Chapter 8 #2
The suggestion she made a month ago, to bring my famiglia to the United States to celebrate our first wedding anniversary, and the fact that my in-laws were, very conveniently, on a cruise vacation and couldn't join us, set off all my alarms.
“I swear to Dio, Valentina! If anything happens to my famiglia...” I shouted, shaking her like a rag doll.
The door burst open behind me at that moment.
“Camillo! Uomo di Dio! What are you doing?” It was my cousin.
“Lorenzo, give my Papà the keys to my car,” I ordered over my shoulder and removed the SUV keys from the inner pocket of my blazer, tossing them and watching him turn pale. “Tell him to get the famiglia out of the United States. Now!”
My cousin didn't question me. He disappeared in a fraction of a second, and I shook Valentina once more before shoving her to the floor.
“I'm doing this for us, Camillo. For you. For me. For our famiglia!” She yelled, tears streaming down her beautiful face. “They're not your famiglia. I am.”
I crouched down in front of her for a few seconds, adrenaline coursing through every limb of my body.
“Those people down there have this blood running through their veins.” I tapped my wrist with two fingers. “They have my flesh and my name.”
“Vita Mia...” she begged, kneeling in front of me, taking my hands in hers. “They are criminals. Your father, your uncle... even your grandfather! They are all murderers. You have no idea how many innocent people they have killed...”
“My famiglia does not kill innocent people.” I emphasized the word innocent, ignoring how her hands continued to squeeze mine, trying to pull me toward her.
“Vita Mia... We can start over. You and I.” My breathing grew shorter with each new word she uttered. “Let them pay for their crimes...”
“I will never forgive you.” I spat, suppressing the urge to vomit, letting a handful of thick tears drip from my eyes. “Never...”
“You don't have to be a monster like them. I won't let you become one.”
With a sudden movement, I shook off her hands and stood up, giving her no further answer, drying my eyes on the sleeve of my blazer. Monster. If that's how she saw my famiglia, then I never knew what kind of woman lay beside me in bed.
We weren't monsters, we didn't kill innocents. We were ordinary people, with plans, dreams, passions, and goals. We may not abide by the laws of governments, but going against collective thinking doesn't make anyone evil; at most, it makes them dissidents. Still, we were as decent as anyone else.
I staggered backwards without taking my eyes off her, still kneeling on the floor with a pleading expression, and had to fight back more tears.
This was the same woman I had fallen in love with ten years ago.
The one I asked to marry me, that I waited for at the altar and sworn before God to take as my wife.
She was the same woman I woke up loving that very morning. Yet, I didn't know her.
I never had.
I left the office, shutting the door and turning the key.
She immediately threw herself against it, pounding on the wood with all her strength.
Screaming, demanding I let her out. I ignored it and rushed for the stairs, realizing that something inside me had died.
Something in my being laid shattered, and what remained filled my mouth with bile.
As if walking to the gallows, I descended the last step of the staircase to find my famiglia still in that damn living room.
Tears betrayed me again and rolled down my cheeks.
I looked at each face with shame and guilt, not quite sure how to put in words what needed to be said, but when I met my mother's apprehensive gaze, all I could do was clench my fists tightly and let my head fall forward.
“She betrayed me...” I confessed with a broken voice, unable to look at them, and sobs shook my chest. “She betrayed the famiglia.”
“My son. My precious boy.” Those were the words I heard my mother whimpered before her arms wrapped around my body.
I wanted to stay there, close to her heart, in her protective embrace, but I knew we didn't have time.
“Papà.” I called, looking over her shoulder at the man who glared at me, his face distraught. “You have to return to Italy. I'm afraid she's planned something... She knows which countries we operate in, what we deal in, and who our associates are.”
“Maledizione!” Nonno Patrizio yelled, not giving my father time to respond, and I watched in horror as he took the Glock from the holster on his belt and pointed it toward the top of the stairs. “I'm going to finish off that puttana.”
Nonno had the right to do so, and I knew it was the only way to deal with a traitor. However, when that traitor is still the woman we love, one cannot follow the laws of reason. I stepped out of my Mamusia's protective arms and planted myself in front of my Nonno.
“Per favore, don't kill her...” I begged and slowly dropped in front of him, one knee at the time. "Kill me instead, Nonno. I was the one who made the mistake, I was the one who brought her into this famiglia despite all your warnings. Punish me, but don't kill her."
Nonno Patrizio watched me in silence, his black eyes bloodshot and wide with rage, his nostrils flared as if all the air in the world were not enough.
“I always knew you had a soft heart, Camillo, but I never expected you to become this pathetic man standing before me.” My eyes widened and I staggered, as my grandfather's stern words hit me.
If he had fired the gun he was putting back in its holster, it would have hurt less.
“Get up and don't embarrass this famiglia again.”
I obeyed, and my mother returned to my side, rubbing my back sympathetically with her hand.
“Va bene. The puttana will live,” conceded my grandfather. “Now we have to go, and you, ragazzo, will come with us. Andiamo.”
I swallowed the pain and shame, my heart heavy in my chest, and nodded.
“Take my SUV, it's armored. Let’s not take any risks,” I asked, feeling as cold bit at the soles of my feet.
It was as if everything around me was getting darker, and something gigantic, monstrous, was looming.
I looked at the faces of each person there, my heart racing as I realized that, despite my grandfather's harsh words, no one was blaming me.
Instead, a mother was holding me with iron strength, sensing my imminent downfall, and a father made a tremendous effort not to cry while looking at me.
There was no accusation in anyone, only love, anger, and a pain they seemed to be determined to lift from my chest. I sniffed and squeezed my eyes shut, letting a few more tears fall.
“I'll take Valentina's BMW. It's fast. If things go south and we need to lose someone, I can buy you some time.”
“I... I've already contacted our pilot, figlio mio,” said my father, coming towards me.
He cupped my face in his hands. “You know.
.. You know that Papà will never stop loving you no matter what, don't you?” His voice broke.
As soon as his face crumpled and tears rolled down his cheeks, I felt like the worst man on earth.
I was the cause of my parents' sorrow. Me.
No one else. “Even if she turns us in to the police, it won't change anything, sì?”
Nonno sighed.
“Your Papà is absolutely right,” he declared with a raspy voice, and I sobbed, unable to answer either of them. “No one is to blame for loving the wrong person.”
“Forgive me... all of you,” I begged, giving thanks for my mother's arms, which refused to let go of me.
"Papà and Nonno are right, Camillo. It's not your fault. You trusted that maledetta, and, look, if I’m honest with you, so did I," my brother declared, and I saw our cousin Lorenzo nodding in agreement.
“But we'll have time to talk about that later, ragazzi,” Zio Ricardo interjected. “We'd better hit the road as soon as possible and get back to our Italy.”
“Ricardo is right,” my father said to me. “But you're not going by yourself in that car, figlio. Don’t you agree, padre?”
Nonno Patrizio nodded.
“That's exactly what I was thinking. Lorenzo and Mario will go with Camillo. It'll be more effective if we need to shake someone off our tail. If nothing else, your fratello and your cugino can blow some tires while you drive.”
“As you wish, Nonno. As you wish.” I gasped, clinging to what strength was left. “Let's go through the kitchen. There's a door that leads to the garage.”
Everyone dispersed, but when I tried to do the same, Mamusia and Papà held me back for a moment.
“I'll repeat it: this doesn't change anything, figlio mio.”
“Grazie, Papà...” I cried and gave him a tight hug. “Grazie.”
“We're alive, that's all that matters, Camillo,” declared my mother with that Polish pragmatism of hers.
I turned to her and sighed.
“I'm afraid she's already called the police. Valentina knows things I never told her, and I have no idea how she got the information. She probably has something on us in the States.”
Mamusia smiled, accompanied by Papà, and pinched my nose just like she used to when I was a kid.
“I've seen a lot of people get out of jail, but not out of the grave. We're alive... That's all that matters, Camillo.”