Page 14 of Forced By the Bratva Beast

I return my gaze to Dr. Perri as she clears her throat. “Okay, Pavo. I want to thank you for taking the time to sit with us today.”

Pavo nods, his palms flat in front of him. “You’re welcome. It’s nice to be able to tell my side of the story.”

“Okay, good because I want to hear it too. I’m setting up the tape recorder next to us, and as soon as I press it, the interview will begin. Okay with that?”

“Yep. Go ahead, Doc.”

“Alright. State your name and where you’re from.”

“I’m Pavo Michelli, but most know me by the name of Engine. I was born in New Jersey originally, in the year of ’68.”

“Engine. That’s interesting. Is it a nickname?”

“Yeah. I got it a long time ago because I used to work on cars a lot, and I could refurbish an engine in no time, even if it was in bad condition.” Engine holds up his chunky hands, which are gnarled and swollen with a hearty chuckle. “These bad boys.”

Dr. Perri humors him with a tiny smirk but continues. “So, if you were born in New Jersey, how did you come to be in Chicago?”

“I… ah… got mixed up with some kids in the neighborhood when I was younger, and because I didn’t get on well with my parents, I decided to leave with them right after I turned eighteen.”

“Who were they?”

Pavo smiles, grinning broadly. “The Bardi gang. Small beginnings back then.”

Shocked, my mouth gapes open as I listen. One of the original members of the Bardi family, an Italian Mafia syndicate who reigned terror on Chicago all through the seventies and eighties, according to my research. Floored that I’m looking at one of its members, I tune in even more.

“Ah. The Bardi Gang. You were quite the gang in your heyday,” Dr. Perri remarks with a veiled smile.

“Heyday?” Pavo raises his eyebrow to the ceiling. “We’ve still got a foot in the door. Barely, but we’re around.” He winks, his gritty smile sending shivers down my spine.

“So, you weren’t born into the Mafia?” Dr. Perri probes. God. She is so good. I love this.

“No. I was initiated, if you will,” Pavo replies casually.

“Right. In your words who were the Bardi Gang?” Dr. Perri asks.

“Badasses. We ran Chi-town. We started off small from Southside to Northside. Drugs, a little money laundering in the casinos, protection services, union affiliations, political gambits. You name it, we ran it.”

“I see. And how long would you say your reign lasted?”

“Umm, a good thirty-five years, give or take. A lot of the older members of the mob started to face jail time and were in and out of here for a while, so that’s when things started to run downhill for us. The cops started trying to penetrate the organization.”

“I see. That is a long run for a Mafia outfit. What role did you play?” Furiously, I rapidly jot notes, watching Pavo’s lively expressions. It’s almost as if he lives to retell the story.

“Ah, I guess you would call me the fixer, you know. The enforcer. Fixing things that didn’t go well. I moved up the ranks to Consigliere eventually, but it took me over a decade to do it. Had to earn my stripes, so to speak.”

“And what did earning your stripes mean?” Dr. Perri pushes as my fingers begin to sweat under the pen. Can he even answer this question without implicating himself?

“Ah, I’m going to have to dance around a few things. I’ve got an appeal coming up, so you know how it goes, Doc. This is supposed to be helping me.”

Frowning, I lean forward, my breath hitching. Helping him? Is she going to help Pavo get off with these interviews? What?

“That’s provided you cooperate, and there’s no guarantees. Tell us what you can, Pavo.”

“It means I had to do a few things. Steal. Set people up. Tie people up and fix a few faces. Maybe pop a few people too, if the circumstance called for it.”

“I think I understand. Thanks, Pavo. What is the current length of your sentence and what are you in here for?”

“My sentence is for twenty years for manslaughter. A hit-and-run.” My stomach curdles when he says hit and run, bringing up old memories of my parents. Fuck. Breathe.

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