Page 68 of Marcello

Buzzcut ignored him and went back to looking at me.

“You are too goddamn pretty for your own good, though.” He squinted at me like he was pondering something deeply. Then he clicked his fingers. “I know – Romeo.”

He didn’t say the name like an American would – ROH-me-oh.

Instead, he pronounced it the Italian way: roh-MAY-oh.

But Romeo meant something very specific.

“I’m not from Rome,” I protested. “I’m from Florence.”

“Well, I’m not calling you Fiorentino,” he sneered, using the name for someone from my hometown. “No – you’re Romeo.”

“…okay,” I said half-heartedly. “What’s your name?”

“Cesare.”

Caesar.

“Is that a nickname, too?” I asked.

“No, it’s my real name.”

“Why do you use your real name when everybody else uses a fake name?”

“Cuz it’s my fuckin’ clan,” he snapped, “so it’s my fuckin’ rules.”

“Okay,” I replied calmly. “Whatever you say.”

He went back to smirking. “Anybody who knows the score in Naples is scared shitless of me. If they’re in the Camorra and you want to watch ‘em piss their pants, just say you work for Cesare Caproni.”

22

That was the beginning of the first day on my new job.

I was going to take over Lametta’s old route…

Which meant I was about to become a drug dealer.

I wasn’t exactly thrilled about that – but it beat shooting people.

Cesare and Lametta walked me around the historic part of Naples, pointing out spots where customers would expect me at certain times of the day.

“Our clan used to operate mostly in Scampia and Secondigliano,” Cesare explained, “but we’ve started moving into the tourist areas.”

“What’s Scampia and Secondigliano?” I asked.

Before Cesare could answer, Lametta said contemptuously, “Idiot.”

Cesare immediately backhanded him – hard.

“What was that for?!” Lametta whined as he staggered backwards.

“He’s from fuckin’ Florence, shithead!” Cesare barked. “He’s been in town for two goddamn minutes! How the fuck’s he gonna know where Scampia and Secondigliano are?!”

Lametta whimpered like a wounded dog.

Cesare shook his head in disgust and turned back to me. “Scampia and Secondigliano are dirt-poor neighborhoods on the outskirts of Naples.”