“I gather, then, that the mortgage amount is equivalent to an advance on her wages.”
“Precisely.” I confirmed. It was the only legal way to remove the witness to the murder of Senator Jones from the United States. Some would say it was luck, others would take the liberty to speculate. They would probably think she was prostituting herself. Either conclusion suited my purposes.
When the time came, Daisy would be eliminated in a way that would look like a tragic accident. Until then, she would work under my supervision, which would actually be quite useful.
After the death of my famiglia, I had not been able to keep permanent employees in the house, despite how high our security was. We had a good camera system and the soldati (our soldiers), were always on duty, but allowing someone to move around the villa without questions and without raising suspicion was a risk we could no longer afford to take. Now, only three women from Castello dell'Fiero came once a week to clean. They were elderly and were constantly accompanied by the soldati to prevent any inconvenient situations. The only ones who were allowed to enter and leave the villa without question, besides me, were Luca Condello, my head of security and a man who had always been like a brother to my father, and Martino Arcuri, the famiglia chauffeur for a lifetime and the person who had gotten me, my brother, and my cousin out of a lot of trouble when we were just kids.
No one else.
Besides that, I had been informed last week that the three cleaning ladies were going to permanently retire from the job, which I couldn’t blame them. The youngest was eighty-two years old. Which meant I would be left with no one to keep the house and would need to find substitutes, something that didn’t please me at all, especially for what that meant in terms of security protocol.
Daisy however, was ideal for that role.
She was in my hands. If she tried to do anything to harm me, she knew her loved ones would pay the price. She would be the perfect housekeeper. Bound to me by life itself.
“Should I include accommodation expenses in that amount?”
“No. Those things will be taken care of by me. Put that in the document.” I clarified. “I want to leave the country today. With her.”
Alessandro Lombardi grunted. “I've been up all night waking up acquaintances to make this possible, but I can't make any promises. She needs a visa and—”
“I'll take care of the visa. You just worry about the employment contract and the rest of the paperwork so she can accompany me.”
“Very well.”
“Grazie, Alessandro. Call me if there are any developments.”
“Sure.”
I hung up and dialed an Italian number.
After Zio Ricardo died and Lorenzo was sentenced, the società was left without any active santisti. They are the ones who manage our connections, a kind of public relations within our industry. So not only did I had to take over as Capobastone of our ‘ndrina, but I also had to take on additional duties. I was forced to maintain my former position, which I had shared with my Papà from an early age, as contabile, which meant handling all the famiglia's business and financial affairs, and I also had to take on the responsibilities of Capobastone and assume the position of santista to ensure that no relationships were lost after the tragedy.
But they were lost. Many, in fact. And the business suffered major blows that had nothing to do with the proceedings in the United States.
The biggest had been the loss of the quota in Gioia Tauro. The flow of business coming into the port was high and under constant police scrutiny, so the space was managed with great care. But after the death of my grandfather and my father, some contracts lost their effect and, consequently, the space that was allocated to us for our cargo containers.
I had only managed to recover eighty percent of the quota.
Fortunately for me, the most important relationships remained close as if nothing had changed, and now I was grateful for that. I was going to need a helping hand.
“Camillo, come stai?” A man's voice, heavy with age, greeted me effusively.
“Bene, Don Finisterra.Mi scusi, I know you must be having lunch at this hour.” I apologized with all the respect the man deserved, suddenly remembering the time difference between the two countries.
Don Giulio Finisterra was not a politician, he was not a businessman, he was not our partner, nor was he an ordinary man. He was one of the most influential men in Sicily and in what ordinary mortals knew as the Cosa Nostra. But Don Giulio didn’t treat his famiglia as a mere business. That was not why he was so well known and respected. Don Giulio was a well-informed man. With a mere snap of his fingers, politicians, businessmen, and aristocrats across Italy fell at his feet. I was no exception. But Don Giulio didn’t let that power be corrupted by ego or emotions. He used it wisely, ensuring a comfortable life for the entire Famiglia Finisterra.
"You're not bothering me, Camillo. Dimmi, ragazzo."
“I need a favor from you. I hired an American woman to work in my house, but I don't have her visa yet and I need to go back today. Do you think that's possible?”
Don Giulio laughed. “Ah, American women have always been beautiful.” I rolled my eyes. As expected, the story about the housekeeper was assumed to be a cover for some kind of sexual arrangement. Whatever. “Don't worry, I'll have it sorted in two hours. Just let me finish my coffee.”
“Grazie mille.” I smiled, relieved to know that I would soon be back home. “Allora, the new collection has arrived at our jewelry store in Palermo. It's all platinum and sapphires. Tell your ladies to stop by this afternoon, sì?”
“Ah, ragazzo!Grazie. You know my Lucia loves everything that sparkles!”
I laughed. “That's why our jewelry store in Palermo is one of the best stocked. By the way, did your granddaughters like the necklaces?”
