Mario wouldn't forgive me.
When we were informed of Mamusia and Papà'sdeath, he made his feelings very clear and pointed out that it was my fault. That everything happen because of my stupidity. Which wasn't a lie. I fell in love with the wrong woman. I brought her into our home and destroyed our famiglia. Years later, during a visit to prison, Mario asked me not to come back. He told me to get on with my life as Capobastone and forget about him, because he didn't want anything more to do with famiglia matters.
Obviously, I didn't accept his request.
My older brother could hate me, could not want to return to our società, but he wouldn't get rid of me so easily. As long as he was in that prison, I would do everything in my power to visit him and make sure he got out of there in one piece. Then, once he was free, if he decided to disappear, I would have no choice but to respect his wishes.
The situation with my cousin Lorenzo, however, was a different story.
He was going through hell.Dio!Guantanamo wasn't a prison, it was a huge torture chamber. Lorenzo couldn't escape the horror. Even with our acquaintances inside the prison, cartel members who did business with our società and otherassociates, my cugino had already suffered some of the most brutal tortures. Beatings, waterboarding, electric shocks... And that was what I knew about. Still, Lorenzo didn't blame me. Quite the contrary.
My cousin dreamt of the day he would leave Guantanamo and return to work. He made me promise that I would keep his position as a santista. The most amazing thing? He continued to establish connections even inside the prison. I lost count of the number of South American drug cartels that contacted us in recent years, thanks to Lorenzo. And very recently, he had even managed to put us in touch with the Chinese triads.
All from prison.
But I knew Lorenzo wasn't well and that I had to get him out of there. The problem was he confessed the murder of the police officers. No one could easily get away with a crime like that. Unless the President of the United States issued a pardon.
I rubbed my chin, glancing around the interior of the jet, lined with beige leather, and recalled Alessandro Lombardi's words that afternoon. Lorenzo could obtain a pardon if the U.S. government received a donation that would benefit the entire nation. In other words, many, many millions of dollars donated to government charities or development funds.
That was precisely what I would deal with as soon as I recovered the quota in Gioia Tauro.
I paid attention to Daisy, still cowering beside me like the frightened little animal she was. The urgency of my affairs was no justification for leaving her without food or water. She may bemy hostage, she may have had her fate sealed, but she was not an enemy. She didn’t act against us in any way. If anything, it was the opposite; after all, she had also been a victim of Senator Jones.
I lingered on her straight, blonde hair, which fell to the middle of her back. It wasn't the usual platinum. It was vibrant, honey-colored, and I knew it was natural after seeing her in the shower that morning.
My fingers moved slightly, tempted to touch the tanned skin of her arms, until...
“What is this?!” I demanded to know. The skin around her biceps was black. “How did you do this?”
She laughed, a sarcastic sound, and pulled away from my touch.
“Are you really asking?” she retorted. “It was you and those tough hands of yours!”
I held my breath, understanding with a pang of guilt what she was saying.
“Scusa...” I replied awkwardly, watching her carefully feel the bruises, and swallowed the bile that rose to my lips.
After Valentina, I lost all my chivalry.
For too long, it had been difficult for me to look at a woman and not see a traitor. I harbored a contempt that convinced me that they were all terrible, manipulative. The wounds had been too deep, the price paid too high. Until one night, it was just me, a bottle of whiskey, and a picture album.
I revisited the past through the static images of those I loved so much, remembering every woman in my life. My grandmothers, my aunt, my mother... It helped me partially heal my wounds. I once had the most wonderful women in the world in my life, so how could I reduce them to betrayal and deceit? One woman could not erase the great loves of my past.
It couldn't undo the memory of myMamusia.
Seeing the bruises on the arms of that frail American woman, who had done nothing wrong to deserve them, was like a punch in the throat. A bullet in the head might be necessary, but mistreating her would be an insult to the memory of the women I loved.
The flight attendants brought us food and a bottle of champagne shortly after. I poured us drinks as Daisy looked on sulkily. As soon as the flight attendants disappeared again, her sharp tongue was quick to taunt me.
“A toast to my kidnapping or to my future murder? Maybe both?”
I sighed, handing her the glass. "No toasts. Drink up, you'll feel better."
“I prefer beer,” she grumbled, and I rolled my eyes.
“Of course you do,” I replied, shrugging and bringing the flute to my lips.
“What does that even mean?”