Oisin O'Malley is the victim of a two-timing liar and a Divine Work Force F***up: declared dead before his time. He finds aid in the Moon God Tsukiyomi - whom he's fantasized about since childhood. To uncover the reason for his attempted murder, and...
The restaurant is a church chapel basement. Wait – before you go making assumptions, most of which would be wrong – it's a basement that was built to resemble a medieval church's wine cellar. Above is a very small chapel dedicated to San Giovanni. It seats 100 people at capacity. There's a garden outside, filled with fruit and citrus trees and a very global assortment of herbs. And the tiniest vineyard in the world.
It was built in the 1800s, and during Prohibition was the favorite gathering place of New York City's finest connoisseurs of food and drink. The basement was reached via a winding, circular stone staircase, its entrance hidden behind the altar. The ceiling was just shy of 12 feet. And its capacity was 300 people. As the Mozzarugalas earned more money, they bought the surrounding buildings, renting the storefronts and apartments but adding the basements to their restaurant. Stonemasons from Rome were brought in for almost a decade's worth of work.
It's a brilliant front for their other business, which is assassinations. There are few things the Mafia loves as much as control, but great food and drink is one of them. It's an unspoken rule that the restaurant is neutral ground. Feuds are to be left outside. Otherwise, the family that violates them is reduced in number – quietly, and over time. There's also a rumor about a secret exit that no one has confirmed. (There are several, but keep that to yourselves.)
Tsukuyomi, his godhood restored, wanted to see the chapel first. The stained-glass windows alone are worth a visit...if you get an invitation, that is. They are based on works made by Michaelangelo that were replaced by other works or sketches, or works he had made for other churches that had been rejected. The Moon God was looking at one depicting the Nativity when the setting sun's light hit the western windows and bathed the chapel in silver-blue light.
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There was a soft tinkling of bells as a haloed, robed figure strode down the small aisle. He paused in front of the window Tsuku was looking at. "Do you think Mikey got the water right? Baby Moses looks far too peaceful, I think."
Tsuku smiled. "Was he grumpy?"
"Way before my time, friend. Don't make me older than I am!"
"Jian, there are problems in the Afterworld, and we think..."
"Yes, I know. Michael is misbehaving again. He loves power more than anything. And in peacetime, he's fidgety. He has nothing to do and no one to swing that sword at." He turned to me and offered his hand. I shook it, of course. "My sincere apologies, Oisin. All of this has to do with a centuries-old quarrel, and you and your lover are caught up in it."
"We're here...Saint John?" He nodded and said to just call him John – which felt weird, but considering the past few days, it was par for the course. "We're here to eavesdrop on conversations and see what we can find out about the murders in the Italian and Irish Mafia, and the Yakuza."
"You already know." He looked at us both intently. "That's all I dare, and all I can say. I'm just an apostle, after all. This affects all of the gods, everywhere. Trust your heart, even when it seems wrong. May you always have light in the darkness." And he simply disintegrated into a cloud of dust, which evaporated before it even hit the floor.
"Let's go downstairs anyway. I should like to see this ex of yours." He took hold of my hand, and we ghosted right through the floor into the main dining room. The fact that I couldn't smell anything was exasperating. Entering Gio Grosso is an experience for all the senses – live Italian music, from Opera to folk songs mixed with the sounds of happy families; beautiful stonework, from the walls to the marble floors to the vaulted ceiling; rustic wooden tables and chairs; artworks by the apprentices of the great ones.
And the food, from every corner of the boot, and Sardegna and Sicilia. The wait staff, gliding from table to table in an Olympic ballet of balance and grace. The bus boy army, discreetly checking to bring water or wine, more bread or butter, and asking if the Signora would like another fork, or the Signore would like another napkin. Plates were never cleared unless everyone was done eating, otherwise they might feel rushed, as if they were being encouraged to leave.
On days like Mother's Day, there were even tables placed in the upstairs garden. It's Christmas Eve Feast was by invitation only. Sometimes even the Archbishop couldn't get a table. So why was Gio's family in dire financial straits? He wouldn't tell me.
I heard some woman's golden laughter, and knew it was Gio's cousin Maricela. She was his favorite, of all the family: his confidant, his refuge whenever his Papa drove him mad, or he just needed a shoulder to cry on. I was lucky that, when Gio finally mustered enough courage to introduce us, we liked each other on the spot.
Tsukuyomi followed my gaze, and gasped. "Now she, she is as lovely as a cherry blossom."
"Gio's cousin. She's an extraordinary person."
If your Gio is anything like her, I may just whisk him away somewhere and ravish him while you and she get..."
"Tsuki, I'm a ghost. I know, you forget. Come on, into the kitchen with you."
If the both of us hadn't been non-corporeal, it would have taken us 6 minutes before we'd have been able to enter. The kitchen was damnably small but brilliantly designed. Everything for a chef was close at hand, either above, below or beside.
In the middle, like a muscular spider, danced Gio. Often his mother pleaded with him to have a camera placed near him, so the customers could watch him. "Imagine!" she'd say, "All the beautiful women watching you, wanting you to dance with them! Gio, mi bambino, get married! I'm not getting any younger, and I want grandchildren! Many, many grandchildren, si?"
Recently, the pressure to marry had become intense. When I'd begged him to come out to her, to tell her about us, he'd yell "You want me to break her heart? You want me to kill her? Because THAT would kill her!"
"Ah," commented Tsuku, "Like Japanese. I understand."
The doors swung open, admitting a beaming Maricela. "It is all going well, Gio. Mi Papa has agreed to put up the other half of the price of the Castello. This, time, next year, we shall be a King and Queen." She laughed that golden laugh. "I'm still confused why you proposed, and so soon after Oceans' accident." She wrapped him in a hug, oblivious to the marinara that ran down the front.
"Ocean?" chuckled Tsukuyomi.
"It's her pet name for me. She couldn't say my name correctly the first few times. And before you ask, it's Oh-Sheen."
Gio pushed her away gently. That was something I wanted to know as well. He sighed, handing some of the waiters several plates. "I haven't turned straight, or bi, mia cara cugina. I just want to shut Mama up about getting married. You can pursue a career on the mainland, or travel if you like."
"I might decide to change your mind – you never know. Have you gone to see Ocean at all? Since he was released to Paddy's care?"
Gio shook his head. "I can't, Mari. I just can't. I feel like I'm cursed."
"Maricela!" shouted a woman's voice.
"Gotta go. Say, have you seen Octavio? Leave it to my half-brother to disappear for two days! If you see him tell him to get his peachy ass back home, capice?" And she flew through the swinging doors.
