Chapter 122
122
Niccolo and Fausto began negotiating and didn’t stop until 2 in the morning.
Neither side was truly pleased with the results. Fausto obviously still wanted Florence, but Niccolo wouldn’t budge. In return, the brothers gave up more territory than they would have liked in exchange for Florence and the family’s ancestral mansion.
Adriano was pissed. Of course, he was always pissed, so no surprises there. “We didn’t give away half our territory – we gave away almost two fuckin’ thirds p>
“But we got to keep Florence,” Roberto pointed out. “That’s the most important thing p>
“And we got the house and the grounds,” Massimo added.
“It still fuckin’ blows,” Adriano groused.
Niccolo smiled wryly. “That’s the mark of a good compromise – when everybody walks away unhappy p>
“At least we got rid of Aurelio,” Valentino said.
Everyone laughed – including me.
“I take back everything I said,” Adriano joked. “That alone makes it worth it p>
When Fausto and Aurelio left the next day to start their new empire, they took half the staff with them: half the servants and half the foot soldiers.
I noticed that the vast majority of the soldiers who went with Fausto were old-timers – the ones who had bitched and moaned on the first day of training, and whose efforts since then had been half-hearted at best. Only a couple of younger guys went with them.
Unlike the brothers, I was extremely pleased. We kept all the best men and got rid of a lot of dead wood.
Good riddance.
It was a win/win, as far as I was concerned.
A few days later, Adriano, Massimo, and Valentino went to see Dario in prison. They flew on the family’s Gulfstream, which took off from a runway hidden amidst the olive groves and vineyards.
Niccolo and Roberto stayed behind at the mansion. With the family’s new don in prison, it was unthinkable to also put the consigliere and the money man in danger as well. Despite their obvious reluctance, Niccolo and Roberto did the smart thing and stayed home.
But as head of security, I was very aware that an enemy might decide to make a move against the brothers when they visited San Vittore. Maybe someone from the Camorra – like an old associate of Aristide Caproni.
Which meant I didn’t trust anyone outside our inner circle, and the only cars I would trust were those from our own garage.
With Niccolo’s blessing, I assembled a team of the best men I’d trained to drive a convoy of four bulletproof Mercedes up to Milan. We had to leave hours earlier than the jet so we would be there when they arrived at the airport.
All of the men I chose were under 30. Most hadn’t even been working as foot soldiers when I’d arrived. But after five months of intensive training, they were ready. I would have gone into battle with any of them.
The trip took four hours. I sat in the passenger seat as Giorgio drove. He didn’t say much, which I liked about him. A man of few words and decisive action.
It also gave me time to think.
If someone had asked me a week earlier, I would have said Leonardo would live for a long time to come. He might have been stressed, but he seemed to be healthy and full of vitality.
His death reminded me just how fleeting life is. And his sons’ grief reminded me that, in the end, life is all about the ones we love.
As a result, I thought a lot about Rachel on the drive to Milan.
I wondered what she was doing… if she’d married her fiancé…
And bitterly wished it could have been me.
We picked up Adriano, Massimo, and Valentino at the Aeroporto di Milano Malpensa on the outskirts of Milan. Niccolo had called ahead and arranged it so we could drive out onto the tarmac to retrieve them once they landed.
The original plan was to put one brother in each car, with me in the lead vehicle. But Valentino wanted to ride with me, so the fourth car just trailed along behind us.
“What a fuckin’ name for an airport,” Valentino muttered from the backseat as we drove off the tarmac.
“What?” I asked.
“‘Malpensa,’” he said. “Mal pensa literally means ‘bad thoughts.’ I was like, ‘Why the fuck would you name an airport that,’ so I looked it up on my phone when we landed. Turns out the land they bought to build it on had a farm named Malpensa – and they kept the fuckin’ name. Can you believe that shit p>
Actually, I could.
It seemed consistent with the dark humor of Italians. Swedes have our own form of gallows humor to get us through the cold winter nights, but we had nothing on Italy – the land of passion and death.
I knew Valentino was just talking because he was nervous and upset about his father, so I let him ramble. But the closer we got to our destination, the more distracted I became with my own ‘bad thoughts p>
To me, Milan was a cursed city. It was where I’d lost nearly four years of my life…
And the woman I loved.
The day I left, I thought I would never go back –
So, of course, that’s exactly where Fate sent me.
And not just to Milan, but to the gulag itself.
From the outside, San Vittore was just a bunch of ugly walls concealing an even greater ugliness within. But as we drove up to it, I could almost feel the darkness seeping through the concrete. It depressed me even more to think of everything the prison had taken from me.
Of course, it had given me one of the best friends I’d ever had, and an amazing new life…
But the trade-off had been bitter indeed.
We parked in the visitor’s lot. I left my guns in the car as I accompanied Adriano, Massimo, and Valentino inside.
As we signed in, there was more than one double-take as the staff recognized me. One guard even joked, “Couldn’t stay away, huh?” but I ignored him.
Only one brother was allowed to visit at a time. Adriano went first, accompanied by a guard.
Valentino paced the corridor nervously as we waited for Adriano to return.
“Val’s never been in a place like this before,” Massimo said quietly as he and I stood by the wall.
“…and you have?” I asked.
Massimo looked at me with one raised eyebrow.
I put up my hands like Don’t shoot. “Sorry – I didn’t mean it the way it came out. I just was surprised you’d been in prison p>
Massimo looked at me for a long moment in silence.
Then he finally spoke.
“…I’ve visited them before p>
We stared at each other –
And then both broke out laughing.
“Okay, Mr. Tough Guy,” Massimo said good-naturedly, “I know we’re not all badasses like you, but please, allow me to retain some of my dignity p>
I began speaking in a voice like the narrator of a documentary. “Massimo Rosolini – he’s visited some of the WORST prison waiting rooms in all of Italy – ”
Massimo bumped my shoulder and nearly toppled me over.
I was just about to retaliate in a fun, rough-housing way when Valentino cleared his throat.
Massimo and I both looked over at him.
“Dario’s in there, and our father’s dead,” he said coldly. “Could you two show a little fuckin’ respect p>
“Sorry,” I muttered.
“Okay, okay,” Massimo relented.
Massimo and I stood there in silence for about 30 seconds…
And then Massimo leaned over and whispered, “You can tell from how serious he is that Valentino Rosolini has visited ONE of the WORST prison waiting rooms in all of Italy p>
I tried to cover my mouth to stop from laughing. It didn’t work.
Massimo and I both burst into guffaws as Valentino stood there, shaking his head in disgust.