Last Supper at Mona Lisa’s

By Ann M. Novakov

Betrayal, revenge, and murder take their seats at an anniversary table. Thirteen guests toast their Sicilian-American hosts, Dante and Lisa Santangelo, as a communion-like Chianti and homemade focaccia suddenly turn bitter on their palates. With cries for help frozen on their faces, all thirteen guests are inexplicably silenced forever.

Dante and Carlo Santangelo are left orphaned when their parents are murdered by a local Mafioso Don. The two boys grow into men with different values and personalities. Dante is a charmer who wants revenge on his parents’ murderers. Carlo is the gentle giant and family protector who wants to recapture the simple life he cherished as a child.

When the Japanese attack Pearl Harbor, Carlo immediately enlists in the military while Dante operates the family pizzeria, sending the brothers down different paths—one to serve and one to seek revenge. As Carlo leaves for battle, he makes one request of Dante: to look after his girlfriend. But neither man has any idea of what lies ahead as the war unfolds and life comes full circle to reveal their destinies.

Last Supper at Mona Lisa’s shares the gripping story of two Sicilian-American men orphaned after their parents are murdered by a Mafioso as one fights for his country and the other plots his revenge.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jan 23, 2019
• ISBN: 9781532066849

Ann M. Novakov

Ann Novakov is a Sicilian American born in New Orleans and now living in north Texas because of Hurricane Katrina. She is a retired Spanish teacher with thirty-eight years’ experience in both New Orleans and Texas public high schools and is currently working as a guest educator in a local high school. Last Supper at Mona Lisa’s is her second novel and the first to receive publication. Ann and her husband, George, have two children (Jay and Jaime) and four grandchildren (Christopher, Alexandra, Emilio, and Jackson). Ann’s school family consists of the many students whose lives she’s touched and with whom she is still in contact on a daily basis, especially those students from McDonogh 35 Senior High School in New Orleans, where she taught for thirty years. In Last Supper at Mona Lisa’s, Ann calls upon her and her family’s Italian heritage as a foundation for the novel.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

W ith the distinct smell of puttanesca sauce hanging heavy in the air, Dante Santangelo waited alone in the kitchen of Ristorante Mona Lisa. Lisa! Where are you? Dante yelled up the back stairs to his wife. His words cracked like a jockey’s anxious whip as he neared the flag in a close finish. Recently his relationship with Lisa had been tested, but tonight she had planned an anniversary party, promising him a unique celebration. Although Dante trusted Lisa completely, he was worried. The Mona Lisa, his newly opened restaurant, was his dream come true; he would accept nothing but perfection for his guests. Impatience replaced anxiety as Dante called out again, Lisa, what’s the holdup?

Lisa knelt in front of the bed she’d shared with Dante since her marriage. Her elbows pressed hard against her grandmother’s lace coverlet as she ignored her husband and continued the last Hail Marys of her rosary. Closing her eyes, she made the sign of the cross and heard her husband bellow again. Her face hardened, and she tightened the knot to her chenille robe. She roughly pulled the mother-of-pearl combs from her raven hair, letting her long locks fall naturally upon her delicate shoulders. She slipped on her highest pair of heels; it was done. Out of habit Lisa turned to her mirror but quickly turned away. She took a few deep breaths and, with her eyes closed tight, grabbed for her brush in the vanity tray. As if scrubbing pots, she pulled the brush through her thick black hair and across her scalp. Then, brushing back the hair from her face, Lisa caught sight of the photograph of Dante and his brother, Carlo, as young boys before the war. Tears began to swell within her, and she angrily hurled the brush against the mirror.

What’s going on up there? Dante yelled from downstairs. What are you doing? Is this part of the surprise? Because if it is, I don’t like it already. Do you want me to come up and help or something?

Lisa heard him walking up the stairs and froze. No! Please, Dante. I’m on my way down right now. You’ll ruin my surprise. I promise you’re going to enjoy it. Please, Dante, wait for me in the kitchen.

Okay, but I’m holding you to your word. He shook his head and made his way downstairs.

She looked back at the oval vanity mirror and found that, to her amazement, it had not cracked. She walked to the mirror and turned it to the wall. Again Lisa knelt and begged, Dear Lord, please give me courage tonight.

At the sound of Lisa’s heels coming down the stairs, Dante said, Well, finally. What have you been putting on? Your wedding dress?

I never had one, remember, Lisa answered. Just wait a second. I know I’m dressed the way you like me best.

Lisa’s heels clicked hard on the tile floor, and Dante turned toward the top of the winding stairs. As Lisa made a sexy saunter down the stairs, Dante was stunned. She wasn’t dressed at all. She was wearing that ugly robe he hated so much and shoes that he always referred to as hooker heels. What are you thinking? You were wrong. I don’t like this. Now go get dressed!

The echo of Dante’s words had not left the empty kitchen when Lisa slowly untied the knot on her robe, letting it drop to the floor, revealing her nakedness. She smiled that smile he loved and watched him slowly smile back. But before he could speak, she said, You were my teacher on our honeymoon. I’ve learned a lot from you.

Dante approached slowly. So I can see, but did you forget about our guests? Are you going to greet them like this? he said, running his finger along her shoulders.

Of course not; all this is just for you. I told them seven thirty. I told you seven. But if you don’t—

Dante cut off her words with a kiss. From that moment he took charge. He carried her to the kitchen worktable and laid her down gently. He ran his fingers through her hair, arranging it around her head like a halo. You’re still my angel, aren’t you? I knew you would forgive me. He didn’t wait for an answer. Undressing quickly, he used every bit of his technique to try to please his wife. As he was about to finish, he was happy to hear her whimper. He came hard. Her body trembled under his, and he brushed back her hair from her face. Tears slid quietly down her cheeks. Lisa? What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?

No. It’s nothing. But you’d better let me up so I can get ready for our guests.

Dante got up quickly. You almost made me forget! Hurry! We’ve got to be ready.

Of course, dear. Appearance is everything, like your precious Mona Lisa. Perfection shrouded in mystery. You and Da Vinci were both magicians. Took me a while to see behind her smile, and now I’m smiling too.

What’s all that supposed to mean?

She didn’t answer but simply turned and gave him a smile that would have caused Da Vinci to return to his canvas. Then she left Dante once again alone with his now-bubbling puttanesca.

With her hair secured once again with combs worn as the only complements to her elegant black silk dress, Lisa rejoined her husband in the kitchen. Like her attire, the menu she’d chosen for the night also was simple yet intriguing. After complimenting her on her choice of dress, Dante questioned her on the menu. With all the dishes you could have picked, why puttanesca? Not that I don’t like it, I mean, but …

"I needed something fast. That’s something else you taught me. Puttanas, whores, make this sauce between tricks. Don’t worry; it will be fine. Anyway, I heard it’s an old favorite of some of our guests."

Ignoring her comment, Dante asked, Who’d you invite anyway?

Your brother, Carlo, and … oh, and sweet Sara too, of course.

Dante clearly recognized Lisa’s sarcasm about Sara and answered with his own dig. Did you ask sweet Scotty too?

Yes, I did, actually. And Uncle Michael and Aunt Dee Dee.

Dante laughed out loud. This may turn out to be fun after all. Who else?

George and Betty Pichon and Dr. and Mrs. Gallo …

Damn! Why did you ask that lawyer and his wife? You know how I feel about them.

The doorbell interrupted. Lisa rushed to the entrance of the private dining room off the kitchen and opened the door. Father John, I’m so glad you came. Thank you, she said as she kissed his cheek.

I never pass up an evening with my favorite parishioner …

Or a free meal, right, Father? Captain Jimmy Augustine said as he walked up behind the old priest.

Father John turned and extended his hand. James, good to see you, and you’re right about the meal, he said with a hearty laugh.

Joining Lisa, Dante placed his hand firmly on her shoulder. I didn’t know you knew Jimmy.

We met at the opening, and when I learned what a help he’d been to you, I insisted he join us, Lisa said.

Lisa could tell Dante was confused by her comment, but he played along. How you doing, Captain Augustine? Catch any bad guys lately?

No. I can’t seem to tell them apart anymore, Augustine said.

You’re learning. You all come in, Dante said and turned to the old priest. How’s the confession business, Father?

We could use your business, Dante, the old priest answered.

Within ten minutes all the guests had arrived and had been shown into the elegant Victorian dining room. A gift for Dante, it was the only part of the French Quarter restaurant that Lisa had designed. Moiré wallpaper the color of robin’s eggs adorned the walls with only one painting hung in the room—Mona Lisa, of course. Dante had always bragged, Her smile is only Da Vinci’s dream of my Lisa’s beautiful smile.

Of course, there was plenty of stained glass—Dante’s signature style—in the cathedral ceiling and in the Tiffany-style paneled windows that framed the room on two sides. The oval table was polished mahogany with lion-claw feet. It was exquisitely set. A cutwork tablecloth held cabbage rose–patterned bone china, complemented by estate-purchased silver and crystal. White sweetheart roses filled four small cut-crystal vases that were spaced out down the table. Finally in front of each place setting was a calligraphy-scripted name card and menu for the evening.

Mrs. Gallo picked up her place card and said, Only a writer like you could create such a storybook setting. It’s simply beautiful, Lisa.

Thank you. It is actually from my latest story, Lisa answered. I’m still working on the ending. But I promise you’ll know almost as soon as I do. Now, let’s all find our seats.

Dante walked the length of the table and looked down the long oval at his wife. To his left was Sara Montebianco, the Sicilian bombshell who performed nightly at the Mona Lisa and who was known to give a private reprise after closing. To his right sat Captain James Augustine, the youngest homicide detective on the New Orleans police force, who had Dante to thank for his success. Carlo, Dante’s older brother, and Father John took their seats on either side of Lisa. The couples sat across from one another, alternating man and woman.

Next to Augustine was an empty chair that faced Scotty Preston. Lisa watched as her husband surveyed the seating. Noting his displeasure at the unlucky number of guests, Lisa gave him a wide grin. I am so glad you all have come. Each of you has touched our lives in your own special way. So … She walked to the sideboard and picked up a silver tray and a decanter of wine. Dante made this focaccia for me and chose the wine for tonight. Father John, would you please bless this bread and wine? It would mean so much to Dante and me if we could all take communion together. And considering that we’re thirteen around this table, it just seems fitting.

The guests laughed but quieted as Father John blessed the bread and wine.

Lisa took the first piece and passed the plate. She watched carefully as each of her guests took his or her piece and began to eat. Observing that Sara took only a small bite, Lisa said, Come on, Sara, eat it all, or everyone will think you’re a Judas.

Everyone laughed but Dante. His face was easy to read. Despite his anger, Lisa said, "Dante, caro mio, would you please pour the wine? You Santangelos have such a special way with wine."

Dante rose and took the bottle from her. Leaning down to fill her glass, he whispered in her ear, What the hell are you up to?

Lisa answered with a peck on the cheek. Dante backed away and continued around the table until the decanter was empty. All eyes were on him as he quietly took his seat.

Breaking the silence, Father John said, To the lovely couple! The guests raised their glasses in unison and drank to their hosts.

Suddenly Lisa rose. I have a toast. To the two women in my husband’s life! she said. Then, after pausing briefly, she continued, To Da Vinci’s and Dante’s Mona Lisa, both captives smiling out from a gilded frame. The words barely out, she fell back hard into her chair. Lisa stared at Dante and closed her eyes.

Dante tried to call to her but could only mouth his silent frustration. A paralyzing numbness had taken hold of him too. His eyes were fixed on his wife and his guests, who could only return his gaze with their own frozen stares. One by one he watched them fall unconscious until he, too, passed out. Within the light of Dante’s prized stained glass, the thirteen supper guests lay silenced.

CHAPTER 1

New Orleans, 1936

T he storefronts were closing on the streets of the French Quarter. Carlo Santangelo began sweeping the littered sidewalk outside Glorioso’s Pizzeria and Italian Market while inside Salvatore Glorioso waited for his last two customers to leave.

Carlo was worried. His little brother, Dante, was supposed to be back by now. He had covered for his brother many times, but old man Salvatore was getting suspicious. Carlo swept harder as he remembered his late mother and how she had counted on him to look out for his little brother, who had had a knack for getting in trouble even before he could walk. Now in his teens, Dante was a challenge for Carlo. There were lots of temptations in the Depression, lots of opportunity for young, impressionable boys to make not-so-legal money, but Carlo didn’t have to worry about Dante being influenced by the wrong kind of job. Dante had discovered girls. They were his pastime. He loved them, and they adored him. He had his mother’s striking good looks, and he could get in trouble without even trying.

Carlo shook his head and wondered out loud, Where is that boy, Mamma?

Why you have to go, Dante? I don’t want you to go. You can’t! I won’t let you! Giovanna pleaded.

Giovanna, Dante said, putting on his pants, you know I have to go. Carlo’s waiting for me.

Carlo can wait a little longer. He your big brother. You always say he do anything for you. He do your work too. Next time you can help him.

I was late last time. I promised I’d be on time. I’ll be back.

No! Don’t leave. I hate it here. This house is old; my husband is old. When you here, I don’t feel old. I am young. Please, Dante.

Next time I’ll stay longer. I promise.

Giovanna let out a scream of exasperation and turned on her stomach, burying her face in her pillow.

Dante couldn’t help but smile as he stared at this young girl with breasts like eggplants and an enticing, enormous backside. Married to a man more than twice her age, she’d never known passion before Dante. She adored him, and he knew it. How could he refuse her plea? How could he leave her so sad and with that irresistible behind begging him to stay? Dante dropped his trousers. Okay, baby, you win. Carlo will understand. He always does.

While sweeping up Glorioso’s, Carlo peeked through the window of the pizzeria as the two young customers approached the register. He could only watch as Salvatore tried to speak and the older of the two boys shoved a pistol in his boss’s face.

Always ready to help, Carlo reached for the door but then quickly moved out of view. If he burst in, he reasoned, they might shoot the old man. He had to do something, but there were two of them. If only Dante were back, he thought.

Carlo chanced a look inside and saw Salvatore hand over the cash from the register. The two hoodlums started yelling; it wasn’t enough. Salvatore’s face hardened as he reached out for one of the thieves. The older boy swung the pistol, hitting the old man on the side of his head. He dropped the gun as Salvatore fell to the floor. Then Carlo stepped inside, the brass bell above the door announcing his entrance.

Let him alone, Carlo said in quiet, measured tones. Big men, eh? Picking on an old man.

Carlo closed the door behind him. What’s the matter? There are no little girls on the playground for you to beat up? Carlo stepped closer to the punk who had hit his boss and stopped in front of him. A hundred pounds heavier than the boy, Carlo was an intimidating presence. Again he grilled the boy. What? You not so tough without your gun?

Defiantly, the kid just smiled.

Now Carlo was furious. He raised his hand, but before he could strike a blow, the younger boy grabbed a kitchen knife from the front counter and lunged at Carlo, opening a wide gash across Carlo’s cheek. Blood spilled down, covering Carlo’s face.

Startled, Carlo was frozen for a second, and the thieves started to run past him to the door. As the door opened, the metal bell rang out, and Carlo jumped into action. With his arms stretched out wide, Carlo grabbed hold of the two boys and hit them openhanded, then backhanded, again and again. Blood streamed down his lashes and into his eyes as he felt the would-be robbers go limp. Again Carlo heard the bell ring, and like a trained boxer, he quickly lowered his hands as the boys fell to the floor.

Carlo! Dante yelled.

The old man. See to the old man, Carlo said as he felt around for a chair and sat. Behind the counter. I think they may have killed him. Call an ambulance.

Dante followed his brother’s commands and, after checking Salvatore, yelled to Carlo, He’s alive. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything, big brother.

In a crowded ward of Charity Hospital, Carlo awoke to the sound of his brother’s voice. It’s only a broken leg. Carlo’s the real hero. We were a great team.

Cautiously Carlo opened his eyes.

Dr. Gallo, who had endured Dante’s braggadocios account of how the Santangelo brothers had rescued Salvatore Glorioso, interrupted, Looks like the hero is awake. Carlo, how are you felling?

Fine, Carlo answered. Hearing the gravel in his voice, he said, I sound funny. What did you give me? I don’t like medicine.

Just a little something for pain and an antibiotic. You’ll feel like yourself again soon. Now let me get your discharge papers. You’re going to be fine.

Don’t you worry about anything, a female voice said. You saved my Salvatore’s life. You take as long as you need. You and your brother have a place at our store and our home anytime. Ain’t that right, Sal?

"Sì, sì. Carlo, come stai?" Salvatore asked.

"Bene. And you, how you?"

Okay. Thanks to you. I got just a bump on the head. Those kids can’t hurt this hardheaded dago, Salvatore said.

But you got to rest like the doctor said. I am going to see to that, Mrs. Glorioso added.

"She worries too much. You know women. Well, you rest. Again, grazie, Carlo," Salvatore said, placing his arm around his wife’s shoulder as they left the room.

Carlo waited for the hospital door to suck shut. Alone with his brother, he placed his heavy hand upon Dante’s and asked, Where were you?

I’ve been here.

You know what I mean. Where the hell were you, Dante?

With a girl, I told you.

You were supposed to be back at five. It was almost six when you got there. Carlo’s voice demanded an explanation. He studied his little brother for the truth.

Dante shifted awkwardly on the crutches he was sporting and began to explain, Carlo, I—

What happened to your leg? And don’t try to make me believe it happened during the robbery. I was there.

I fell.

Fell where?

In the alley. The girl … her sister-in-law, she almost caught us. I had to jump from the fire escape.

Carlo shook his head. And you let them think you were at the store? A hero! Why didn’t you tell the truth?

But the woman …

You could have said you fell anywhere. Why you got to show off? ‘We could have been killed,’ you said. Who’s ‘we,’ Dante? You should have told the truth. Glorioso may have understood.

I don’t think so. The woman … the woman I was with … was Giovanna.

Giovanna! Giovanna, the old man’s wife! Carlo yelled and reached out for his brother. "Dio mio! When I get out of here, I’m going to break your other leg!"

CHAPTER 2

S alvatore Glorioso was demonstratively grateful to the Santangelo brothers. He paid their medical expenses, lightened Carlo’s workload, and even gave up his padded chair to Dante, so he could rest his injured leg. Giovanna, playing the dutiful wife, doted on her husband by working side by side with him. With Giovanna and Dante in such close proximity, Carlo kept a close eye on his brother.

"Mamma, son tanto felice," Salvatore sang loudly while he opened the shades of his pizzeria.

Carlo put down the wooden crates of tomatoes he’d carried in from the alley and listened. He had never heard the old man so happy.

Now almost sixty, Salvatore Glorioso had worked to help support his family since he left St. Louis Cathedral. At nine years old he swept the flour from the always-powdered floor of the macaroni factory, and by twelve he was working alongside his father, lifting and carrying fifty-pound sacks of semolina flour.

At the pasta factory Salvatore sat upon piles of burlap sacks eating lunch and unexpectedly learning from the other Sicilian workers. Each day the workers carried the best of Italy and Sicily in the hand-packed lunches prepared by the women of their houses. Last night’s leftovers stuffed between crusty Italian bread made magic of lunchtime. The grumpiest old man and the shyest boy became a playful family with the aromas of ripe olives and panfried eggplant. Good food made good company, and Salvatore learned to treasure the experience.

On weekends, for extra money, Salvatore worked for the Sicilian vendors who owned stalls in the French Market. Again he found great teachers. From Tony Saltaformaggio he learned to love the sweet fragrance of basil and to enjoy the taste of the fresh anise bulb, finocchio. Frank Messina taught Sal how to choose the juiciest tomatoes and to recognize the sweetest eggplant. And after watching three-finger Turridu Marino, who spoke no English but knew in his head the exact change from any bill, Salvatore knew with hard work and good Italian food he could make a living.

In a small part of Toscano’s ice cream parlor, Sal began making sandwiches like those he remembered. Wrapped in red-and-white paper like the cloth napkins his mother used to use, Salvatore’s sandwiches took off. Customers would come in for one of Sal’s sandwiches and finish off the meal with a Toscano ice cream cone. It was a perfect collaboration.

When Salvatore found Toscano dead on the storeroom floor one morning, an apparent heart attack, it seemed natural for Sal to take over the business. Sal was ready and offered to buy the shop from Toscano’s widow. It was a fair offer, and soon the sign outside read GLORIOSO’S PIZZERIA.

He had accomplished his dream. He had his own place. He had money. But the happiness he remembered sitting on the flour sacks was missing. That food they’d shared was special because it had come from a home. His home was empty. Salvatore Glorioso needed a wife. Sal now looked at his customers with a new eye and listened with both ears. Many young ladies came in and out of his place, but he was looking for a wife. She had to be perfect.

Giovanna sat with her parents licking the house special, an Italian tutti-frutti ice cream cone. At seventeen, Giovanna was a plain girl with a well-endowed figure and full, round hips. But it was the innocence of her green-ice-cream-mustached smile that caught Salvatore’s eye; he called on her father the next day. The next time he saw Giovanna, she was coming down the aisle of St. Mary’s Italian Church on their wedding day. After four years together, Sal waited now for a baby.

"Mamma son tanto felice!" Salvatore sang out again.

Carlo called to him, You’re sure happy this morning.

Salvatore turned and, with a wide smile, said, And why not? God is good. Everything is good. Even those punks, they do me a favor. Ever since, Giovanna … she be … she been different. Especially … you know what I mean, and now she goin’ to have a baby!

Shock covered Carlo’s face.

Hey, what’s a matter? You not goin’ to congratulate me? Sal asked.

Jumping up, his hand out to Salvatore, Carlo said, Of course. Bravo, Sal, bravo. Giovanna must be excited.

Happier than ever. The doorbell rang.

Good, Carlo said as he saw Dante coming in from the back room. "Well, I got more crates to carry in, Papà Glorioso. And you got a customer. You got to make money for the bambino now."

Carlo watched his boss beam as he turned to wait on his customer. With the wave of his hand, Carlo hurried his brother out the alley exit.

What’s wrong? Dante asked as the door closed behind them.

Giovanna’s pregnant.

That’s great. I bet the old man is busting his buttons, Dante laughed.

What about Giovanna? Should she be worried?

Worried? Giovanna’s a woman. They all want to be pregnant.

Carlo’s face showed a fatherly displeasure he had not used since the robbery. This baby—can it be yours?

Dante smiled and said quickly, No. He covered his mouth to hide his widening smile, but his eyes gave him away.

Dante! This is serious. Are you sure?

A burst of uncontrollable laughter interrupted Carlo’s concern. I’m sorry. But believe me, it can’t be mine. I used the back door.

What the hell are you talking about? What door?

The back entrance. Carlo’s confusion must have shown, because Dante continued, "She wanted something different. The old man didn’t excite her. So I … she was just lying there, that big, round cula of hers and …"

Dante! You didn’t!

How could I resist? God gave her such a beautiful behind. It should be appreciated, don’t you think? We were just playing around. Anyway, she enjoyed it. So you should be glad. Now you know I can’t be the father.

Carlo shook his head. Rapidly his anxious expression changed to the inevitable grin that Dante’s stories always brought. Then, trying to sound stern, Carlo said, "You testadura, you really did almost get me killed for a piece of ass!"

Dante laughed heartily.

Carlo interrupted, But tomorrow you go see Father John. And you go to confession.

The screen door opened wide, and Giovanna stepped out. Come on, you two. We got customers.

As she turned to go inside, the Santangelo brothers could not help but stare at the now-unforgettable behind. The screen began to close but hit her protruding backside before shutting.

Dante said, See, I told you: God is good, right, big brother?

Carlo dropped his cigarette, stamped it out, and headed for the door. Yes, little brother, especially to you. So tomorrow you go talk to him and to Father John!

CHAPTER 3

New Orleans, 1920s

S t. Louis Cathedral held both happy and bitter memories for Dante. Looking down the aisle of the stately, cold white church, Dante remembered the gentle turn of his mother’s hand around his own as she’d walked gracefully between her two boys to the front of the church each Sunday. Carlo, always to her right, had walked proudly. Dante, barely seven, never letting go of his mother’s hand and huddling close to the skirt of her dress, had allowed only an occasional view of his irresistible curly top and mischievous blue eyes. On his shoulder his father’s hand had pressed down reassuringly, reminding him that he would always be there.

Every Sunday without fail Dante and Carlo had woken to the smell of fresh tomato sauce simmering on the stove. Together they would run to their parents’ room and jump into bed to snuggle before Mass. Reluctantly the boys would agree to get dressed. Carlo had hated church clothes, but Dante had liked to dress up. Letting Mamma straighten his tie and Papà slap aftershave on his tiny cheeks had