sweaty as a mothafucka; this could not be happening to me.

“So you’re trying to tell me Enzo is my son?”

“Look, I never meant for you to ever find out about Enzo. I don’t expect anything from you, just so you know,” I pinched between my eyes because this was some bull-shit.

“Catalina, why the fuck didn’t you ever try to contact me? All these fucking years, I believed Edwardo killed you. Here it is, you had our child, and you never thought for one fucking second that I had a right to know?” I got up in her face, as I felt my calmness disappearing.

“Let’s be real clear. I was fucking a nineteen-year-old boy.

Do you really think I was about to come tell your young ass you knocked me up?

When Edwardo found out I was pregnant, that man damn near killed my ass.

If it wasn't for Enzo growing inside of me, I really would have been dead. He put my ass out, gave me a one-way ticket to Italy with a couple of thousand. He told me if I ever set foot back on US soil, he’d have me killed.

With the money he gave me, I started this cafe.

I never once thought of contacting you because I knew it wasn’t right.

I never meant for you to find out, especially like this. ”

I listened to her explain and, I guess, saw where she was coming from. I was young, and we both had no business fucking each other. However, our affair gave us a child whether either of us liked it or not.

“So what now?” I asked; it was only fair for me to know if she wanted to let Enzo know who his father was.

“Nothing, I’m not about to cause turmoil in my son’s life, all because of an affair I had. Let’s leave everything alone, Phillipe,” I made a face because her plan sounded like ass.

“Why should I? Don’t you think it’s Enzo’s right to know who his father is?”

“Look, let’s really think about this. We’ll give it some time and then make the right decision that’s best for nobody but Enzo. In the meantime, I won’t say anything to him until we’ve decided together what we’ll do about this…deal,” Catalina said, stretching her hand out so we could shake on it.

“Yeah, deal,” I reluctantly shook her hand. Catalina smiled warmly at me as she scanned me from head to toe.

“You’ve grown into a very handsome man, you know that. How old are you now? Thirty-three?” Instead of releasing my hand, she held on to it. Catalina eyed me suggestively, and memories of the things I used to do to her flashed in my head.

“Na, thirty-five, all grown up.” Catalina blushed when I said I was grown, no longer the teenager she knew all those years ago.

“I can see that you’ve grown. I am still very surprised that you got married, though,” she said, finally removing her hand from mine. I rubbed my chin as I thought about Dior.

“Trust me, nobody is more shocked than I am,” I chuckled under my breath.

“Are you in love?” Catalina asked. I looked at her as she waited patiently for an answer.

“Mamma, I took the bread out of the oven.” Enzo appeared at exactly the right time. I shifted my focus from Catalina to the young man who was supposed to be my son.

“Thank you so much, figlio (son),” Catalina said, going to her son. Holding his face in her hands, she lovingly kissed his cheek.

“Where did Miss Dior go?” Enzo enquired, staring at me as if I did something to Dior. One thing I knew for sure, he had my mannerisms.

“She went back to the hotel,” I answered. I couldn’t help but keep looking at him, amazed that I really had a son. He stared at me long and hard as if he didn’t really like my answer.

“Phillipe was just leaving,” Catalina interjected, giving me a pleading look. I could tell she didn’t want to rock the boat, and I had no choice but to abide by her wishes…for now.

“It was nice meeting you, Enzo,” I reached over and tapped his shoulder, trying my best not to make things weird.

“Enzo, I’ll walk Phillipe out. Stay and watch the store,” Catalina said before we both began making our way to the door.

“Put your number in my phone, so I can stay in touch with you.” I took my phone out, unlocked it, and handed it to her. I watched closely as Catalina typed in her number.

“You look really good, Phillipe. It’s been nice to see you,” she said, giving me my cell back. Our fingers brushed over each other’s, and an all-too-familiar spark was felt. I sighed softly. Catalina was stirring up feelings that I believed I’d buried.

‘I’ll keep in touch,” I told her before I turned and walked off. Now, I had the very difficult task of going back to the hotel and facing my angry wife.

*****

The moment I stepped inside the hotel room, I could sense something was wrong. It was way too fucking quiet in here.

“Dior!” I hollered her name as I walked around the room searching for my wife. I was met with nothing but silence. I entered the bathroom just to be sure…nothing. Next, I made my way to the balcony…nothing.

Grabbing the top of my hair, I released curse word after curse word in both English and Italian. Dipping inside my pocket, I took my phone out and dialed Dior’s number.

“I know you fucking lying,” I muttered when her phone went straight to voicemail.

I knew my hot-headed wife did not switch her phone off.

“Mothafucka!” I headed for the door to find my father and Francesco.

I felt like steam was emanating from my pores by the time I reached my father’s room door.

I knocked on that mothafucking door like I was the SWAT team.

My father swung the door open on the second knock. “Buddha, why are you knocking on my shit like you’re the polizia (police)? The fuck is wrong with you?” I ignored the angry folds on his forehead.

“Have you seen, Dior?” I asked. Tomasso immediately grabbed his forehead and began rubbing it.

“No, did you somehow lose your fucking moglie (wife)?”

“It would appear that I have,” I replied, which made my father rub his forehead even harder.

“I swear to God, Buddha, I wonder about you sometimes. Didn’t you stay back to meet up with her?” My father moved out of the way so I could come inside his room.

“I did meet up with her, and then guess who I saw?” I stood in the middle of the room as my father went to sit on the bed.

“Who did you see? Who can you see here in Italy?” I took a deep breath because I knew my father wasn’t going to like what I was about to say.

“There was a teenage boy on the tour that Dior attended; he was one of the tour guides.” Tomasso was looking at me with an uninterested expression.

“Why are you telling me about tour guides?”

“Because that tour guide, whose name is Enzo, is Catalina’s son.” My father’s head pulled back, doubting he heard correctly.

“What? Catalina? As in Edwardo’s Catalina?”I nodded my head to let him know he was right.

“Are you sure?” Tomasso asked, looking at me with a suspicious expression.

“I saw her.”

“You saw Catalina? Here in Florence?” I nodded my head again. Tomasso kept looking at me as though I had imagined the entire thing.

“So, all this time she has been living here, and you say she has a son with Edwardo?” My father was trying his best to piece together each word I was saying.

“I said she has a son; I never said it’s Edwardo’s.” I left breadcrumbs for my father to follow so he would get what I was saying. He looked at me and then narrowed his eyes in disbelief.

“No, no, no. The boy is yours?” My father whispered in disbelief.

“According to Catalina, he is,” my father stood up from the bed and began pacing the floor.

“No, this is impossible. Are you sure? I mean, did you protect yourself every time?” My father stopped pacing to question me.

“I was nineteen, Tomasso. What the fuck do you think?” I replied, knowing he would not like my answer.

“This is like deja fuking vu. We can’t take her word for it. You need to get a DNA test on that boy.” Tomasso said, wagging his index finger at me.

“Yeah, alright, but why will she lie?” I asked, taking my phone out and dialing Dior’s number again. I felt my blood pressure skyrocket when it took me straight to voicemail again. I had to go and find my wife.

“Why will she lie? Because that’s what women do figlio (son). They fucking lie. Let’s keep this between us when we get back home. Jesus, the last thing we need is Victoria finding out,” Tomasso said. I exhaled loudly as I walked to the door.

“Where are you going?”

“To find my wife,” I answered without looking back, closing the door behind me. As I walked by Francesco’s door, I mashed brakes with my heels. Lifting my hand, I knocked on the door and waited. Francesco and Luca were sharing a room as if they were attached at the fucking hip.

“Phillipe, che cosa succede (what’s up)?” Francesco asked as he opened his door. I wasn’t quite sure why I even stopped here.

“Umm, have you seen Dior since you’ve got back?” I asked, looking over his shoulder into the room.

“No, I have not. Is something the matter?” I pulled my eyes back to the man I really didn’t like.

“Nah, it’s all good. Um, where’s Luca?” I asked, realizing I didn’t see his son in the room.

“He went out. There’s a bar or something not too far from here; it’s like walking distance,” I rubbed my chin as I recalled Dior saying Luca made her feel uncomfortable.

“Thanks, Francesco,” I said, walking off. I patted my sides, realizing that I didn’t pick up my gun before leaving the room. I didn’t have time to go back for it. I headed for the elevator and pressed the button for the ground floor.

I cursed repeatedly in my head as I stepped out of the elevator to go find Dior. I cursed even more when I saw it was raining. I knew one thing for sure: when I found my wife, she was about to lose her mothafucking phone privileges. On God!