Dark Corners

By Aria Cross

What would you do if you witnessed your best friend, an innocent childs murder? Would you remain idle, overcome by fear and not act, or would you go against a city of people who have become numb to justice? Would you ignore your own well fare and risk everything to avenge his death?

Please follow me into the life of a woman, Pamela Lorella, who is tortured by these questions and is faced by this dilemma in my novel, Dark corners. Pamela Lorella is relegated to live in a poor neighborhood by her father Aldo, who divorced her mother Maria, and left Pam to work at his bakery, La Favella, managed by his brother, the ruthless Don Tonino, who treats Pam with cruelty.

Pam witnesses the murder of her young friend, the little Ciccio, a beggar boy who lives in her neighborhood. She is overcome by grief for his loss and fights to keep her sanity. She later on meets a handsome young man, Ferdinand, the aid to the Ambassador of the French Embassy in Palermo. They fall in love but inevitably have to deal with Gertrude, Ferdinands cruel and severe mother. He tries to help Pam in her search for justice but she is submersed in a whirlwind of events that try her spirit.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 11, 2011
• ISBN: 9781456847166

Aria Cross

My pen name is Aria Cross. I was born in Sicily, in the beautiful city of Palermo on March 10, 1968 and I have lived there during my childhood with my parents, Salvatrice and Pietro, and my two sisters, Marina and Jackie. I grew up in San Nicola L'Arena, a small town about forty minutes from Palermo. Sicily is part of me and I will never forget the smells, the countryside, the mountains, the history and the Mediterranean and all the memories that connect me to that place. I met my soul mate and loving and faithful husband, Salvatore there until we moved to America in 1994 with my firstborn and best friend, Bruno and then I had four more wonderful children, Peter, Xavian, Davon and Rosemari, all who light up my existence and give me reason for living. I work for my fathers Italian restaurant, The Baby Moon, in the Hamptons. I am a writer; I write. I haven’t won awards, enrolled in prestigious colleges or have been part of writer’s groups. I’m just a mother who by chance has always loved to write. Writing and reading have been a hunger in me since childhood, as a thirst for knowledge and meaning. Writing for me is a way to express myself. It is something that I prefer to speaking, since the tongue is a traitor when let loose; you never know what it will say. The act of writing gives me time to reflect as to what truly I want to project. Thoughts come to me; silly thoughts, deep thoughts, constructed and not. I write them down. I always walk with a piece of paper and a pencil in my pocket to capture these thoughts which are fleeting, never to return again. I was told once that I am just a mom, an ordinary person, and that’s what my passion and duty should be, but I beg to differ; yes, I am a mom, but I can also be much more if I choose to be , and still fulfill my duty.

Book preview

Copyright © 2011 by Aria Cross.

Cover Photo by Terrence Lo Verde

ISBN:          Softcover                                 978-1-4568-4715-9

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4568-4716-6

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

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www.Xlibris.com

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This novel is dedicated to all who possess real intelligence. Intelligence is not only in acquiring knowledge of Science or Politics, or street smarts. Intelligence and wisdom are found in those who show real compassion, forgiveness and tolerance. To the innocent; to those who believe in justice and love above all, and to those who pursue it and are not concerned about their own well being.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER ONE

Palermo was unpredictably cool in April, when some days are bathed in beautiful sunshine, and others are dark and drab, enclosed with fog and sodden in rain. The morning breeze entered the small room from the open dark wooden shutters, and light danced across the white cement walls covered with specks and cracks like a tired old face.

Pam shivered as she awoke, and squinting, she rolled out of bed and placed her bare feet on the cold marble floor. Pamela Lorella looked younger than her thirty years; her soulful eyes were a dark blue, her hair a lush dark brown, and her golden skin kissed by the Sicilian sun. She opened the wooden shutters and breathed deeply while putting everything in order. She was very clean and organized even though the apartment was no castle. She gathered her hair in a bun after a quick shower and dressed plainly in a flowered skirt below her knees and a blue long-sleeved shirt. Her room was poorly furnished with a heavy wooden dresser and a night table, similar to the rest of the apartment, which you could embrace with a glance: a small kitchen with a table and a sofa, a bathroom, and two bedrooms (one for her mother and one for Pam). The building itself was ancient, but that attracted her for some reason; perhaps the history of this old city fascinated her, so different from America where everything is new.

It was almost 6:00 a.m. and her mother, as usual, wanted to make sure she ate before leaving for work. "Bimba, come to eat!" she called from the kitchen. To her, Pam was still her baby.

"Coming, Mamma!" Pam could smell the sweet aroma coming from the kitchen, and she smiled while stepping out of her room. Baking so soon? She hugged her mother and opened the oven to take a peek.

Ah! Bimba! Her mother playfully slapped the back of her hand and sat her down at the table.

Pam looked at her gratefully, realizing that she was her only consolation and support. Her Sicilian dishes were more than just a way of satisfying her hunger; they were also comforting.

Maria was a typical Sicilian woman made strong by life’s consequences. A God-fearing woman, she was once very attractive, but because of her illnesses, she had gained some weight. However, Pam thought that was what a mom should look like: chubby and soft.

Mamma, I need to go, you know how upset Don Tonino gets when I’m late. She never called him uncle because she never felt the love that should exist between relatives; he was more like a stranger to her.

"Bimba, a biddizza ‘un gne’ magrizza." Beauty is not in the slender.

Yes I know, but it’s not in the blubber either. Pam tried to find a good comeback, but as usual, her mother wouldn’t accept her excuses and she’d have to eat something. Sicilians were adamant in stressing the importance of eating.

"OK, mangia!" She placed a big piece of cake with ricotta cream filling and an espresso in front of her and sat down smiling.

Pam gave in and ate, enjoying every piece of it. Thanks Mamma. Do you need anything from the market today? She usually stopped at the local market after work on her way home.

Maria stopped to think for a moment, her glasses sliding down her nose. We need some flour… and some eggplant for tonight. They didn’t dine like royalty, but Maria made sure they had enough, and her cooking was simple but fulfilling.

They were alone now. Pam’s father abandoned them many years ago when she was fourteen. They used to live in Connecticut when Pam was three years old.

Her father moved there to escape the poverty of his childhood. Now a wealthy man, he was solely interested in his own well-being. He loved Maria once but gave in to a life of adultery, and when Maria found out, she couldn’t bring herself to forgive him, so they separated. Nonetheless, Aldo gave his wife and child his old apartment in Palermo where he grew up as a child and vowed never to return. He thought he was being kind in giving his home to his daughter and wife whom he no longer needed. He also decided to let Pam work as a help in his brother’s bakery, La Favella, so they could make a living. He thought this action would calm his conscience. Pam, of course, accepted his offer because it was the only way she could sustain her mother and herself, and jobs were very scarce in this city.

Pam finished her cake and stood to leave, since she was late again.

Maria stood up and gently slapped her forehead with the palm of her hand. Oh bimba, I almost forgot again, the postman brought this for you yesterday. She handed Pam a small envelope; it was postmarked from the United States.

Pam immediately knew what it was as it reminded her of the lonely years of her childhood. It’s a week late. She opened it briskly, and it read, Happy birthday from your dad, Aldo. She turned the card and looked inside the envelope. That was always it. No How are things? No How’s your mother? Nothing. She wondered why he bothered sending it at all. She threw the card on the table, disappointed. I’m gonna go, I’ll see you later, she said sternly, and with that, she gave her mother a kiss on the cheek and silently left.

Maria sighed and touched her chest with her hand, as if overcome by pain. It hurt her heart to see Pam suffer for her dad’s disinterest in her. Bimba, take your sweater, it might be chilly later, she called after her.

Pam rolled her eyes, sighing. Her mother still treated her like a child. Mamma…

Maria chuckled and grabbed a sweater for her and waved as she left. She walked back to the kitchen and picked up the card and sighed as she slid it into her pocket. She couldn’t bring herself to forgive this man, yet she couldn’t hate him either. She never thought ill of anybody; she just suffered terribly for having been mistreated. She had given Aldo her life and was totally devoted to him, but that wasn’t enough.

Pam slowly descended the narrow marble steps, balancing herself with her hand on the rough stucco wall. She pushed the heavy wooden door open, and squinting, she tried to adjust to the sunlight as she stepped outside.

Via dello Spasimo was a cacophony of women calling to their children, vendors yelling, and motorcycles and cars rattling. It all enveloped her as she started her way down the street. Palermo was a very busy city; everyone seemed to do everything at once, and her attention was drawn to different places as she tried to organize every sensation: the noises, the colorful garments hanging from the balconies adorned by flowers, and the beautiful fruits and vegetables all arranged out under the vendors’ tents.

People knew that she was Aldo’s daughter and still referred to her as L’Americana, even though she had been living here since she was fourteen. Tall and lean, she seemed out of place here in Palermo, where the majority of women are of short stature, dark haired and dark complexioned. Some saluted her with smiles, others with glances of curiosity. They knew her for many years, and even though she wasn’t particularly open to gossip, people were, so they knew when she arrived and from where and all the consequences in between. She commanded respect with her presence, but she earned it by her dignified manner and behavior, not having to demand for it like others would.

Pam grabbed her camera from her bag, an Olympus manual, and decided to take some pictures while she was walking. She always brought it with her; it was the only thing she treasured and that her father gave her when she lived with him and her mother in Connecticut. She thought of him every time she picked it up. She still loved him even though he abandoned them; she couldn’t help it.

"Signorina Pamela!"

Pam recognized instantly Ciccio’s voice in the midst of all the noise. She stopped and turned around smiling, while he ran toward her calling and waving. It was their usual meeting every morning before she arrived to work; it had become a routine between them.

Ciao, Ciccio! Pam ruffled his dark locks playfully with her hand.

A ten-year-old beggar boy, he usually walked around disheveled, with wide-eyed intelligence and a happy demeanor. He lived in the same neighborhood as Pam and was not allowed to go to school, forced to roam the streets by his parents to sell flowers to make enough money for his family. Pam often tried to reason with Ciccio’s mother to try to convince her to send him to school, but to no avail; she was a testadura, a typical hardheaded Sicilian.

Are we going to read today, Ciccio? asked Pam, sitting down with him on wooden crates on the sidewalk. Ciccio was illiterate, so Pam tried to help him, out of pity, by teaching him to read whenever she had a chance.

Yep, I brought a new book today, you wanna see it? Ciccio grabbed his basket and pulled out a shiny new book from under the flowers.

Pam didn’t dare ask where he got it since she knew he couldn’t afford it. They always had arguments over him stealing, but she was too tired today to argue. She looked at him crossly with a half smile. A new book, eh?

Ciccio looked down blushing, and tried to distract her. Yep, you wanna see the pictures?

Pam couldn’t help but laugh. Yes, yes, let’s look at the pictures. She took the book and gave him a nudge with her shoulder. We can only read a page today, Ciccio. Don Tonino wants me to make extra cannoli, you know we need to get ready for Easter. She often spoke to him as though he were older than he really was; she thought it would cause him to act more responsibly. And the fact of having a grown-up as a friend made Ciccio feel important.

He looked at her, frowning with concern. I hope you don’t have to work too much, we hardly have any time together. When I learn how to read, I’ll find a better job, so I can marry you and you don’t have to work anymore, right?

Pam laughed. Well, let’s see now… I would have to wait about ten years for you to grow up. She lifted her eyes with a serious look, pretending to think it over. OK, sounds good, you wanna fix a date? And smiling, she hugged him.

OK, it’s a deal, I’ll let you know when I’m free, said Ciccio.

They both laughed and stood up. Pam was definitely late now. Ciccio put his book in his basket and pulled up his pants, realizing the hand-me-downs from his brother were a bad investment.

Try to stay out of trouble today, Ciccio. Pam somehow felt responsible for him even though his mother often made it clear to her that she needed to mind her own business.

I’ll see you later, signorina! Ciccio gave Pam a rose from his basket and ran off. She pressed the petals to her nose and waved to him smiling, and quickened her pace and arrived at the bakery a few minutes later.

Pam’s father inherited the family’s bakery along with the house, which was located nearby and was where Pam and her mother now live. He had worked there since he was fifteen, which was the usual age to put children to work in those days and is still so today in many parts of the city. He learned the trade of making bread and pasticcini from his uncles. When he was thirty-two, he moved to America with Pam’s mother to build a life there, until they divorced. He left the bakery to be managed by his brother, Don Tonino—a cruel and ruthless man, short and stout, his thinning hair hidden by a coppola, a bowler hat, and his eyes dark and cruel as was his soul, in fact. He accepted to give Pam the job out of respect for his brother, whom he secretly despised because of his jealousy toward the rich life Aldo led in America, and because he left him alone to bear all the responsibilities of the business. The fact that he was forced to send his brother, Aldo, part of the profits enraged him even more, and so he would relieve his anger onto Pam and would always pay her a poor salary and often criticized her more than he did everyone else who worked for him.

Pam swiftly entered the bakery out of breath. It was a fairly large place, with white marble floors, large windows framed with heavy burgundy drapes, a large glass counter on the far right of the room filled with various pastries and breads, a counter with an espresso machine against a mirrored wall, and glass shelves filled with glassware above that. She immediately overturned all the heavy wooden chairs upright and placed them around the tables, this being one of her duties.

Where the hell have you been? It was the usual greeting; ten minutes were much too many to Don Tonino for her to be late. She was used to his antics by now after all these years, and it almost didn’t seem to faze her anymore, which made him all the more outraged. He loved to find reasons to torture her; it made him feel more in control.

Good morning, Don Tonino, said Pam, smiling. She was always pleasant with him even though she knew he hated her.

No, it’s not a good morning. Absolutely not! Take your skinny ass to the kitchen immediately. I already told Marianna what you need to do! He turned and left her, cursing all the way, his face ruby red with rage as he circled the place with a fierce look in his eyes, like a tiger looking for someone to devour.

Pam sighed, unfazed by his draconian mannerisms, and walked toward the kitchen, wondering how he managed to spare himself a heart attack. She inhaled deeply while opening the kitchen doors; she loved the sweet smell of freshly baked pastries. She smiled at Marianna, always happy to see her.

Ciao, Marianna, said Pam while she threw her bag onto the large refrigerator and grabbed her apron and wrapped it around her waist.

"Ciao bella. How ya doin’? Marianna Larocca was very rarely in a bad mood; you could run her over with a truck, and she would still be smiling. Ooh, did yo mama make that skirt for you? Very nice… You know, you’ll have to lend it to me next time I go to the theater!" Marianna’s belly bounced up and down while she laughed, and her large brown eyes sparkled.

Pam towered over her stout frame and laughed in response. They both knew she was too heavy to wear her skirt, and the farthest her husband would take her would be down the street to the closest friggitoria, a fish-and-chips shop, and that was a date.

Pam was relieved to have her there, to console her and share in her distress with Don Tonino. I might come by Marco’s photo shop next week. I need to develop a couple of films, is that OK? Marianna’s brother, Marco, a middle-aged married man who looked like her and was like a big brother to Pam, would let her use his darkroom when she needed to develop her films for free. Pam knew both of them since they were kids, and Marco was fascinated by her pictures.

Course you can! Stop asking, will ya? Marianna handed her a large heavy tray and quickly put her to work, brushing away a stray dark curl from her forehead. She had taught her all she knew about baking since Pam started working there. Marianna was a veteran in this science. "Bella, start making the bigne’. I have to finish up the cassate. You know it’s hell this time of year." She realized mentioning hell at Easter was inappropriate and quickly made the sign of the cross over her chest and wiped the sweat off her forehead with the hem of her apron. She gingerly placed the layers of cake on single paper trays.

Easter was one of the busiest holidays in Palermo, and La Favella was quite successful in the area. Pam was sure it was thanks to Marianna’s great skill, but Don Tonino would never dare to acknowledge this. When people would ask him whom they should congratulate for the exquisite desserts, he would be quick to say that it was all due to his hard work in the kitchen. Marianna knew of his false self-adulations and didn’t really care; she wasn’t interested in what people thought as long as they were happy and kept coming back. That to her was flattering even though no one knew the truth. Or so she thought because Pam would easily tell the people she knew that Marianna made great pasticcini at the bakery.

Bella, you can take these cakes and place them in the glass counter, I’m done with them.

OK, I’ll be right back. Pam took two of the cakes, balancing one in each hand, and headed to the front of the store. She could smell the sweetness of the marzipan and couldn’t wait to taste some. Marianna always secretly slipped her a piece so she could take some home to her mother.

Pam had barely taken two steps when Don Tonino stormed into the kitchen, barely missing her by a foot or so, the thrust of the door sending a wave of warm air over her face. He yelled out new orders for Marianna even though she already knew what to do since she managed the kitchen perfectly. Don Tonino was cognizant of it too, but he felt he had to prove to her who was boss anyway.

Marianna! What’s this? Did you drop oil on the floor again? You know it’s bad luck! He angrily grabbed a box of salt and started scattering it all over the floor. Pam wondered to what avail. He was so ridiculously superstitious she couldn’t help but giggle. She was amazed he let superstition dictate his actions, and it was the nineteenth century! Marianna rolled her eyes and sighed, looking at Pam while she left.

Pam very carefully placed the cakes under the counter; she wasn’t looking forward to another fight with Don Tonino if, God forbid, she dropped one of them. She was still trying to arrange them neatly when the door chimed. She looked up. It was Don Adriano. She could feel her neck stiffen as she quickly lowered her eyes, still crouched on her knees under the counter. His presence made her very uncomfortable, and she wished the floor would swallow her up.

Don Adriano was a cruel, dark, tall, and slender figure. He had dark sunken eyes, dark hair, and a severe attitude. He was so tall and thin he reminded her of a spider.

"Buongiorno, Signorina Pamela." He smiled wryly, his voice low and eerie. She winced, thinking she was out of sight, but no luck. She wished he would never speak to her, but she knew he liked her, and she felt nauseous just thinking about it.

Buongiorno, Don Adriano. Pam managed a weak smile and tried to occupy herself quickly, hoping he would direct his attention elsewhere.

Oh, buongiorno Don Adriano! Don Tonino said, entering from the kitchen, bowing slightly to Don Adriano, who tipped his hat in response.

I’d like my usual espresso please. Will you bring it to me? Don Adriano looked at Pam, the deep scar under his right eye a constant and permanent reminder of his criminal past. She unconsciously bit her lip as she turned away, looking pleadingly at Marianna, who brought the last of the cassate to her to place under the counter. Marianna smiled encouragingly to her, but it wasn’t working.

Don Tonino gave Pam a fierce look, annoyed by her hesitation. Hurry up, Pamela. You don’t want to keep Don Adriano waiting!

Pam breathed deeply. Of course not, I’ll be right there. She walked slowly to the espresso machine and could feel his stare from across the room, his eyes burning a hole on the nape of her neck. She walked over and placed the espresso cup next to Don Adriano on the small table and quickly dismissed herself, following Marianna’s calls from the kitchen, even though she knew she didn’t really need her urgently. It was just to save her from Don Adriano. Pam was grateful as she slipped into the kitchen and mouthed the words thank you quietly to her.

Don Adriano sipped his espresso while reading the paper. He was dressed in a dark pin-striped suit, his overcoat hanging over his shoulders. He seemed to inflate his chest when he sat as to try to seem larger than he actually was and to command respect. He sat not directly in front of the table but at an angle, so he could scan the place with a glance and see who was present. He received nods from the other customers and from fellow Mafia members of the Family. Some people would look away in terror, not daring to look him in the eyes because that would be considered defiance and, therefore, deserving of punishment.

This city was populated by them and us, the overbearing and arrogant against the weak and innocent, the two groups coexisting. For Pam, the Mafia was a reality she had learned about since she was a child. She even studied the phenomenon at school.

Pam knew she couldn’t hide in the kitchen all day, and she also knew that he wouldn’t leave until he at least had a word with her. He was determined to let her know his feelings for her even though he was in his fifties. He didn’t care; he was used to getting what he wanted. She stepped back into the front of the bakery, serving the rest of her loyal customers, who knew her well and liked her. She could see in the corner of her eye that Don Adriano was still there, and she cringed. Don Tonino was all over him with attention. He treated all his clients with false and hypocritical flattery only for his own gain, but for Don Adriano even more so.

Pam noticed Don Tonino handing him a sealed envelope and then kissing his hand, a sign of respect and of submission. Pam turned away in disgust, realizing he was giving him the usual pizzo, a payment that secured his protection, which allowed him to stay in business.

Pamela, come here quickly, Don Adriano wants a word with you. Don Tonino looked at her sternly. Pam walked slowly toward Don Adriano in resignation, knowing there was no way around it.

Signorina Pamela, the espresso was perfect as usual, he said smiling. The way he looked at her made her sick to her stomach. Feeling uncomfortable, she wrapped her sweater around her breasts, thankful now that her mother insisted so much that she wear it.

Will you be going to the Easter celebration? I would be glad to accompany you. It’s not safe for a pretty young woman to be walking the streets alone in the evening. His dark eyes pierced her like a dagger, causing her to lower her eyes to the floor. How could he think for a moment that she would be safe with him? It would be like walking into the lion’s den. Pam stuttered as she tried to search for an excuse.

Uh… my mother… I promised her I would take her to church. She’s very sick, and she needs me. But if I change my plans, I’ll let you know. She smiled nervously, lowering her eyes again. She would never change her plans, let alone let him know about anything for that matter, but she had to leave him on a good note, so he would be satisfied and eventually let her go. She nervously waited for him to dismiss her, and surprisingly, he was satisfied with her response.

I hope your plans change indeed, and thank you again. Don Adriano tried to speak eloquently and in perfect Italian to try to impress Pam, but she could tell he was struggling in his fervor to seem elegant, barely masking his strong, vulgar Sicilian accent. She thought elegance was found deep in a pure soul from within, and he did not possess this. Don Adriano smiled, and standing, he took a last sip of his espresso, causing Pam to step back abruptly. He tipped his hat and bowed respectfully to her. He knew she was different; he couldn’t force himself on her or strike fear into her like he did with everyone else. She was stronger than the others, and this intrigued him; he considered it a challenge.

Arrivederci, Don Tonino. Don Adriano bowed, touching the tip of his hat.

Arrivederci, Don Adriano, answered Don Tonino.

The Don spit on the sidewalk as he left the bakery, and Pam turned her face, grimacing, trying not to show her disgust. He reminded her of a wild animal that urinates around his territory, with the goal of delineating it to show its ownership. The Don was doing the same as to remind people of his power while invoking terror in the neighborhood.

CHAPTER TWO

It had been a long day, and Pam’s back ached ferociously. Don Tonino thought it best to show his displeasure and to teach Pam a lesson for her tardiness by making her clean the bathroom as well, other than the kitchen today. She wondered why he let her go home at all.

It was seven thirty, and the sky was still lit; she loved that about spring, it gave her more time to take pictures before heading home. She took her usual route, and the streets were still crowded with people. The air was fresh and cool, and she was relieved her work was done for the day.

Pam lifted her eyes over the crowd and saw Ciccio in the distance and smiled. He was with a group of older kids. She stopped while she watched them; they were talking animatedly, and one of the picciotti pushed Ciccio while yelling something. She could barely make out what they were saying. Pam frowned and felt apprehensive. She continued to walk quickly toward them, wondering what was going on. The picciotti noticed Pam approaching and ran in the other direction.

Ciccio! she yelled toward him, trying to get his attention, finally reaching him. "Ciccio, what are you doing hanging