Page 171 of Marcello

I eventually found out that it wasn’t just shooting…

That they could kill you in other ways, as well.

If you were listening carefully, you might have noticed I said Mama had fertility complications after the birth of her third child.

But I only had one brother – Luciano – and no sisters.

Or, at least, I only knew about one brother.

The other two died before I was born.

I didn’t even know they existed until I was 17 years old, when I was arguing with my father about why I couldn’t go to university.

My entire life, I’d never gone to school with other children. I’d had a series of tutors who came to the house and taught me everything – Italian, English, science, history, literature, the arts…

If Papa thought it was worth learning, he hired someone to come to the castle and teach me – after extensive vetting, of course.

We also didn’t go to church. There was a chapel in the castle, and every two months, a priest came to perform Mass and offer confession.

Papa never went. Mama was the only one who did it willingly; I accompanied her because she would make my life miserable if I didn’t.

The priest traveled all the way from Rome because Papa didn’t trust anyone from Naples. He was afraid even the church could be tainted by the Camorra.

No school, no church, no friends to play with… by the time I was 17, I knew that my life wasn’t normal – and not just because Ezio, Fiorella, and Maristella got to do all the things I didn’t, like go to the beach or go shopping.

By then, I’d watched thousands of movies and television shows, and I knew what life was supposed to look like.

Well… at least Hollywood’s version of it, anyway.

I was also incredibly rebellious by that point. I’d started to think for myself, and my father telling me Because I SAID so just wasn’t going to cut it anymore.

We fought all the time. Eventually, it came to a head one day when the two of us were alone.

“Why can’t I go out and live my life?!” I yelled at him. “You keep me PRISONER here!”

“Because the Camorra – ”

“‘The Camorra, the Camorra, the Camorra!’” I interrupted brattily. “I’ve been hearing about the Camorra my entire life, and I’ve never even seen anybody in it!”

“Because I’ve protected you – ”

“You haven’t PROTECTED me – you’ve IMPRISONED ME!”

“For your own good!”

I rolled my eyes and exclaimed in disgust, “What the hell did the Camorra ever do to you?”

“THEY KILLED YOUR BROTHERS!” he screamed.

Then he choked up and turned away, his eyes filled with tears.

I stood there, stunned into silence.

That was the first time I ever heard of Rolando and Gilberto.

They were both murdered on their way home from school one day, when they were seven and ten. Luciano was thirteen; I hadn’t even been born yet.

Mama and Papa weren’t with them. Rolando and Gilberto were being chauffeured when the car was ambushed by members of the Camorra.