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He nods solemnly and takes a deep breath. "My mother, Elisabetta…she always tried to teach me the importance of compassion and empathy. She believed that there was good in everyone, even those who chose a darker path."
He pauses, looking away as if the memory pains him. "And yet, here I am, a product of a cruel world that goes against everything she stood for, always fearing, always doubting the good in people."
"Your mother sounds like a wise woman," I say gently, not wanting to push too hard. "What would she think of the choices you've made?"
Dario chuckles sadly. "She'd probably be heartbroken but understanding. She knew the life I was born into wasn't an easy one but she also knows I have no choice.
There are no siblings I can convince to take over my role. And my mafioso, I stay in it for them. They’re a good lot, and once father steps down, I’m the head of the family. I can’t leave them. This is something my mother taught me. Loyalty. I find joy in at least staying true to some of her values."
I sense an opportunity to share a piece of my story without giving away too much. "Nobody knows this but I had a sister who was an artist," I begin carefully.
"She taught me to see beauty in everything, even the most mundane objects. But when she passed away, I struggled to find that same appreciation for life. It was as if the color had been drained from the world."
"You had a sister?" Dario’s voice reflects sympathy with my pain. He reaches over and takes my hand in his. I feel my heart begin to race.
Taking a deep breath, I decide to venture further into my story, walking very close to compromising my mission, yet again. "My sister, Emily"— I pause, swallowing the lump forming in my throat—"she died a few years ago. She was very brave, but she just wasn’t strong enough…" Tears choke my voice and I let them run freely.
"Jasmine, I'm so sorry" Dario says softly, his eyes showing genuine concern and sympathy. “Was it cancer?” I give the slightest nod. “That can be really tough on family members; watching their loved one suffer while there’s nothing they can do to stop it.”
My breath hitches at his words and a new gush of tears spill over my cheeks. My sister did not die from cancer, but that is a minor twist of the truth.
Learning that she had suffered a brutal death at the hands of the mafia, and I wasn’t there to help her, had nearly broken me. Her low-life ex-boyfriend betrayed her when she ran drugs to make some extra cash.
For months after her murder he would seek me out and come crying how sorry he was for what he’d done. I still feel pure rage at the memory of learning of her death.
My younger sister, she and I were thick as thieves. We had no one else, after all. With mum and dad god knows where, perhaps even prison, we ran from one bad foster home to another until we promised to disappear from the system and make it on the streets. The streets were oftentimes better than the homes we stayed in.
Until, I learned otherwise.
"Thank you," I murmur, wiping my face and trying to find the strength to continue. "She was everything to me, you know? And when she was gone... well, it felt like the world had lost its light."
"Is that why everyone at the racetrack thinks you have no siblings, because your sister, your best friend, died?” Again, I nod only slightly, guilt drying up my tears.
“Did her passing influence how you chose to live your life?" Dario asks gently.
"Probably" I admit hesitantly, feeling a strange mixture of relief and trepidation. Never before have I allowed myself to open up like this, and it's both exhilarating and terrifying. Especially considering that right now, I’m sitting next to the son of a mafia don.
Ironically it was during one of her ex’s repentance sessions that I decided to join the agency and bring down men like Dario. “You can’t go on wasting your life, living on the streets,” he had cried, hands shaking from withdrawal.
“Your sister wanted something better for you both. That’s why she took the extra job. Don’t let her sacrifice have been in vain.” I nearly spat in his face, but his words got me thinking.
I take a few deep breaths, to regain control over my thoughts and triggers. "I think, in some ways, I wanted to fight against the darkness that took her from me," I explain to Dario.
He nods slowly. "You're incredibly brave, Jasmine" he says sincerely. "To face that kind of pain head-on, takes an immense amount of courage."
"Or stupidity" I joke half-heartedly, attempting to lighten the mood, but Dario isn't having it.
"No" he insists, his hand finding mine and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Courage. Don't ever doubt that."
For a moment, we sit there in silence, our fingers entwined, as I try to process the magnitude of what has just transpired. In sharing these intimate details of our lives, we've forged a connection stronger than any I've experienced before. And yet, I can't shake the feeling that it could all come crashing down at any moment.
"Does your work help you find that beauty again? You said your sister was an artist and with you custom designing cars…" Dario asks, his gaze meeting mine.
"Sometimes," I admit, feeling a connection forming between us. "But it also forces me to confront the uglier, necessary truth about humanity.
Sometimes, a client walks in and drops half a million on a custom car and I sit there and think, how many kids with cancer could this money save? But the same people would never donate a dollar to someone in need.”
My voice comes out angrier than I desired it to be. But, growing up, I often wondered what it would have been like if someone had been kind enough to take my sister and me off the streets and give us a good home.
