My parents were dead. My grandparents. My uncle and aunt. Dead.
I shook my leg faster, following it with the other. I felt electric shocks running through my flesh. The sweat refused to stop. Iwantedto cry, but the pressure inside my skull wouldn't let me. It was so bad that when the lawyer stopped in front of me and put his hand on my shoulder, I couldn't recognize him.
“I'm so sorry, Camillo...” The man's voice was distant, as if I was sinking into the sea, while he stayed on the surface, trying to reach me. “I took the first flight from New York to Jackson as soon as I heard the news...” The lawyer continued, but I didn't even bother to lift my face. I saw his black suit pants, his blue shirt with white stripes, but everything was blurry, cloudy. I felt, in fact, submerged in some ocean. "You are not alone in this. The New York families are standing behind you.“ I movedmy legs faster, feeling something wet falling from my eyes, and began digging my nails into my palms.Myfamigliawas dead. ”Camillo?" The lawyer's voice was getting more distant, like all the other sounds. I tried to breathe, but couldn't.
The voices multiplied. I fell forward, not understanding what they were saying or who they were talking to. I felt hands on my shoulders. Someone tried to lift me up, but my legs were shaking, this time on their own. My whole body was convulsing.
Papàwas dead. Nonno was dead. Nonna was dead. Zio and Zia were dead too. And so was Mamusia.
Mamusia. MyMamusia.
‘I've seen a lot of people get out of jail, but not out of the grave. We're alive... That's all that matters, Camillo.’
Air rushed back into my lungs and the pressure in my skull fractured, exploding in a scream that filled the police station. A roar that reverberated throughout the building and reduced me to a convulsing rag, curled up on the floor, washed in tears.
“It's my fault...” I whimpered, gasping between sobs. “It's all my fault...”
“My clients need to see a doctor. This is not acceptable treatment!” I heard the lawyer shout and realized it was his hands trying to support me.
It was Alessandro Lombardi.
“Mr. Lombardi, your clients are accused of drug trafficking, racketeering, illegal possession of weapons, resisting arrest, and they will also be charged with the murder of two officers,” recalled an aged masculine voice. “There is a process to follow.”
“The Fourteenth Amendment guarantees humane treatment and medical care to any detainee. This is not humane treatment! These men have lost their families, they need psychological counseling. In a hospital.”
The police officer grunted. “We will take the necessary measures.”
Moments later, I was lifted off the ground by what appeared to be paramedics. Taken into an ambulance and locked in a hospital room. My crying never stopped, nor did the convulsions. Only after a doctor saw me and gave me some medication everything started to feel lighter, maybe too much.
Before the lights went out, I managed to process a thought:
Kill Valentina.
Chapter 10
Camillo Vicari
November, 2015
30 years old
Jackson, Mississippi, USA
Ten years ago
The verdicts had been handed down. The judge was just making her final remarks, but there was nothing left to do.
"We can appeal, but it is unlikely that we will be able to reverse this. I am more confident that your sentences will be reduced for good behavior. Even though your personal charges were minor, she presented irrefutable evidence of your connection to the società. Then, the death of the two agents... Even though Lorenzo took the blame for the murders, your alleged involvement in the conspiracy weighed heavily on the sentence," Alessandro Lombardi whispered in my ear.
I nodded slowly as my brother and cousin swallowed the reality that awaited them behind bars. Mario was sentenced to ten years and Lorenzo to twenty-five. I, on the other hand, faced only charges of illegal possession of a weapon and resisting arrest. I was going to serve one year.
All because ofher.
My gaze slid to the haughty brunette woman in an all-black suit. She sat with a triumphant expression, chin raised and eyes gleaming, wedged between District Attorney Salli Moore and a blonde bitch who had used my famiglia as a poster child for her political campaign.
Senator Madeleine Jones.
I wouldn’t forget her name or face. Nonetheless, she wouldn’t be my priority. Once my time was served and I was free again, I would go after the Assistant District Attorney.
