“I never thought you did,” I said cheerfully. “I knew you would have let us know if any visitors were coming – just as I did every time someone visited my brother.”
San Vittore, the prison where Dario had spent five years, was located in Milan – Don Camerota’s territory.
During Dario’s internment, I had scrupulously followed protocol and alerted the Camerotas whenever one of us visited – including the day Dario entered prison to begin his sentence, and the day Lars and my other brothers brought him back home.
“Yes,”Don Camerota said coolly.“I remember.”
“In the spirit of continued good relations, I would like to let you know we consider the matter a one-off, and that it is completely resolved.”
“Wonderful,”Don Camerota said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Well, then, if there’s nothing else – ”
“I’ll see you in the future,”Don Camerota interrupted, his tone turning snarky.“Although I doubt it will be in Rome.”
I raised my eyebrows.
He was referring to how we had run afoul of the mafia don who ran Rome.
During a meeting of the Council ofCosa Nostrafamilies, my brothers and I had ignored Don Severino’s injunctions against violence in his city.
Instead, we used the opportunity to outwit and kill Uncle Fausto.
It apparently didn’t matter that Fausto was aconsiglierewho had murdered his own mafia don, which is virtually unheard of in theCosa Nostra.
Nor did it matter that his victim was also his brother – and ourfather.
Nor did Don Severino care that Fausto was plotting to killus.He failed only because Sofia – his erstwhileconsigliere– had fallen in love with me and switched sides.
None of that mattered. Only that we’d broken ‘the rules.’
As a result of our actions, Don Severino banished us from the Council. We were henceforth excluded from all decisions made by the other families of theCosa Nostraand cut off from their support.
Both the Widow of Venice and the Oldani family of Genoa had joined us in solidarity. The Widow’s granddaughter was married to our brother Massimo, and Alessandra was the Oldanis’ long-lost relative.
As a result, there was now a fissure in theCosa Nostra…
And Don Camerota was taking a cheap shot by bringing it up.
One might even call it ‘aggressively disrespectful.’
I looked over at Dario, waiting to follow his lead.
He didn’t disappoint.
“I would advise you never to let Maurizio step into Tuscany again,” my brother said coldly, “or I will take it as a personal insult.”
That was mafia-speak, understated as always. The translation:
If any of your men come into my territory again, you PERSONALLY are going to pay for it.
Or, as my sister-in-law Lucia might say,Fuck around and find out.
Don Camerota was silent for a couple of seconds. When he finally spoke, he was back to being civil.“Maurizio will never visit Tuscany again. You have my word.”
Don Camerota might have been an asshole, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew better than to pick a fight over such a trivial matter – especially one where his foot soldier had so obviously been in the wrong.
Maurizio had made Don Camerota look weak, like he couldn’t control his men.
