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“Everything ready for tonight?” I ask Dario as I start walking to the front door of the house.
“Yes, Don. As ordered.” I nod, satisfied, not only for that, but mainly for finally being back in my Italy.
***
The cold water washes away the tiredness and dirt after more than fifteen hours of flying. I rest my hands on the wall in front of me, feeling my body relax under the powerful jets of the multiple showers. I close my eyes, feeling each of my muscles being relieved of the tension that days outside Italy always leave.
The feeling of familiarity I felt when I stepped onto Italian soil is indescribable. From the warm sun to the landscape, everything seems right, in its place. But more than anything, the feeling of belonging, the feeling of home that just being in the heart of the Sagrada is able to provide me.
La Santais not an elitist organization. We accept any man who is willing to pledge allegiance as long as he proves he has the honor and dignity necessary to bear our mark on his skin.
This means that there are many who come to us, and their reasons are even more diverse. Some find no place in the world for the violence they were born with, like my brothers, Tizziano and Cesare. Others need someone to look out for them becausethey were born without this privilege. There are still those who have interests that go far beyond their individual possibilities and look to the Sagrada for an outstretched hand to help achieve them.
Regardless of the reasons that bring them to us, once sworn in blood, killed in fire and reborn in ashes, no man is capable of feeling complete apart from the Sagrada. I am not able to feel complete apart from it, even when the distance imposed between us is in its service.
After soaping my body, I let the water rinse it off before wrapping a towel around my waist and getting out of the shower. I shave before leaving the bathroom and stop at the bedroom door when I come across an unfriendly-looking Anna Cataneo.
“Mamma?”
“May I know why there is a Brazilianputtanain my kitchen?” Between four walls, behind closed doors and with just the two of us in the room, she doesn't make any point of remembering that I'm her Don.
“I'm also happy to see you well,Mamma.”
“Don't give me this about being alive and well, Vitto! I've been cultivating perfect mafia wives for you for years and you're going to rub a Brazilianputtanain the face of the entirefamiglia?” The question is enough to put aside any trace of seriousness I could be maintaining in this conversation. I turn my back on her and go into my closet.
“I appreciate the effort, but I'm not interested in any crops other than the grapes we have here” I say and, even from a distance, I can hear the loud snort that she would have immediately reprimanded if it had come from the mouths of any of her three youngest children.
I dress calmly, knowing that, although she didn't mind invading my room with unreasonable demands, even mymammaknows that there are lines she shouldn't cross. When I return to the room, still with an untied tie hanging around my neck, however, I find my mother sitting in the armchair next to the fireplace, muttering under her breath an endless sequence of insults.
“Don.” She salutes when she sees me and stands up.Mammawalks up to me and takes my hand, her lips reach La Santa's ring, and she kisses it in reverence.
“I was starting to wonder what kind of training you were giving your so-called perfect mob wives.”
“Vitto!” she scolds and hides the smile.
I always had the impression that I didn't feel about mymammathe way most children feel about theirs, but Anna is still my mother and as much as she owes me respect as her Don, I owe her some for being the one who brought me into the world. And the truth is that I respect her for more than that. What she andmio padrebuilt here is not something common in our world.
Even though the Sagrada has very strict rules regarding a husband's conduct, we cannot guarantee affection for wives and children. Mainly because that would need to ignore the obvious: affection is weakness. And that is not something we can do, because weakness is not something Sagrada tolerates.
“I don't want thatputtanain my house, Vitto!” She complains, as I knew she would do the moment I told Angelo to take theladruncolathere.
Of course, mymammawould assume that if I brought a woman, a foreigner home, it would be for the sole purpose offucking her. She is actually the only person in the family who would think something like that for obvious reasons.
“And where do you want her? In my wing of the house? Or maybe I should leave her in Tizziano's ward? If you want grandchildren so much, maybe this really is a good idea. If you're lucky, in nine months we'll have at least one little Brazilian bastard running around the house.” Her eyes widen at the same time her nostrils flare in irritation.Mammacloses her eyes and takes a deep breath before answering me.
“I know your business is none of my business,figlio. I also know I have no right to ask why you decide what you decide, your word is my law, Don. But why bring home aputtana, figlio mio? If you don't like any of the girls I presented, we have other options...”
“Mamma” I interrupt her. “I brought home a servant, not a bride.”
“Vitto.”
“That's all I'm going to discuss with you on the subject,Mamma. She stays in your wing until I decide another end for her and that is not a request.”
“But she doesn't evenparla[44]Italian!”
“Well, then let's hope she learns quickly.”
CHAPTER 16
