17. Elio
17
ELIO
Then
T here are moments of your life so massive, they set the entire direction. I’d arrived in Castel Amaro a drifter. Untethered from connections or meaning. I had no parents, my sister was being looked after by family more capable than me, and me… I was starving, barely able to take care of myself.
Then, I’d met her.
Mia ragione.
My reason for being.
My country mouse.
With her beside me, I was stronger than I’d ever been. I was more certain of my path. I had purpose. My life had meaning.
It was time to give Alfredo Bellisario the chance to give his blessing.
I knocked on the door to his office and waited. He took his time to call for me to enter.
I went in and shut the door behind me. The late afternoon sun blazed behind thick shutters shrouding the room in darkness.
“Santori? What is it?” he asked, irritably glancing up from his desk.
“I have to speak to you about something important, sir.”
I unclenched my hands and took a deep breath.
“What is it? I don’t have all day. You want to be released from your debt?” Alfredo eyed me up and down, measuring my worth.
I shook my head. “No, sir. It’s nothing to do with work. I need to speak to you about Georgia.”
He sat back now, giving me his full attention.
“What about Georgia?” he demanded.
“There is no way to sugarcoat what I have to say, so I’ll say it directly. I’m in love with her, and she’s in love with me. I want to marry her. I’ve asked her, and she’s said yes.”
Silence surged in after my words died, so thick I could have choked on it.
“Is this a joke?” Alfredo said.
“No, sir. It’s no joke. I’m in love with your daughter, and we’re going to spend the rest of our lives together.”
Alfredo was silent. He slowly got to his feet and rounded his desk.
He studied me. “I can’t tell if you’re really being serious or if you think this is funny.”
“I’m deadly serious. She has agreed to marry me.”
Alfredo flinched, his face paling.
“I understand this shock. I know I’m not the man you pictured for your daughter, but I’m the man she chose for herself. I know I don’t have much… now, but I vow I will find a way to give her the life she deserves.”
Alfredo looked away from me, his hands working to hold onto the edge of his desk.
“She loves you?” he said finally, his voice rough.
“She does,” I confirmed.
He was staring at a picture on the wall of him and Georgia eating ice cream. She was a few years younger than she was now.
“Georgia has always done whatever she wanted to. She’s always rebelled against my rules and plans for her… I see that even now, she knows her own mind and isn’t afraid to make her demands.” He turned back to me. “Well, what are you going to do to be worthy of her?”
I blinked. This wasn’t going like I’d thought it would. I’d thought he’d beat me, at the very least.
“Whatever I have to,” I said, my response immediate.
“‘ Whatever I have to ,’” he repeated. “I seem to remember a promise just like that when I gave you a job instead of letting you go to jail.”
“I’ll apologize for going behind your back, sir, but not for loving your daughter. I can’t apologize for that,” I said quietly.
He tilted his head to the side. “So, you have a code of some sort, then? I could be forgiven for thinking that you didn’t. The boy who tried to steal, got caught, and was given a lenient sentence… only to seduce the daughter of the man who saved him.”
“I didn’t set out to seduce her. We fell in love.”
Alfredo gave a heavy sigh. “I suppose I should just be thankful that you want to marry her. Too many men don’t like to take responsibility these days… they don’t want a wife at your age.”
It seemed like a low bar to pass under, but I wasn’t going to say anything to discourage him from accepting the idea.
“What really bothers me, however, is the disrespect. If you love a woman, you should respect her father.”
“I do respect you, procuratore .”
“Why don’t you show me just how much? I don’t want a son-in-law who isn’t going to work in the best interests of my family… I need to trust you.”
“I’ll do anything,” I said, another immediate response.
“I’ve heard that before.” Bellisario stood. “I’ll think about what you can do for me to prove yourself. Georgia wouldn’t like it if we were at odds, so let’s try to get along.” Alfredo looked at me. “I’ve never had a son. I’ve always hoped that the man who Georgia picked could feel like that to me…”
“I’d like that, too, procuratore .”
He nodded slowly. “Let me think about all of this. Go back to work, and I’ll be in touch when I think of a way we can become closer… build trust.”
I headed for the door. My palms were sweating, and I needed to drink about a gallon of water, but I’d done it, and I was leaving intact. It was more than I’d ever hoped for.
“Oh, and Santori?” Alfredo called.
I stopped on the threshold of the doorway.
“Georgia’s fabric delivery came in, and someone collected it in error. She needs to pick it up, so let her know. I’m afraid our little meeting has set my schedule back today.”
“I’ll go and get it , procuratore ,” I said, closing the door and walking down the hall feeling like I’d just survived a firing squad.
I decided to go and get Georgia’s delivery before I went back to work. I needed to make Alfredo like me. It wasn’t for me. I couldn’t have cared less what the man thought of me, but Georgia cared, so that meant I cared. I’d told her I would take care of everything, and I meant to.
I cut through town, a whistle on my lips and a spring in my step. Swinging by the post office, I found out that the delivery had gone to the De Sanctis house by accident. The walk to the De Sanctis summer estate was a good five miles. I didn’t see a single car going in my direction, so I was stuck walking. The day was warm, and my mood was light. I was marrying Georgia. The very idea thrilled me every time I thought of it. I was marrying the love of my life.
For a gutter rat from Napoli, it was a good ending, after all. Who’d have thought?
I made it to the estate and went in the side entrance. I was used to using it to run messages between the houses. I’d been working for Alfredo Bellisario nearly half a year, and I’d gotten to know more about the family who summered in Castel Amaro. Salvatore De Sanctis was Mafia royalty. Renato, the heir, lived in America some of the time and occasionally came here to work under his uncle.
I headed through the gardens, toward the kitchens.
There was security everywhere, from the black-suited guards who patrolled the gardens, to the CCTV cameras sitting on top of every wall.
I was a familiar face to the security detail at this point and was allowed in. When I stepped into the kitchen, I found it deserted, a rare occurrence.
“Ah, Ms. Bellisario’s things are by the fridge,” a harried staff member called to me as he bustled through the room. “And take the bag, too, it’s from Mr. De Sanctis for Procuratore Bellisario. You’ll save me a trip later.”
I found the bag and package easily enough. I’d moved quite a few packages between the two houses. I never peeked to see what was in them. De Sanctis business wasn’t something I wanted to get caught up in. I was just a messenger.
I grabbed the box and the leather duffel and made for the door.
I headed back through the gardens and out onto the road. It was dusty, and the hills around us were sun-bleached and yellow. In the far distance, I could see the sparkling blue of the Mediterranean. Maybe I’d take Georgia to the beach. If I worked hard this year and proved myself to Alfredo, maybe I could get a real job in town and apply to get my sister back. We could all live together in a little house overlooking the sea.
I was halfway back to town when the blue lights appeared.
Carabinieri cars, speeding down the road toward me. I stepped to the side and waited for them to pass. The leather duffel suddenly felt as heavy as a tombstone slung over my shoulder. I was being paranoid. I’d seen how the police bent over backward for the infamous Mafia family. No one would investigate Bellisario or De Sanctis here. They were gods.
The cars got closer. Sweat slicked the back of my neck, a sudden and terrible foreboding hitting me in the gut. Were they angling toward me?
The cars pulled to a stop right in front of me, gravel and dust flying through the air.
The cops opened the doors, and the black metal of their handguns glinted in the sun.
“Put your hands up!” the shouts came from all directions.
“I’m just doing a favor for the procuratore !” I called, a certainty landing in my heart that I’d just fucked up.
“Hands up! Or I’ll shoot, kid, I swear I will.”
The chief of police was staring at me, a wild light in his eyes, and I knew right then and there that he was telling the truth. He would shoot. I’d walked into this, and if I wanted to get out of it, I needed to do what they said.
I dropped the bag and the package and put my hands up. Officers swarmed me.
“Okay, okay! Here, I’m complying,” I called, then a sharp pain to the back of my head sent a veil of darkness rushing in front of my eyes.
The world fell away.
I woke up an unknowable time later to a light swaying feeling. A van hurtling over rocks? I sat and groaned, my head screaming at me. Where am I?
It was dark inside whatever kind of vehicle I was in. Old blood sat on my tongue, and my head was splitting. I swung back and forth, dizzy.
Before I could do more than try to get my bearings, the van stopped, and the doors slid open. Men in uniforms grabbed my arms and hauled me out. The door shut behind me, and they dragged me through metal gates and past security doors. The buzzes of the armed doors opening ricocheted around my head.
Where the hell are they taking me?
It was dark, so it wasn’t easy to see, but bit by bit, as they hauled me down a long, sterile-looking hallway, I got it.
Prison. This was a prison.
They shoved me into a room with a metal table and handcuffed me to one of its legs, so I had no choice but to kneel beside it.
I had no time to process what was going on. The guards left, and a man entered.
Alfredo Bellisario.
“Well, well, Santori, seems like you need a lawyer, or should I call a public defender for you?”
I stared at him. “What are you talking about?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“I only took your things… I moved them according to your instructions!” I shouted.
He chuckled. “Do you really think you’re here because of some drugs and money in a bag? You’re here because you didn’t listen to me. I told you to stay away from my daughter. You didn’t. Now, you’ll face the consequences.”
I shook my head. “You can’t do this. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Oh, but you have. You have trespassed on that which was mine… my daughter. You’re lucky to be alive. Honestly, the only reason you are is because I want to see you rot in here… I want to watch it break you.”
“You can’t do this,” I repeated numbly, even knowing that those words were a lie.
A man like Bellisario in a place like this could do whatever he wanted. The guards would be in his pocket, and the cops, too. The judges, the whole rotten system. They could make a man disappear without killing him.
“Of course I can.”
“Georgia won’t accept it. She’ll try to find me.”
“Don’t you worry about Georgia. I’ll look after my daughter. You, enjoy the life you chose.” He stood and nodded at the two-way glass.
Guards crowded into the room.
Bellisario slipped his jacket on. “Beat him, just enough… pissing blood should do it, for today. Repeat tomorrow and the next day.”
“ Sì, Signore Procuratore, ” the head guard said quickly and moved into the room as Bellisario walked out.
“Enjoy the hell of your own making, Santori.”