Hidden Mirrors: Twisted Image

By Donna Marie

WHAT will happen to the global empire run by the Fontinelli family with the death of its patriarch?

WHICH one will survive this house of mirrors and emerge as its new leader?

WHO will follow and WHO will not?

WILL the truth finally surface or continue in the Twisted Image of deceit?

HIDDEN MIRRORS - Twisted Image continues the saga of the infamous Fontinelli Empire. It draws the reader deeper into a world of crime, deceit and greed as more family secrets unveil themselves.

The death of Dominick Fontinelli hurls his heirs into a labyrinth of confusion forcing his son to come forward and take control. This, however, means giving up a secret that hurts one family to save another.

This novel is the second in the series. Although, it reads independently, the author suggests reading HIDDEN MIRRORS The Looking Glass of the Soul first in an effort to become a part of this family.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: May 29, 2014
• ISBN: 9781490737317

Donna Marie

Aerle Taree is a former member of the two-time Grammy award-winning group, Arrested Development. She earned a bachelor’s degree in humanities (with a focus in art) from Oglethorpe University. Today, she resides in [City, State], where she works for the TSA. For more about Aerle and her books, visit www.aerletaree.com.

Book preview

Prologue

W hose twisted image does one see when looking in the mirror? Is it one’s own? Truly, it’s not real if reversed, the opposite of what we hold to be the truth.

He stared into the glass expecting to see the man he was, but the hollow, empty eyes of the stranger staring back offered no sign of familiarity. Slowly, carefully, he unfolded the green felt with his fingertips and with ritualistic movement, placed the beret firmly on his head. He stood rigid before himself; a soldier adorned in his finest uniform, and slowly raised his right hand in salute, allowing his left to gently stroke the silver wings pinned to his chest.

For God and Country, I accept this duty with pride. I will not fail, he said to the twisted image before him and repeated, I will not fail.

A single tear splashed on the cold metal as he reached down to lift it for the final mission. I will not fail.

Chapter 1

H er rage was intolerable, her screams and rants of anger unbearable, every curse pitched toward me, demanding answers. Where do I begin? How do I explain it to her? The truth will only cut and destroy what I love now, yet my lies and deceit left behind the carnage of another life, a world I blocked out many years ago. Two men, two hearts, sharing one body and one soul; those are the cards life dealt to me by my right of birth. Dual worlds, now on a path of imminent collision, there is no way out for me. To save my son, I must tell the truth.

Niki, listen to me, I told my wife as calmly as my nerves allowed. I had no choice, to save my son; I had to take another identity. Joseph Fontinelli is dead and buried in a cemetery in Connecticut. I am, and will continue to be Salvatore Fiore, your husband and the father of our four children.

How could you, Sal, or Joseph, or whoever the hell you are? How could you deceive me all these years? I believed you! I raised your son as my own and gave you three more children! You made a mockery out of my love for you! She was so beautiful and although I didn’t always love her, I loved her now and didn’t want to lose her, but that, too, appeared to be imminent after two days of this tirade.

I met Nicoletta a couple years after moving to Italy. In an effort to immerse myself into my new home and country, I took some classes at the Sapienza University of Rome. We met by accident and she was more than beautiful; she was kind and I was in need of a friend. I asked her to dinner and showed up unexpectedly with my toddler son. That’s when the lies began. I told her my parents died in a terrible accident. I had the choice to offer my baby brother up for adoption, or take on the responsibility myself, so at the age of twenty-two, I was a parent to him. She was so impressed with me and instantly fell in love with him, calling him her little Vinnie, all the time believing he was my brother, not my son. Time passed and although my heart yearned helplessly to turn back; I wanted and needed a companion for life. Niki was perfect, so we married and had two more sons and several years later, she gave birth to Andrianna, my beautiful and precious little, Andi. The life I left behind no longer existed and with each passing year, I loved Niki more.

We made a pact between us that we would raise Vinnie as our son, not as my younger brother. Niki insisted that it would be less complicated for him growing up and there was no need for him to feel he was different in any way. The years passed and she didn’t suspect he was indeed my real son. It was perfect, until I brought him here to New York City to visit colleges and he went missing, somehow hit by a moving taxicab. Now, an ocean away from our home, his life was ebbing away unless we could find him a donor match for a new kidney. The end of my guile loomed ahead about to trigger more broken hearts. Was this the end of the lies, or the beginning of more? God holds the answer, not me, and only destiny will play it out.

I love you, Niki, I told her. We’ll get through this, I promise. We’ll find the kidney Vinnie needs and we’ll get through this.

"What will we get through? Hai mentito a me, voi furfante! You are nothing but a scoundrel and you lied to me about everything. I am married to a stranger. I don’t even know where you work, or what you do!" Her swollen dark eyes sparked rage and anger and my heart sank, knowing I was losing her. How many loves can a man lose in a lifetime? How many?

Ti amo, Sweetheart, per favore mi spiego, I begged her to let me explain.

You dare speak to me as an Italian? You are American, always were and always will be! How can you say you love me and want to explain? Explain what, I ask? You not only destroyed me, you destroyed our family. What do we tell our children? Whose name do they carry? If you loved Vinnie so much, why will you tear him apart, too? He doesn’t know, Sal, he doesn’t know! He thinks I am his mother and now suddenly, he has another mother! You have another wife! She was sobbing uncontrollably and I tried to put my arms around her, but she pulled away and choking on a sob added, "Now he’s going to die and it’s your fault. Do you hear me? It’s your fault! Look in the mirror, si suina, you swine!"

Before I could say another word, she stormed into the bedroom of our New York City hotel suite, slamming the door and our life behind her. I wanted to scream, cry, beg, but I knew she was right; Vinnie’s life was hanging on the hope of finding a kidney and my life, was ending for a second time. I sat down on the couch, my bed for the last two nights, and poured myself another drink from the near empty bottle of cognac and turned on the television to see a younger version of my father’s face fill the screen.

The news reporter was commenting, We still have very little information regarding the details of the murder-suicide that took place at the Fontinelli mansion in Watch Hill, Rhode Island two days ago. We can only confirm with local police that Dominick Fontinelli was indeed shot and killed by his nephew, Antonio Fontinelli. This very private family has kept their personal lives out of the media over the years with the exception of their generous donations totaling millions of dollars to several charities. Our investigative team, however, was able to verify that Antonio Fontinelli was a former Green Beret in the United States Army Special Forces and one source who requests that we do not reveal his identity has informed us that he was wearing his military uniform when he shot his uncle and then himself. We were told just a few minutes ago that Dominick’s only living son is en route from somewhere abroad and should arrive at any time, but we still have no information on the whereabouts of his daughter, Theresa. Now, for further news…

It’s difficult to recollect the beginning, maybe that’s a blessing, because if there was a time when I had the option to change my course in life, I am not sure I could live with my decision. I did what I needed to do at the time and now I live by that choice, knowing at the end, I’ll pay for it in hell.

One of my earliest memories was just a typical Sunday afternoon visiting my grandfather’s summer home in Groton Long Point, Connecticut. I loved it there, the smell of the salt water and seaweed and the sound of the seagulls calling out in excitement as they flew overhead. That Sunday was not much different from the others, but it plays repeatedly in my memory. I believe that was the first day I realized that I was special, different. My grandmother died a few years earlier and Grandpa changed after her death. He seemed older, sadder, and grumpier, if that was possible, but he still had time for me and for my older cousin, Tony. My brother, Peter, was just a few months shy of Tony and my grandfather tolerated him, but didn’t give him the extra attention that he gave to Tony and me. He never had time for the girls.

On this particular day, Tony and I were playing on the front lawn and, as always, trying to hear what the grown-ups were saying. The girls were jumping rope and Peter was reading.

The two men on the porch sat in silence, each deep in his thoughts. One sipped a cognac and smoked a forbidden Cuban cigar while the other savored his espresso and Italian pastry, neither inclined to enter into conversation. They didn’t have to; they could read each other’s mind when they wanted, or needed to do so. My father, Dominick and his brother, Angelo were identical twins. Uncle Gino, as I called him, was blowing smoke rings and I wanted to try, but didn’t dare ask in fear of the frequent backhand that might come from either of them. They shared everything, even their children, so the discipline came doubly hard.

My grandfather sat with them, just rocking slowly in his favorite chair. He had a strict rule about the Italian language, only he, and my grandmother, when she was alive, had permission to speak it, but we all had to learn it. We never took a lesson, yet somehow we absorbed it, although it was the kiss of death to use it in public, or in front of him. He insisted we speak English without an accent. That’s why I understood his words when he broke the spell of quiet and asked, Dimmi che dei vostri figli portano?

My uncle flicked his cigar and snapped at him, What the hell kind of question is that, Pop? Which of our sons will lead? Look at them! They are all leaders.

Only one man can lead, Angelo. The rest must follow, he answered in broken English.

This time, my father put down his espresso and spoke, There are two of us and we both lead. We share and share alike. We run the business together and equally, just the way you raised us.

No, non siete due. Tu sei una persona, identica gli uni agli altri, and then in English, the old man added, Identical twins are one.

Maybe we were born identical, but thanks to you, we have distinct and identifiable scars, so there is no mistake which of us are which, said Gino sardonically with a hint of defiance in his raspy voice.

You were ruffians, both of you! Did you want me to go soft on you, so you would grow up to be little pansies, or make men out of you? I chose to make you the men you are today. Do not dare forget it, you sons of a bitch! You gave me nothing but trouble, but now you are men, real men and you still give me trouble. Before I die, I want to know which one of your children will take the lead. I spit blood to get us where we are today and I do not want to leave this world with the thought of it all being lost because one of your little bastards doesn’t give a shit. You were already in training at their age. If you won’t choose, I will.

The brothers knew he was right. They were unique. They weren’t just identical twins; they were one soul, one mind. My father and uncle often spoke of how he raised them with a hunger to achieve and win. He did this by rivaling them one against the other, forcing them to compete until one of them, usually Uncle Gino, would triumph. Each incident only cemented the bond between them as they fought to survive his harsh and brutal ideas of parenting. The scars on their faces and bodies were nothing compared to the callousness he put in their hearts. Now, they ran his real estate empire, but still, they dared not to defy him. If there were a god on earth, it would be him.

My grandfather stood up and without another word, descended the porch steps, calling out to us, Boys, come with me! Let’s walk, he said and he beckoned his old hound, Pepe, to follow us.

Immediately, we trailed behind him, but I protested, Wait, Grandpa, I need to get Theresa.

No, Joseph, just the boys are going to walk, he told me, but I still argued.

But, she’s my twin and we go everywhere together, just like my Dad and Uncle Gino, I told him.

He scolded me harshly, You and Theresa are nothing like your father and his brother Angelo. They’re real twins, Joseph. You and your sister just happened to be born at the same time. Now, follow me and forget about her! I obeyed him, but not without looking over my shoulder to see her watching me. We always looked out for each other.

Even at the young age of five, I knew my grandfather, Vincenzo Fontinelli, was a rich and powerful man. When he spoke, everyone listened and no one ever argued with him. Looking back to this memory, he was only in his sixties, but to me, he was old and frail; instead of traveling as in his younger years, he liked to work in his garden and spent hours at a time talking secretly about business with my father and uncle. I loved him wholeheartedly, but feared him as the devil himself.

We followed him several feet into the garden until we came to a large tomato plant leaning with the weight of its fruit. He picked a tomato and gave it to my cousin, Tony, who was six years older than I was, and asked him, "What should we do with this pomodoro, Antonio?"

Eat it, Grandpa; we should eat it and not waste it, Tony answered him wisely, so he thought.

Look at it carefully, Antonio, what do you see? He spoke to Tony, but looked directly at me to make sure I paid attention to him.

Tony rolled it over inspecting it closely and then said, I think there’s a little worm in it. I’ll cut it out.

My grandfather briskly grabbed the tomato from Tony’s hand, dropped it on the ground and brought his boot down heavily on it, splattering it across the path. "If you cut out the worm, you leave a hole and residue of the putrid infiltrator. The pomodoro will never be whole and ripe again, never the same. Destroy it all before it rots and spoils the fruit around it. Accettare solo il meglio, ragazzi, accept only the best. If you live in the world of the worm, it will consume you. You must kill it; kill it quickly before it burrows further."

While he spoke, Pepe came up to him and nuzzled affectionately against his leg, begging for his attention. He bent down to stroke the old dog behind his ears and added, Just like old Pepe, you must take the best and give it up when it can no longer serve you. It is the way of life, our life.

None of us knew at the time what he meant, but as we grew, Tony and I understood his lesson and the many others that followed. Peter, who was only a few months younger than Tony, was another story. Unlike us, he had no interest, so my grandfather showed less and less interest in him.

We visited again the following Sunday and Pepe was gone. He passed with dignity, my grandfather told me, but something didn’t feel right. Tony was oddly quiet that day and it was a couple of years later before I learned that my grandfather had Tony put the dog down. He stood and watched while Tony knocked the dog unconscious and broke its neck, all the while instructing him how to do it.

Yes, we were special and different from other families.

Chapter 2

M y cell phone rang, startling me out of my daydreams, Hello, I answered.

It’s Theresa. We’re at the hospital and she’s in with Vinnie now. I need you to come right over.

He’s not awake, is he? We can’t take that chance because he doesn’t know about her. I felt a panic and it was difficult to breathe.

No, he’s still in a coma. She understands the severity of his condition. I know she’ll do the right thing, Sal, but she’s in total shock. All these years, she thought her husband and infant son died in a car accident and she finds out her husband is alive, remarried and meets her son only to see him die again. She’s upset, really upset. Can you blame her? I need you here to handle this. How soon can you get here?

I’ll be right over. Don’t let her leave under any circumstances; she may be a kidney match, I told her.

Don’t worry, I don’t think she wants to leave, and besides, I’m only right outside the door and I won’t let her out of my sight. I knew I could trust my twin. For more than twenty years, she kept the secret of my identity, at times with much personal sacrifice and now that was all about to end in vain.

I’ll be right there, I told her.

Joey… I mean, Sal, she corrected herself. How’s Niki?

She’s over the top with this, Theresa. I run a financial empire, but I can’t handle my own wife’s hysteria. The only thing worse than her leaving me right now would be if she left me and revealed my identity. I can’t let that happen.

I don’t think she should come to the hospital with you this time, do you? It might just make it worse for her, she told me and then added, Not to mention Annie, and you’re caught in the middle. This is serious, really serious.

I’m coming alone, I told her, but I was unsure what to do because I feared I would return to an empty suite.

Good, she said. Are you ready for this?

I’m fine, I lied. It’s all for Vinnie. I need to save my son no matter the cost. That was the only truth. My son was the first and only priority now, but as for me; I was not fine. I was on a collision course from the beginning, one I always knew would end in a colossal disaster, but I kept thinking that if I pushed it from my mind, I could somehow avert the final impact.

I’m sorry, Theresa, my mind is all over the place right now and I haven’t even asked you if you heard from Peter?

Yes, he called as soon as he got the news and he’s dramatically distraught if you can imagine. He made me promise not to plan a thing for the funerals until he gets here. He flies into Providence tomorrow. This isn’t bad enough, but now I have to deal with him. She sounded tired and helpless.

I would give anything to help you with this and I’ll do everything in my power to be there for you. You know that don’t you? I said this in an effort to reassure her, but I knew it was to no avail. Our older brother, Peter, reaped the monetary benefits of Fontinelli Enterprises without inclusion. He had no idea that I was alive and I guessed that he would now creep out of the woodwork and try to take over. I feared for Theresa and her future. Somehow, I had to find a way to help her, but how could I do that without exposure?

It’s okay, we’ll get it done, but Peter is already in an outrage and doesn’t want to have a funeral for Tony. We had quite a conversation, or should I say, he had quite a conversation and I just listened to him rant and degrade Tony every way he could, she said.

Admit it, Theresa, there was no love lost between them from the time we were kids. Neither Dad, nor Uncle Gino, had any use for Peter and thinking back further, I don’t remember Grandpa Vincenzo giving him the time of day. Anyway, it’s over, the dynasty falls without the leader. I can’t handle it myself and now Tony is gone, too. It’s strange, isn’t it? I despised my own father, but I followed his every order right until the end. Tony adored him, but he was the one that took him out and I guess we’ll never know why, I said feeling the cognac.

Sensing where I was going, she snapped me out of it with, Not now, my dear brother, you need to get your ass over to this hospital and face what’s waiting here for you. We’re running out of time for a kidney match. I’ll see you when you get here.

You’re right. I’m on my way, I told her. On my way to what? I asked myself.

I picked up my coat to leave, but at the last minute walked to the bedroom door and raised my hand to knock on it to tell Niki where I was going. Her muffled sobs changed my mind; my arm fell limp and I turned, leaving without a word, praying she was there when I returned.

The hospital wasn’t far from the hotel, but New York City traffic can make one block seem like a cross-country trek, so sitting in the back seat of the taxi gave me plenty of time to think and I didn’t want to think about Annie yet. I let my mind drift to my cousin, Tony. What happened? What made him snap and take the life of the man he loved?

The only dream I knew Tony to have was enlisting in the Army Special Forces. All he talked about as a teenager was joining the army and being the best soldier that ever existed. He was going to personally kill every evil world leader and save the children on every continent. His father was rough on him, if possible, worse than my own. Tony always had bruises, black eyes and I remembered an unexplained broken arm right before his high school graduation.

I was a few years younger, so I watched every move he and Peter made. They were total opposites, but never seemed to have a problem with each other until high school. Peter went to a private boarding school in Massachusetts, but Uncle Gino made sure that Tony went to public school. He wanted him street smart and tough, he would say. The difference between them was more apparent every holiday and vacation we were together.

Peter dressed impeccably well, spoke as an adult and with the adults about art, culture, and travel, all of which the women in our family knew well. He was well versed and proud to add a third and fourth language to the extensive vocabulary he already owned. If there was a party, he was the life of it, always commanding the center of attention. His popularity was widespread, especially among the girls who were drawn to his good looks and charming personality, not to mention his money.

Tony, on the other hand, was quiet, stayed to himself and was outwardly shy. Most of the time, he dressed as if he came from the ghetto, wearing his favorite tattered jeans and worn sneakers. He loved sports, especially football, and blushed when a girl spoke to him, which wasn’t often. He avoided parties, preferring solitude, and he adored our grandfather, spending as much time with him as possible. After the Pepe incident, their bond was stronger than ever. His overall rough appearance and a scar over his left eye gave him an intimidating look that held back anyone thinking of challenging him. As with all of us, his pockets bulged with money, but he never let on. If his friends couldn’t afford something, neither could he, and they were never the wiser.

Why would he murder my father? Why did he do it? It didn’t make any sense at all and I couldn’t get the question out of my mind.

The cab driver interrupted my thoughts with, Okay, Pal, here we are… Bellevue Hospital. Do you want the Emergency Room or the Main Entrance?

Main Entrance, please, I told him and handed him the fare with a generous tip.

The lobby was busy as usual, but I didn’t notice because my thoughts were now on what was waiting for me in the Intensive Care Unit. Ironically, as the elevator ascended upward, I felt as if I was descending into hell. Sub-consciously I expected to see flames when the doors opened, but instead I saw Theresa standing outside my son’s door waiting for me. Brushing her shoulder briefly, I walked past her, through the portal to face my past and there she was, bending over our son, gently stroking his hand.

A few seconds, or an eternity passed, while I watched her and then the blue eyes that once held the power to drown me, looked up at a stranger. All I could mutter was, Annie?

Chapter 3

Watch Hill, Rhode Island

A scending the driveway to the Fontinelli Mansion, the first thing Peter noticed was the number of spectators and camera crews still present. Local police officers along the roadway held them back and once inside the compound, several private security guards, strategically placed to look intimidating, protected the property. It was probably a little overkill, but Peter ordered them immediately after hearing of the murder. He acted quickly; after all, he was in charge now, and this was his first authoritative gesture.

Mrs. Foster met him at the door and warmly hugged him with genuine tears. She managed Dominick Fontinelli’s household with an iron grip for many years and she would miss their love-hate relationship. She was a loyal and trusted employee of the family, loved by all, with the exception of Joseph who never met her, nor was she aware of his existence.

Peter, it’s so good to see you, she said sincerely.