Chapter Eighteen
Elio
Everything Fabio brought from Millhaven hangs off him now, jeans sliding down his hips, shirts bagging on him. He won’t ask me to buy him anything, so I decide to treat him. He’s not really up to shopping though, which means I’ll have to go it alone. Hopefully my taste will match with his.
Dante parks near the waterfront shops, and I find a store that’s modern without being pretentious.
I pick out jeans, shirts, a couple of sweaters, a jacket for the weather that’s coming.
I also grab a dark blue pullover that would look good against his coloring.
While I find Marcello’s mobster lifestyle disconcerting, I can admit it’s nice to shop without having to nervously check my bank balance first.
By some miracle, the girl at the counter has no idea who I am.
She allows me to actually pay for the clothes I’m buying.
I’m relieved. I don’t like taking things for free from these smaller shops.
I know they see nothing wrong with lavishing Marcello’s omega with free things, but I didn’t grow up that way and it makes me uncomfortable.
I’m coming out of the store with my bags when I hear my name. I turn to find Salvatore on the sidewalk outside a café next door to the clothing shop. He’s in a camel overcoat, newspaper under his arm. His face splits into a smile when our eyes meet.
“What a pleasant surprise.” He walks toward me, eyeing the bags. “I see you’re doing some shopping.”
“I’m buying my brother some clothes.” I smile.
He lifts his brow. “I didn’t realize you had a brother.”
I grimace. “No, I guess you wouldn’t. I don’t think I told anyone at the club about Fabio.”
“Does he live here in Sorrento Bay?” Salvatore looks at me expectantly.
“Uh… yeah.” I haven’t shared much personal information with Giulia and the others. However, it’s probably fine to tell Salvatore about Fabio now. After all, he’s living with me. It’ll be difficult to hide his existence now that he’s no longer hidden away at a hospital.
“Is he younger or older than you?”
“He’s eight years younger,” I say. “He just had open-heart surgery. Marcello was kind enough to let him come stay with us. I wanted to keep him near while he heals from the surgery.”
“Of course. That makes perfect sense.” Salvatore nods. “I’m glad Marcello was willing to do that. Open-heart surgery, eh? That’s scary.”
“Yes, it was incredibly stressful. I’m glad it’s behind us.”
Dante appears at my elbow. “Sir, would you like me to put your packages in the car?”
“Oh.” I frown, still unaccustomed to people doing everything for me. “I… I guess so.”
“Yes, let him put your packages safely in the car.” Salvatore’s eyes are warm.
“Then you can come have coffee with me.” He sighs when I hesitate.
“Please, Elio. Save me from reading the obituaries. There are too many familiar names on them these days, and it would help me from worrying that my name will soon be there too.”
I wince. “Don’t say that.”
He shrugs. “Death is a fact of life and I’m no spring chicken.”
“You look healthy enough to me. I don’t think you need to worry.”
“I’m not bad for sixty-two, I guess. My doctor is pleased with my health. But you never know.” He snaps his fingers. “You can be here one day and gone the next.”
That’s an unusually grim thing for Salvatore to say. I decide perhaps keeping him company is a good idea. If he’s lonely, that might be one reason for his morose words.
“Sure, let’s have some coffee.” I smile, hoping to cheer him up. “I can have decaf.”
“Yes, that would be best for the baby.” His eyes flicker as he glances at my stomach, but then his pleasant expression returns. “After you.”
We go inside and he holds the door for me. The café is small, brick walls, mismatched furniture, the hiss of the espresso machine behind the counter. He picks a table near the window, then goes up to put our coffee order in after insisting on paying.
When he returns to the table, he sits across from me. “You look well,” Salvatore says, studying me. “Morning sickness all gone?”
“Yep. I couldn’t drink coffee for a while, but now I can. So many things made me nauseous in the beginning.”
“My wife always said the first trimester was God’s way of testing whether you really wanted the baby.” His smile is melancholy.
“That seems like a solid theory.”
We fall into easy conversation. It’s enjoyable, talking to Salvatore.
There’s no agenda I can detect, no posturing.
He listens when I speak. He asks questions that show he remembers what I’ve told him before.
He’s comfortable with himself and interested in others.
He’s the kind of man I hope to be when I grow older.
“How’s Marcello doing lately? How’s his stress level?” Something about the way he asks makes me take note.
“He’s doing well.” I frown. “Why do you ask about his stress?”
“Oh, no real reason.” He smiles as the pretty blond female barista brings out coffees to our table. Once she’s gone, he says, “I simply know that being the head of the Foschini syndicate comes with plenty of headaches.”
“That’s certainly true.” I think back to the conversation Carlo had with Marcello not that long ago about the disgruntled families. I’ve been anxious ever since. It’s worrisome that Marcello won’t listen to Carlo or me about taking it seriously.
Salvatore’s coffee cup pauses halfway to his mouth. He sets it back down. “You look worried, Elio. Is something wrong?”
I grimace. “No.”
“Are you sure? You seem troubled.”
I’m surprised at how perceptive he is. “I’m not troubled exactly. There’s just a lot going on with my brother and a baby on the way.”
“Are you sure that’s all? You know, you can talk to me if you want. I can be discreet.” He shrugs. “I’ve been around a long time. I’ve seen it all.”
I hesitate. “I’m sure you have.” If I didn’t feel disloyal talking about my worries concerning Marcello, Salvatore would be the perfect person. But Marcello is so private, I don’t want to do anything that upsets him.
He picks up his coffee again and takes a sip. “But it’s also fine if you don’t want to tell me what’s on your mind. While I feel oddly close to you, in truth, we don’t know each other that well. I understand why you don’t trust me.”
I lean forward and touch his arm. “It isn’t that I don’t trust you.”
He smiles kindly. “It’s okay. Trust takes time.”
“I’m serious, my hesitation isn’t about trust.” I glance around, but nobody is paying attention to us so I continue. “I’m simply not sure what Marcello would want me to share with others. He’s so private.”
“It’s fine,” he grumbles. “I’m used to being dismissed as old and useless.”
I frown. “I’m not dismissing you, Salvatore. I swear.”
“If you were, I wouldn’t blame you.” He sighs.
“It sucks getting old, Elio. Do you know there was a time when everyone came to me for advice? But not now. Now, I’m considered a relic.
Oh, sure, people like having me around because I have good stories, but nobody is coming to me for advice these days. ”
“This has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with how private Marcello is.”
“Oh, I’m just being overly sensitive.” He waves me off. “You probably won’t believe this, but at one time I almost had the position that Marcello holds now.”
“As head of the Foschini syndicate?” I frown in confusion because I know for a fact Salvatore isn’t a Foschini.
He smiles. “No, no. I mean as the boss who tells all the other syndicates what to do. Like Marcello does now. The Marchetti syndicate was once very powerful.”
“I see.”
His jaw tightens. “Marcello’s father, Domenico, and I came up through the ranks together. We were good friends most of our lives.”
“Most of your lives?”
He lifts one shoulder. “We had a brief falling out when he was picked to be the top dog instead of me.”
“Oh.”
“I can admit, I resented that decision. I was young and prideful. I felt as if I deserved the honor every bit as much as Domenico. Fortunately, we patched things up quickly. It wasn’t worth losing a friendship over.
” He gives a rueful smile. “In hindsight, it was probably a good thing I was never in charge. Being the main boss looks exhausting. I enjoy my free time too much.”
“I don’t know why anyone would want to be in charge.” I rub my jaw, feeling muddled. “It seems so dangerous and stressful. I have no idea how Marcello keeps control of all the factions.”
“It’s because he holds all the power.”
I wrinkle my brow. “Does he? You and many of the other alphas seem to have plenty of power.”
“Not in the same way.” Salvatore squints at me. “Has Marcello really never bothered to explain any of this to you?”
“No. But to be fair, I never asked him to.”
“I see,” he murmurs. “Well, the Foschinis are the most powerful syndicate because they control all the things that matter. Marcello’s great-grandfather was cunning.
He knew that if he controlled strategic parts of the city, the other syndicates would have to bow to him.
He seized everything he could get his hands on.
Construction unions. Trucking routes. Casino licenses.
Zoning boards. Inspectors. Judges.” He hesitates.
“And now the Foschinis apparently also control the ports.”
I frown. “Because Marcello took them from the Lucchese family.”
“That’s right.” He narrows his eyes. “So you know about that.”
“Yes.” I don’t elaborate. No one is supposed to know about the attempt on my life.
“Anyway,” he says, “Holding all those pieces makes the Foschinis untouchable.”
I wince. “Except no one is truly untouchable, right?”
“No.” He stirs some sugar into his coffee. “I think perhaps you understand this world more than you let on, Elio.”
“Understand might be a stretch.”
He lifts his gaze, peering at me under his brows. “Do you happen to know why Marcello took the ports from the Lucchese family?”
I stiffen. I could tell him no, but I hate lying to his face. “I… I can’t really talk about that.”
“So you do know the reason.”
“Please understand, Salvatore, there are things I just can’t discuss.”