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“I know – which is why you need to emphasize that if they take our money and go back on their word, we’ll consider that a betrayal. If they want to stay on the street and work for themselves, no problem – we’ll protect them however we can. But if they take our money and lie about it, they’re dead to us. ‘Good luck and fuck off.’”
It was tough, but it was fair.
Niccolo sighed. “You also know that most of the women will just start working for Uncle Fausto in his territory. Or they’ll move to Florence and start working for the Agrellas.”
The Agrellas were the Cosa Nostra family that shared control of Florence with the Rosolinis. The Agrellas handled the streets – prostitution, gambling, and drugs – while the Rosolinis handled political corruption – politicians, judges, and cops.
Fausto had his own territory now, and he had shown no indication he would change a single thing about prostitution, drugs, or anything else.
“That’s on the individual women,” Dario said. “If only one or two get out and start a new life, then it’s worth it to me. I can only control what we do, not what the women choose for themselves.
“By the way – from now on, we have nothing to do with sex trafficking. No one transports women through our territory, from Eastern Europe or anywhere else. I don’t care how much they offer us; no one moves women through our territory. Period.”
“The Agrellas won’t like that,” Roberto said.
“Fuck them. Tell them to find another way or get out of the business.”
“You realize these are massive changes,” Niccolo complained. “How soon are we supposed to accomplish all this?”
“The new policies start now. I realize it will take some time to talk to the women individually, but get it done as soon as possible. However,” he said sternly, “it will get done.”
Then Dario had Niccolo brief him on every threat the family faced in the wake of Leonardo’s death – everything that he couldn’t be told over a prison phone.
As for threats, there were quite a few –
And the first real test came quickly.
127
The Monday after Dario’s return, Niccolo convened an emergency meeting before dinner. As head of security, I joined all the brothers in the parlor.
“I just got word that the Genoans sent their enforcer into our territory,” Niccolo informed us. “Umberto Fumagalli.”
An enforcer was the top soldier of a mafia family – usually the most trusted assassin, and an all-around scary motherfucker who could get people to fall in line with implied threats. The enforcer was usually the one given the assignments that needed to be handled quickly and decisively, with no room for fuckups.
‘The Genoans’ were the Oldanis – the Cosa Nostra family that controlled Genoa, a coastal city three hours to the northwest of Florence.
I was relatively new to the world of the mafia, but I knew one thing for certain: the Oldanis sending their top assassin into our territory was not a good sign.
“Where is he?” Dario asked. “Do we know?”
Niccolo frowned. “It makes no sense – one of our spies saw him in some backwater village named Mensano.”
“We’re sure it’s Fumagalli?” Dario asked.
“This is the picture I got from our guy,” Niccolo said as he held out his phone. “It was taken half an hour ago.”
We gathered around to get a better look. Onscreen was a snapshot of a man getting out of a green Audi. He was in his late 30s and ugly like a toad, with fat lips and heavily lidded eyes.
“That’s him, alright,” Dario said with a sigh.
“You know him?” I asked in surprise.
“We know all the major players in all the families,” Niccolo explained. “Fumagalli’s been their top guy for a decade.”
“What are we going to do?” Roberto asked.
Niccolo shrugged. “We have to kill him.”
