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“Your political vocabulary is always something to admire, Matteo,” I compliment. “I thought I made it clear that we needed to send a message to the Castellani.”
“And what message exactly did you send, Don?”
“That their options are all the many different ways of saying yes.Nowas never an option, not for me.”
“You're going to start a war,” he warns with the same tone as someone announcing the sunrise.
“Start? Despite your eloquence, we are not politicians, Consigliere, we are mobsters. We live in war, don't be dramatic.” Matteo opens his mouth to give me an answer, but the sound of an explosion followed by the serious crash of something heavy attracts all of our attention.
We watch the roof of the property give way and sink in what was one of the oldest buildings in Sicily. The men around me keep an eye on Matteo, waiting for his reaction, any reaction. The consigliere, however, maintains the measured façade by limiting his gestures to a negative shake of the head.
“I could have exterminated the Castellani blood from the face of the earth and then taken what I want by force, but the only thing I killed was an ancestral home and—" I look at the white carnation in my hands “—some plants. I'm sure they can recover from this tragedy.” I turn around, already walking towards the parked car. “Let's go! Break is over.”
Dario, Luigi, Salvatore, and Antonio immediately take up their positions protecting my flanks, front and rear. It's Luigi, always on my right, who opens the car door for me.
“Make sure they know I don't warn twice, Matteo,” I say over my shoulder, standing in front of the SUV's open door. “If I need to send a second message, then the flowers that survive the fire can be used to decorate the graves of every damned Castellani in this world. After all, when hell gets tired of burning in this place, the land will be ready to be a beautiful cemetery, don't you think?”
I take the carnation still in my hands and, with it, I make the sign of the cross, touching the white petals on my forehead first, then on my chin, and finally on one shoulder at a time. I laugh before throwing her off the cliff, because, contrary to what my words suggested, I would love it if the Castellani hadn't gotten my message.
I look one last time at the flames, now even more irascible than before, and then at a still silent Matteo.
“I believe it is good practice to invite them to dinner, they are having a difficult morning and may have some difficulty organizing the next meals. Maybe buying a new knife set is delicate on our part,” I suggest. “What do you think?”
The consigliere's eyes give nothing away as he walks up to me, holds my hand, and kisses La Santa's ring.
“I'm sure they will be touched by your gesture, Don.”
CHAPTER 4
________
Gabriella Matos
The moment I close the door to my house, I lean back and close my eyes, feeling my heart racing like crazy in my chest and my head throbbing like never before. I had no idea that embarrassment could cause a headache, but if anyone came into the world to discover this kind of thing in practice, it was certainly me.
I exhale, and every breath of air I take out is a ton of relief being taken in. I managed it, I arrived home safe and sound. Humiliated, it's true, but to be honest, being humiliated is just another ordinary Tuesday for me, so I'll just count the victories.
Leaving the West Zone of Rio de Janeiro, at five twenty in the morning, half naked, without money or documents, and managing to reach the North Zone with a t-shirt, a pair of Havaianas and my physical integrity is a huge victory. And I'm not even going to comment on the fact that the t-shirt and pair of Hawaiians in question were donated to me by a homeless woman who took pity on my condition without me even approaching her.
From the same creators as the robbers giving money to the robbed person to buy a better cell phone, comes the homeless woman who gave miraculously clean clothes to the chased cleaning lady. I shouldn't laugh, should I? No, but the corners ofmy lips lift on their own and I try hard to keep the laughter that threatens to burst from my throat inside.
It's a strange reflex, because in the next second my eyes are burning to the point where the urge to cry becomes unbearable, and all I want to do is curl up in a ball on the concrete floor beneath my feet and let the tears flow freely.
“Have you finally hit rock bottom, Gabriella? Have you decided to open your legs for money? Couldn’t you find a better outfit?” Fernanda's voice is like a hammer in my overloaded brain, and I open my eyes to find my sister standing just over a meter away.
It's not like she can be very far away anyway, not when we're both inside. The shack where we live is just one room no more than three meters wide. I look to my left, our father is sleeping, unshakable, on a pile of mattresses against the tin wall.
The unmistakable whistle of the approaching train gives me a few more minutes before I need to deal with Fernanda. Living within the walls of the railway line, literally on the edge of the tracks, has this advantage. Every six minutes you can simply ignore an unwanted conversation, because the passing train makes it impossible to maintain any dialogue, even shouting. But unfortunately, the locomotive is too fast for my taste.
“Good morning to you too, Fernanda,” I say, and a closer look in the semi-darkness that is our windowless hut tells me that I probably should have said good night.
My sister is vacuum-packed in a red mesh miniskirt and a crop top that leaves nothing but her nipples to the imagination.
“You didn't answer,” she reminds me before taking a step towards me and staggering. The movement makes me notice the bottle in her hand,cachaça[15]. I look away and bite my lip, the urge to cry that I felt less than five minutes ago has beencompletely forgotten, invaded by the need to deal with the facts. As always, crying is a privilege I don't have. “Have you finally decided to open those legs for money? Did you find someone stupid enough to want you?”
“No,” I simply respond before, avoiding an unstable Fernanda, walking towards my corner of the hut, on the right side, at the back of the room. Laying down, I just need to lie down and when I wake up, I think about the next step.
I blink when I notice the mess spread across the wet floor and frown.What the…?I kneel down, touch the floor with my fingertips, trying to understand how exactly my drawings, previously attached to the wall with tape, ended up on the worn floor, soaked in whatever the clear liquid is that now also moistens my skin.
