Page 185 of Vita Mia

“You... you... you... you lost your brothers, your wife, I know all about it. I know what Giovanni Battaglia has done. I am telling you the Camorra is a cancer. I am the cure.”

Carlo glanced over to the man at his left and then to the man at his right. Both men raised their guns and aimed them at Antoni. In that moment, his entire life flashed before his eyes.

“You can’t kill me, motherfucker! Do you hear me! My death is your own!” he shouted.

The man to Carlo’s left was the only one to pull the trigger. And it happened fast. He first shot the man behind Antoni in the chest. He then shot the man to the right of Antoni holding the servant with a knife to her throat. Neither of the men had time to react. Antoni did. He nearly jumped from his chair. Sylvia screamed and fell under the dead weight of the man who had half of his skull and face blown away.

Antoni scrambled to run from the room. If he made it to his gun he’d even the score. However, he tripped over the dead men and fell as well. His eyes stretched with confused horror. He glanced over to the dead man on the floor and then the other one behind him that lay on top of a kicking and screaming Sylvia.

What had happened?

Carlo got up from the chair. He took the gun from the shooter and plucked a cloth napkin from the table. Antoni watched him approach. He tried to scoot back on his hands and ass.

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CARLO WIPED THE GUNclean even though the shooter wore gloves, and then he set the gun on the table in front of Antoni. He tossed aside the napkin and held instead a sterling silver steak knife. “Pick it up.”

“What?” Antoni stammered.

“Pick it up,” Carlo said.

Antoni shook his head no. The man that had always stood to Carlo’s right held a gun aimed at Antoni. Carlo knew the coward before him remained frozen by fear. Too immobile to respond to his commands.

Carlo put the knife to Antoni’s jugular. He leaned in and bared his teeth. “Pick it uppunto,” he whispered.

With a shaky hand his prey picked up the gun. Carlo continued to whisper to him. “Now pull the trigger.”

“I don’t want to die,” Antoni said. Proving to Carlo that the great revered Antoni Fassino, Governor of the Poggioreale prison was never worthy to be the man who took the life of his best friend. His rage almost made him draw blood.

“You will die, but it won’t be quick and it won’t be merciful. Now pull the trigger.”

The warden pulled the trigger. The gun clicked empty. He burst into tears. Sylvia the servant was brought to the table and forced to sit down. She was covered in blood over her face and the front of her clothes. She shook with terror.

“Let me tell you your story.”

Antoni looked down at the gun in his hand with a deep frown of concern. It was his own weapon that he kept in the house. Carlo let the warden adjust to the revelation of what he’d done.

“It starts with an uprising. This takes place in your prison. A gypsy king by the name of Aldo and a rival gang of African immigrants argue over the cramped quarters they are confined too. A fight starts. No one knows who caused it. But the blood bath behind the cage brings in your men. It is your men that chose sides. And you know who they protect. The gypsies not the Africans, and it’s the same insult over and over again. The Africans are treated as less than human. And they don’t like it. They don’t like you....” Carlo whispers.

The warden closes his eyes. He could see the rest play out. But Carlo continues with his story. “Later a corrupt guard in your prison who is soon found dead, opens the gates to the other cells for the Africans after taking a bribe. Some escape. The riot spills out. Inmates burn their mattresses. Guards are slaughtered. Chaos spreads. While this is happening, you come home to find two men that are countrymen to those you have caged like animals in your home. You defend yourself by killing them. But you are taken by others. The authorities investigate. They learn of your kidnapping by the Africans and they start a hunt for you. They search everywhere for you, certain you must have been taken somewhere in the deepest south of the Campania. But they do not find you. Do you know why?” Carlo asked.

Antoni shook his head.

“Because you’re with me.Il macellaio. The butcher.”

Antoni tries to lunge for Carlo but Carlo swipes the knife across the warden’s cheek nearly slicing through to his tongue. Antoni bucks and falls over gripping his face now gushing blood. He gurgled and choked on the blood filling his mouth.

“Clean him up. Make sure to leave enough of his blood around to show the struggle.” Carlo said and wiped the knife clean across his pristine white shirt. He set the knife down. Antoni yelled at him holding the side of his face squirting blood. One of Carlo’s men dragged him out of the room. Carlo took a look at the two men dead on the floor. He nodded to his companion to stage the place. He then turned his attention to the housekeeper.

She used the napkin to wipe her face and hands.

“And what story will you tell?” he asked.

“I was taken and tied up. When Signore Fassino arrived, he was ambushed. One of the men took me and put a knife to my throat.” She tilts her head to show the slender welt along her throat where the knife had been pressed. “Signore Fassino defended me. He killed the man and I ran and hid in another room. I heard the gunshots and prayed. When I finally found the courage to come out of hiding there was blood and two dead men, but Signore Fassino was gone.”

“Brava. Don Giovanni blesses you.” Carlo said and put the money on the table.

“Please tell the Don that I pray for him and his family every day.Grazie,” Sylvia said and took the envelope of money.

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