Chapter 9
When I pulled up outside Adriano’s apartment building the next morning, I was surprised to see him already out front with Raffaello.
Raffaello was a gunshot doctor. The Rosolinis paid him to patch up any of their foot soldiers who got tagged. In fact, he’d saved a couple of guys’ lives after the shootout at the hotel, the night Adriano and Bianca had first met.
As he and Adriano got in the back of the car, Raffaelo greeted me with his typical dry humor. “How’s it hangin’, Giorgio?”
“Low and to the left. How’s business?”
“Non-existent, which is great.”
“Why’s that great?” I asked as I pulled the car away from the curb.
“Because the fewer people who get shot, the better. Plus, I get paid on retainer, not commission.”
“So he’s making money for doing nothing,” Adriano said sardonically.
“The sweetest kind of money there is,” Raffaelo said, “and I thank you very kindly for it.”
“Maybe we should rethink your pay structure,” Adriano joked.
“Nope. You already signed on the dotted line, my friend. Done deal.”
“Well, as long as you’re always on call, that’s good enough for me.”
“24/7/365. Just try not to get shot on Christmas, that’s all I ask.”
“What brings you out to the compound?” I asked Raffaelo.
He jerked his thumb at Adriano. “This joker said he wanted me to give his brothers a briefing.”
I glanced in the rearview mirror at Adriano. “Is this part of the same thing?”
“Yeah,” he confirmed.
“Is it connected to what we talked about yesterday?”
“No.”
“What’s all this mysterious bullshit you guys are slinging?” Raffaelo asked.
“Don’t worry,” Adriano said. “You’re going to hear all about it at the meeting.”
We chatted the entire hour it took to reach the Rosolinis’ compound.
We entered the front gate and passed the vineyards and olive groves. When I pulled the car up to the front door of the mansion, Adriano told me, “Get one of the new guys to park it. You’re coming with us.”
Four foot soldiers were guarding the front door. I shouted, “Bernardo,” and the newest hire hustled over.
“Park it in the garage,” I instructed him, then followed Adriano and Raffaelo into the house.
Valentino just happened to be passing through the foyer.
“Where’s Dario?” Adriano asked him.
“Good morning to you, too,” Valentino said. “Hey, Raffaelo. Giorgio.”
Raffaelo and I greeted him back.
“Well?” Adriano demanded. “Where is he?”
“Jesus, keep your panties on. He’s down in the basement sparring with Lars.”
“What?!”
“Come on, I’ll show you.”
The four of us descended the stone steps to the basement, a giant maze with multiple wine cellars.
They’d cleared out one of the bigger rooms, and the stone floor had been covered with gymnastics pads. Sunlight filtered in through a barred window just slightly above ground level, a good three feet above my head.
In the center of the room, Don Rosolini and Lars were barefoot and stripped down to just their pants. Each man gripped a long-bladed knife as they slowly circled each other. Sweat dripped off both their bodies.
Both were incredibly muscular and in excellent shape. I was used to seeing Lars like this from his training sessions with the foot soldiers – but not the Don.
With his shirt off, I could see the tattoos covering his back, chest, and arms. They were dark and ominous – artistically done, but more in line with a prison inmate.
It was very different from the way I normally saw Don Rosolini, which was wearing a $15,000 suit.
Massimo stood off to the side, fully dressed with a couple of towels draped across one arm. He appeared to just be watching.
As they circled each other, Lars talked calmly.
“If you get in a knife fight, it’s not like the movies.
You’re going to get cut, so go in expecting it.
If you can, wrap your non-knife arm in a jacket or shirt – that’ll at least let you block with minimal damage.
Just know that the blood will make everything slippery.
Don’t try to grab the other guy – you won’t be able to hold onto him half the time.
Instead, cut him. Always go for the weakest points: eyes, throat, groin, belly, kidneys.
And remember, it doesn’t matter who bleeds first – it’s who bleeds out. ”
“Jesus, are those real?!” Adriano whispered to Massimo.
The big man shook his head. “Nope. Rubber. But they hurt plenty if you get stabbed. Trust me.”
Lars lunged at Dario, who jumped back out of the way.
When Lars continued advancing, Dario unexpectedly leapt forward with his free hand out to block.
Lars’s knife slashed Don Rosolini across the forearm –
But the Don followed through and stabbed hard into Lars’s belly, with the tip angled up under his ribs.
The rubber knife bent – but it left an angry red welt across Lars’s abs.
“Excellent,” Lars said as he stepped back. “You took some damage, but you dealt out ten times as much. You were going for the diaphragm, right?”
“I was.”
“Good. If you pierce the diaphragm, when you pull the knife back out, don’t pull it out clean – twist it. Try to slash your way out. Make it as vicious as you can.
“The muscles of the diaphragm keep a partial vacuum in the chest cavity, which is the only thing keeping the lungs inflated. You cut a big enough hole in the diaphragm, the chest cavity gets compromised, his lungs deflate, and your opponent will eventually die of asphyxiation. Even if you only deflate one lung, an injury of that magnitude will cut his effectiveness in half, making it that much easier to finish him off.”
Don Rosolini nodded, then said, “We should probably call an end to this and get the meeting started.”
He looked over at Massimo, who threw towels to both him and Lars.
“What the fuck is this all about?” Adriano asked as both men toweled the sweat off their bodies.
“After fighting every single day to stay alive in San Vittore, I felt like I was going soft back home in the lap of luxury,” Don Rosolini explained. “So Lars is continuing my instruction in hand-to-hand combat.”
“You’re the Don,” Adriano said. “You’re not supposed to go into battle.”
“Sometimes the battle comes to us,” Don Rosolini replied. “I want to be ready if and when it does.”
Adriano tilted his head to the side as though to say You have a point. “Hey, Lars, you got some time to train me, too?”
“Get in line, bro,” Massimo said.
“Yeah,” Valentino agreed. “The back of the line.”
“What, both of you?” Adriano asked in surprise.
Massimo snorted. “You think we’re gonna let Dario do all the cool stuff?”
“Is it just you two?” Adriano asked, then added wryly, “I notice Niccolo and Roberto aren’t down here.”
“You couldn’t pry Roberto away from his spreadsheets with a crowbar,” Valentino joked. “And Niccolo says shit like, ‘I fight with my mind, not my body.’”
Adriano grinned. “Sounds exactly like Nic.”
Lars said to Adriano, “I can schedule you for a couple hours next time you’re visiting from Florence. How’s that sound?”
“Awesome.”
“Alright, let’s get it on the calendar after the meeting.”
“Sounds good.”
Don Rosolini finished toweling off and extended his hand to the gunshot doctor. “Raffaelo. Good to see you.”
“Likewise,” Raffaelo said as they shook.
“Giorgio,” Don Rosolini greeted me.
“Don Rosolini,” I said respectfully.
“Why don’t you go on up to the parlor. I believe Niccolo’s already there.”
“See you soon,” Adriano said as he led me, Raffaelo, Valentino, and Massimo back upstairs.