The Tattered Book

By H. Schussman

Going for a morning run, Cassi stops at a garage sale and buys a mysterious Tattered Book. Her family accuses her of living in a fictional world. Cassi disagrees, but as soon as she starts reading it her carefully ordered life begins to unravel. Every time she reads the book, she dreams about it… about what hasn't happened yet. And the main character seems to see her, even in the written pages of the book she's reading. Shy by nature, Cassi attempts to talk to him, but every time she does, she wakes up.

Detective Marco Marino is working an intricate and dangerous case. The Scutari mob family has threatened another business in Florence. As he works the case a woman keeps appearing and disappearing like a phantom. At first, he's unnerved by this constant distraction from his work, until he realizes she is helping him solve the case. If only she could speak! When he takes her into his arms for a fleeting kiss, he knows she's real. This is a mystery he must solve.

• Language: English
• Publisher: H. Schussman
• Release date: Nov 25, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005356057

H. Schussman

Heidi Schussman Gilbert was born in a small Northern California coastal town to a police officer and a mother who gave up med school to raise a family. She was raised to think on her feet and view adventure as way of life. She starting shooting when she was five years old, and continues to practice her marksmanship. Schussman began working when she was eleven years old, starting her first business when she was thirteen selling flower arrangements at a flea market. Now Schussman's favorite past-time is traveling with her husband of thirty-five years. Travel for H. Schussman is usually a cultural immersion, actually living with families in Spanish speaking countries or in Italy and Portugal. When in the tropics, they SCUBA dive every chance they get. The rest of Schussman's time is divided between gardening, exercise, and of course writing. She carefully researches weaponry and police/military intervention. Schussman believes research is a critical component of writing conspiracy theory. All good conspiracies are based on solid facts… that is what makes them believable. H. Schussman has published five conspiracy novels. COUNTERPART is a complex Russian conspiracy. This is the introduction of the popular characters, Sean and Sport. These two captured the hearts of readers, so EL TIBURON brings them back by request. EL TIBURON is a conspiracy set in Central America, mostly Guatemala. A group of teens on a mission trip to Colombia find themselves in THE CROSSFIRE OF REVENGE. Then Schussman gives us SAVE THE GIRLS as the backstory on the beloved character, Sean McGee, as he rescues girls from human trafficking and prostitution. Her most recent book in this crime series, PIRATESSA, is a black-widow story set amongst the billionaire playboys in the yachting community of Costa Rica. H. Schussman interviewed and wrote the biography for a rocket engineer legend, Clay Boyce—BRINGING APOLLO HOME. His life leading up to being a chief engineer on the Apollo Program and beyond are written in a fast-paced story-telling style. Last year Schussman turned her hand to writing a romantic comedy with a criminal element, of course. THE TATTERED BOOK answers the question; What would happen if the main character in a book fell in love with the reader? She claims this was the most difficult book to write to date, however she is now writing the sequel; THE SECOND TATTERED BOOK. H. Schussman also writes two blogs: A Dashing Bold A...

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Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This book is licensed for your enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

It’s hard to know who to thank. My husband ranks number one (right after God) because he not only encourages me, but critiques my work too. He catches inconsistencies and technical errors, plus he helps me over dull spots. Besides my friends and family (you know I appreciate you), I want to thank my editors: Jeanette Lawson, Isabelle Lynch, Karen Shipley, Brian Cooley, and Debbie Bailey.

This is a purely fictional story. Any parallel to real life is unintentional.

PROLOGUE

Cassi slowed her run to a walk as she approached the yard sale. She glanced over the usual mix of old shoes and lamps that probably didn’t work. A box of books caught her eye. She squatted down and rummaged through them until the owner approached.

Those are all fifty cents each, the woman said as she watched Cassi pick up a well-worn novel.

The Scutari Legacy... I’ve never read this one. Any good? The cover showed a narrow cobble-stoned alley.

One of my favorite books. I figured it was time to let go of it. The woman laughed in embarrassment.

Is it a romance? Cassi asked. The last thing she wanted to read was a romance book.

Oh well, I guess that depends on how you look at it, she said before calling out the price of a puzzle to another neighbor. It’s a novel set in Italy, she answered as she stood looking down at Cassi for a moment. You’re going to love the main character.

Cassi glanced up curiously at her serious tone, but the lady smiled innocently and moved on to another customer. Cassi opened it and started reading. After two paragraphs she decided it was good enough to pay fifty cents for. She dug two quarters out of her fanny-pack and continued her run. When she got home she set it on the counter and went into the back yard to get some weeding done. After a couple of hours, with sweat trickling down her back, she flopped into a lawn-chair in the shade. Italy, huh? She got up and went inside to get the book.

CHAPTER ONE

A long dining table stretched out in front of the patriarch of the Scutari Crime Family. Severino Scutari watched five of his sons and one son-in-law as they discussed the business. They were a handsome group of perfectly attired men—over a hundred-thousand dollars in designer suits sat around that table.

Lorenzo Scutari, the eldest son and the unofficial head of the business, sat at his father’s right elbow. The servants were clearing the dinner from the table, and the women could be heard chatting from the lady’s parlor. When the door was closed behind them, a servant made the rounds with the cigars and espressos.

Clearing his throat, Severino calmly asked Lorenzo in his deep gravelly voice, Have we got the Bertoli Pharmacy yet?

Five sets of eyes swung to Lorenzo. He lit his cigar and held it in front of him, eyeing the twirling smoke. He looked at his father. No.

That seems a bad message to send to others, don’t you think? Severino asked. What more do we have to do to bring them around?

This wasn’t a rhetorical question. He expected an answer.

There’s no one left but Luca Bertoli. We’re running out of leverage... unless we go after the little grandson.

All eyes swung back to the patriarch. He slowly shook his head. I’d prefer not to go after a grandchild. It seems uncivilized. Put more pressure on Bertoli... he’ll fold. They eventually do.

Lorenzo pulled out his smart phone and typed. He slid the phone back into his pocket and finished his espresso.

One servant cleared their espresso cups while another offered a digestif. Though the men looked relaxed as they leaned back in their chairs with drinks and cigars, they were not. No one relaxed around Severino Scutari.

At a nearby mansion in Florence sat another man with his nephew. Luca Bertoli led a singular life. He was the third generation to run the Bertoli Pharmacy. Though not a large pharmacy, it was successful in the extreme, partly due to not having given into the Scutari extortion machine. He was a lonely man. His wife lived on Sardegna with his parents for safety. His brother and then his sister-in-law had been murdered for not bowing to the Scutaris, leaving little Angelo in his care.

The orphan sat on the floor near his beloved uncle, playing a game on his computer. They’d not been able to have children, so this eight-year-old bundle of courage and energy was the future of the Bertoli family.

The doorbell chimed. Luca Bertoli pulled out his phone and looked at the security image of his front door. He jumped to his feet. Going to the nearby side table he wrote a note and turned to Angelo who had followed him and stood by his side.

Zio Luca? he asked searching his uncle’s troubled face.

Angelo, do you remember where Zia Emma lives? At the child’s nod, he continued, Take this to her as fast as you can. Tell her the bad men are back. Go out the secret door and run!

Angelo snatched the note from his hand and ran from the room. His uncle’s look was enough to convince him of the seriousness of the threat.

~~

Cassi’s cat, Anabelle, hopped up onto her lap and rubbed her head against the book’s spine. How am I supposed to get any reading done with you around, huh? she asked the scruffy cat. Cassi set the book down and stroked Anabelle rhythmically from head to tail. The cat purred in ecstasy. She pulled her phone out to search that Zio meant Uncle and Zia meant Aunt.

Anabelle swatted at her hand holding the phone. Accepting defeat, Cassi got up and carried the book in the house. Making herself dinner and feeding her cat occupied her time until she turned on the movie she’d started the night before.

That night she resisted the urge to read the book before bedtime, knowing it would mean a late night. She padded down the hall to get ready for bed with Anabelle at her side. The feline curled up in the middle of the bed and waited patiently until Cassi was done with all the strange things humans do before they go to bed. Cassi pulled back the covers and snuggled under the silky sheets and drifted off to sleep.

~~

A man stepped up to the bathroom sink and stared at his face in the mirror. He checked for food stuck in his teeth. Marco, you’re as ugly as a hound dog, he said with a grimace.

Cassi didn’t agree. He was quite handsome in her opinion, and he had those rare green eyes.

He seemed to stare into her eyes. Could he see her? It seemed as though he could. Cassi watched from the other side of the mirror.

As he left the bathroom, he held the door for an older man who didn’t say thank you. Marco headed down a nondescript hallway. Cassi followed at a distance. She wasn’t sure why she could see him, yet he couldn’t see her. People were talking around her, but she couldn’t understand what they were saying. It seemed jumbled. As she watched this man talking to two men in the hall, Cassi realized they were speaking Italian. But Marco spoke English to her... well to the mirror anyway. The room narrowed strangely and darkly, like a dream.

~~

The alarm clock beeping jolted Cassi awake. Rolling over and seeing the time sent her groaning and out of bed. Another day of drama and meetings. Every day seemed the same. Work, work, work. As she drove to the hospital her mind wandered back to the dream. All that day the man’s image floated before her. Marco.

That night, standing in front of a saucepan, Cassi slowly stirred. Her mind wandered to the novel she’d started last night. She was an obsessive reader. Her family accused her of living in a fictional world. Cassi disagreed. Her life was too real. Going to the living-room, she grabbed the tattered book and carried it to the kitchen. With one hip against the stove, she continued to stir the soup and read.

~~

Angelo jogged down the street, his face was intent. Clearly he was trying to stay focused on his task. Running up a cobblestone alley he pounded on a door. Listening for footsteps inside, the boy glanced over his shoulder. He knocked again, this time louder.

A deadbolt slid back and a woman’s face appeared in the narrow opening. Seeing the boy, Emilia Di Giorno opened the ancient wooden door wider. Come in, Angelo, she said as she beckoned him to enter. What’s the matter?

Angelo’s breath came out in little puffs. His sweaty hair was stuck to his neck. Zio Luca told me to run here and give this to you, Angelo said as he held out the crumpled letter.

She cautiously lifted it out of the boy’s palm. Unfolding it, she read it. Her hand went to her chest and her breath caught.

Those bad men are back again, he said simply.

Looking up, Emma slowly nodded. Yes, yes they are.

They stood looking at each other for a moment, then Emma grabbed little Angelo’s shoulders and commanded him, Go to the police station—it’s by the train station—and ask for Detective Marco Marino. Show him this and he’ll know what to do. Tell him I sent you. Run as fast as you can! Remember—Marco Marino!

While Angelo wove his way through the ancient city, Detective Marco Marino stopped at the bathroom mirror to check for food stuck in his teeth. Satisfied, he opened the door and held it for a senior officer. Once in his office, he settled down in front of the never-ending pile of paperwork.

~~

Marco? Cassi’s hip came off the stove. Wasn’t that the name of the guy from my dream last night? Maybe Cassi dreamt about the character in the book? She grinned at the thought, but her grin faded as she realized she hadn’t read about this Marco-guy yet. And wasn’t that pretty much what I dreamed?

Laying the book on the counter, Cassi poured the soup in a bowl. A glass of red wine sounded good. Going to her cupboard, she spent a minute rummaging through her wine glasses. It was oddly important to her to always get the right glass for her mood. She picked the cobalt blue glass with red swirls... it seemed to fit her swirling thoughts. Settling into a chair at the small dining table, she arranged her bowl, spoon, and wine. After laying a cloth napkin on her lap, she picked up the book again.

~~

As soon as Angelo left on his mission, Emma pulled a suitcase down from the closet shelf. Hurriedly she began packing. A pre-packed cosmetic bag, and a small stack of pants and shirts was shoved in next to the socks and underwear already tucked in the corner. In less than five minutes she locked the door behind her and scurried down the street towards the train station.

Simultaneously the boy burst through the police station doors. Frantically looking around, he spotted the clerk looking at him over her reading glasses. Angelo barely reached the counter, so he circled around to her side.

I need Detective Marino, Marco Marino, he panted. His fist clenched the wadded-up note.

Okay little man, calm down. The woman stood up and walked much too slowly to an office door. The kid followed at her heels. Shooing him back, she opened the door and stepped in. Marino, a boy is here to see you.

Angelo tried to see under her ample arms, but she blocked him. A chair slid back on the tile floor and footsteps approached.

Thanks Giorga, let him in, a man’s voice gently ordered.

~~

Cassi suddenly realized she was holding her breath. Her soupspoon was poised halfway between her bowl and her mouth. What does Marco look like... who is he? Is he the guy from the dream?

~~

Angelo pushed past the big lady and thrust out his fist. As though his hand was cramped, he slowly opened it to reveal the paper.

The detective went down on one knee to be eye-level with Angelo. What have we got here? Marco asked as he reached for the crumpled note.

It’s from Zio Luca and then from Zia Emma, Angelo searched Marco’s green eyes as he read the note. The bad men are here again, the boy added as an explanation.

The bad men? Marco murmured as he read the note again. Rising he carried it to his desk and held the paper up to a magnifying glass.

Yes, they came before and they hurt my zio. And, and, something happened then because my zia went away. Angelo struggled to control the emotions coursing through his small frame. My Zio Luca cries every day.

Do you live with your uncle? Marco asked as he swung a lightweight jacket in an arc. As the jacket settled on Marco’s shoulders, the gun disappeared from sight.

Angelo nodded.

Good. Marco placed one hand on the small shoulder. Let me give this to our evidence guy, then I want you to take me there.

Before he handed it over to an officer sitting at a large metal desk, he pulled out his phone and took a picture of it. Process it for fingerprints, asap, he ordered.

Stepping out into the midday sunshine, Marco asked, What’s your name?

Angelo Bertoli.

With a grunt, Marco said, Of course it is. You aren’t by any chance related to Adolfo Bertoli, as in Bertoli Pharmaceuticals?

He’s my Nonno, Angelo replied as he led the way.

Marco watched the black curly hair bounce slightly with each step. Bertoli’s grandson? This kid is worth millions. The only child of Adolfo Bertoli’s oldest son, a son who was murdered. Marco tried to remember the details of the case. He’d been a new detective here in Florence. The wife was pregnant at the time of her husband’s murder. Probably with Angelo. The timing was about right. It had been an extortion case of some sort. Marco couldn’t remember if it was blackmail or retaliation or what. He was pretty sure Angelo’s mother had been murdered at a later date, but was fuzzy on the details.

What is your aunt’s name?

Zia Emma.

"Yes, I know she’s your aunt. What’s her last name?"

Oh, Di Giorno, Angelo answered over his shoulder.

As Marco hurried to keep up with the youngster, he wondered what his old friend, Emma Di Giorno could have to do with the Bertolis. Marco stepped on and off the ancient three-foot wide sidewalks that weren’t designed for thousands of tourists. In some areas motorcycles parked inches apart and right up to the sidewalk forcing people to turn sideways as they shuffled past each other. Presently the boy cut down a side street and zigzagged his way to the Arno River as only a local child can do. Crossing the river was like entering a different world. Other than a tour of the Pitti Palace, few tourists ventured this far. A couple more side streets and Angelo slowed his pace. His steps faltered.

Hey, Angelo, Marco stopped the boy. Which house is it? I’ll take it from here.

The boy looked earnestly into Marco’s eyes, trying to determine if he was being treated like a child. This big brawny American-looking man was so different from his family. And he had a funny accent. But Zia Emma had trusted him....

Marco pulled out a notebook and scribbled something on a page. Tearing it out, he handed it to Angelo. I need you to do me a favor. Can you take this to the train station? I need to alert the train police to look for the bad guys, okay? Can you do that?

Angelo sighed. They’d just come from that area. Okay, I’ll do it, Angelo said as he pointed to the Bertoli door. He turned and jogged back the way they’d come.

Marco watched him until he was out of sight. Then he inspected the windows of the four-story brick mansion. Houses were side-by-side, sharing a wall with their