I took a deep breath, torn between hatred and nausea. “’Six-month shipment’...?” I couldn't help asking the question, feeling cold sweat running down my back.
“Sì!” he admitted, casually lighting a cigarette. "Some people want them brand new. You can't imagine how easy they are to get. The most one has ever cost me was five thousand euros. Then, I always sell them for over five hundred thousand."
“Bambini?” Don Zaccaria's weak voice uttered, his jaw dropped. He was an old man from a rural area, accustomed to killing, but also to following a code of honor that taught him to spare the innocent. Trafficking children was not something that even crossed his mind. “What for? Do they adopt them?”
Rinaldi and Accorinti burst out laughing, and Palumbo also smiled slightly, swinging a glass of liquirizia between his fingers.
Bastardi.
"No, Don Zaccaria. Some people like women with big breasts, others like them small, some like blondes and others brunettes, and some prefer old women and... some like very young women. If you know what I mean." Accorinti explained, and never in my life have I seen such a horrified expression on the face of a Capobastone of Ettore Zaccaria's prestige. The old man closed his eyes tightly, his mouth half open as if trying to catch his breath, his fingers twisted by age pinching the linen of thetablecloth. Still, that didn't deter Accorinti. "The fortune we are making is incomparable, Don Zaccaria. In a single shipment, we make what it takes you ten years to achieve. If your società joined the business, it would prosper more than any other. With your share in Gioia Tauro and all the other ports you are managing across Europe, and with your private fleet of cargo ships, we can create a business network of immeasurable value. Look at the Russians! They have a booming empire that keeps multiplying!"
“I can assure you that the numbers are not being exaggerated. We have been operating in the flesh trade for a month and have already tripled our profits,” declared Rinaldi, once again showing off his teeth dotted with gold implants.
I gritted my teeth and, for the first time since the incident, I gave thanks that neither my Nonno nor my Papà were alive.Dio, they wouldn’t have survived the disappointment of seeing that rot enter Calabria. It was nothing new for ‘ndrine to operate in the flesh business. There were several that did business in Apulia, with families from the Sacra Corona Unita, but their area of operation was there, not in our region.
But times, it seemed, were changing.
Drawing the attention of those present, Antonio Palumbo placed his empty glass on the table and ran his hands, laden with gold rings, through the sides of his hair, where time had already dyed its black tone white. When he nodded, his lips pursed and his eyebrows raised, I had confirmation of what I already knew even before he verbalized it.
“I can also confirm the numbers that Don Accorinti mentioned.” As he said this, Palumbo looked at no one else but me. There was a half-smile on his face that did not bode well. “We started a week ago in the flesh business, and the growth rate and profit level are absurd.”
I shook my head very slowly, decoding what that really meant and the impact it would have. If Antonio Palumbo was with Rinaldi and Accorinti in human trafficking, that meant that deals had been made with the Turks and Russians, who were the main suppliers of human beings, something that was not new to me. From the moment Accorinti approached me with his proposal, I thoroughly investigated his business. I knew exactly who he was working with. The problem that arose there was that Antonio Palumbo was not just any Capobastone. His business was private, with a strong presence in countries such as Georgia, Armenia, and Azerbaijan, and a large source of his profit came from... brothels.
I kept my posture and expression steady, preventing any of them from reading anything in me. In fact, that was my particular talent. If I had been a poker player, I would have been quite successful. At that moment, I was grateful for that, because I had just realized that Antonio Palumbo was no associate of Cissio Accorinti.
He was something much worse.
“Regardless of Don Zaccaria and Don Barone's decision, my decision is final. The Vicari will never work in the flesh trade as long as I live.” I managed to say this in a steady, loud voice, but inside I was writhing.
Rinaldi had the largest fleet of trucks in the 'Ndrangheta and one of the largest in Europe. The legitimate part of his business was the exportation of textiles and footwear, but underneath his merchandise were tons of cocaine transported to all corners of the continent by land. That was why Cissio Accorinti wanted him as a partner. Now, hidden among the legitimate cargo, instead of drugs, there would be people. A land distribution network of absurd dimensions associated with human trafficking, the perfect marriage.
The Vicari, on the other hand, as he himself had told me, were not just useful because of our quota in Gioia Tauro. Our connections to the South American cartels and our business in the United States would be an asset to Accorinti, an additional gateway to new customers and distribution. As for the Barone and the Zaccaria, they would bring similar benefits. The Barone had a strong presence in Australia and Canada, which meant new territories for activity. And the Zaccaria, besides Don Ettore having unquestionable influence over theCamera di Controllo—the most important tool of the 'Ndrangheta, managed by the most important Capibastone and used to resolve disputes between families and make general decisions—, they were everywhere thanks to their international control over seaports and their own fleet of cargo ships.
Our ‘ndrine were of strategic interest to scum like Accorinti. They meant expansion.
But not Antonio Palumbo.
Sitting there, paying too much attention to me, I knew thatfiglio di puttanawas trying to read me.
Good luck, clown.
I leaned back in my chair, picking up my untouched glass of liquirizia. I smiled subtly when I realized that my hands weren't shaking at all, raising my eyes above the glass as soon as the liquid reached my mouth.
Supplier.The word made my skull throb. At my table, in my people's restaurant, sat a supplier of people. Less than a worm, a waste of oxygen.
I looked away to Cissio Accorinti, who was combing his hair, too blonde and darkened by oil, with his skeletal hands. When I put down my glass, I assessed his features. Too thin, looking too sickly for a twenty-seven-year-old, but there was no surprise in that, since his favorite sport was snorting lines of cocaine at snack time. His teeth showed signs of decay near the roots, his face extremely sunken and covered with spots that I knew were not caused by the sun. Then there was that nose.Dio. His nostrils had long since been destroyed by cocaine, giving him the appearance of having undergone a botched rhinoplasty. It was the nose of a skeleton, or close to it.
“Mario Vicari agrees with that decision?” As if he could intimidate anyone, the emaciated figure clasped his hands under his chin, resting his elbows on the table. The flashy watch, covered in diamonds, filled the room with sparkles. I almost laughed when I realized they were lab-made. Stronzo. “Please, don't take this the wrong way, Don Vicari, but I always thought you would give up the position of Capobastone as soon as your brother got out of jail.”
Cissio Accorinti wasn't the first to test my control with that provocation, and something told me he wouldn't be the last. Steeped in hatred, I forced myself to shrug and smile. "Mario stepped down after our parents' death. He has no interest in this life." I wouldn't tell them that I would give it up in a heartbeat if my brother wanted me to, that would be showing weakness.
“Speaking of your brother, I don't think you're weighing the benefits of the deal I'm proposing, Don Vicari. Selling this product opens doors with very powerful people. If the Vicari became our associates, we could enter the United States and South America much more easily, and if they allowed us to use Castello dell'Fiero to store our shipments, we would double our storage space. And you, in addition to the profits, would have access to very powerful connections. I know some incredibly important people in the United States who could get your brother and cousin out of jail tonight, Don Vicari."
“Never.” I said it too loudly, too harshly, causing silence to fall over the room. But the deed was done. “I'd rather they rot in jail than accept something like this. I know they'd both do the same in my place.”
Accorinti raised his eyebrows, smiling maliciously. “If you say so!” He sighed dramatically, unceremoniously opening a bottle of whiskey that the Mancuso’s boy had left on the table when he brought us our coffees, and poured himself a drink, sprawling in his chair with a full glass in his hands. But his attention was no longer on me. “Don Zaccaria, think carefully.”
“Billions, you said?” asked Don Zaccaria, his attention fixed on some invisible point. I held my breath, fearing what was to come.