Massimo stood guard as I retrieved several dresses and a negligee from my wardrobe.
When it came time to get my bras and underwear, I cleared my throat. “Could you…?”
“Oh,” he said in a voice even deeper than his boss’s. Then he looked away, almost in embarrassment. “Of course.”
I gathered the things from my dresser and wrapped them inside my dresses. “Alright.”
He looked at my bundle of clothes and frowned. “Don’t you have a suitcase?”
“No.”
He looked mystified.
I shrugged. “I’ve never gone anywhere before, so there was never a need.”
He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head like, Makes sense.
Then he started to lead the way back down to the café…
But I stood still, afraid of what would happen when I went back downstairs.
Massimo realized I wasn’t following and looked back.
Rather than becoming impatient, he smiled gently. “Nothing will happen to you. When my brother gives his word, he never breaks it.”
I looked at him in shock. “He’s your brother?!”
“So is Adriano. There are six of us.”
I realized it should not have surprised me so much. The Cosa Nostra was all about fathers, sons, brothers, uncles, cousins…
There was no reason they would not all be involved in the family business.
The family business being crime… and murder.
I shook my head. “I’m not worried about me so much as I am about what will happen to my father.”
“If he wasn’t involved in whatever conspiracy that stronzo got shot for, then your father has nothing to fear.”
I thought back to the ugly man’s words – Tell your father my compliments to the chef – and wondered if I should be worried.
“Your brother is judge, jury, and executioner – correct?” I asked.
Massimo shrugged. “Probably not the executioner.”
Those words sent a cold chill through my heart – but I forced myself to sound angry rather than terrified. “I don’t want him making a snap decision based on rumors or gossip.”
Massimo gave me a small smile that was almost kind. “He is by far the most level-headed man I’ve ever met. Like I said, your father has nothing to fear… if he’s innocent.”
I looked at Massimo for a second more, then composed myself and walked past him down the stairs.
When I got back to the café, my father was sitting in a chair. He looked terrified. No wonder, seeing as Adriano was standing behind him like the grim reaper.
Don Rosolini glanced over at the bundle of clothes in my arms and raised one eyebrow. “She has no bag?”
“She’s never gone anywhere before,” Massimo explained.
“Hm. That’s all you need?” the stranger asked me.
“I want something else before we go,” I said.
“Go and fetch it, then.”
“It’s not a ‘thing.’ I want a promise – that you won’t hurt my father,” I said, surprising myself with my boldness.
That was too much for the Hothead.
“You are not in a position to be demanding anything!” Adriano snapped.
The handsome mafioso raised one hand, and Adriano fell silent once again.
It was something to behold – they might have been brothers, but it was like a master quieting his dog.
Massimo spoke up. “I already told her that if her father didn’t join the plot against you, he’ll be safe.”
The mafioso looked at me. “I’ll go one step further. I promise your father will be safe even if he conspired against me… so long as he admits the error of his ways and tells me everything he knows. AND if you go with me willingly. Fair enough?”
I swallowed hard. “…yes.”
I glanced over at my father.
He looked terrified, but he remained silent.
I thought about bringing up what the ugly man had said to me –
Then remembered that these men were in the Cosa Nostra.
I wasn’t going to gamble my father’s life on the potentially empty promises of murderers.
“Nothing?” the mafioso said to my father, then turned back to me. “Perhaps he needs a bit more time to reflect. Are you ready?”
I leaned over and kissed my father’s cheek. He grabbed onto my arm.
“It will be alright,” Papa whispered. He smiled feebly, like he was attempting to convince me of something he didn’t really believe.
I nodded and tried to be brave. Then I turned back to the mafioso. “I’m ready, Don Rosolini.”
The handsome man gave me a devilish smile that was both seductive and frightening at the same time.
“My father was Don Rosolini,” he said. “You can call me Dario.”
