Married to the mafia King

As soon as her men were gone, the Widow turned to me. “Well, Signor Rosolini, it appears I owe you an apology.”

“For what?”

“For not believing you about your uncle. Had I listened to you from the beginning, we might have avoided this…”

She looked around at all the corpses.

“…debacle.”

Then she turned back to me. “You can be assured that I will support your family in any actions you take against your uncle and cousin.”

“Thank you, Signora.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What’s wrong, Signor Rosolini?”

She was perceptive, I’d give her that.

“It’s just… wouldn’t it have been better to keep Giotto alive for questioning?” I asked.

“We got what we needed. And after an episode like this, sometimes it’s better to set a fearsome example than get a few scraps of information.”

I wasn’t so sure about that, but I didn’t voice my doubt. After all, she was a mafia don rather, a donna. A great lady of the Cosa Nostra. She had been ruling her family’s empire with an iron fist since I was a child.

One thing I was certain of, though:

My brother Adriano would have approved.

He, too, liked killing people before they’d been fully interrogated.

“You do realize that Giotto might not have been the only traitor,” I said.

She scowled. “I’m well aware. I’ll take of it.”NôvelDrama.Org holds this content.

Okay, then.

Apparently she didn’t like outsiders questioning her organization or how she ran it.

I figured she was pissed at me for overstepping my bounds, but suddenly her voice softened. “I shouldn’t have doubted you, Massimo.”

I looked at her in surprise.

The use of my first name, especially by so powerful a woman

It was a gesture of intimacy.

Like being admitted into her inner circle.

And to receive an apology from so powerful a person?

Rarer than a full solar eclipse during an alignment of all the planets.

However, I didn’t use her first name when I replied. The difference in our stations demanded I still address her with the utmost deference.

“No apology necessary, Signora.”

She gave me a smile of grim amusement. “It wasn’t an apology so much as a statement of fact.”

I chuckled. Even when saying she was sorry, she wouldn’t say she was sorry.

“Understood. But we should see to your safety now, along with everyone in your family.”

Her eyes widened and she gasped in horror. “Oh my God ”

“What?”

“My granddaughter…”

I knew exactly what she was thinking.

If the Widow had been targeted for kidnapping, then there was a good chance that her only living relative would be, too.

Especially once Fausto learned that his plan to capture the Widow had failed.

“Where is she?” I asked.

“The Universita Ca’ Foscari.”

The most prestigious university in Venice.

“Hold on,” the Widow said, then yelled loudly, “Roderigo!”

One of the suits poked his head through the door. “Signora?”

“Call my granddaughter, now!”

The man pulled out his phone as he rushed over to the Widow.

Then he dialed, put it on speakerphone, and held it out so we could hear.

We listened to the dial tone

Followed by a recording of a young woman’s voice.

“It’s Lucia. Leave a message… BITCH.”

It’s fair to say I was completely taken aback.

The girl’s voice was young, snarky, and disrespectful a complete 180 degrees from her grandmother.

Well… maybe 90 degrees.

They both had a good deal of snarkiness in common.

The Widow glanced over at me with a weary expression.

“My granddaughter,” she said in a disgusted tone of voice. Then she turned back to the phone. “Lucia, this is Nona call me IMMEDIATELY. There was an attack on the palazzo. I’m fine, but I’m worried for your safety. I’m sending Roderigo and some of my men to come get you ”

“I’ll go with them,” I offered.

” and a gentleman named Massimo Rosolini. Call me as soon as you get this.”

Then she nodded at Roderigo, and he hung up.

“Text her what I said,” she ordered.

Roderigo began typing out a message with his thumb.

The Widow turned to me. “Thank you for your kind offer. Given what you did earlier, I’m relieved you’ll be accompanying my men.”

“It’s my pleasure, Signora.”

She clasped my hands with her cold, tiny fingers and for the first time, I could see real fear in her eyes.

“I implore you, Signore return her to me safely, and I will meet whatever price you ask. She is all I have left in this world.”

The use of Signore was even more surprising than when she had called me by my first name.

Signor means ‘mister’ when attached to a name, such as ‘Signor Rosolini’

But Signore is far more respectful when used as an immediate address.

It can mean anything up to ‘lord.’

For a grand donna of the Cosa Nostra to address me in such a fashion

It was a rare honor, indeed.

“The only price I ask is your friendship, Signora,” I said respectfully.

“You already have that for saving my life,” she assured me. “Now go return my granddaughter to me safely!”

When people think of Venice, they usually picture a man in a striped shirt using a pole to push a gondola through the city’s canals.

These days, gondola rides are the stuff of romance and millions of selfies.

What isn’t immediately obvious is that gondolas were the only way to get around the city for a thousand years.

Venice or Venezia, in Italian is composed of 118 islands of various sizes crisscrossed by 150 canals. The only way around is on foot or by boat.

There are no cars. Plenty of streets for walking, yes, but all automobiles are banned as are bicycles, motorcycles, skateboards, and rollerblades. The streets are just too narrow for anything but pedestrian traffic.

Which is how I found myself speeding through Venice in a motorboat in the middle of the afternoon.

The Widow’s home was on the northernmost tip of the city; Lucia’s university was smack dab in the middle. So Roderigo and I took off with four other men from the pier outside the Widow’s palazzo.

Thirty seconds into the trip, we were going a lot slower than I would have liked.

“Can’t this thing go any faster?” I asked Roderigo, who was piloting the boat. He was a stout guy with a head of black hair that was iron grey at the temples.

“It can,” he answered, “but the speed limit on these smaller canals is 7 kilometers an hour.”

Three miles per hour.

Jesus Christ.

“Look, we need to get there now,” I said urgently but politely.

Roderigo shook his head. “The cops are pretty strict around here. If a police boat stops us, we’ll spend 15 minutes waiting for the asshole to write us a ticket.”

I stared at him in astonishment. “You don’t pay them off?”

“Yeah, but this ain’t Florence. We gotta keep up appearances we can’t just go tearing around as fast as we want.”

I ignored the implied dig at my family. “Today isn’t an ordinary situation.”

Roderigo pointed at the side of the canal, which was almost within arm’s reach of the boat. “You can get out and walk if you want,” he said snidely.

At the rate we were going, it would have been faster.

But I didn’t say that.

And I didn’t say anything when the other four suits in the boat started chuckling.

I know I’m in the Cosa Nostra, but I’m ordinarily a patient man with a pleasant demeanor.

When you walk through the world at 6’7″ and 270 pounds, your very presence tends to make a lot of people afraid. Especially women.

So I had learned to be gentle…

Polite…

Quiet.

Which fits my natural temperament. I’m ordinarily very even-keeled.

Until people start shooting at me, that is.

Most of the time, the only person who really gets under my skin is my brother Adriano. He’s my polar opposite: a hothead who spouts off at the mouth before he thinks.

He’s got a good heart but he also has a natural talent for pissing me off. Always has, ever since we were little kids.

Dario, I’m cool with.

Niccolo and Roberto, no problem.

Valentino’s like a puppy dog.

Temperamentally, Lars is a lot like me. We get along great.

But Adriano…

Ever since I can remember, he’s been pissing me off.

I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve wanted to kill him.

If we’re talking about just getting angry at him, it numbers in the thousands. Maybe the tens of thousands.

So when Roderigo started acting like a dick, he didn’t realize I’d already grown up with a world-class asshole. Adriano had trained me in the art of keeping my cool.

It was like having Mike Tyson as a sparring partner in boxing: yes, he might have beat my ass up on a regular basis

But with everybody else, I was a Zen fuckin’ master.

So I kept calm as I replied, “I need you to double the speed, now.”

Roderigo spoke to me like I was a not-so-bright ten-year-old. “If the cops flag us down, we’re going to lose more time than it’s worth ”

“Which is why, if the cops flag you down, you’re not going to stop.”

“This boat can’t outrun them!” he said, like the idea was preposterous.

“You don’t have to outrun them you just have to get me close to the university. Then you can stay with the boat and let the cops write you a ticket while the rest of us go get the granddaughter.”

“But ”

“Why don’t we call your boss and see what she says?” I asked pleasantly.