Atonement

ATONEMENT SE

When sixteen-year-old Adriana Vazanno is viciously attacked and left for dead at the hands of Turidda Vanucci, her mother realizes a vendetta is the only answer. But the cunning Turiddu escapes his fate and takes revenge by vowing to kill every Vazanno in Sicily. Rescued by her uncles, Adriana flees Sicily for the safety of America’s lower Manhattan. Little does she know that Vanucci has also moved to her neighborhood and is plotting revenge against her and her five-year-old sister Francesca. Will she escape Turidda’s revenge in America?

VALENTI

S.E. Valenti, a new author with one novel under her belt, DELIVER US FROM HONOR, received a Master’s degree in nursing in 1997 from Oakland University in Rochester, Michigan. Valenti has spent thirty years in nursing with the majority of time devoted to HIV/AIDS patient care. She has served on the President’s Advisory Committee on HIV/AIDS during the George W. Bush presidency, and won the Odyssey Award from her Alma Mater for her work in healthcare.

During her spare time, Valenti enjoyed traveling especially with her husband to his beloved Sicily. And, it was during those travels FICTION: Saga & Thriller the urge to write became an urge that could not be resisted. Sicily’s rich and intriguing history, her traditions and love of family captured Valenti’s imagination and the result was her first novel. Her writing interests include mystery, intrigue, historical fiction, drama and romance. köehlerbooks

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Atonement: Deliver Us from Honor Book II

by S.E. Valenti © Copyright 2019 S.E. Valenti

ISBN 978-1-63393-794-9 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. The characters are both actual and fictitious. With the exception of verified historical events and persons, all incidents, descriptions, dialogue and opinions expressed are the products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

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Atonement DELIVER US FROM HONOR BOOK II

S.E. Valenti kรถehlerbooks kรถehlerbooks kรถehlerbooks kรถehlerbooks

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VIRGINIA BEACH CAPE CHARLES

To Matteo

Table of Contents Chapters I: Adriana Vazanno . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 II: Turiddu Vanucci. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12 III: Antonio and Mario Arrive in New Orleans . . 25 IV: New Orleans to New York . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41 V: The Terranti Brothers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 62 VI: The Dona Napoli . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 76 VII: Santo Padua . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 90 VIII: Francesca Vazanno . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 103 IX: Ellis Island Immigration Center . . . . . . . . . . 118 X: The Isolation Ward . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 134 XI: Mulberry Street . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 142 XII: Ellis Island Hospital No. 2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 149 XIII: The Man in the Black Hat. . . . . . . . . . . . . 161 XIV: The Heinreicht Wheat and Dairy Farm . . 172 XV: The Hat Shop . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 178 XVI: Antonio Vazanno and Mario Lucalla . . . . 188 XVII: The Godfathers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 198 XVIII: The Terranti Warehouse . . . . . . . . . . . . 204 XIX: The Silo at Dawn . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 209 XX: Atonement . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 213 XXI: The Silo at Three O’Clock . . . . . . . . . . . . 220 Epilogue . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 231 Acknowledgments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 239

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1

Chapter I:

Adriana Vazanno

14 JUNE 1911 Thousands of white-petaled flowers swirled and fell to the ground, like snow flying on a cold winter’s day. The blossoms drifted through the air on a gentle, subtropical breeze blowing in off the coastal waters of Castellammare del Golfo. Each small bloom, brilliantly white with a touch of gold-purple in its pistil, was capable of producing one fist-sized yellow lemon; but these aged trees allowed most of their petals to fall aimlessly to their deaths as each unique tree knew the limit of its ability to nurture.

Thus, it rid itself of excess and kept only those blooms capable of producing the most choice fruit.

The care and keep of the Vazanno lemon orchards was a way of life for the Vazanno family, as it had been for generations.

When she was just a baby, Giuseppe carried Adriana strapped to his back as he worked alongside his wife, Maria, from first light to sundown. Adriana was raised in the sweet fragrance of fresh, crisp lemons, first as blossoms, then as mature fruit handpicked at their zenith.

A tender love of the orchards was in Adriana’s blood. Just as skilled as her father, she knew their seasons and waited

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with exuberant anticipation for the spring to come, when the lemon petals started to fall. Once a year, the trees gave up their citrus blooms, letting them twirl about and drop to earth in a wonderland of exotic color and fragrance, their aroma drifting across the region from Palermo to Trapani. *** Adriana Vazanno reached her sixteenth birthday in December 1910. Now of a marriageable age, she was neither anxious nor in a rush to enter into the sacrament. Even though she knew very well her father would never force a marriage of arrangement on her, she sometimes worried her constant reticence was becoming a burden on him and her mother. After all, not a week went by that one of the village men didn’t approach Giuseppe suggesting a possible arrangement between his son and Adrianna.

“Ha!” Giuseppe would laugh as he teased Adriana. “Another young man is interested in your hand! How do you feel about that?”

Already knowing her answer, he would smile, then turn to his wife and repeat what Maria had taught her daughter: “Never marry a man you do not love.”

Blushing, Adriana answered, “I will never marry until I find a man exactly like Papa; and, since there is only one of you, I suppose it will be a long time before I even consider it.”

“If that is the way it must be, then that is the way it will be!”

Giuseppe said as he held up a glass of wine to toast. Everyone at the table laughed except Santo Padua.

Blessed with her mother’s porcelain, Milanese complexion and blue eyes, Adriana was not only beautiful but strikingly so.

Her hair, dark like her father’s, was not black but rather a rich shade of mahogany with lighter hues of ginger and chestnut that fell to her waist in natural, undulating waves. Unruly wisps fell free of their combs because of its soft, silky texture, forcing her to continually push them back up into their combs—a habit Santo Padua delighted in as he watched her long, delicate fingers fondle each strand, tenderly pushing them back into place, only to have them escape again. It was a habit he never tired of watching.

Since thirteen, Adriana had been stealing glances at Santo Padua too as he sat across the family table from her. Although he’d

S. E . VA L E N T I

3

been at that table for her entire life, something had changed. The sound of his voice stirred an unfamiliar emotion in her; the width of his chest became more apparent as she studied the movement of his body, the length of his arms, and the shadow on his face when he hadn’t shaven. The musky smell of him, the heat of his breath on her face when he talked to her, his height as he towered over her, all made her feel transfixed in a spell so powerful she could not resist and which she longed to fully surrender to. *** Her own scream woke Adriana. Her eyes darted from one place to another, straining to see through the black shadows that were capable of hiding the demon that constantly stalked her dreams. In the still silence, the curtain covering the open window moved with a gentle breeze, adding to her fright.

Adriana gathered the sheets and blankets around her, pulling them up to her chin. She waited until the fear inside her subsided as she did every night when the hideous memory of Turiddu Vanucci attacking her—violating her, beating and kicking her, trying to choke the life out of her—returned to haunt her every dream.

Streams of early morning light finally entered her dark room; no more shadows; no more dark corners. Finally able to breathe normally, Adriana rose and sat at the window, wrapping the quilted bedcovering around her.

But her relief was short lived as she remembered today she was leaving Sicily and perhaps would never return. Suddenly overwhelmed with sadness, tears welled and fell down her cheeks as she gazed out over the Ionian Sea. A rap at her door pulled her away from the window. “Yes, who is it?”

“Rosalia, signorina. May I come in?”

“Come in. The door is open.”

“Signorina! Cicinnu asks you meet with him in the sitting room when you are able. He has received news from Naples.”

“Naples? Who has written him?”

“I do not know, signorina, but I know Cicinnu is very happy about it.” Rosalia reached for Adriana’s hand and held it to her breast. “I hope it is good news for you, Signorina Adriana.”

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*** “Adriana! Come in! I have wonderful news for you from Naples. It’s your father, Adriana. He’s alive!”

Adriana stared at Battaghlia, shocked to hear such news coming from him; after all, how would her father and mother know to contact him all the way in Catania?

“I don’t understand, Signor Battaghlia. Why has my father contacted you? How does he know to contact you?”

“Sit down over here so I can share the letter with you.”

Adriana sat next to Battaghlia on a settee near the window.

“Alfonzo Manricco, the man Antonio met on the ferry from Palermo to Naples, he is coming here to Catania. He’s coming with your father and Vito Vanucci.”

“My father . . . Vito . . . my father is alive! My father is in Naples?”

“Yes, here, read the letter.”

Cicinnu my dear friend! I send my greetings to you from Naples.

Terrible events have occurred in recent weeks to our brother, Giuseppe. He is here in Naples with me and in need of help. He does not know where any of his children are. I cannot go into details in the letter, but Vito’s son, Turiddu, has committed terrible crimes against Giuseppe and his family. It is a long and convoluted story but one he will share with you when we all arrive in Catania. We should arrive by the end of the week. Giuseppe, myself, and Vito are traveling together to Catania. Forgive the brevity of this correspondence but we will all be together soon.

—Your brother, Alfonzo Manricco “My father, signor. My father is alive.”

“Yes, and he is coming here to my home! That’s wonderful news, Adriana.” But Battaghlia sat back against the settee and sighed.

“What is it, signor? What’s troubling you?”

“Adriana, your father is coming by the end of the week. You are leaving for New York today. You won’t be here when your father arrives.”

“No, signor. No. I must be here to see my father and mother!

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5

I must. I won’t go to America. None of us need to leave Sicily now! Don’t you see? My father is safe and he is traveling with Vito Vanucci. Surely, that means the threat of Turiddu Vanucci has been taken care of.”

“Adriana . . .” Battaghlia reached for Adriana’s hand, but she pulled it away from him. “Adriana, you must still leave Sicily.”

“No. I will wait here for my father and my mother.”

“You don’t understand. There is no mention of Turiddu Vanucci. I know Manricco very well. If the problem had been solved, he would say to me, ‘The problem is solved.’ That’s how it is. For some reason, your father and Vito are together. But neither you nor I know the circumstance yet. Every hour you are here in Catania, in Sicily, your life and the lives of your family are in danger. The only way to escape right now is to leave Sicily.”

Adriana put her hand to her mouth; she bit down on her hand until tears welled. “This is not your decision, signor! This is my life and my sister’s life. I must see my father again. I have to. You don’t understand.” Adriana stood to leave the room but, suddenly drained of color, fell to the floor in a dead faint.

“Rosalia! Rosalia!” Battaghlia yelled. “Rosalia, bring water and the salts!”

Within moments Adriana recovered. When she came to, she was in the arms of Sevario, her uncle, whom Battaghlia had sent for when he sent for Adriana. He came into the room just as Adriana collapsed to the floor. “Zio, what happened?”

“You fainted; that’s all. Here, drink this.” Sevario held a glass of water to her lips. After taking a sip, she stood up and both Battaghlia and Sevario helped her to sit on the settee.

“I am sorry I upset you, child. Please forgive me,” Battaghlia said sincerely.

“What happened, signor? Why did Adriana become so upset?” Sevario asked.

“Read this.” Battaghlia gave Sevario the letter from Manricco.

Sevario read the note quickly and exclaimed, “Giuseppe is alive! He’s in Naples with Alfonzo! And he’s coming here!”

Seeing the somber look on Battaghlia’s face, Sevario asked, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“They are coming at the end of the week. Adriana and the

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others are leaving tonight for New York.”

Sevario knew then the cause of Adriana’s distress. He nodded to Battaghlia.

“Adriana, I understand. I know you want to be with your father. But as long as Turiddu is alive, Signor Battaghlia is correct: none of us are safe anywhere in Sicily.”

“What does it matter if I leave today or next week? Surely, I am safe here in your house, signor? We are all safe here.”

“No. You are not safe here. I have my men surrounding the house, yes. But bad people always find a way to get what they want. Until Vito Vanucci tells me he has already or will put a stop to his son, then I have no choice but to protect you. The only way I know to do that is for you to leave Sicily.” Battaghlia lowered his eyes; he shook his head and stood. “Remember, child, Turiddu hired Mario to kill his own father and yours. He’ll stop at nothing to get his revenge. The problem, right now, is that no one knows for sure where he is. He could be in another country or hiding somewhere waiting for you to walk out of my house.”

Adriana stood and walked to the window. With her back to Sevario and Battaghlia, she said, “There is no mention, in the letter, that my mother is alive.” *** “Adriana! Adriana, open the door!” Nella shouted as she pounded on Adriana’s door.

“Zia? What is it? What’s happened?” Adriana, on the verge of shouting herself, controlled the urge.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing. When are we leaving for the boat? Is it tomorrow or today? No one is telling me what to do! The children . . . what should I do with the children?”

“Zia,” Adriana said, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around Nella’s shoulders, “stop worrying. Everything is going to be all right. Calm yourself, Zia.” Nella shook her head in frustration. “I’m sorry, Adriana. But I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing. Do you know?”

“You’re just tired. I’m tired too. Let’s go to your room and get the children ready. There is no need to worry. I’m here with you, Zia. Did you feed Angelo this morning?”

Nella nodded. “Yes, but the girls haven’t eaten yet.”

S. E . VA L E N T I

7

Opening the door to Nella’s rooms, Adriana’s heart sank.

Clothes were everywhere. Nothing was in place; Cinzia and Francesca were still in their nightclothes. “Francesca, come over here to me. Let’s comb your hair. Hurry up.”

Nella dressed Cinzia and then took care of Angelo. As soon as everyone was ready, Adriana took them downstairs to the kitchen for breakfast.

“Where is Alfredo, Zia?” “I haven’t seen him this morning. Maybe he is with Santo?’

“Stay here, Zia. I’ll go and pack up your things. There is no need to worry. I’ll take care of the packing and find Alfredo. He can help me too.”

Nella put her arms around Adriana. “I love you, Adriana. I’m so sorry I’m such a burden. I’ll try harder, I promise you.”

Adriana kissed her aunt, then went back upstairs to look for Alfredo. He has to be here somewhere; maybe in the barn?

Adriana looked out the second-floor window at the end of the hallway, but there was no sign of the boy. Turning, she noticed another stairway leading up to another floor. She found him just as she turned the corner to climb the stairs.

“Ah, there you are! I’ve been looking for you.”

The boy ignored her.

“Alfredo, tell me, are you excited about going on the big boat today?”

No answer.

“You know, I’m worried about your mother too. It’s not like her to leave things undone. And it’s not like her to ignore you and your sister.”

Alfredo put his head down on his arms. Adriana could tell he was crying.

“She doesn’t act like my mother anymore. She doesn’t love us anymore.”

Adriana put her arms around the boy. “It seems like that, doesn’t it?”

The boy nodded.

“Your mother is a very strong woman, and I know for certain she loves you very much. Sometimes, when terrible things happen, like your father’s murder . . . especially the way he was

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killed, the shock of such a thing has caused your mother to try and block the very sight of it out of her mind. I know this is terribly hard for you to understand, especially since you saw your father dead, too. But your mother not only lost her husband, she also lost her life in Balestrate. It is the same for all of us.”

Alfredo looked up. “You’re not acting like my mother. You’re the same as you were before all this happened! Why is my mother so weak?”

“Listen to me. Your mother isn’t weak. She is afraid. She’s afraid of facing life without your father. She’s afraid of how she will be able to raise you, your sister and your brother. She’s lost everything, Alfredo. That’s not easy to cope with.”

“Will she ever be my mother again like she used to be?”

“Yes. That I promise you. But it’s going to take patience and understanding to help her get through this. I know it’s asking a lot of you, but I need your help. I need you to help me to take care of her for now. It won’t be forever. She will get better as soon as she feels safe again. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

Alfredo nodded.

“What about Francesca? Will she ever talk again?’

Now Adriana nodded as she held back tears. Five-year-old Francesca was so traumatized hearing her mother’s screams for help the night their farmhouse was burned down that she hadn’t spoken one word since that night.

“I hope she will. But I don’t know that she will. You see we both have heavy hearts, don’t we?”

Alfredo hugged Adriana.

“Are you hungry? Everyone is downstairs eating breakfast.”

The two stood up to go downstairs, but Adriana stopped.

“Let’s practice something, Alfredo. Whenever you feel afraid or alone, no matter what it is, you come to me. You don’t even have to tell me what it is that’s bothering you. Just come to me and I’ll understand. This way we’ll have each other to hug no matter what—no questions asked.”

Alfredo wrapped his arms around Adriana’s waist.

“Good,” Adriana said as she held the boy tightly. ***

S. E . VA L E N T I

9

The two rooms were adjacent to each other. Nella, the baby and Cinzia were in one room and Alfredo had another. Alfredo’s room was neat with the bed made. A single bundle with all of his clothes was on top of the bed. Adriana smiled. Then she went into Nella’s room.

Clothes were still scattered about as if Nella had taken everything out of the bundles and become confused as to what to do with them. She had probably not put anything away since arriving at Battaghlia’s villa more than a week ago.

As Adriana started picking things up, out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of someone staring at her from the doorway.

She stood and turned.

“Santo,” she said, “you surprised me. I’m trying to help Zia pack. As you can see”—she spread her arms out at the mess— “she needs a lot of help.” She stepped back a bit and said, “Come in. Is there anything wrong?”

Santo stepped forward slowly but avoided eye contact with Adriana. The moment suddenly became awkward.

“Santo, what is it? You seem upset about something.”

“No. No, I’m not upset,” he said, looking up at her. “Can I speak with you for a moment?”

“Of course. Come in and sit down.” Adriana moved clothes off a chair by a window.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to say to you for a long time. I’ve been afraid to say anything . . . before now, that is, because of everything you’ve been through—we’ve been through these past weeks.”

“You know you can say anything to me, Santo. What is it?”

“We’ve known each other for a long time . . .”

“Yes, longer than that. We’ve grown up—” Adriana stopped, seeing the look on Santo’s face. “I’m sorry, Santo. You’re upset.

I can tell. What is it?”

“Actually, for the first time in a long time, I feel good about myself. That is, about . . . about what I’m about to say to you.” Santo rose from the chair and went to Adriana. He took her hands in his.

“Adriana, I’m in love with you.” Holding her hands tightly against his chest, he said, “I’ve been in love with you my whole life, I think.

And I think—that is, I hope you feel the same way about me.”

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Adriana’s heart raced as a blush of passion stirred within her. Santo’s nearness was something she had only dreamed of; now, he was standing so close to her she could feel the heat of his body against hers. She lowered her eyes for a moment but then raised them to meet his gaze. She whispered, “I have always loved you, Santo.”

Like a flame luring a moth, love’s passion drew the two closer together—so close he dared to put his arms around her waist and bring her into himself.

“I love you so much,” he said into her ear as he kissed it tenderly. His lips moved to her neck.

She pulled him closer to her, wanting his body as much as he wanted hers. Running her hands first through his hair, she dared to touch his face and then, with her fingertips, his lips.

Time and space disappeared. The innocent young lovers, transfixed now in emotion, felt no other presence except themselves. Their love and desire for one another begged, pleaded to be fulfilled. Finally, he kissed her tender lips and passion exploded, taking the two to a place they had never been before. His body begged her to surrender.

The feel of him against her took her breath away.

He pulled out her combs, letting her hair fall down about her shoulders; he touched it unashamed. The feel of it, the smell of it, aroused him all the more.

Suddenly, with strength not known and never used before, Adriana pushed herself from Santo’s embrace. “We cannot, Santo. We can go no further. We cannot.”

“I love you, Adriana. I want to be yours always. Will you marry me? We can marry today on the boat.”

Adriana’s heart burst with joy. She loved Santo Padua and knew she would never love another man.

“Santo . . .” she stopped speaking as a nearly imperceptible flutter drifted across her lower belly. Adriana pulled away.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“This is foolish. We can’t possibly marry today . . . or any day, for that matter.” Adriana turned from Santo and went to the window. “You have to leave now. I have much to do before Zia comes back with all the children.”

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“Adriana.” Santo went to her and put his hands on her arms.

“Don’t say that. You love me as much as I love you. If you don’t want to marry now, then I’ll wait. I can wait. I want to take care of you. I want to make you happy. Don’t you know that?”

“Stop, Santo. Stop! You have to leave now. I can’t marry. I can’t marry you or any other man.”

“No, you stop. Why deny yourself this happiness? Please, Adriana.”

“Please. I beg of you.” Adriana started to cry. “If you really love me, you have to give up the idea of a marriage between us.”

“What happened in the spring . . . it means nothing to me.

You are innocent.”

“Stop, Santo. Please, I beg of you. You must leave now.”

ATONEMENT SE

When sixteen-year-old Adriana Vazanno is viciously attacked and left for dead at the hands of Turidda Vanucci, her mother realizes a vendetta is the only answer. But the cunning Turiddu escapes his fate and takes revenge by vowing to kill every Vazanno in Sicily. Rescued by her uncles, Adriana flees Sicily for the safety of America’s lower Manhattan. Little does she know that Vanucci has also moved to her neighborhood and is plotting revenge against her and her five-year-old sister Francesca. Will she escape Turidda’s revenge in America?

VALENTI

S.E. Valenti, a new author with one novel under her belt, DELIVER US FROM HONOR, received a Master’s degree in nursing in 1997 from Oakland University in Rochester, Michigan. Valenti has spent thirty years in nursing with the majority of time devoted to HIV/AIDS patient care. She has served on the President’s Advisory Committee on HIV/AIDS during the George W. Bush presidency, and won the Odyssey Award from her Alma Mater for her work in healthcare.

During her spare time, Valenti enjoyed traveling especially with her husband to his beloved Sicily. And, it was during those travels FICTION: Saga & Thriller the urge to write became an urge that could not be resisted. Sicily’s rich and intriguing history, her traditions and love of family captured Valenti’s imagination and the result was her first novel. Her writing interests include mystery, intrigue, historical fiction, drama and romance. köehlerbooks

köehlerbooks

TM

$17.95

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