Page 170 of Vita Mia

Giovanni knew the way. He left his cell and followed the officers through the hall to the doors that led to freedom. Something he was denied for far too long. He was met by more jail officials. None of them looked familiar. He was then escorted to another room.

“Don Giovanni Battaglia. Finally, we meet,” said Générale Altoviti.

Giovanni blinked at him and then nodded.

“Please, have a seat.” The Générale gestured to a chair.

Giovanni shuffled in his chains and sat. He faced his nemesis.

“You look well. The doctors report you’re healthy, recovered from your time in Poggioreale. I want you to know I fought for your transfer. I never wanted you in the Campania.”

“What do you want?” Giovanni asked.

“Justice, for the families you’ve destroyed. Accountability for the crime and corruption in the Campania. To see you stand trial for the murder of Lorenzo Battaglia, would be a nice start.”

Giovanni smiled. “And you expect me to help you?”

“No. I expect you to help your family. We can avoid a trial. Spare your wife and children the trauma. I can make a deal that even allows your wife to see you privately twice a year. All you need to do is confess.” The Générale slid a confession to all his crimes to him. Giovanni looked down at the script and then up at the Générale.

“Without any counsel from my attorney you put this before me?” Giovanni asked.

“We can bring your lawyers in. I just need to hear you say it. Say you are thecapo di tutti capi. Sayla Camorrais yours and you are responsible for the countless deaths and crimes against the good people of the republic. Say the words and we negotiate.”

“Vaffanculo—fuck off,” Giovanni said.

The Générale’s polite smile faded. He pulled back the document.

“You do know that you will rot in a cell locked away from your family and empire until you’re buried.”

“Or I can go to trial, prove my innocence, and get a public apology from you and your officers for abuse of power,” Giovanni said.

The Générale laughed. He laughed until his eyes teared. He wagged a finger at him. “You’re good. But I’m better. I know you slipped after the fire in Sorrento. I know you have no power over the clans. I know they are moving in as we speak to take you down. The Puglia’s? They aren’t too happy with you. Are they?”

“I’ve been to Puglia. Nice countryside,” Giovanni replied.

The Générale slammed his fist down on the table. “It will be a pleasure to see you convicted. This was a one-time offer. Consider it gone.”

Giovanni nodded. “I’ve been warned.”

He then stood and the officers stepped forward. He stared down at the Générale. “Thank you for the new accommodations. I’ve been getting plenty of rest.”

“Yes, be comfortable Don Giovanni. You’ll be staying for the long term.”

Giovanni tipped his head at the Générale and then left. His smirk slipped the moment he was led back to his cell. The steel door was shut and the visor that gave him a glimpse to the outside hall was slammed shut. Giovanni swung his fist at the wall and crushed his knuckles. He paced back and forth panting and huffing. Inside his cell he had nothing but a toilet and bunk. Nothing to break or rip apart besides the book a guard gave him. He sat down on his bed and rubbed his bleeding knuckles trying to calm his rage. He’d studied law before he returned home from America. He knew the court system like any hardened criminal would. And he knew that even with all the pieces in the place he still gambled with freedom. He could and would be tried over and over again by his enemies unless he destroyed every one of them. And that included the Générale. Giovanni closed his eyes and conjured his Bella. He tried to remember the sweetest part of her. The way her skin smelled after one of her perfumed baths. The way her breath tasted when he kissed her. Giovanni reclined back on his bunk and held his wounded hand. He closed his eyes and remembered her in the ways he did when he was in his coma. At least when he was in the coma he had her with him. He could feel her. No dream felt as satisfying as his deep slumber.

Giovanni stopped praying. The moment he watched another man beat and stomp on his closest friend until his skull split he forgot the power of prayer. Renaldo’s death was his fault. To the bitter end his friend and enforcer had been loyal. He’d given his life. And for what? He needed to get out. He needed to avenge his brotherhood and he needed his woman and children. He couldn’t survive without them. The isolation system in Italy was strongest in Rome. It had become the leading cause of prison suicide. It was legalized torture. And if he didn’t escape it soon he didn’t know what or who he’d become.

***

“WHEN DO THE RUSSIANSexpect the hit?” Mirabella asked Dominic.

She and Nico had left Bagheria and visited him in Palermo. They were all gathered now and seated in his parlor.

“Tarzan has changed the plan. He wants the President assassinated before moving Lorenzo.”

“He can’t do that. We had an agreement,” Mirabella said.

“He can do whatever the fuck he wants,” Dominic answered. He took a sip of his water and set down the glass. Mirabella stood up and rubbed her arm.

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