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“I’m begging you, please!”
“Three…two…”
“I want to save Jake!”
“No.” My voice was hard. She’d told me who to save. “I asked you which oneto kill.” I wanted her to say his name so that she would always remember which one she had condemned to death and what the consequences would be if she ever tried to escape again.
She gulped. “Cornelio,” she whispered through her tears. “I choose Cornelio.”
Without a backward glance, I turned on my heel and strode out of the room.
***
That afternoon, Alessio and I visited the grieving families of the four perimeter soldiers killed by the Società men last night.
I turned to Alessio as we left the last home we needed to visit. “It feels like we’ve done this too many times lately.”
Alessio nodded. “Too many good soldiers have died lately at the hands of the Società Mafia. They’ll fucking pay for this.”
By the end of the day, I was in a filthy mood. Torturing the two Società men yesterday had done little to allay my fury, nor had training with Camillo until the sweat was pouring off me. Right now, I could think of only one thing that might soothe me.
After telling Alessio and Camillo to meet me in the garage block after dinner, I made for my SUV.
***
I grabbed a burger from a drive-through and, twenty minutes later, I pulled up outside the Tocchini house.
Alfonso Tocchini was one of my soldiers and his family had worked for the Fratellanza for many generations, first in Italy and then here in the US.
He lived with his mother, wife and two children in a small house in a quiet Chicago suburb.
His son also worked for us in the organization, but the person who had first drawn me to the family was his fifteen-year-old daughter, Carolinne. She was the same age as Danio, and they were in the same class at school and had been best friends since they started kindergarten.
Carolinne had been seven years old when she had been shot by the Bratva in a drive-by shooting. She and her family had been entering a Fratellanza-owned hotel, attending a family celebration after the christening of a cousin.
The bullet had hit her chest and she had required extensive surgery to repair the internal damage. I’d only been Capo for a short while at that time. It had been my responsibility as Capo to keep the Fratellanza and their families safe, and I had blamed myself for this little girl getting shot.
I had visited the family a number of times during that period to check on how Carolinne was doing. One time they invited me to stay for dinner. I declined, but Carolinne’s grandmother insisted, and I accepted so as not to offend the older Italian woman.
That evening had been a bit of a revelation. It had seemed like the most normal family dinner I’d ever had and completely unlike any experience I had with my parents during my childhood.
It was just like you would see in the movies: a mom and pop, with a cheeky son and angelic daughter, and their grandmother, Nonna, fussing in the background and heaping up the plates with second servings of her homemade ravioli.
But what really got me was the love and lack of tension. Even though Alfonso was a Made Man, he kept that persona out of his family home and away from his loved ones. At home he was just a regular dad and husband.
My father had been the complete opposite. Every family meal included reminders of our duties to the Fratellanza and talk of vendettas and violence. My mother had cowered in fear and us older children had hated our father and his cruel ways.
The Tocchini household was how I would want my own children to be raised one day. Although Alessio and I were doing an okay job of raising Camillo, Danio, and Debi, I was painfully aware that they were missing out on having a mom, and I regularly felt guilt about that.
After that first dinner at the Tocchini house, I had set up cameras and listening devices in their home. I told myself that I wasn’t really a stalker. It was just that watching them always made me feel calm and sort of happy. It was my bit of escapism.
I unwrapped my burger and settled back in my car to watch and listen to the Tocchinis via my laptop.
Tonight was their night for take-out. This was always my favorite night. Their Nonna cooked every night, and it was always an Italian dish. Once a week, however, they had what she called ‘American food’: they had take-out pizza.
Nonna always chose a Hawaiian pizza, with ham and pineapple, from the take-out menu. Then every week, while she happily devoured every last slice, she would give her regular commentary. “Mamma mia, these Americans, they are barbarians. They put a pineapple on a pizza, and they say this pink rubbish is ham. Huh, the Americans wouldn’t know proper ham even if a pig came up and snorted in their faces”.
Tonight, she started on her grandson and the need to marry well. “You need a good Italian girl to marry so that you get proper Italian food instead of getting American pizza cooked in the microwave every night.’
