FrancescaWHEN I WENT DOWN FOR BREAKFAST , I found Zia in the kitchen. Fausto had retired to his office an hour ago, and Giulio was probably still sleeping.“Buongiorno, la nipote,” she said, giving me a mischievous halftime smile.What did that word mean? Pregnant lover? Stupid woman who forgot her birth control and let a mob king get her pregnant?With Zia, it was hard to tell. The cunning old woman.I went and kissed her cheek. — Buongiorno, Zia.When I tried to make a cup of espresso, she slapped my hand away. — La caffeina does male al bambino.— There, Zia. I need coffee. — I pointed to the espresso machine. - Please? — I put my hands together as if I was praying and squeezed them, begging. I could die if she didn't let me have coffee.— No. Faust's baby. — She pointed to my belly, as if I needed a reminder.Pouting, I fell onto a stool. - How did you know? — When she frowned, I thought about the Italian I learned. — Come... sapere... bambino? — Sapere, — was the verb, — to know
FaustI SPENT the next few days packing things for Francesca.She presented me with a list of things she needed immediately, like an obstetrician. The doctor, who was said to be the best in Calabria, would see her from next week. Meanwhile, they recommended prenatal vitamins, which I asked Marco to pick up at the pharmacy.Francesca's list also included healthy foods, pasteurized cheese and decaffeinated espresso. Comfortable clothes and belly lotion. Pregnancy and morning sickness relief books.I bought everything and rushed delivery. Whatever my piccolina needed, she would have it.She seemed to accept having the baby. I knew she was working on her list of conditions for our legal agreement, which I would have drawn up and signed. There was nothing I would refuse her as long as it kept her happy.I really looked forward to the cravings and back rubs. Feeling my son move inside her womb. Watching her breasts grow as they prepared to produce milk.I was the luckiest man in Italy.Of c
FrancescaI WAS GOING to my old room when Giulio ran down the hall, head down. “Hey, G,” I called as I closed the door. -You wanted?He looked up and I saw tears streaming down his face. — Not now, Frankie.When he tried to dodge me to get into his room, I held out my hand to stop the door from closing. I slipped inside as he fell onto the bed, face first. - What is wrong?— You will stay by his side. You're practically his wife.He had a fight with Fausto, obviously. — Except I'm not and never will be. So what happened?Giulio whispered: —He found out, Frankie.I knew immediately what he was talking about. I threw myself onto the mattress. - Oh shit. As?- I don't know. I was always very careful.- What did he say?— That I have to break up with Paulo. If I don't do this, he said he would kill Paulo.What the fuck? I took a deep breath, my hands reaching out to steady myself on the bed. —Was he serious?— My father doesn't joke, not about murder. He was very serious.And this man was
FaustEVERYONE in my house hated me.It had been two weeks and Giulio still hadn't spoken to me, his eyes filled with sadness and disgust. Zia was furious that I had sent Francesca away. I couldn't tell her why, except to say that Francesca had cheated on me. Zia replied that it was nonsense, that Francesca was in love with me and I had ruined everything with my temper.I didn't have the courage to correct her.Even Marco seemed to tiptoe around me, acting as if I were a volcano that could erupt at any moment.Maybe I was a little on edge, but it wasn't allowed? I was the most important man in Calabria, perhaps in all of Italy, and I had a secretly gay son and a cheating gold digger pregnant with my child. I increased the speed on my treadmill and my legs started to burn. I had already logged an hour running and wasn't sure how much longer I could continue.But I couldn't stop until I was exhausted. It was the only way I could sleep.I had removed all traces of her from the house. I f
FrancescaTHE TERM—MORNING SICKNESS —was a lie, no doubt invented by a man to give the impression that it wasn't so bad. New news for women everywhere: it was horrible.I rolled over and grabbed another ginger candy. While these little golden ovals didn't eliminate the nausea, they definitely reduced it. And pregnant beggars didn't have a choice.After sucking on the candy for a few moments, I felt ready to get up.Do not wait. Not so fast.I fell back down and closed my eyes. I hated it. I hated being in Italy. I hated being a woman. I hated being pregnant.And I really hated this baby's father.I no longer referred to him by name. He was -my baby's father- or -il Diavolo- whenever I had to mention him in conversation. Which didn't happen often, considering Giulio and my sisters were the only people I spoke to.At least the beach was beautiful. The house was predictably beautiful, right on the water, with large, airy rooms and expensive furniture. If I had to be a prisoner, at least
FaustI often dreamed of blood.I laugh at it, filling my mouth and choking me. Drowning myself and everyone I cared about, with no hope of survival.The dreams began when I was a soldier, still being groomed under my father's watchful eye. Back then, the boss's son didn't get a pass on the most gruesome tasks. No, they used these tasks to harden me, to transform me from a boy into a man.A man capable of leading the most dangerous mafia in the world. A'Ndrangheta. There was no choice for me, no other life to consider. Over the years, I followed instructions and never dared to show a hint of weakness. Torture and killing became second nature to me, a job I learned to love. This earned me the respect of my brothers'ndrina and the fear of my enemies. Whispers followed me wherever I went, stories of my cruelty spread far and wide.This made my father proud.He told me this many times, especially after seeing me at my worst. They called him when I was too anxious with my knife, the blo
Faust9 I rubbed my eyes behind my glasses. The words on the screen were fuzzy, my body too tired to concentrate.Sighing, I picked up my Campari and tonic. I had started drinking in the early afternoon, a habit that Marco disliked immensely, but which I found necessary to ease the pain inside my chest. The last two nights I fell into bed in a drunken stupor and passed out for a few hours.It was an improvement over weeks of sleepless nights.Marco was sitting in the corner on his phone, pretending to ignore me while actually watching me closely. He wasn't fooling me.I read the numbers on the screen again, wanting to prove that I was still on top of my empire. — Toni just made us more than two million euros by selling a technology share.Marco grunted.— Maybe we don't need D'Agostino for this computer idea.He did not answer.I drummed my fingers on the table and took a sip of my drink. When I drank, my thoughts often returned to her, even when I tried to avoid it.She made a fool
This tour was boring.No one spoke after the call with Fausto ended. Enzo seemed lost in thought and Mariella was looking at her phone. I focused on not vomiting, which seemed like a real possibility with each passing minute.I had to get out of this car.—Can we stop? I need to use the bathroom.Enzo asked Mariella if she wanted to stop, and the other woman shrugged without taking her eyes off her cell phone. He met my eyes in the rearview mirror. — I'm going to stop at the side of the road. There are bushes and trees.—Fuck this. A real bathroom with a real toilet or I swear, I'll ruin the leather upholstery on this car.He looked at me, then made a call. Whoever was on the phone called him Don D'Agostino, so I assumed it was someone who worked for Enzo. Strange that he didn't travel with the level of security and paranoia that plagued other mob bosses. Was this confidence or stupidity?When we finally stopped at a gas station, two black SUVs were parked there. Four men got out of e