36. Emilio
My mind reeled with the weight of the revelation. Griselda”s father, a Don in the mafia? And to make things more perplexing, the Esposito family was an unfamiliar name in our world. Mafia families were intimately aware of each other, making the existence of an unknown entity a cause for suspicion.
Why was her father at the helm of this obscure family?
Enzo”s phone buzzed again, drawing my attention. He swiftly navigated through the message from Lucas, his expression registering yet another discovery.
”It”s another finding from Lucas,” Enzo announced, sounding intrigued.
”What does it say?” I inquired, my curiosity piqued by the intensity of Enzo”s reaction. As he read through the text, a sudden lift of his eyebrows hinted at the staggering nature of the information. ”What happened?” I pressed with my anticipation mounting.
Enzo”s next words hit me like a thunderbolt. ”You wouldn”t believe what Lucas just found. Griselda”s father”s name is Riccardo Esposito, but he was previously known as Riccardo Mancini.”
The ground beneath me seemed to shift as disbelief jolted through me.
”Maledetto! (Fucking hell!)” I cursed.
I couldn”t believe it. Griselda”s father, a member of the rival family? It was like a scene straight out of one of those intense mafia dramas we used to watch for kicks. The sudden switch in surnames raised a million questions in my mind, but before I could even form the words, Enzo was diving into the details on his phone.
”Listen to this,” Enzo began, his voice loaded with astonishment. ”Riccardo got the boot from the Mancini family, thanks to some supposed betrayal from back in the day.”
His eyes flitted back and forth across the screen, deciphering each word as if he were reading a gripping novel.
Another name came into the picture, and it clicked almost instantly. Memories of the relentless clashes between the Fiore and Mancini families collided with faint recollections of conversations between my father and uncle, forming a vivid picture in my mind.
It was like the missing piece of the puzzle had suddenly fallen into place. I shook my head, trying to process the flood of information.
”So, it must have been my old man,” I mused, my tone laced with disbelief.
Enzo”s solemn nod confirmed my suspicions, our shared realization sinking in with a heavyweight. It explained a hell of a lot, that was for sure.
”Let”s put this all together,” I suggested, my mind working overtime to organize the influx of information. ”There must have been some serious bad blood between Riccardo and my old man. Whatever happened led to this perceived betrayal, which got Riccardo kicked out of the Mancini family. He was practically disowned.”
Enzo interjected, his voice brimming with realization.
”Esposito...it means ”exposed” in Italian,” he explained.
I nodded. This was shedding a new light on the situation. Who knew a name could carry so much significance?
The implications of it all were mind-boggling. This was the kind of twist that not even the most imaginative storyteller could dream up. I had to admit, I never expected something of this magnitude.
Then, like a bolt from the blue, Crino”s dying words came rushing back to me. ”It”s not the end. There”s someone behind all this.”
That cryptic warning suddenly felt more relevant than ever.
”I”m thinking the same thing,” I muttered to Enzo, my voice barely above a whisper. ”Do you think it could be Riccardo?” I asked, already dreading the answer.
The idea that Griselda”s father could be the architect of all the chaos that had haunted us for years seemed too grim to consider. Enzo”s silence spoke volumes, our unspoken agreement hanging heavy in the air. He shifted the conversation, directing it towards Griselda.
”What about her? Are you going to tell her?” he inquired, his gaze probing mine.
”I”ll have to,” I sighed, the weight of that responsibility cementing my resolve. ”She was already angry with her mother for keeping this from her. She deserves to know, and she has every right to make her own decisions.”
Besides, the thought nagged at me that Griselda might already have an inkling of the truth. After all, she had gone to her mother to finally get to the bottom of her father’s supposed death.
Enzo”s gaze darted back to his phone, his expression deep in thought.
”If it”s Riccardo pulling the strings, we can pretty much guess his reason for stirring up trouble between the Mancini and Fiore families,” he suggested. ”It”s payback for what he thinks your old man did to him.”
I mulled over Enzo”s theory, pondering what it meant now that my father had already passed away. Would Riccardo give up seeking revenge, or would he keep going, seeking blood in my father”s family?
Enzo”s next question was a sharp turn.
”What if Riccardo was behind your old man”s death?” he proposed.
I tried not to look surprised, though deep down, I”d always had my doubts about my father”s supposed heart attack. Back then, I didn”t care much to dig into the truth, but now it felt like there might be more to his death than I thought.
Racking my brain, I remembered that any proof would”ve likely been erased by the time my old man was laid to rest, leaving us with nothing but baseless claims.
”Why not talk to your brother?” he suggested, breaking the silence that had settled in the office.
Enzo”s idea seemed reasonable. Even if my brother refused to speak with me, it hardly mattered.
”I”ll go see him now,” I declared, already tapping away on my phone to reach my brother.
If he chose not to answer, I could track him down.
However, my intentions were sidelined by an unexpected call from Griselda. ”Hey.”
”Hey, Emilio,” she said softly. ”I”m ready to be picked up.”
Her tone seemed subdued and lost, as if she were in a daze. It made me wonder just what her mother had revealed to her. What truth had she learned about her father? I glanced at Enzo. Was our theory about her father”s involvement accurate, or were we completely off the mark?
”I’m leaving the office now,” I replied, concern evident in my voice. After hanging up, I turned to Enzo. ”I”ll pick up Griselda first before I see my brother.”
Amidst the many uncertainties and questions surrounding us, one thing remained crystal clear: Griselda”s well-being was my top priority.
I made my way to the door, a sense of urgency propelling my movements. Enzo followed suit, his quiet presence a steady reassurance. As we descended the stairs, my mind whirled with several possible implications.
The long drive to Griselda”s place was a rollercoaster of feelings for me. I couldn”t shake off the worry tugging at my mind or the urgency to be there for her. When I finally reached her mother’s street, there she was, standing outside, looking more vulnerable and lost than I”d ever seen her. I could tell she was going through a storm of emotions.
I pulled up beside her. Wordlessly, she entered the car, her silence speaking volumes.
”How did it go?” I asked, not sure whether it was wise to question her now or whether she needed some space. So I waited for her to show me what she needed.
During the car ride back to our place, she opened up slowly. Her voice sounded so timid I grew concerned for her emotional wellbeing.
She began to reveal that her mother had disclosed her father”s role as the leader of the Esposito family, recounting the details of her father”s betrayal and subsequent expulsion from the Mancini family.
Glancing at her as I drove, I couldn”t help but worry about how all this news was affecting her. I tried reading her, gauging whether she knew or at least suspected something about her father”s true identity.
My own father”s involvement in the events unfolded by Griselda struck me with a sharp pang. To think that my father had visited her mother and had threatened both their lives by demanding information about her father”s whereabouts, was deeply disturbing.
I mentally berated myself for not taking the necessary precautions to ensure her mother”s safety, realizing that I had underestimated the extent of the danger she faced. ”Sorry,” I blurted out, my remorse palpable.
Her reassurance that I had enough on my plate did little to ease the guilt that gnawed at me. The air hung heavy between us. Each dragged under by the current of our chaotic thoughts.
Griselda stared out the window, her expression inscrutable. I cleared my throat, breaking the heavy silence.
”How are you feeling about all this?” I asked, my voice tentative.
”I don”t know,” she replied softly. ”It”s a lot to take in.”
She seemed so defeated. I wanted to console her, to say something that would make it all better, but I was just as lost in this convoluted situation. How could I even begin to ease her mind when my own was a jumbled mess?
”Yeah, it”s a lot to take in,” I replied softly, barely audible.
My eyes remained fixed on the road ahead. The city sounds barely made it through the thick air that sat around us. Time seemed to slow down, weighed down by all the things we couldn”t put into words while we were both lost in our thoughts.
As I navigated through the streets, the dashboard screen suddenly lit up, displaying an incoming call alert. Positioned prominently at the center, just above the console, the touch-sensitive display framed in glossy black easily caught my attention. Its modern interface with vibrant colors and crisp visuals was a stark contrast to the interior of the car.
Glancing at the screen, I was surprised to see my brother”s name flashing. I hadn”t expected him to call, and I couldn”t help but wonder what could have prompted him to do so. Swiping the screen, I answered the call, only to be met with a breathless voice and a cacophony of background noises.
”Emilio!” Carlo”s voice rang out, filled with urgency and panic.
My body reacted with an immediate adrenaline spike, and I did my best to focus on the road despite the tumult. I could sense Griselda”s worried gaze on me from the corner of my eye.
”Carlo, what”s happening?” I asked, now really worried.
The background noise was chaotic, with shouts and gunfire filling the air in my car. I strained to hear my brother”s response over the commotion. His words tumbled out in a rush.
”The Fiore family is under attack!” Carlo exclaimed, his voice barely audible over the noise.
”Carlo, can you hear me?” I shouted into the phone, my pulse quickening with panic. But my calls went unanswered.
The line went dead, and deafening silence filled the car.