Of Hearts and Dreams

By Dan Diasio

This is a novel about Gabriella, a fictitious young single parent who is surrounded by my real-life family...truly a blend of strife, endurance, and passion. Her heartwarming homelife contrasts with a battling business life and challenging love affair with Dax, her suave, handsome South American boss who has deep secrets of his own.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hawes & Jenkins Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 22, 2024
• ISBN: 9781637844113

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Of Hearts and Dreams

Dan Diasio

ISBN 978-1-63784-410-6 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-63784-411-3 (digital)

Copyright © 2024 by Dan Diasio

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Hawes & Jenkins Publishing

16427 N Scottsdale Road Suite 410

Scottsdale, AZ 85254

www.hawesjenkins.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Prologue

Part I

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

Part II

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Part III

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

Part IV

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

About the Author

Prologue

How lovely his Angelina had been, with her coal-black, wavy hair reaching past her little waist; her bright, flashing eyes; and her happy smile. He had been the envy of every man in the village.

She was right, though. They were very poor. The peasants and fishermen of Sicily knew nothing else. Still, with his happy buxom Angelina, who knew how to make the smallest piece of meat into a wonderful meal and who made their nights together so sweet that it brought tears to his eyes, life was more than bearable.

They had started their marriage in the quiet green hills above Castle Franco, in a one-room house they built with their own hands.

Although there were six other daughters living with their families on his tiny farm, Signor Giovanni Agasi, Angelina's father, was happy to have them remain on his land. He could always use another strong man to help with the crops. The sloping fields were beginning to take their toll on his strength after half a century of constant tending.

There was a time for each kind of chore. In late July, they winnowed the grain from daybreak until the shadows lengthened across the ripe wheat. In November, they would harvest the olives. Angelina and her sisters, Armeda, Rosa, Millie, Elinora, Gilda, and Gloria, sorted them in their big white aprons, working diligently under the platinum-green olive trees. And in February, it was time to weed the croplands.

But for all their hard work, the family was barely able to feed themselves. There was never a profit; they ate only what the little farm produced. Donato especially loved the olives cured with garlic and the tart red wine.

One evening, as they were washing the earth from their hands in the basin outside their house, Angie had told him of their coming child. Donato would never forget how she looked, standing there smiling shyly at him, the red-and-white bandanna covering her pretty hair. He had never loved her more.

As they were going into the house, he caught sight of the printed sign on the front door—the one with the black border. As was the custom, they had hung it there to announce the death of one of the family. Angie's cousin, Sarafina, had lost her two-year-old son last week. He had died of starvation. Her small farm just couldn't produce enough for her large family.

Then and there, Donato had decided nothing like that would ever happen to his own little family. He would make sure of that! He was convinced that their only hope of a better life was to go to the city and find work.

Angelina was heartbroken. She wanted to remain with her family, of course, especially at a time like this when they could rejoice over the new baby in a few months, but Donato would not hear of it. And so they prepared to leave.

Papa Agasi had given them a little money—insisted that they take it—to last until Donato found a job. Armeda had pressed Mama's one valuable heirloom into Angelina's hand just before they began their journey. It was a lovely cameo broach, the one their mother used to wear on very special occasions. As the eldest daughter, Armeda had inherited it upon their mother's death.

I will treasure this always, Angelina said tearfully.

Armeda brushed her calloused hand across her eyes. Wear it when you baptize your son, she whispered huskily, and think of me.

I will, Angelina replied. I will also wear it when we come back home to visit you as that will be the most important occasion of my life.

She turned sadly to Donato, who had bought their donkey, loaded with all their household possessions in two cloth bags slung for the long journey to the city.

Behind them, surrounded by cackling chickens and the goats Angie loved so much, stood her father and her sisters and their husbands and all the beautiful babies, waving goodbye and trying to hide their tears. All of them knew in their hearts that they would never meet again.

*****

A week later, they arrived in the bustling seaport of Palermo. If Donato had known how bad it was, how hard it would be to find work, he never would have left the farm. There were thousands just like him in search of dreams and a better life.

Their money ran out on the third day after they reached Palermo. Donato and Angie had walked through the twisting, narrow streets, penniless and hungry, for weeks. They had survived by eating the fish they caught along the Tyrrhenian seashore, but Angelina grew weaker and weaker for want of some more nourishing food.

*****

On a warm, sunny day, as they sat roasting a fish on the shore, Angelina began to cry.

"Cara mia, please do not cry. Tell me, what can I do for you? Are you hungry? Wait—I go catch you another fish."

No, Don. No more fish. I can't stand any more fish! She sighed heavily and wiped her eyes with the bandanna. I want to go home. We are poorer here than we were on the farm. And I miss my papa—oh, I miss him so much!

He held her close to him, fighting his own tears, and tried to soothe her. Angie, things will work out. Today, I heard that there might be work by the boats for me, maybe as soon as tomorrow. Please do not cry.

But I want to go home! she sobbed.

We cannot, cara mia. You are too weak for such a long journey. We have no food to carry with us. We cannot go back. Tomorrow, when I have found work, we will buy some artichokes and tomatoes, and you will eat to your heart's content. Then you will feel much better.

They sat quietly, Angie resting in his arms, and she was soon asleep. Donato stared down at her swollen belly and saw the bones protruding all over her, and he couldn't hold back the tears he refused to let Angelina see. What had he done? He had wanted to give her everything, a better life, hope for their child. And he had only made life worse for them both.

Excuse me, my friend. May we be of help?

A muscular, sun-brown young man was kneeling close to Donato, his face showing much concern. Standing nearby, a beautiful blue-eyed young woman was holding a large cloth-covered basket.

Donato wiped his eyes quickly on his arm and looked up.

My wife is not feeling well, he stated simply. I think she is going to die. She has eaten very little for weeks, and she is with child, and we have nothing.

The man looked at him sympathetically. A very sad thing, my friend, he said. Then he stood up. I am Giuseppe Hays. This is my wife, Annunziata. We just arrived in Palermo from Gangi two days ago. We would be honored if you would share our bread and cheese with us.

While Annunziata took food from her basket, Donato gently shook his wife awake.

Angie, wake up and see what happened. We have something to eat!

*****

Annunziata and Giuseppe still had enough money left from their funds to rent a small apartment near the Piazza Caracciolo and had moved in yesterday. Giuseppe was still seeking work and was worried that the money would be gone before he found a job. Nevertheless, he and his Anna insisted that Donato and Angie come and live with them.

Your wife needs a roof over her head, Giuseppe persuaded, smiling and gesturing to Anna to help the sick girl onto the donkey. There is more than enough room. Come, it is settled.

Donato could find no words to thank them, but he swore to himself that someday, he would repay their kindness.

Soon, the men did get work in the harbor, loading freight, and they were able to live more comfortably, even to buy wine occasionally. But the poor diet and hard living conditions had taken their toll on Angelina. Her teeth hurt all the time, and she gave birth to a stillborn baby girl three months prematurely.

For two years, the Hays and the Risinis shared the rundown but spotless apartment near the Piazza Caracciolo. The women worked as seamstresses when they could and crocheted sweaters and blankets to sell at the market.

They spent very little of the money they earned, saving for a dream that they barely believed would ever materialize.

In the harbor, the men had heard sailors from other countries talking about a wonderful place called America, and the friends had determined that they would go to this America someday, where even the streets were paved with gold, where everyone had a job, and nobody ever starved to death.

Giuseppe's father came from America before he was born to bring his bride, Giuseppe's mother, back with him. But before they could make the trip, his new bride fell ill. By the time she had gotten well enough to travel, he had fallen in love with the simple life and the beautiful country and decided to stay.

But Giuseppe and Anna would go together with Donato and Angelina. This they would do by saving everything they earned except for a tiny allowance for food and rent.

Someday, Annunziata, we're going to wear silk dresses and have real shoes too, Angelina would say, as the two of them sat outside their door, bare feet sifting the earth-packed street, crocheting beautiful things that they would never use. They sold everything they made to the richer townsfolk and especially to visiting sailors who seemed to think their handiwork was very special.

"Ah, yes. We will have many children, and you will be goomada and Donato will be goomba. And Giuseppe and I will do the same for your children. We will eat meat every day!" Annunziata would say. They would laugh at her silly dreams. Just imagine, meat every day!

Then they would look at the money they had hidden in a box under the pallet where Giuseppe and Annunziata slept. They would count it over and over, and they would say, Just a little while longer. A few more months, and we will be ready.

How they sacrificed for their dream! The men held up their trousers, which grew looser and looser, with rope they found in the harbor. The women patched and sewed until their clothing was ready to disintegrate.

In the early morning, Angie and Anna would walk through the Vucceria—the sprawling outdoor market where the narrow streets of Palermo converged.

The air was filled with shouts of Robba Mercato! Oh, what cheap things I have! as the merchants showed their vegetables and fruits. Angie and Anna would try to ignore the emptiness in their bellies as they passed the mounds of crimson apples and pale-green zucchini, the purple eggplants and fragrant oranges. Hardly ever would they buy them. Instead, they would haggle with the proprietors to sell them some of the least fresh produce for as little as possible.

Then they would take their purchase home through the wonderfully busy marketplace, through the scents of roses and carnations from the open florists' stands, the aroma of simmering pots of artichokes and green beans, and the best aroma of all—the odor of fresh lemons! Once in a great while, the women would buy one beautiful yellow lemon and share it, eating it like an orange, the way Sicilians love it best. But they never indulged themselves any further. In two years, they had never felt a full belly. Someday, when they finally got to America, they would eat like kings—they would never go hungry again. But not yet.

As they worked together and prayed together and saved together and dreamed together, Giuseppe and Donato and Annunziata and Angelina built a bond of friendship between them that brought them closer than even blood brothers and sisters.

Then finally, they were ready! With little more than the clothes on their backs and the dreams in their hearts, they arrived in New York City. The greatest joy of all was that both Angie and Anna would give birth to their children in this great, rich land. They were truly starting a new life and…the next generation.

Part I

Chapter One

Both the Kennedy boys were assassinated. Jimmy DePietri and Sallie Conti from the old neighborhood were killed in Vietnam. The Beatles were storming the country. Mobster Joe Columbo was shot at an Italian-American Civil Rights rally, and Neil Armstrong had already left his historical footprints on the moon. The sixties were sure developing into one hell of a decade.

*****

She looked out the window, watching the telephone poles and the trees whiz by. The distant voice of the conductor's announcement, Edison Boulevard, next stop, invaded the otherwise hypnotic rumblings of the commuter train. Two more stops and Gabriella would be mercifully home.

The six o'clock express roared into the Metro Park station at Iselin Valley, stopping only long enough to spew out a crowd of travel-weary Jerseyites. Gabriella Dorsey checked to see if she had her pocketbook and the few packages she had picked up while on her lunch-hour break at work and hurried into the crisp October twilight. Small and willowy with silky-straight brown hair and a fresh, natural, open-faced beauty, she seemed at a quick glance to be a teenager. Huge green/blue eyes, which seemed to change shades, depending on what she wore, actually blended well with her name, Gabriella. While in high school, some of the other kids tried to tag her with the nickname Gabby. She was quick to put a stop to that, her surname being Hayes, a descendant of the Civil War general. In no way was she going to let her name be likened to that of the sidekick of Hopalong Cassidy! It was only up close that the small lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth could be seen (she swore they had appeared 12:01 a.m. on her thirtieth birthday!), and rather than detracting from her appearance, the character and maturity they represented actually enhanced it, but nobody would ever convince her of that! She walked briskly along Lantern Lane, enjoying the bite of the wind on her face, the crunch of twigs on the dirt road beneath her feet. The fresh air mixed with a hint of freshly cut grass and burning leaves smelled good. By the time she reached the big old house at number 142 and opened the kitchen door on the side porch, she was clearheaded and refreshed.

I'm home!

An explosion of squeals and shouts and feet pounding down the stairs broke through the house. The twins, Gianluca and Glendon, burst into the kitchen, running to meet her, jumping all over her, trying to see what was in the packages, if Mom had remembered to buy them something. She always did.

You'd never know they missed you, Aunt Zia said, smiling as she tuned the gas down under a pot of simmering stew. She wasn't really her aunt, but Gabriella considered her part of the family.

Gabriella put the twins down and sighed. I missed them too. It's good to be home.

The woman wiped her hands on her starched white apron tied high on her waist, just below her ponderous breasts, a smile still lighting her soft old English face.

So! You did it, Gab! I never thought you'd pull it off and make it through the week, what with all the work you have here and getting up at six in the morning to catch your train to the city. She took Gabriella's coat as she spoke and hung it in the hall closet. "Not to mention the load on your mind. I give you a lot of credit—you got coglionis!" It continued to amaze Gabriella—the coarse language that not so infrequently would spout from Mrs. Ziambrath, this otherwise demure but classic woman.

Gabriella kicked off her shoes and sat on one of the three stools at the kitchen counter. She looked fondly at Aunt Zia so comfortingly like a grandmother with her short gray hair caught in a net like they wore it in the old days, her neat plumpness practically inviting you to come and be loved in her arms. It was awfully nice to come home to her.

Well, Mrs. Z, I can hardly believe it myself, she said, but I did it! Gabriella fished an envelope from her purse and held it up triumphantly. My first paycheck!

Then she added, "And here's your first week's pay. I wish it could be more."

Don't be silly! I told you I would have sat for the twins for nothing. They are no bother at all. What the hell, I'm only next door, and besides…what else would an old lady like me have to do with my time? All my kids are grown and out of the house now, and with Edgar's death last year, I get pretty lonely sometimes. Even though he was such a bastard, I still miss him. At least he was there—sometimes. Someone to talk to—okay, scream to—play spoons with. But that's the way a family is today different from the old days.

You've been just wonderful, Gabriella said as she handed Aunt Zia a second envelope. The boys just love you, and I'm so relieved knowing it's you taking care of them.

Aunt Zia blushed, embarrassed to discuss money as always. Besides, she really had enjoyed this past week so much. It felt good to be needed again!

She took the money silently then said good night and waddled next door to her own house, her black orthopedic shoes squeaking with each step.

An hour later, with dinner over and the children in their pajamas, Gabriella poured a second cup of coffee, lit a cigarette, and began to unwind. And for the thousandth time, she relived the events of last Friday night.

She had sat, stiff-backed and tense, in the drafty old cab, pulling her plaid coat closer against the cold on her way to Tracey's apartment. Her mind had been a jumble of mixed emotions—guilt alternating with anger, indignation with shame.

Too many things added up, all that overtime and catching him in all those little lies. The arguments he provoked for no real reason then his storming out to cool off at a local pub until four in the morning. A lot concerning her dear, sweet, wonderful, pretty, stupid, stinking former friend—Tracey! The bitch!

But maybe she was just imagining all this. Here she was, checking up on him like a detective, and he probably had really gone bowling as he had said. She had been ready to turn back. With the taxi only a block from Tracey's, she was just leaning forward toward the driver when she saw it—Michael's metallic-green Jaguar right outside Tracey's apartment house!

When he bought that car, he said the color reminded him of her eyes.

The mental wound tore open again as Gabriella remembered…

Betrayal! Sorrow! Anger! Hate! Rage! The whole thing had stabbed through her in the same instant. The awful, mind-breaking, hysterical gamut of emotions!

She had stood in the quiet still of the night street, heart beating wildly, hands shaking in the chill darkness, trying to decide what to do next.

She could have gone upstairs and confronted the two of them. She could go up there and tear every hair out of that stinking lousy witch's head. She would be perfectly justified. Maybe she would find them in bed, and she'd grab Michael's clothes and run out and let the bastard figure out how to get home naked! But what if they wouldn't open the door?

Okay…she eyed the trunk of the Jag. Michael had put his bowling ball in there when he left home tonight. She'd get it and bring it upstairs with her, and if they didn't open the door, she'd go to the other end of the hall and throw the damn ball at the damn door! She'd wake up every damn person in the building until they let her in.

As her mind wandered the possibilities, she became bolder in her thoughts. She could wait till he came home and went to sleep and then do it! She would just cut it off! She would say she was raped by him and plead temporary insanity and get off with a small stint in a mental hospital or maybe nothing at all. You know how juries can be, especially with women on them.

He would deserve that, but Gabriella knew she could never bring herself to do such a horrific deed.

She had her spare set of car keys in her hand and was about to open the trunk to the Jaguar when an even better idea presented itself.

Though Michael was such a perfect liar, there'd be no way he could talk his way out of it this time! Gritting her teeth and commanding her hands to stop shaking, she got into the car and drove home. How she got back alive was still something of a mystery. At times during the ride, she could recall the speedometer hitting 80—but she didn't remember anything else about it, only that she had somehow parked perfectly for the first time since her driving test.

A trace of a smile curled across Gabriella's lips as she sipped her coffee. She only wished she could have seen his face when he found out that his car was missing!

After she had said good night to the sitter, with a false calm smile on her face (she hated for the neighbors to know her private business), she had stormed into the bedroom to tear his clothes out of his closets and dressers, fling them into his bags, and throw them outside on the front porch. So much for ten years of marriage! After all the other lies, nothing he could say would ever change her mind.

The enormity of her decision didn't hit her until the next morning…and then it hit like a ton of bricks.

*****

"Ma, when is Daddy