Page 10 of Sweet Prison

After that, Massimo would point me to more movie scenes, or passages from books, or even real-world events, and I’d scour each to get what he was hinting at, eventually understanding what he needed me to do. Deciphering his code words took a bit longer—sometimes two or three letters and a lot of googling through references before his meaning would sink in. But it did, and now, it’s like we formed our own lexicon.

As I turn his latest letter in my hands, excitement flutters in my stomach at each little clue he’s written. His creativity never fails to amaze me.

This time, he wants me to stick close to my dad and try to find out more about what he discusses with his capos. That’s fairly clear. And he wants to know if the renovations at the Bay View Casino exceeded two hundred grand. But the rest? Hell if I know.

I don’t remember a guy in a beret coming over to our house. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen any man—outside of military guys on TV and hipster, artist types—wear one in modern life.I google the location he mentioned, and find that it doesn’t exist. Harrison Avenue is a former industrial area that’s being redeveloped into a trendy neighborhood with luxury housing, and it has just over a thousand listed addresses. Nothing like the 4195 Massimo indicated.

After reading the perplexing part one more time, I hide the letter under my bed and head downstairs.

Dad is still not home, and Nera is spending the day at Dania’s. Most of the staff are occupied with hanging the new curtains in the parlor. Making sure they don’t notice me, I turn left into the hallway off the stairs and slip into my father’s study. I’m not certain what Massimo was getting at, but he must have mentioned this room on purpose.

The study is empty, as expected. No bearded guys lurking inside, waiting for me to discuss the business of renovating commercial properties. As I turn to leave, my eyes land on the painting on the wall behind Dad’s desk. It’s a rendition of a guy whose dark beard hides the lower part of his face. He’s wearing a gray coat. And a black beret. Hesitantly approaching the painting, I take in its impressive array of light and color, as well as the ornamental frame that surrounds it. In the center of the bottom edge, there’s a little plaque.

Self-Portrait With A Beret

Claude Monet

“Hello, Mr. Monet,” I snort, then start feeling around the frame. On the right-hand side, I find a tiny button. I push it, and the painting swings open like a beautiful door to a hidden room, revealing the safe concealed behind it.

After throwing a quick glance over my shoulder to make sure the study door is still closed, I punch in the four-digit codeMassimo cleverly relayed in his letter into the keypad. With a muted click, the safe pops open.

After seeing hidden safes revealed in movies, I expect to find money, jewelry, and other loot inside. But it’s nothing of the sort. Just a bunch of file folders, stacked and filling the interior nearly to capacity.

No wonder I’ve never found anything overly useful within the desk drawers. Looks like Dad keeps all his paperwork in here. Massimo either found out the code to the safe somehow, or Dad never bothered to change it.

My hands shake as I leaf through the folders, trying to find anything related to the renovations at the casino. For some reason, this feels different from going through Dad’s desk, and I’m kind of bothered by the taste it’s leaving in my mouth. The thing is, though, I know that I’m doing this for a good cause.

The Family has been enjoying prosperity and a steady flow of business success over the past decade.

And it’snotthanks to my father.

It took me a while to understand the true nature of things, and where everything and everybodyactually stands. At first, I thought Massimo simply wanted to stay on top of what’s going on around here. But gradually, I realized it was much more than just curiosity. Dad might be the official don of the Boston Cosa Nostra Family, but he’s not the one calling the shots, not about the business or regarding Family matters.

It’s Massimo.

I may not have actual proof of that, but after analyzing Father’s behavior, it’s as clear as day.

More than once I’ve caught Dad changing his stance on a particular topic after he’s returned from visiting Massimo. I’vealso noticed that he hedges rather than give a direct answer whenever he’s asked his opinion on important business issues.

Vague responses. Deflections. Clever excuses.Such an amazing proposition, Brio. Let me think a few days about it.Or,That’s very concerning, gentlemen. I’ll look into it.Avoidance, until he gets the chance to visit Massimo and receive guidance from his stepson. Sometimes I wonder if Dad ever actually makes any of the decisions that are supposed to rest with the don.

I finally find the folder I’m looking for and scan the stack of papers inside.

Sketches. Receipts for renovation materials. Invoices from the firm that completed the work, which happens to be a Family-run company that’s often used to launder money. Clever. Not only can we list the disbursements as business expenses on the casino side, since we’re paying out with clean money, but that cash gets pumped into the reno company to cover the inflated costs, and the firm ends up laundering its own funds.

I’m not sure what’s driving Massimo’s insistence on keeping the overall reno expenditure under two hundred grand, but he must have his reasons.

The final figures on the last page seem fine—just shy of the budget by less than a grand. Good. I slip the folder back into the safe and shut the door, then move my friend, Mr. Monet, back into his original place. This isn’t the best time to carefully review the other folders kept within the safe, but I’ll do that on one of the nights when neither Dad nor the household staff are around.

These little covert missions I’m doing for my stepbrother are slowly turning into quite an adventure. Apart from his first response where he explained the ins and outs of linear equations to me, all of his subsequent letters contained questions or askedfor further information. And with that, for more than a year, he’s been using me to spy for him.

And I don’t mind it one bit.

Unlike my sister, I like the Cosa Nostra world. The intrigue. The sting of danger. Secret deals brokered under the shimmering lights of lavish parties. Parties that I would love to enjoy, but usually end up avoiding because I simply don’t fit in. This world is an entity of its own—it’s a complex, intricate macrocosm where only a select few are granted entry. As the don’s daughter, technically, I’m already a part of it. But in reality, I’m actually not.

A year ago, I was at a pretty dark point in my life, feeling utterly useless. And weak. Powerless. But now, I’m beyond ecstatic and filled with satisfaction because of everything I’ve done for Massimo, all without anyone else finding out. I don’t feel useless anymore. And I certainly don’t feel powerless. So no, I don’t give a shit that he’s using me apparently without remorse, because I don’t feel used. And I’m greatly enjoying the glimpses I’m getting of my mysterious stepbrother and his immoral methods. I can’t help but admire him for his devious, manipulative ways. The determination and pure single-mindedness required to achieve what he has, especially considering his circumstances, is mind-blowing.

Ruling the Italian Crime Family from inside prison walls.

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