Sins of the Father: Justice Part Ii

By J. D. Henington

For the past twenty-two years Marcello di Paulo has been the faithful Consigliore to Pietro Giordano, Capo of one of the most powerful Camorra Families in Naples. However, recent events have seen their close relationship deteriorate out of control.

Di Paulo seizes control of the Family Clan and embarks on a journey of personal revenge and fortune hunting only to plummet into the same self-serving lifestyle as that of his former Capo.

Along the way, he connects with a previously unknown Australian family sharing the same bloodline.

Family loyalty becomes irrelevant and inconsequential when the dark secrets of the family leads to outright hostility as the two antagonists declare Clan war in their struggle to win honour and the disputed family treasure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Oct 5, 2022
• ISBN: 9781669831280

Book preview

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

The sins of the father are to be laid upon the children.

William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice

The sins of the father are visited upon the children. This statement is often linked to the keeping of God’s Commandments and the consequences of sin passing through to subsequent generations. The statement in this concept tells us that sin does have consequences. The children of those who sin inherit the seed of sin, the sin nature, and the consequences.

Moreover, certain sins too often do carry intergenerational consequences. One could readily put together an extensive list of family abuse, community and neighbour immorality, and sins of personal abuse, drug and alcohol abuse, etc. Unfortunately, because of parental environment and upbringing, parental behaviour is potentially generational.

However, there are those who reject this notion; that is, when the sins of the fathers visit the children, those children are not bound to play host. The actions of the fathers are not part of the DNA of further generations and should not represent the child, and in no way should children live a disadvantaged life because of their father’s sins.

The notion of generational denial does arise, not necessarily because of anti-biblical beliefs, but because of deliberate, personal denial of parental wickedness, often to extreme lifestyles.

Does there exist, can there exist, is it possible to exist some in-between ground? Is it possible for the next generation to choose and deliberately select the father’s sins to conveniently excuse their own immoral actions?

This latest novel by J. D. Henington considers the concept of seeking vengeance, reprisal, and justice through the deliberate misuse of the sins of the father.

CHAPTER

1

Marcello Di Paulo, the Giordano family clan consigliere, had been employed by Don Pietro Giordano in 1981 at the age of 35. Di Paulo possessed an exceptional curriculum vitae, including an outstanding academic career, having completed studies at the Università di Bologna and the Sorbonne Université and achieved his PhD studies at Oxford University, as well as subsequent employment at some of the best financial institutions and law firms in Europe. Aside from Italian, he spoke fluent French, German, and English and was blessed with an almost unparalleled talent, some described as bordering on genius, in international business intelligence gathering and forensic investigation skills, bringing together a complete process of business data analysis, as well as providing a superior understanding to his client of illicit and unethical situations, such as bribery, corruption, theft, defrauding, or fraud.

However, Pietro Giordano, capo of the Giordano family clan, saw in Di Paulo a skill set which had the potential to open the hitherto inaccessible doors of organised Camorra crime to a new level of profitable legitimate business. The financial and lifestyle arrangement that Giordano offered Marcello Di Paulo was an offer he could not refuse.

Marcello Di Paulo was a slim man, which belied his above-average physical strength, medium height, slight tan, clean cut, a receding greying hairline, and not unfavourable or outstanding physical features. He was always immaculately yet conservatively dressed in expensive designer clothing and footwear. His titanium-framed eyewear completed his appearance of a businessman to be respected.

Despite his appearance, he was somewhat of an introvert, preferring to stay in the background, rarely seeking the limelight. That was Di Paulo’s forte, much desired by his capo. Yet he approached his profession with all the passion and zeal of a hungry lion on the hunt.

Marcello Di Paulo was the clan’s international business consigliere; his expertise and contacts were in the world of law, sky-high finance and economics, and making money, lots of money, without the slightest hint of suspicion from financial institutions, corporations, or government authorities throughout the world. He specialised in clan legal and financial business, not life skills. He was completely devoid of interpersonal skills outside his field of business negotiation. He shunned the limelight, living a secluded lifestyle, the classic back-room specialist operating in the shadows. His name was never up in lights, never any media coverage reporting his deals. He was a complete unknown, totally anonymous, which suited him and Giordano perfectly.

Further, Marcello Di Paulo was not a people person. And unfortunately, people skills are more intuitive than learned, requiring a wide variety of interpersonal skills to meet a multiplicity of scenarios with all types of people. More often than not, it is a natural skill that forms part of the fabric of a person rather than acquired through education. And the Camorra is not the best environment to develop and hone such skills.

CHAPTER

2

At the insistence of one of Capo Pietro Giordano’s loyal soldiers, Gino Verona, Marcello visited his unwell capo at the height of the Camorra war between the Giordano and Simonolli clans. Pietro Giordano had successfully built his own family clan during the horrors of post–World War II Naples through his insightfulness, dedication, secrecy, anonymity, and an extremely ruthless approach to ‘business’. At 80 years of age, he enjoyed relatively good health and looked ten years younger.

However, throughout his life, on occasions, he suffered mild to severe depression, lasting variously from a short period to more extended periods, generally depending on the acuteness of a breakdown in his lifestyle routine. The death of three of his sons in a car accident sent Pietro spiralling into deep depression for months. Similarly, a complete and total failure of a financial arrangement he had personally orchestrated in 1987, leaving him clueless about what went wrong, propelled him into an extended period of despondency. Retirement had been kind to him since he anointed his eldest son, Luigi, as capo of the Giordano clan several years previously. The Giordano family clan had been constructed in typical Neapolitan Camorra hierarchy: the head or capo; his underboss, who more than likely would eventually be elevated to capo; and the clan adviser or consigliere.

Marcello knew that this meeting at Pietro’s bedside would be unpleasant with Pietro’s sudden turn of poor physical health and his mental instability, brought about by the sudden death of his most loved and cherished youngest daughter, Sophia. Giordano had made it well known that he loved Sophia more than he loved life itself.

‘Without my Sophia, I am a dead man,’ he often said. Giordano, without any supporting evidence, was quick to blame the Simonolli family for the murder of his angel, instantly declaring clan warfare in retribution.

Marcello was prepared for the worst. His normal pleasant, equable demeanour was now perched on a knife’s edge. He had been conducting his own private investigation into the events surrounding Sophia’s death. However, while he considered he had adequate evidence to positively conclude the matter, he nevertheless was not satisfied he had sufficient proof to bring the matter to completion.

Waving away Verona and instructing him to close the door behind him, Marcello sat alongside his capo’s large bed in his grand bedroom, ostentatiously decorated, sparing no expense yet displaying typical, poor Giordano taste.

‘Don Pietro, please, I counsel you and beg you to stop this war with the Simonelli’s. Nothing good can come from it. Your health has declined so rapidly that I genuinely fear for your life. Please!’

‘You counsel me? You counsel me? Tell me when you have ever given me good counsel. You are a wolf in sheep’s clothing. You’re a traitor. What is your motive behind ending this war? This war will never end until I say it will end. As for you, as of this minute, you are dead to me.’ Pietro hissed.

‘I, …. I don’t understand,’ Marcello responded, totally flummoxed with Pietro’s sudden gratuitous, unwarranted, and unprovoked outburst. ‘I have always given you valuable counsel, always. My financial counsel has always resulted in exceptional, profitable returns for your business ventures. My legal advice has ensured that the family businesses are accepted internationally as reputable, honest corporations. You and your family are highly regarded members of society. You have never questioned my counsel. I have never interfered with family business dealings. Business is business. My role is to guarantee the appearance of spotlessly clean businesses. I have succeeded without challenge from any authorities.’

Pietro sneered. ‘Sound advice? For example, your advice in 1987 when you lost the entire Garibaldi fortune.’

This was the point which Marcello dreaded would eventually come to pass. ‘Wait one moment, Don Pietro,’ Marcello said, raising his voice, insulted by Pietro’s outrageous, unfounded accusation. ‘I specifically counselled you NOT to conduct that Swiss transaction. There was no financial return, the risk was far too high, and to involve that Panzarroti friend of yours in transacting dealings in Zurich was blatantly irresponsible. The man had no experience in such matters. I warned you, but you turned me away as though I was some petty bookkeeper. You insulted me. You wanted to display your peacock feathers for whatever ridiculous petulant reason, and you got caught out. That Zurich mess WAS NOT MY FAULT, nor did it have anything to do with the Simonelli’s. You interfered in my business and ignored my counsel. You are responsible, you alone. For what it is worth, I suspect Panzarroti and his teenage boy outsmarted you …. Pietro,’ he spat, adding insult by referring to him by his first name, not his title. ‘And while we are speaking about my counsel, I advised you – no, I begged you time and time again to assign experienced security personnel to look after Sophia. Did you? No! You sat idly by while she lived her life quite openly through social media. You put her life in the hands of her idiot, show-pony fiancé and her friends. YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR LOSING THE GARIBALDI FORTUNE, AND YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE DEATH OF SOPHIA!’ he shouted. ‘NOT ME! YOU! YOU ALONE ARE RESPONSIBLE.’

This rebuke from Marcello was unprecedented and too much for Pietro to tolerate. Clutching his chest and gasping for breath, he retaliated in a bizarre fury.

‘Who do you think you are to speak to me with such words? I AM YOUR FATHER!’

Marcello was stunned to hear Pietro outright make such an announcement in this fashion. He fell back in his chair with an expression of puzzlement on his face. ‘What are you saying?’ he asked.

‘Why do you think I appointed you as consigliere of my family business twenty-two years ago? I have been watching you grow and mature all your life. I knew the results of every exam you sat. You have indeed had a stellar academic background. ALL THANKS TO ME! TO ME! Haven’t you ever asked yourself some basic questions about your family? Who were your parents? Why did the Di Paulo family choose to live in Bologna? Where do you think the money came from to pay for your education at the finest universities in Italy, France, and Britain? Where do you think the money came from to maintain your privileged lifestyle while you were studying? I’ll tell you. Di Paulo was one of my loyal soldiers. Your real mother was a girl named Beronia Garibaldi, the daughter of Lorenzo Garibaldi. She worked in a fruit and vegetable store in Naples after the war with her father. The owner of the store was Tommaso Panzarroti. I had a short tryst, a hush-hush love affair with her, during which time she fell pregnant. The whole matter, including your birth, was kept totally secret. After your birth, we agreed to have you adopted by one of my soldiers and his wife. It was arranged for the Di Paulo family to raise you. We chose Bologna to be your home city because Bologna is considered to be one of the best cities in Italy for its education institutions. As it turned out, I didn’t know that after giving birth to you, your mother, Beronia, fell in love with Tommaso Panzarroti. Within a matter of months, Beronia and Panzarroti married and migrated to Australia. You see, everything in your life has been discreetly arranged and sponsored by me. You will be eternally indebted to me …. to me, Pietro Giordano, capo of the Giordano clan. You are mine and what I am, forever.’

Marcello’s brain switched into overdrive; before Pietro could continue his rant, Marcello interrupted, ‘you say I am your son? Impossible! In Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice, Launcelot counselled Jessica that the sins of the father are to be laid upon the children. I am not yours! I reject that hypothesis. No .... no way is your generational curse going to plague me. As far as I am concerned, this is going to end today, here, once and forever. I am not a murderer like you. I am not a rapist like you. I do not prosper from the wretchedness of my neighbour as you do. I do not abuse my fellow man for my own wealth and pleasure as you do. I do not resent my friends for their successes. I do not demand to control every aspect of others’ lives. You and I have nothing in common with each other. Nothing! No, your wickedness, your personality disorder, your sins are yours, old man, yours alone, not mine. You are a sick, deranged old man, a detested fiend whom nobody loves, only hates. Where are all your children each Christmas? Yours is an empty house filled with horror and shame. You say you are my father? Yet you are too ashamed to give me your name. Well, nothing can be done about that now. But I will not be weighed down by your sins – the sins of my father indeed. I will not be burdened by your wickedness. I have my own destiny. My destiny! Not yours! And if I am your son as you insult me, then I want what is mine. I want my birthright.’

‘Never, never, never!’ shrieked Pietro. ‘I would rather die.’

Leaning in close to Pietro so that the two men were almost nose to nose, Marcello sneered with all the scorn he could muster. ‘Then so be it. For some perverted reason, you despise me deep down in your heart because my mother left you with another man – a man she loved – out from under your control over her life. Or perhaps you despise me simply because that’s your sick, odious nature. But if I am your son as you say, then I am the only living Giordano with any interest in you or your clan. That leaves me, your consigliere and supposed son and now the new capo of the Giordano clan. You see, I am about to be anointed by you on your deathbed. Isn’t that true, old man?’ Marcello spat. ‘Luigi and his son, your grandson, Carlo, are both dead, killed by the Simonelli’s in your pathetic war, your war, the war that you started. Your beloved daughter Sophia is dead because you didn’t provide her with sufficient security personnel apart from her buffoon, sycophantic fiancé. And the rest of your crazy rabble are either dead or in hiding from you, too ashamed to want anything to do with you in their lives. I am all you have left, me, Capo Di Paulo. How does that sound, old man? I will officially notify Naples that you anointed me as the clan’s new capo with your dying breath. No, I am not dead to you. On the contrary, you are dead. You are dead to me and to the world. What do you have to say now, .... Father?’ he mocked. ‘Well, brace yourself, old man, because I am about to inform you of the truth, the real truth, …. Papa. On second thoughts, I will not announce my anointment as Capo Di Paulo. No, I have another plan. Let me explain. Oh, how long I have waited for this moment, and the timing could not be more perfect. Just a thought, isn’t it ironic that more than likely, Panzarroti and his teenage grandson duped you in 1987 out of the entire Garibaldi fortune? You flaunted the fortune Lorenzo had earned with his honest, hard work, the fortune which rightly belonged to the Garibaldi family, the fortune you stole from the Garibaldi family after the death of poor Lorenzo, rubbing further salt into the wounds of his exiled sister, Carina, after you molested her for so long. She may have been your victim, but she was never your chattel. Anyway, let’s move on, shall we? There is so much to reveal before you die. When you were done with Carina, you banished her to Australia. However, she was not done with you, oh no, not by a long way. She investigated your sordid history and along the way, shall we say, your open zipper. Carina was a clever woman, Pietro, much too smart for you. Through Lorenzo and his investigators and directly herself, she diplomatically interrogated many people including the doctors and nurses attending my birth at Ospedale S. Maria di Loreto. Not the best hospital in Naples back then, but anonymity was your priority, not my welfare. Carina also spoke to my mother, Beronia, coincidentally both living in Australia, before she died. And here is the real kicker, you sick fool. I’ve waited so long for this moment, so let this moment finally be the death of you. But first, one question.... Father,’ Marcello asked sarcastically. ‘Which of my features most reveals you, Father? Any? Come now, just one? None? I suppose that’s because of my mother’s dominating features? No, not really. Together with the hospital staff, Carina calculated a timeline of Beronia’s pregnancy. And together with some very discreet paternal tests, Carina’s efforts belatedly determined the identity of my real father. Unfortunately, she died before receiving the news of the rewards of her efforts. However, eight years ago when the newly appointed registrar at the Ospedale S. Maria di Loreto was clearing old records from the hospital files, she came across the unreported results of Carina’s investigations. In time, she contacted me with my file. So, …. my father, …. who really IS my father?’

Pietro started to squirm uncontrollably.

‘Well, it certainly was not Di Paulo, and it was NOT YOU! YOU ARE NOT MY FATHER!’ he shouted. My mother was Beronia Panzarroti, née Garibaldi.

‘My father was the love of my mother’s life.

‘My father was Tommaso Panzarroti.

‘You stole me from them.’

Pietro Giordano writhed in agonising mental pain, clutching his chest, gasping for breath, unable to speak.

‘But here is the best part: You just said that you would rather die that anoint me capo. Then die, you wretched soul, because I am going to announce your anointment of me as Don Marcello Panzarroti, capo of the Panzarroti clan. As capo, I will make peace with the Simonolli, liquidate all tangible assets including the sale of all legitimate businesses, and dump all Camorra illegal activities onto the black market for the clans to squabble over. And one last matter for your information, I believe I know who killed Sophia. My lips are sealed, Pietro, except to say that the killer is your granddaughter. Torture yourself figuring out that one.’

Pietro Giordano writhed in agony, both physical and mental.

‘And what am I going to do with my new life? I am going to live a happy life of retirement, playing golf, sailing, travelling, perhaps part-time lecturing at a local university, writing my memoirs, enjoying my family. Yes, unbeknown to you, I married ten years ago and have a wonderful wife and son. They know nothing about you, but you know my dear wife.’

Leaning forwards, Marcello whispered in the dying man’s ear.

‘NOOOO!’ Pietro screamed.

Totally exhausted, crimson-faced, sweating profusely, eyes bulging, drooling like a rabid dog, Pietro shrieked uncontrollably like a lunatic, writhing in his perspiration-soaked bed, clutching his chest before collapsing dead – dead from an agonising mammoth heart attack.

‘Justice’, whispered Marcello Di Paulo, Capo Di Paulo. Stepping into the hallway with tears streaming down his cheeks, he reverently instructed Gino Verona to call the clan doctor and left.

Verona did not see Di Paulo’s beaming smile of satisfaction as he wiped away his crocodile tears. Marcello Di Paulo/Giordano had just played the most dishonest, hypocritical, treacherous piece of deceit of his life, deliberately outright lying to his father, lying about an invented family, lying about the findings revealed in an imaginary hospital paternity test file, knowing full well that such a shock to his already fragile condition would certainly kill his father.

CHAPTER

3

Immediately, Pietro Giordano had declared war on the Simonolli, Marcello Di Paulo commenced his own forensic investigation into Sophia’s death.

A woman named Carla Simonolli had purchased a ferry ticket at the Porto Di Napoli wharf, cash payment, Naples to Capri and return, travelling aboard the same ferry on the same date and time as Sophia had. However, no such person as Carla Simonolli existed. This ploy was obviously a red herring deliberately used to divert, perhaps the real killer’s identity. Why?

He reviewed every CCTV footage at the departure and arrival wharves, as well as those on board the ferry. Only one person was unidentified, her identity completely hidden behind a large