Chapter Twenty-Seven
(Sabrina)
Mrs. Bonetti was a stout woman with long, thick dark hair and warm brown eyes. She immediately made Sabrina feel welcome and insisted she eat something on the terrace before doing anything else.
Sabrina relaxed on the terrace, soaking in the view of the gardens and the Delaware River.
The birds sang as she happily ate homemade pasta and a salad with freshly picked greens from a modernized greenhouse on the edge of the property.
She had just finished eating when a commotion of men’s voices came from inside the house.
“Mrs. Bonetti, what’s going on?” Sabrina asked, her brow furrowed in concern.
“Oh, Signorina. It is Mr. Lombardi, the senior. He is not himself today.” Mrs. Bonetti’s expression looked back at the house at the sound of crashing glass, and then back at Sabrina.
She attempted a professional nonchalance, but failed.
“He has tempers sometimes, like any other man, but today I think you should go to the spa.”
Sabrina frowned. Like any other man? Cesare, her Cesare, hadn’t struck her as having anger issues; at least not like the shouting that was coming from inside the house.
The noise faded abruptly after the slamming of a loud door.
Sabrina, typically happy to go with the flow, shook her head slowly but firmly.
“I would like to stay. I’ll spend the afternoon around the grounds and go down to the river.” Sabrina answered, looking up at Mrs. Bonetti. “Cesare can join me when whatever he’s dealing with has been resolved, of course.”
“The spa would be very relaxing, Signorina.” Mrs. Bonetti stressed once more, wringing her hands.
Sabrina nodded, nonplussed, and took a sip of her drink. “I’m sure it would be.”
◆◆◆
The Delaware River sparkled a brilliant blue under the summer sun, as Sabrina sat beneath a large maple tree; her feet bare in the grass as she dozed, sunlight flickering across her skin through the canopy of the trees.
She still felt crazy for coming here, but something about this place calmed her on a level both deep and visceral, despite the obvious goings-on inside the house.
It was too soon to be planning anything, but Sabrina could see herself here.
More importantly, she could see herself being happy with Cesare here.
The rustling sound of tree leaves in the wind made her smile even as her eyes remained closed, and a few songbirds could be heard singing over the low rush of the river below.
It was all so peaceful and idyllic Sabrina had a hard time believing this could one day, potentially, be a regular afternoon.
The sound of a branch snapping in the distance alerted her to someone approaching. She remained relaxed as she was, knowing instinctively that this was Cesare.
When he approached close enough that his shadow covered her, Sabrina opened her eyes with a smile.
Cesare looked exhausted, and his hair was disheveled as if he’d been pulling at it. Sabrina frowned when she saw a smear of something dark red on his shirt sleeve, before looking back at his face.
Cesare was staring at her with an expression that made her want to wrap her arms around him and hold him for the rest of the night. To her disappointment, he then blinked, and his expression steeled over somewhat.
Making a decision, Sabrina opened her arms to him and watched as the tenderness on his face came rushing back. He knelt on the ground, disregarding any risk of grass stains, and buried his face in her neck, wrapping his arms around her with a groan.
Sabrina soothed her hand up and down his back, feeling him slowly relax until he was melted butter in her arms. She felt her heart beat slowly sync with his; marveling at the pulse in her finger tips and the mirrored beat pulsing back from the artery in his neck.
“Cesare?” She asked.
“Hmmm?” He grunted, placing a kiss on her neck.
“Is that your blood or someone else’s?” She asked lightly.
Cesare sighed. “Someone else’s.”
“I heard some glass shatter and some yelling.” She replied quietly. “Who was that?”
Cesare was silent for a moment before answering quietly, “My pops has episodes sometimes. They’ve gotten worse lately.” He cleared his throat nervously. “Today was an unexpected escalation, but everyone’s okay. My brothers just got here and are going to stay for the evening.”
“That sounds really hard. I’m sorry.” Sabrina frowned. “Is he aware of what’s happening when he has his episodes?” She asked.
“No. He thinks it’s the 90s all over again, and he’s Robert De Niro.
” Cesare gave a pained chuckle before reluctantly pulling away.
“We’re going to have an early dinner and try to talk him out of the story he’s currently stuck in.
The twins, Raffi and Enzo, are here and Auntie Maribella is coming over later. You'll like her.”
“Okay.” Sabrina nodded. “What do you need from me? If a new face would upset your dad, I can give you guys some space. But if he needs calming down, maybe I can help?” She trailed off, her fingers massaging his hair in an instinctive, almost subconscious movement.
Cesare looked at her as if she were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, and kissed her on the mouth. “I tell you a crazy man is in the house, and you say you want to talk to him.” He muttered against her mouth.
“I want you.” She muttered against his lips.
“Which means I’m here for the good moments just as much as the Robert De Niro ones.
” She looked at him somberly. “But please don’t try to send me to the spa just to get me out of your hair again, which I'm sure was not your intention, and was a simple oversight.” She finished with an imperial tone.
Cesare looked her over once more before giving her a much slower and deeper kiss.
Sabrina clutched at his shoulders, only to give a dissatisfied huff when he pulled away.
“Come on then,” He muttered, reaching out his hand to help her up. “Time to meet the circus.”
◆◆◆
Cesare Sr. really looked like Robert De Niro, Sabrina thought, as he unfolded a strategy for a full-scale assault on the Damasco family, from the head of the Lombardi dinner table.
A Beretta M9 was placed on the table within reaching distance, but Sabrina supposed this was much better than when it had been in his hands.
An hour of introductions and hushed side conversations had turned into a war council supplemented by pistachios and scotch. Cesare Sr., ever the gentleman, had insisted a bottle of Chianti wine be brought out for his son’s woman.
He’d stop every few minutes with a furtive look at Sabrina and lean into Cesare. “This really isn’t the place for women, Cesare. Send her to the spa and keep her out of this.”
Enzo, endlessly nonchalant, would chime in each time with increasingly untrue reasons for her presence at the war meeting, only to be forgotten a few minutes later when Cesare Sr. brought up her presence once more.
“She’s got morning sickness, Pops, so Cesare wants to keep her close. You know how it is.” Enzo shrugged.
From across the table, Cesare the younger made the gesture of slicing one’s throat. Enzo responded by flipping him off with a grin.
Sabrina did her best to suppress a snort of amusement, but was unsuccessful.
“My boy, a father!” Cesare Sr. stood up, responding this time with far more clarity than he had to any of Enzo’s other peanut gallery shenanigans.
“Oh shit.” Raffi muttered.
“You’re pregnant?!” Cesare Sr. demanded, grinning widely as he left his chair to wrap Sabrina in a hug.
Raffi discreetly removed the Baretta from the table, and passed the handgun under the table to Enzo.
Sabrina couldn’t help being touched by the joy radiating off the man; particularly in contrast to the steady stream of vitriol and death that had been coming from the former mafia boss for the past hour.
Cesare Sr. took Sabrina’s face in his and kissed both of her cheeks. “Is it a boy or a girl?” He asked, blinking back what looked suspiciously close to tears.
Sabrina’s Cesare shifted uncomfortably. “We don’t know yet, Pops.”
“Oh that’s right. That’s right.” Cesare Sr. nodded, sniffing. “It’s too early, isn’t it?”
Cesare nodded. “Yeah, Papi. We just found out ourselves.” He answered, throwing a glare at Enzo.
Cesare Sr. took Sabrina’s hands in his and kissed them as if he were venerating something holy. “You’re going to make me a nonno, my beautiful girl, you!” He looked back up, beaming.
Sabrina was still searching for an appropriate response when Cesare Sr.’s brows suddenly furrowed and he looked back at her hands.
“No, no, no!” He shook his head. Keeping Sabrina’s hands gently in his, he turned a fearsome gaze on his oldest son. “She isn’t married? You do this to a good Catholic girl, and she isn’t married?!” He demanded.
“Is she Catholic?” Enzo asked Raffi.
“What are you asking me for?” Raffi shrugged.
“No, she’s not Catholic.” Cesare answered in a somewhat bewildered tone. He turned his gaze back to Sabrina, who shrugged back sheepishly.
“Actually…” She trailed off.
“Call. Father. Patrick.” Cesare Sr.’s voice echoed through the vaulted ceilings of the dining room.
“Pops, I don’t know if…” Cesare tried to reason with his father.
“Call the fucking priest!” Cesare Sr. boomed, his face beginning to turn red once more. “Now!”
◆◆◆
Father David Patrick was a tall man with sandy blonde hair and a few grey streaks that were getting larger and larger.
He’d served the local community from his beloved parish for over three decades, and liked to think that he generally understood the needs of his parishioners.
When he didn’t, he prayed for guidance and trusted God to lead him forward.
The Lombardi family had been one such matter.
Cesare Lombardi II had been a devout man of faith, attending Mass weekly despite his extracurricular activities.
Father Patrick had watched Cesare and Eva bring their five sons to church every week for years.
All the sons had come regularly and confessed willingly, except for the oldest son, also named Cesare.
Something had changed in high school, and Father Patrick had mourned the sudden change in young Cesare.
He had come to Mass as required by his parents, but his actions had been routine and rote.
He’d stopped coming to confession and had spent much of his time and soul’s energy on the nightlife of Downtown Philly that was so beguiling.
He’d heard rumors of course; strip clubs, nightclubs, and a different woman every night. His brother Dante had soon joined him in his exploits. The other three sons, praise be to God, refrained from becoming absolute, God forgive, man whores.
So it was a surprise that the following series of events occurred on a typical Wednesday evening: Monty, a driver for the younger Cesare Lombardi III, showed up in the confessional booth and handed Father Patrick a cell phone. It was even more surprising that Cesare himself was on the other line.
Quite frankly, Father Patrick deemed it a miracle that young Cesare was requesting Father Patrick marry him to a ‘good Catholic girl’, as his father, the older Cesare Sr., continued to emphatically insist from the background.
Father Patrick of course recognized this for the act of God it must surely be and urged them to come immediately.
There was no need to wait for bans to be read.
Delaying this miraculous union would only be spitting in the face of such a miracle.
Cesare Lombardi the Third was about to be married; in church, no less.