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He told me all sorts of stories about his brothers. The older ones came to visit him occasionally in San Vittore. I never met them, but I came to feel as though I knew them.
Adriano was the hothead: quick-tempered but fearless.
Massimo had the kindest heart – until someone crossed the people he loved. Then he could become a raging bull.
Valentino was the baby of the family. According to Dario, Valentino was the best-looking of the brothers and a real Casanova.
Dario looked like a movie star, so if he had a brother who was more attractive than him, the kid must have been a real heartbreaker.
Niccolo was the plotter and schemer, a trickster, and possibly the most charismatic of them all. He was also the funniest of the brothers.
Niccolo’s twin Roberto, though, was an enigma. Quiet and studious, he was a financial genius – but he was the most secretive of Dario’s brothers. Like he was hiding something.
“Do you think he might be gay?” I asked.
“No, but it wouldn’t matter to me if he was. Old-school Italians look down on homosexuality as a weakness – a lack of manliness – but not me and my brothers. None of us would give a shit as long as he’s happy. I think it’s something else… something he’s afraid to tell us for whatever reason. Maybe someday he’ll reveal what it is, but for now, he keeps his cards close to his vest.” Dario smiled. “That’s fine by me. Being good at keeping secrets is a huge asset in our line of work.”
Dario was vague about what that ‘line of work’ was. He would only say that his family was involved in ‘importing and exporting.’
From the deference everyone in San Vittore paid him, though, it was easy to read between the lines: he was involved in organized crime.
I didn’t really care. I was a government assassin who’d gotten caught on my second outing, so it wasn’t like I could cast stones.
And in San Vittore, having a friend who was connected to the mafia had real benefits.
But family wasn’t all we talked about.
Women were a frequent topic – but always in Italian, which forced me to practice.
I knew from gossip in the prison yard that prostitutes visited the richest gangsters, posing as girlfriends or wives for conjugal visits. The warden and prison guards knew it was all bullshit, but they were willing to look the other way… for a price.
I asked Dario once if he had ever considered hiring an escort to come to the prison.
“No,” he said decisively, then gave me an amused look. “Why? You want me to arrange something for you?”
All I could think about was Rachel. The thought of sex with another woman – especially a stranger who was only fucking me for money – turned my stomach.
“No, I’m good,” I said.
Dario went back to punching the mattress on the wall. “I’m done with all that – I’ve had my fun. Once I get out of here, it’s time to get serious and settle down.”
“Why?”
“Because a man’s got to think about the long-term, that’s why. I’ve waited long enough as it is. I don’t want to have my first child when I’m too old to pick him up.”
I laughed.
He frowned at me. “What’s so funny?”
“You’re 26 years old. It’s a little early to talk about being too old to pick up your kids.”
“I’ll be 30 when I get out of here.”
“Yeah, but – ”
“My father didn’t marry until he was almost 30, and he always says it was the biggest regret of his life. If he’d married earlier, he would have had more time to raise a family – and maybe have a daughter. He always wanted a little girl but never got the chance.”
“Why not?”
