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Actually, I could.
It seemed consistent with the dark humor of Italians. Swedes have our own form of gallows humor to get us through the cold winter nights, but we had nothing on Italy – the land of passion and death.
I knew Valentino was just talking because he was nervous and upset about his father, so I let him ramble. But the closer we got to our destination, the more distracted I became with my own ‘bad thoughts.’
To me, Milan was a cursed city. It was where I’d lost nearly four years of my life…
And the woman I loved.
The day I left, I thought I would never go back –
So, of course, that’s exactly where Fate sent me.
And not just to Milan, but to the gulag itself.
From the outside, San Vittore was just a bunch of ugly walls concealing an even greater ugliness within. But as we drove up to it, I could almost feel the darkness seeping through the concrete. It depressed me even more to think of everything the prison had taken from me.
Of course, it had given me one of the best friends I’d ever had, and an amazing new life…
But the trade-off had been bitter indeed.
We parked in the visitor’s lot. I left my guns in the car as I accompanied Adriano, Massimo, and Valentino inside.
As we signed in, there was more than one double-take as the staff recognized me. One guard even joked, “Couldn’t stay away, huh?” but I ignored him.
Only one brother was allowed to visit at a time. Adriano went first, accompanied by a guard.
Valentino paced the corridor nervously as we waited for Adriano to return.
“Val’s never been in a place like this before,” Massimo said quietly as he and I stood by the wall.
“…and you have?” I asked.
Massimo looked at me with one raised eyebrow.
I put up my hands like Don’t shoot. “Sorry – I didn’t mean it the way it came out. I just was surprised you’d been in prison.”
Massimo looked at me for a long moment in silence.
Then he finally spoke.
“…I’ve visited them before.”
We stared at each other –
And then both broke out laughing.
“Okay, Mr. Tough Guy,” Massimo said good-naturedly, “I know we’re not all badasses like you, but please, allow me to retain some of my dignity.”
I began speaking in a voice like the narrator of a documentary. “Massimo Rosolini – he’s visited some of the WORST prison waiting rooms in all of Italy – ”
Massimo bumped my shoulder and nearly toppled me over.
I was just about to retaliate in a fun, rough-housing way when Valentino cleared his throat.
Massimo and I both looked over at him.
“Dario’s in there, and our father’s dead,” he said coldly. “Could you two show a little fuckin’ respect?”
