Chapter 9
Camillo Vicari
Jackson, Mississippi, USA
Ten years ago
“Yesterday, around two o’clock in the afternoon, an operation was carried out against members of the Italian criminal organization ‘Ndrangheta, linked to international drug and arms trafficking.
The operation, which had been underway for over a year, took an unexpected turn after an alert was given by Assistant District Attorney Valentina Messina, who had been held hostage in her own home.
Following this alert, local police and federal agents coordinated the chase of two suspicious vehicles through the streets of Jackson, Mississippi.
During the pursuit, the occupants of one of the vehicles opened fire on the police, resulting in the death of two officers.
The other vehicle lost control while being intercepted by a SWAT team and fell from the Woodrow Wilson Bridge.
Six bodies were pulled from the Pearl River a few hours later, pronounced dead at the scene.
Authorities reported that the three occupants of the other vehicle surrendered shortly after. .."
Cold sweat soaked my clothes. I shook my leg, the handcuffs cutting into my wrists.
It was difficult to breathe or comprehend what was happening around me.
The fluorescent lights of the police station turned the people walking around into shadowy, shapeless figures.
Next to me, gut-wrenching sobs revealed I wasn't alone, but the sound was muffled by the pressure inside my skull.
My parents were dead. My grandparents. My uncle and aunt. Dead.
I shook my leg faster, following it with the other.
I felt electric shocks running through my flesh.
The sweat refused to stop. I wanted to cry, but the pressure inside my skull wouldn't let me.
It was so bad that when the lawyer stopped in front of me and put his hand on my shoulder, I couldn't recognize him.
“I'm so sorry, Camillo...” The man's voice was distant, as if I was sinking into the sea, while he stayed on the surface, trying to reach me.
“I took the first flight from New York to Jackson as soon as I heard the news...” The lawyer continued, but I didn't even bother to lift my face.
I saw his black suit pants, his blue shirt with white stripes, but everything was blurry, cloudy.
I felt, in fact, submerged in some ocean.
"You are not alone in this. The New York families are standing behind you.
“ I moved my legs faster, feeling something wet falling from my eyes, and began digging my nails into my palms. My famiglia was dead. ”Camillo?
" The lawyer's voice was getting more distant, like all the other sounds. I tried to breathe, but couldn't.
The voices multiplied. I fell forward, not understanding what they were saying or who they were talking to. I felt hands on my shoulders. Someone tried to lift me up, but my legs were shaking, this time on their own. My whole body was convulsing.
Papà was dead. Nonno was dead. Nonna was dead. Zio and Zia were dead too. And so was Mamusia.
Mamusia. My Mamusia.
‘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.’
Air rushed back into my lungs and the pressure in my skull fractured, exploding in a scream that filled the police station. A roar that reverberated throughout the building and reduced me to a convulsing rag, curled up on the floor, washed in tears.
“It's my fault...” I whimpered, gasping between sobs. “It's all my fault...”
“My clients need to see a doctor. This is not acceptable treatment!” I heard the lawyer shout and realized it was his hands trying to support me.
It was Alessandro Lombardi.
“Mr. Lombardi, your clients are accused of drug trafficking, racketeering, illegal possession of weapons, resisting arrest, and they will also be charged with the murder of two officers,” recalled an aged masculine voice. “There is a process to follow.”
“The Fourteenth Amendment guarantees humane treatment and medical care to any detainee. This is not humane treatment! These men have lost their families, they need psychological counseling. In a hospital.”
The police officer grunted. “We will take the necessary measures.”
Moments later, I was lifted off the ground by what appeared to be paramedics. Taken into an ambulance and locked in a hospital room. My crying never stopped, nor did the convulsions. Only after a doctor saw me and gave me some medication everything started to feel lighter, maybe too much.
Before the lights went out, I managed to process a thought:
Kill Valentina.