AFM

MAFIA KINGS: MARCELLO

Book 9

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“Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.”

Dante’s Inferno

“Long is the way and hard, that out of Hell leads up to light.”

John Milton, Paradise Lost

PART I

7 Years Ago

Florence, Italy

Chapter 1

Marcello

I was 21 years old when I met the devil.

Turned out he lived in paradise.

A man in a tailored black suit and tie picked me up outside my university dorm in Florence. An hour later, I was sitting on the back patio of a centuries-old Tuscan mansion. An immaculate lawn led to a swimming pool lined with lemon trees, and there was a topiary garden and vineyards nearby.

But I barely paid attention to my surroundings. I kept my eyes on the devil, who was sitting across the patio table from me.

He was an older man in his early 50s. His expensive three-piece suit couldn’t quite hide his middle-aged gut. He had a mustache and goatee flecked with silver, and his black hair was greying at the temples.

Beside him sat a guy about my age, maybe a bit younger. Unlike the older man, he wasn’t wearing a suit – just dark slacks and a white linen shirt. The entire time, he never said a word, but peered at me as though he could see into my mind.

The devil smiled at me as he stirred a silver spoon in his porcelain coffee cup. “Thank you for meeting with us today, Marcello.”

I wanted to say, Like I had a choice, but I knew enough to keep my trap shut.

“My name is Fausto Rosolini,” he continued. “This is my nephew. Don’t mind him; he’s just sitting in.”

I looked at the young guy warily, then back at the devil.

“Your father has caused a great deal of trouble for me, as I’m sure you know,” the older man said.

Yeah, I knew, all right.

Papa was a judge in Florence. He and Mama had gotten divorced a year ago, and it had been nasty, messy, and very expensive for my father.

Mama was a stay-at-home wife who’d given up a career to raise three children. She kept the house in the divorce. She also got custody of my younger brother and sister, who were both still teenagers and living at home. In addition, she got half of all my father’s assets and salary.

Papa moved into a cramped apartment with his much younger mistress, who was only a few years older than me. She was very pretty, very dumb, and had very expensive tastes.

A few months later, my father bought a house in Fiesole, a posh neighborhood north of Florence. He started driving a Jaguar, too.

All of which should’ve been impossible on half a judge’s salary.

Either he was burying himself in massive debt…

Or something much worse was going on.

Turned out it was something much worse.

I remembered the night I met him at a café.

I hadn’t talked to him in months; I was super pissed off about him cheating on Mama and breaking up our family. But when he’d called, his voice had been frantic as he begged to see me.

When I met him in the café, he had a black eye and one arm in a cast.

What the hell happened to you? I asked in alarm.

Never mind that, he told me in a low, frightened whisper. I need your help.

It turned out that he’d financed his new house and car by taking money from ‘some people’ who’d approached him.

Initially, they’d only wanted a few favors here and there –

Favors only a judge could do.

Suppress some evidence in a case.

Rule against the prosecutor’s motions in favor of the defense.

You got in bed with the mafia, I said in horror.

Quiet, he hissed, looking furtively around the café as though afraid who might hear.

Things had gone fine at first, he said.

But then they wanted him to dismiss a case. An open-and-shut one where the defendant was guilty of killing someone.

He said he’d balked at doing that – that it would have been obvious he was on the take.

So he’d presided over the trial fairly, and the defendant was found guilty. He’d succeeded in getting the prosecutor to reduce the charges to manslaughter instead of murder.

The defendant got nine years.

Papa’s new ‘friends’ didn’t like that at all.

They told me I have to make restitution, my father said miserably. And part of that is they want to meet with you.

What the hell do they want from ME?!

I don’t know. All I know is a meeting with you is the only thing they’ll take as repayment.

Forget it, I said as I stood up. You got yourself into this jam – YOU get yourself out of it.

Marcello, please, he begged as he grabbed my arm. If it was just me, I wouldn’t ask – but they’ve threatened your mother, too… and Edoardo and Gemma.

My little brother and sister.

I stared at him in horror.

What the fuck have you done, Papa?! I asked, furious.

I’m sorry… please, Marcello, he whimpered. Please.

And that was how I found myself sitting across from the devil at his mansion in Tuscany.

“Your father’s been a very naughty boy,” Fausto Rosolini continued. “Taking my money, then not fulfilling the obligations that come with it.”

I just sat there in silence.

“Your father tells me you’re a very intelligent young man,” Fausto said. “What are you studying at university?

“Business,” I muttered.

“I see. You’re a handsome young fellow – do you have a girlfriend?”

“Not at the moment.”

“Good.”

I had no idea why the hell he would say that, but before I could ask, he continued. “You’re in excellent physical shape, too. Are you a footballer?”

He meant soccer.

“Just an intramural league,” I said. “I wasn’t good enough to make the team.”

Fausto gave me a smile. “Well, where you’re going, your interest in the sport will serve you well.”

I narrowed my eyes. “And where am I going?”

“Naples.”

My stomach twisted nervously – but I knew I had to speak up, or I would risk becoming a slave like my father had.

That was one thing about me: when things got stressful, I tended to go quiet rather than freak out. The more stressful things became, the calmer I got.

I don’t know why. It was just how I was wired, ever since I was a little kid.

I shook my head. “I’m not going to carry drugs or money for you, if that’s what you’re – ”

Fausto raised a hand to stop me.

I immediately shut up.

“You misunderstand,” he said pleasantly. “You’re going there to live.”

I frowned. “Why would I do that?!”

“What do you know about organized crime in Naples?”

My stomach twisted again.

“I know it’s run by the Camorra,” I said.

It was a well-known fact – like the Cosa Nostra used to run Sicily before the government imprisoned them all in the 1990s.

“Yes, exactly,” Fausto said. “The Camorra runs Naples and the surrounding areas. They’re not a monolithic structure, though. More a loose association of clans that control various territories.

“The Camorra are something of a… competitor of mine, you might say. And I need people on the inside to let me know what my competitors are doing.”

It took a second for his meaning to sink in.

“You want me to infiltrate the Camorra for you?” I asked in shock.

Fausto smiled. “That’s an excellent way of putting it.”

“But I’m not a gangster!”

“Which is why you’re perfect. No criminal record, and therefore no way for them to trace you back to me.”

“But I don’t know how to do any gangster stuff! I’ve never shot a gun – ”

“And you quite possibly never will. There are many positions available within the Camorra. Drivers… accountants… dock workers…” Fausto paused, then smiled. “Street-level drug dealers…”

My face betrayed the disgust I felt. “I’m not doing that.”

Fausto’s smile disappeared. “You’ll do whatever you need to do.”

“How am I supposed to get them to hire me?!” I asked angrily.

“Once you move to Naples, you’ll eventually get a feeling for the lay of the land. As you do, start hanging out in places the Camorra are likely to frequent. Certain neighborhoods, restaurants, bars, clubs. You’ll know. New acquaintances will likely warn you away from those places. So that’s exactly where you’ll go.

“Keep your eyes open. Eventually an opportunity will present itself – and when it does, take it.”

I glared at him. “Why me?”

Fausto leaned over the table and folded his hands together. “Because I need someone who will be 100%, unquestionably loyal.”

“And why would I be loyal to you?”

Fausto reached inside his jacket.

I tensed, waiting for him to pull out a gun –

But it was something far worse.

He placed a small stack of 3x5 photographs on the table.

They were pictures of my family, taken from far away without their knowledge.

Mama shopping at street markets…

Edoardo hanging out with his friends…

Gemma exiting her high school…

And a final photograph, taken through a backyard window at night.

My mother, brother, and sister together, eating dinner at the kitchen table.

The message was clear: Fausto and his thugs knew exactly where to find my family… anyplace, anytime.

I felt nauseated.

Fausto smiled. “I doubted pictures of your father would have quite the same effect. I’m pleased to see I was correct.”

I glowered at him. “Say I do go to Naples and do what you want. You’ll leave them alone?”

“Of course. They will continue to live their lives in complete and utter safety.”

“Your people won’t hurt them?”

“There will be no need… as long as you do what I tell you to do.”

“What about my father?”

“We’ve already impressed upon your father how important it is to comply with our wishes. He seems to agree. After all… he sent you.”

I hated my father even more than I previously had.

“Alright,” I said, defeated. “After I graduate, I can – ”

“No,” Fausto interrupted. “You won’t be graduating.”

I stared at him. “But I’m less than two years away!”

“I don’t care. Your degree is of no importance to the Camorra, and therefore it is of no importance to me.”

I wanted to kill him – but instead of getting angry, I got cold. “It sounds like you have it all planned out.”

“I do. You’ll leave tonight for Naples. The man who drove you here will – ”

For the first time, I lost my cool. “I have to say goodbye to my family!”

“No, you don’t,” Fausto replied. “They’ll ask questions – why you’re leaving, where you’re going – and your mother won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. Trust me, it will be far easier if you just leave town tonight.”

“But – ”

Fausto picked up the picture of Mama, Gemma, and Edoardo eating dinner and crinkled it slowly in his fist. “It will be far easier on everyone if you just leave town tonight.”

The message was clear:

Do as we say, or we’ll hurt them.

We OWN you now.

“I’m never supposed to speak to them again?” I asked coldly, back in control.

“Send them a postcard,” Fausto sneered.

When I didn’t react, he continued. “As I was saying: the man who drove you here will take you back to your dormitory. You will gather your things and take a train to Naples, where you will find an inexpensive hotel for the week, one suited to an unemployed young man such as yourself. You will go about finding a job and an apartment. I would suggest somewhere near the historic center of Naples, somewhere college students like to live.

“Try to blend in. Once you’ve got a job, find out where the Camorra congregate. Start hanging out there. Don’t ask too many questions, and don’t be too eager, but do your best to make progress. I’m a patient man, but I have my limits. Any questions?”

“How long do I have to keep this up?”

“As long as it takes for you to get information of world-shaking importance to me. If you succeed at that – if you get me something enormous that I can use to my advantage – then I’ll think about letting you go.”

“What kind of information is of ‘world-shaking importance’?” I asked in bewilderment.

“I’ll know it when I hear it, and not until then.”

“But – ”

“Any other questions?” he interrupted rudely.

I clenched my jaw, then said, “Yeah – I have about 37 euros to my name. How am I supposed to – ”

Fausto reached inside his jacket pocket again and flicked his hand.

A roll of bills, as thick as my wrist and bound with a rubber band, hit the table and rolled across to me.

“That’s 3000 euros in small bills. It should be enough to situate you for the first few months,” Fausto said. “If you find yourself in a bind and can’t make rent, I’ll make sure you get what you need. Now give me your phone.”

“Why?”

“Give me your phone,” he snarled.

I took my phone out of my jeans and placed it on the table.

He took it and handed it to his nephew.

“Hey!” I snapped. “How am I supposed to call anybody?!”

“You’re not. That’s the point.”

As I fumed, Fausto reached into his suit jacket again and placed an iPhone on the table.

“I’m listed in your contacts as ‘Uncle.’ Memorize the number in case you lose the phone. Do not call me unless you need money, or you have important information to convey about the Camorra. Do not ever text me unless I text you first. NEVER put anything incriminating into a voicemail or text. Never mention my name, where I live, your father, anything. Do you understand?”

I just sat there glaring at him. I didn’t care if he was a mafia bigwig; I hated him with every fiber of my being.

If I’d had a pistol, I would have gladly killed him, even though I’d never handled a gun before in my life.

The only reason I would do what he asked was because I knew he would hurt my family if I didn’t.

When I say ‘my family,’ I meant my mother, brother, and sister.

If he’d killed my father, I wouldn’t have minded too much.

“Do… you… understand?” Fausto asked in a threatening voice.

“Yes,” I shot back.

“Repeat it to me.”

“Don’t call unless I need money or I have info. Don’t text unless you text me first, and never put anything incriminating in a voicemail or text.”

Fausto settled back in his chair. “Good. I should make one thing abundantly clear, Marcello: if you try to subvert my will… if you contact any of your family members or friends… if you stall and refuse to join up with the Camorra… or if you tell anyone about this conversation… I will know, and terrible things will happen to your family. I’ll start with your little sister. Your first infraction will merit a broken arm. You don’t want to know what the second punishment will be. Understood?”

I swallowed hard, then nodded.

“Good,” Fausto said. “Take a picture with you to remember why you’re doing this.”

He slid a photo across the table towards me, and I picked it up.

It was a picture of them eating gelato at a local shop we used to go to when I still lived at home.

My mother, brother, and sister were all laughing at some joke.

They were happy…

Something I felt like would never happen to me again.

“That’s all,” Fausto said dismissively. “You may leave.”

I looked at him hatefully as I stood up. I pocketed the phone and the money, but held onto the photograph as I turned to go.

“One last piece of advice,” Fausto said.

I turned back sullenly to look at him.

“I told you earlier that there are many jobs you could do for the Camorra. But truthfully, if you become a dock worker or a driver, you’ll probably never get the kind of information I require to let you out of your… ‘situation.’

“The kind of information I seek is more likely to be found in the higher ranks of whatever Camorra clan you end up infiltrating.

“Unfortunately, the closer you are to the center of power, the more dangerous your situation will be. And you may be forced to do things you find morally objectionable. Abhorrent, even.

“You’ll find yourself questioning whether it’s all worth it.” Fausto held up a photo of my sister Gemma. “I assure you, it is. If you want your mother and siblings to continue their lives… unmolested.”

I clenched my jaw, but didn’t say anything.

“Are you familiar with the poet Dante Alighieri?” Fausto asked.

“Of course,” I said contemptuously.

Dante was Italy’s Shakespeare. He was originally from Florence before he was exiled in the 1300s because of politics. He was one of the most famous inhabitants of the city – as famous as Michelangelo or Leonardo da Vinci, who came centuries after him. Every school child in Florence learned about him at an early age.

“Then you’ll know that in the Inferno,” Fausto said, “Dante is approached by the Roman poet Virgil, who guides him through Hell and shows him all the horrors therein.

“I suggest you find your own Virgil in Naples, someone who can guide you through the wilderness.

“But even though he entered the underworld, Dante was still alive.

“I suggest you consider yourself to already be dead… a departed soul whose only aim is to make sure your family remains safe.

“That might make it easier for you when you inevitably have to make some… unpleasant choices in the underworld of the Camorra.”

When I didn’t say anything, Fausto flapped his hand dismissively. “Go on. You have a train to catch.”

Hope you enjoyed Chapter 1 of Mafia Kings: Marcello!

Now here are those photos I promised!