Giovanni rocked from side to side. The Don sang the nursery rhyme slapping his hand on his thigh. It was his favorite, one he’d sing often when they went fishing. Uncle Rocco turned in the front seat and sang too, clapping his hands. Giovanni unleashed a gust of laughter. They could be so funny when they sang along.
When the car stopped the door was opened for the Don, and he exited. Giovanni scooted across the seat careful to hold to his candy and stepped out to join his father. Don Tomosino took his hand. He was no longer treated like a baby in the presence of men. Giovanni understood the difference and managed to step with his chin tossed upward and back straight as they crossed the field through tall itchy grass. This he did like a big boy. Soon he saw the others that waited.
Three men were on their knees, one visibly trembling, the other slumped over as if praying. They wore blindfolds, and their hands were bound in front of them. Men Giovanni couldn’t recognize because of the dark seclusion of the location stood behind them with weapons aimed at their backs. Uncle Flavio approached his father and said a few things. The Don nodded. He glanced down at Giovanni and stroked his cheek.
“Watch son, and learn,” he began. “Betrayers. The weakest of men.” His accusatory finger leveled on the now sniveling trio. Giovanni licked his sucker, unsure of the meaning of his father’s words. “Lies and secrets among brothers for personal glory are never allowed. Weak! A sickness. It can spread like a disease through your family making them all untrustworthy!” The Don bellowed. He swept his gaze at the others gathered to make sure his point was heard. He then smiled down at Giovanni. “You do what is necessary to keep the family healthy, by taking care of your enemy!” Don Tomosino made a tight fist and pounded it into his open palm. “This is justice.”
“Sí Papa.” Giovanni licked his sucker and stared at the men curiously.
Don Tomosino nodded.
Those with guns raised their weapons. Giovanni paused between licks. His eyes stretched in confusion. Were they going to hurt the men? Before his tender years could make sense of the scene before him gunfire exploded in the night. The sucker fell from Giovanni’s hand. With each shot fired his body shook with a violent tremor. He wanted to run, to scream and run, but he stood still. His father put a cigar in his mouth and chuckled deep in his throat. Tonight Giovanni learned about justice.
October 1991
Bologna, Italy
“Where?” Lorenzo asked.
The dancer batted long lashes sprinkled in glitter mascara up at him. He studied her petite face, pale; she had rouge splattered cheeks and bright red lipstick smeared over her lips. She wore a hot pink wig with blunt cut bangs and not much else. Her eyes were a dull shade of brown, soulless. Her small nostrils appeared inflamed from constant rubbing. He imagined if she’d lay off the nose-candy and face paint she could be quite attractive. Her sultry gaze slipped to the right. A few men gathered around a raised stage. They drank and smacked on fish and chips between tossing lire at the dancers’ feet. One in particular looked familiar. Slouched in a black leather jacket, Fish’s head was slightly tilted back and his gaze transfixed on the dancer. Fish had lost weight, a considerable amount, but the scar gave him away. He turned up a mug of malt, and Lorenzo got a clean look at the ugly slash across his neck.
“Porco!” he said through clenched teeth.
“Well I be damn, he’s here.” Carlo chuckled a few feet behind him. “You found the slippery piglet.”
“Andiamo.”