Page 5 of Marcello

“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.”

He didn’t have to say it out loud for me to get the message:

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. Find an inexpensive hotel for the week, one suited to an unemployed young man such as yourself. Then go find a job – a regular job – and an apartment. I would suggest the historic center of Naples, someplace college students tend 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. 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.

“Yeah – I have about 37 euros to my name. How am I supposed to – ”

Fausto reached inside his jacket again and flicked his hand.

A wad of money, 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,” Fausto said. “It should be enough to situate you for the first few months. 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 out my phone and placed it on the table.

He grabbed 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 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 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.