If four out the five bosses did not agree to have a boss killed, the idea was vetoed. If someone didn’t listen, and still had that boss killed, it was punishable by death.
I had a hard time believing the other four bosses voted to have my grandfather killed. This was not a life where friends were valued—a friend today, a man you made into a corpse tomorrow—but two of the other bosses considered my grandfather a man worth looking up to.
Tito shook his head. “They did not agree to this. The commission is discussing how to go about dealing with what happened. It was unsanctioned.”
“Silvio is going to lie,” I said. “He did it, and he wouldn’t have made a move unless he felt some people out before he did. Made sure he had some backing.”
Tito fixed his glasses and crossed his legs. I could tell he was thinking. “Rumors spread quickly after something like this happens. It has been whispered that Silvio ordered it, but he will not admit to it. Not unless he has a death wish.” He studied me for a moment.
“Thefamigliavoted in your absence. It is the general consensus among his men that you did not earn this position. That your grandfather gave it to you. It's not enough, though. The majority of the men voted you in. Which means, if the vote does not eat at him, jealousy will.”
Both factions were Silvio’s now, but the entire family belonged to me.
“Carmine is speaking to each boss,” Tito said. “He is briefing them on the conversation the four of us had in your grandfather’s office on the day of your cousin’s wedding. Just to make the situation clear. Though it really does not matter. You earned the vote.”
I nodded. My grandfather wanted to make his wishes clear. Not only did he invite his ownconsigliereinto the meeting that day, but one of the most well-known advisors in history.
Tito Sala. He was theconsigliereto one of the most infamous bosses of bosses Italy had ever seen. Marzio Fausti.
Tito was married to Marzio’s sister, Lola, and as such, was Marzio’s closest council. It was usually someone in the family, or a close friend, who was chosen for these roles.
It was almost an unspoken rule that aconsiglierebe Sicilian, or at least Italian. It was important to choose someone trusted.
There was no one as trusted as Tito Sala. He gave his honest, unbiased opinion, whether accepted or not.
“You will have to return to New York,” Tito continued. “To claim what is rightfully yours. I also think it wise to have a sit-down with Silvio. There are men who voted for him to become boss in your absence. If the commission decides not to act, since he is denying the attack, then it might become a war amongst you and some of your men, Don Corrado.”
“It will be,” I said, noticing how he had used a formal title to address me. “This is unforgivable.”
He stared at me for a long minute. “I knew your grandfather a long time,” he said. “He was my friend. Personally, I take this to heart. But. You must weigh the outcome with the price of war. You will win, but at what cost?”
“I will consider it.” I lifted the folder. “Tell me more about Macchiavello’s. Who was my grandfather going to see.”
“There is much more to the story, but all I can tell you is this—the man’s name is Mac Macchiavello. He owns the restaurant.”
I watched him for a minute. He was unassuming by looks alone, but when pressed, his eyes became hard, and there was no budging him. Even though he didn’t shy away from recommending war, he was also a peacekeeper. He had boundaries. We all respected them.
“He spoke to my grandfather?”
“Sì,” he said, and it was clear he would say no more.
“Tell me one thing, old man,” I said in Sicilian. “Did the meeting have to do with the Scarpones?”
“Sì,” he said, and then made a motion with his hand, as if to say,no more questions. His silence on the matter spoke volumes. Why didn’t they want me to know more?
He changed the subject. “I believe this is a reason why the commission is not acting as they usually would. After the death of Arturo Scarpone, his son, and his sons, they are missing a boss right now.”
A knock came at the door, and Dr. Valentina Abbruzzese stuck her head in. “SignorCapitani,” she said. “Your wife would like to see you.”
I nodded, giving Tito the folder back so my wife couldn’t see. Though she put up a strong front, she didn’t belong in this life. She wasn’t fucking expendable, not like most of the men considered thegoomahs.
She was the one I’d sacrifice it all for. She was the one I’d die for.
* * *
The room was dark,the lights dimmed. There were no windows, and for good reason: the enemy couldn’t blast through the glass if they were on the hunt for retribution.
I took the seat next to her bed, noticing her rosary placed across her stomach, and then took her hand. She had burn marks in numerous places, bruises coming up in purple and black patches, and four stitches above her right eyebrow.
