“Now I bless you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Go in peace to love and to serve the Lord,” Father Martinez said as he blessed the parishioners who filled St Mary’s Roman Catholic Church.

There was standing room only as usual this morning so Antoinette cut through the side wooden exit door and into the fresh, warm spring air. The old church emitted an aroma of wet, mildewed wood, stale and sometimes offensive, especially on warm, rainy mornings.

In spite of the fact that her clothing would reek for a good hour afterwards, she found it important to begin each Wednesday morning attending the seven-thirty am mass to rejuvenate and lift her spirits. Antoinette Savanio needed that middle of the week fix. It was her time with God to silently ask forgiveness for the sins she wanted to commit, the spontaneous behaviors that she fantasized committing but never saw through. Sometimes she just wanted to give up. That just wasn’t her style. Responsibility held her captive. She came last in everything she did and her continued sacrifices laid such a heavy burden on her heart. She had no choice and she conditioned herself to be self reliant, to put her family and their needs before hers. She was accustomed to it, unaware of any other way of living. Her focus in life was her family. Her mother desperately needed Antoinette’s support and assistance both emotionally and financially.

She loved her family deeply and took on the burden of being the breadwinner with open arms. Her Mamma couldn’t work; she suffered from asthma and depression. Antoinette’s father never wanted his wife to work. He was afraid she would become ill. If only Antoinette’s mother could just stop mourning her husband and move on with her life, just maybe things at home would improve. Antoinette understood how difficult it was for her mother. Even Antoinette was still mourning and often prayed to her father, Tony, for encouragement.

But to Mamma, Tony Savanio was the love of her life. They had known one another since elementary school. He joined the Navy, became a Seal, served his country and returned home to her unharmed physically but scarred emotionally. He didn’t want the same life for his son never mind for his daughter. He was a hard worker and Antoinette recalled him leaving early every morning, before six am. She knew Mamma was up with him, making him a big breakfast.

Antoinette closed her eyes a moment recalling the smell of fresh baked Italian bread, bacon or sausage, whatever Papa wanted. Her mother would pull out the white center of a thick piece of Italian bread, place it in the frying pan then crack an egg in the middle. It was delicious. Nowadays, Mamma cooked less because Antoinette didn’t eat so heavy in the morning and Antonio, her brother, wasn’t always home. All of this added to her depression and Antoinette just wished her mother would snap out of it. She was only fifty years young, a stunning woman more than capable of falling in love again. Her Mamma wanted no part of it.

At least she took care of her physical appearance. Antoinette smiled to herself thinking about the other day when Mr. Cissetti had asked about Mamma. It was obvious to Antoinette that the man, also a widower was interested. Poor Mamma. She didn’t seem to care or even notice. She stayed home all day, only leaving the house to get groceries or take a short walk. She even refused to go to the bakery or the butcher’s.

They lived in a close-knit neighborhood; most of their neighbors were of Italian decent and somehow related or connected in one way or another.

Antoinette had cousins and a few aunts and uncles, but Mamma seemed to push them all away or upset them in one way or another. Antoinette’s Mamma hadn’t been invited to any family gatherings in a while. The family knew she would refuse.

One of Mamma’s sisters, Auntie Paullina, from Staten Island, N.Y. was the only one who refused to write Mamma off. She would come visit her from time to time, and when Auntie Paullina was in town, Mamma seemed a little bit happier.

Auntie Paullina was known for her ‘separation’ from the family, which was very similar to Mamma’s ‘refusal’ to be a part of the family any longer.

Antoinette assumed that the common ground between them was what kept their relationship going.

Antoinette recalled her aunt and Mamma talking one night about certain people in the family. They both seemed to agree that Uncle Angelo had no right interfering in the decisions that Mamma and Auntie Paullina made regarding their lives and lifestyles. After all Uncle Angelo was over his head in debt, owed fifty grand to Mafioso Louie ‘The Squid’ Calamari and his wife Marcella was banging half of Louie ‘The Squid’s’ gang in Brooklyn. It wasn’t that her Mamma was cruel or ‘crazy’ as Antoinette recalled her aunts suggesting, deep down, Antoinette knew that Mamma had her reasons. This was her way with dealing with what life had dealt her. And Antoinette promised herself she would do everything she could to help her Mamma.

As tired as Antoinette was of making up excuses about her mother’s absence at the bakery, the butcher, or any community affairs, she kept doing it anyway. She was like the storm calmer and when the family got into an uproar over Mamma’s attitude, there was Antoinette to ease them over.

That was Antoinette—calm, rational, and ready and willing to accept any challenge head on. Her aunts called her stubborn, bull headed, ‘non traditional’ because she refused to bow down to anyone. She felt she had just as much right to state her opinion as the next person. Antoinette wanted more in life. She headed to college unlike many of her female cousins whose main plan in life was to land some wealthy wise guy from the neighborhood or one of the surrounding boroughs, get married, raise a family, live off blood money, liquor, and get cheated on every night by other puttanas and bimbos from the neighborhood.

No way was that the life for Antoinette. Her Mamma didn’t marry some common street thug, a ‘made’ man, and didn’t get treated like shit. She sure as hell wasn’t going to, either. More than likely she was headed in the same direction with the family that her mother was in.

Antoinette had a college degree, was a teacher, a professional, but unfortunately when her father died, there were bills to pay and her teacher’s salary just didn’t cut it.

It still wasn’t enough to financially support her mother, herself, and her brother. Returning to the neighborhood she grew up in and throwing herself into a financial career that gave a whole new meaning to the word ‘professional’ was her only option.

Over a year ago, she was attending parent-teacher conferences, organizing and facilitating the annual elementary school play and rubbing elbows with school principles, parish priests, and other religious faculty from the parochial school she taught at. Now here she was working for gangsters, rubbing elbows with strippers, working until four am in the morning, making double the salary but feeling less respectable. She pushed aside those feelings months ago realizing that life sometimes doesn’t work out exactly as planned. One had to roll with the punches and she was never one to give up without a fight.

Antoinette worked three days a week as a restaurant manager for Cissetti’s Italian restaurant on Main Street in the center of town. The owner Federico Cissetti was an old friend of the family. He paid her well. Too well for the position she held, but he always adored Antoinette’s mother and was saddened to see her so depressed. Antoinette took on a second job Friday and Saturday nights at FREDDIE’S Night Club. Federico Cissetti wasn’t too crazy about her working there. His younger cousin Freddie owned the place and it was notorious for late night bar fights, harboring criminals, and shady characters, as well as providing X-Rated entertainment. Once again, the rewards outweighed the risks. She would have made half as much working twice the amount if she had continued working as a schoolteacher. As long as she did what Freddie told her and stayed clear of pissing him off, she would be fine.

Freddie’s place was a front for anything and everything illegal and highly profitable, although no one but Freddie and his thugs would ever know it and good luck to anyone who would attempt to prove it.

Antoinette heard many stories around the nightclub as well as CISETTI’S, but she tried to concentrate on just doing her job, supporting her mom, and keeping her older brother, Antonio, out of trouble. Freddie’s good side came out to surprise her one day, when he offered Antonio a job driving one of his delivery trucks. He had overheard Antoinette talking to Martini about potential jobs for her brother. That was six months ago and still no complaints from Freddie. Antoinette recalled her first meeting with Freddie when he offered her a job. She was scared and intimidated at first but soon he had grown to respect her. Well…respect might be a bit too much. He treated her differently than any of the other women. He never referred to her as one of his ‘bitches’.

“Your job is simple, gorgeous,” Freddie told her in his thick, tough Italian, Bronx accent.

“Just keep the patrons happy and calm. If you can’t handle it, then call over the bouncers. Keep the bar well stocked and cover for Martini when she’s performing on stage.” That was her job. It was simple or so she thought.

One of Freddie’s main guys, Carlo, gave her the creeps. He had absolutely no respect for anyone except Freddie. Antoinette never cared for the way Carlo looked at her and she tried to avoid him as much as she could.

Friday night was pretty much ‘X-Rated Night’ and Martini, who acquired her name by overindulging in the famous beverage, was the star performer for Friday night. With her long, wavy, red hair, green eyes, triple D cup-size, and unique talent for balancing her exclusive name on each breast, amazingly was enough to pack the joint. There was little room to move around the place and that was the way Freddie liked it.

Antoinette preferred Saturday nights when more couples frequented Freddie’s and the sounds of truly talented voices filled the air. The performers sang jazz, big band music and hits from the roaring twenties. Freddie refused to book anything that covered up the vocals of a truly talented performer. Numerous singers auditioned on Wednesday afternoons hoping for a spot in the well-known Saturday night show. A few famous people were discovered at his place or at least received record deals.

FREDDIE’S was definitely a unique club.

Antoinette smiled wide as she waved goodbye to a few fellow parishioners she saw regularly at Wednesday morning mass, then headed down the street slowly making her way back home. She wanted to bring Mamma breakfast, her favorite, a delicious apple turnover from Mariano’s Bakery. She entered the bakery saying hello to the owners. The wonderful smell made her stomach growl.

“Buon giorno, Antoinette,” Mrs. Mariano said and the others joined in.

“Such a good girl. You go to the church, right? Such a good girl,” repeated Mr. Mariano in his Italian accent. They were wonderful people and had owned the bakery for many years.

Antoinette recalled going to Mariano’s bakery when she was a small child. The holidays stood out most in her mind and she especially loved visiting for the St. Joseph’s feast. Mariano’s Bakery had the best St. Joseph’s pastries around.

“Good girl? No, she’s a good woman. Look at her, bella,” Mrs. Mariano corrected her husband. The store was packed, but Antoinette didn’t have to wait in line. Mrs. Mariano handed her a white bakery bag with two apple turnovers and some scones,

“Grazie, Mrs. Mariano. Have a wonderful day. Ciao.”

“Ciao, Toni. Tell your Mamma hello. “The Mariano’s yelled back and went about filling the breakfast orders from some hungry patrons.

Antoinette walked up the street; she couldn’t wait to sink her teeth into one of the delicious goodies in her bag. She could smell them and the aroma was driving her crazy. She stopped in front of the little dress shop on Franklin Ave. where a short red dress and matching red pumps caught her attention, but the aroma from the white paper bag was too intense. The little red number never had a chance as Antoinette continued walking. By the time she got to her front door, she was practically running inside, strategically planning to place the bag on the kitchen table, wash her hands with soap and water in the kitchen sink instead of the bathroom to save time. She’d pour her Mamma and herself a cup of coffee and enjoy their Wednesday morning breakfast together.

Antoinette stopped as soon as she dried her hands on the mopina. Her mom hadn’t even made the coffee yet. Antoinette was annoyed and God knows what her mother was doing instead of fixing the coffee.

She did it herself as she called out, “Mamma. Mamma I’m home and you forgot about the coffee. Come downstairs.”

There was no response.

Antoinette opened the white bag and placed the treats on two ceramic plates. She licked the icing off her finger and walked out of the room, calling her mother again this time in Italian.

Still no response.

Antoinette started to feel that something was very wrong as she ran up the stairs. She looked down at her shoes trying not to trip and as she approached the top and final step, she sensed the figure coming towards her.

“Where’s your brother?” Carlo asked as he grabbed her by the arm, pulling her up the stairs the rest of the way.

“What are you doing here? Where’s my mother?” Antoinette asked. He answered her with a jab to the stomach before shoving her against the wall.

“I’m the one asking questions, sweetheart. Tell me where your brother is and your old lady lives.”

Antoinette was so scared, her heart was pounding and her stomach hurt like nothing she ever felt before.

“I haven’t seen Antonio in weeks.” She lied. Antonio called two days ago.

She saw the next one coming, but she still wasn’t fast enough to get out of the way.

The blood escaped her lips and she thought for sure he had broken her teeth or the jaw itself. The tears streamed down her face, and she heard a moan from the other room.

In a flash, Carlo picked up Antoinette with one arm and flung her inside the bedroom. She screamed as she hit the rose colored carpeting. As she grabbed the rug, she looked towards the bedside and she called out to her mother, “Mamma!”

“You’re one tough bitch,” Carlo yelled as he pulled the telephone receiver out of her hands. Her mother’s face was covered with blood and her leg and ankle were turned in the opposite direction. They were broken. Antoinette was sure of it.

She screamed as Carlo knocked her mother over the head with the handle of his gun.

“No!” she screamed again as she jumped up from the floor, diving onto Carlo’s back.

She kept punching and slapping him as she scratched his face, which enraged him even more. In an instant, the tables were turned as he pounded away at her ribcage, left, right, then the backhand to her mouth. He is going to kill me. We will die here, she thought as he ripped her shirt, pulling her face close to his. His black, bloodshot eyes gazed right through her. She knew this was the worst situation anyone could ever be in. When a man like Carlo looked into your eyes with eyes like his, death was nearby.

“You can thank Freddie for saving your life. Tell your brother we’re looking for him, sweetheart, and be sure to make it to work Friday night,” he told her as he released her. The pain in her ribs was enormous. She could hear the echo or sirens in the background. Her mom had been successful in calling for help.

Carlo didn’t seem to be worried as he gently touched her cheek with one hand and smiled at her. She never saw the blow to her head coming. Then instantly, there was darkness.

* * * *

Westly Parker sat on his porch sipping a cold beer, enjoying the warm and dusty day. Texas was his home now although it didn’t seem like much of a home now that his wife, Linda, was gone. Two years had passed and he wished more than ever that they had been able to have children of their own. He wasn’t complaining though because he knew he had plenty of friends and neighbors. A lot of people worried about him doing so much on his own, living in such a big house on a one hundred-acre ranch. He loved it. He had plenty of money to keep things running smoothly and his bar the OLD SOLDIER was a local hot spot. He had his regular entertainment consisting of singers and musicians just waiting for a break and perhaps landing a spot on stage entertaining the patrons after the rodeo. Basically, everyone in the rodeo circuit hung out at the OLD SOLDIER afterwards.

Westly had taken off a couple of days to do some much-needed work around the house. He took the last sip of his beer just as he saw the black F-250 Ford Pickup truck come into sight on the long dirt road.

His good, young friend, Jack Coltry, was helping him do the work around the house. They had started the guest bedroom this morning and ran out of paint. Jack ran into town to pick up more.

“Hey, Westly, you owe me big for going into Jerry’s and asking for another gallon of pink satin paint. You should have heard those guys. I know I’m going to take a lot of heat when I go into the station tomorrow,” Jack yelled as he pulled the paint can from the back of the truck and headed up the hazelnut-stained pinewood stairs.

Westly was laughing now because he knew the guys at Jerry’s hardware would find it amusing for such a well-known tough guy like Jack Coltry to be buying pink paint. It was a color his wife Linda would have liked, and he didn’t find any harm in using it to paint a spare bedroom. More than likely, the room would never be used.

“I guess you’re right, Jack. Texas Rangers shouldn’t like the color pink unless it’s on something wiggling with long legs, seductive eyes, and a ‘Texas’ droll,” Westly added as he laughed at his friend.