Page 18

18

Allegra

M ia drives steadily down the dirt road. For once, I’d like to meet in a bar or restaurant, but as you can imagine, the heads of four crime families gathering together draws attention.

I have to be content meeting Francesco, Nico, and Marco in an abandoned building several kilometres from the villa. It could be worse. They also could have refused the meeting, so I’ll take what I can get.

Three SUVs are lined up when we arrive. No doubt the three Dons are exchanging stories, each vying to make their dick feel bigger than the others. It’s always a pissing contest with these people. Mia scans the area as usual. I’m not worried about my safety. I’m packing and I have no bad blood with anyone here, but I appreciate her vigilance.

The air is thick with cigar smoke when I walk in, and sure enough, Marco, Nico, and Francesco are talking over each other, trying to make themselves seem important. It’s so tiring.

“Gentlemen, sorry I’m late.” I’m not late, and even if I were, I wouldn’t be sorry, but it’s how the game goes. I’ve had to work twice as hard to earn their respect because I have a vagina. I’ve done the dance long enough to know which hill I’m willing to die on, and this ain’t it. Let them think I give a shit about their judgement of me. It’s no skin off my nose.

“Allegra, good to see you,” Francesco bellows. He has no volume control.

“Good to see you, too. All of you. Shall we get down to it?”

I have no intention of staying here a second longer than necessary. The building is dilapidated to the point I’m sure it’s unsafe.

“Indeed. We’re all wondering why you’ve called the meeting,” Nico says. “And not invited Giani,” he adds.

“Then I’ll speak plainly. Giani is attempting to draw the Ferrante family into a war.”

“And why would he do that?” Marco asks. His hair is slicked back and he always wears way too much cologne. It’s like he watched The Godfather one too many times and decided he had to emulate everything about it.

“Thirty-odd years ago, Lorenzo had an affair with a woman called Maria. She was intended to marry Giani. Maria became pregnant, and for her safety and that of the baby’s, Lorenzo had them hidden. In short, Giani has never gotten over it.”

“I’m surprised Fenza allowed Lorenzo to keep his balls,” Nico laughs.

“She didn’t know. No one knew. Well, that is until Giani threatened Lorenzo’s long-lost daughter’s life. Somehow, he found out. We’ve dealt with his attempts on our shipments. But coming after a family member is crossing the line. She’s an innocent bystander. Because of Giani, she’s had her life ripped away and is in hiding.”

Marco shakes his head. “We can’t get involved, Allegra, you know that.”

“I’m not asking you to. I just wanted to fill you in, so if something were to happen, Giani can’t paint a picture that favours him. I have no intention of fighting him.”

“And what does Lorenzo want? He’s still the Don, isn’t he?” Nico asks. It’s a barb that’s meant to prick me, but it doesn’t. Nothing these men say has that kind of power.

“Lorenzo is Don in name only. You know that, so cut the shit. I make the decisions.” As much as I’ve run the family from the shadows, the three other Dons have known for some time.

“She is fiery, isn’t she?” Francesco grins. “You make a fine Donna, Allegra.”

I bow my head in recognition of his compliment. He doesn’t give them out often.

“If what you say is true, and Giani is messing with your shipments, you already have cause to—”

“It’s what he wants,” I say impatiently. Why am I having to explain this? “Giani thinks I’m stupid enough to let his silly little attempts on our cargo sway my decision. He wants a war, and it’s even better if I look to be the one starting it. I couldn’t give a fuck about his three-decade-old grudge. We’re better than that. However, if he makes an attempt on Bonnie, that’s a different matter. You would all be obliged to step in.”

Nico taps the table with his lighter. “If the Arellos cross that line, we will assist you. Our pact remains strong. Our businesses are thriving because we’ve looked out for each other. None of us can afford petty jealousy to unravel our hard work.”

I refrain from telling them that our pact means little to me, not in the way they think. Yes, it served as a security blanket when Lorenzo took over from his father. It allowed him to train me and start changing the way our family operated, but since I’ve taken the helm, we don’t need the pact as much as the others. They still run most of their businesses from underground. Nico is the drug kingpin of Italy. Francesco trafficks weapons, and Marco dabbles in everything.

The pact states that no family in the Mafiosi can willingly harm another member’s family or business. The pact forbids wars over land and business territories. We keep each other’s secrets, therefore ensuring our survival. And it’s worked.

“Nico is right. If Giani takes this further, we’ll have no choice but to get involved. Keep us updated, Allegra,” Francesco replies, “and tell Lorenzo to call. It’s been too long.”

“Of course, and thank you. Until the next time.” We shake hands and part ways. As far as meetings go, it was short but effective. I’ve cut Giani off at the knees and he doesn’t even know it yet. One wrong move from him and he’ll effectively wipe his own family name off the map. Once the Mafiosi are involved, it’s as good as a signed death warrant.

That’s not what I want. I’ve seen far too much death to last a lifetime. I would never wish that on anyone. Giani is a bastard, but he has children and grandchildren. The only thing that would come of his death, is more violence. We left that behind a long time ago, so I need this to end peacefully.

The sun is setting as Mia drives us back to the villa. “Mia, can we make a pit stop, please?” I’m suddenly craving Mamma Picollo’s famous pasta. She’s a legend in these parts and I’m ashamed to say it’s been far too long since I’ve seen her.

Mia doesn’t need me to give her instructions. She knows what I mean when I say “pit stop”. My stomach rumbles as we approach the small restaurant nestled in between houses. If you didn’t know it was there, you’d miss it entirely. Mamma Picollo has been running the restaurant for nearly sixty years. Her family has always been in the food industry, one way or another.

Thanking Mia, I hop out of the car and push through the door. The comforting embrace of heavenly smelling food calms me instantly. I chuckle when I hear Mamma Picollo shouting at someone in the back. She might be in her eighties, but she’s as prickly as a cactus and takes shit from no one.

A few bangs and clangs of pots filter through the dining area. No one bats an eyelash. Everyone here is a local and knows Mamma Picollo. She’s like everyone’s grandmother. I sit at my favourite table at the back. It has a permanent reserved sign just for me.

“Well, look who decided to pop up her head and say hello!” Mamma Picollo barks. My smile is a mile long as I stand and take the tiny woman in my arms. She smells like Parmesan and love.

“ Ciao, Mamma ,” I whisper into her hair.

She pushes me away and assesses me like usual. “You need to eat more, Bella . You’re skin and bones.”

She’s said the same thing to me every time I’ve seen her for the past twenty-five years.

“I eat plenty,” I say. Although recently, my stomach has revolted at the thought of food. There’s just too much stress.

“Sit, sit. I’ll bring you food,” she babbles, pushing me down to the chair. I gave up trying to order a dish many years ago. Mamma Picollo knows best, according to her, so she chooses what I’ll eat. No doubt it will be enough to feed the entire family, so I’ll have most of it put in doggy bags to take home.

Sitting here in low candlelight, as I listen to the chaos of the kitchen reminds me of simpler times. Mamma Picollo’s was the place to find me when I was a kid and needed space. She doted on me like I was her own grandchild, and I needed that at times, especially if Lorenzo pissed me off. I’d go running to Mamma Picollo and she’d make everything better with pasta and a hug.

As predicted, I’m served several dishes. I get a scornful look when I barely finish one, even though it was huge. I ask to have the rest bagged up and I promise to visit again soon.

Maybe I could bring Bonnie?

Only because she might need a bit of space, of course.

I hand Mia one of Mamma Picollo’s cannoli and she dramatically clutches her chest telling me how much she loves me, which makes me laugh. For the first time in a long time, I feel lighter. That’s the wonder of Mamma Picollo.

As we pull up to the villa, I spot Bonnie meandering through the flowers. I know I should leave her alone and go about my business, but my legs have other ideas. Before I know it, I’m only a few feet away, holding up the food bag.

“Hi. Do you want food?”

She looks at me, startled. Her eyes bounce from the bag to my face. “Um…hi. And wow, what is that smell?”

I grin. “That is the smell of the best food in Italy.” I don’t even mind saying it with Chiara close by because she would agree. “I’ve got far too much, and you should experience Mamma Picollo’s before you leave.”

Nope, my body doesn’t like that thought at all!

I turn and start walking back to the villa. Bonnie hesitates for a second but then follows. Placing the bag on the counter, I set about collecting plates and bowls. Bonnie will have a veritable feast.

“This looks…incredible,” she says, leaning over and inhaling deeply.

“Taste it. Then your mind will really be blown,” I chuckle. Even though I’m stuffed to the brim, I could eat a little more. We fall silent as we eat. No, not silent, because Bonnie is making appreciative noises that should be made illegal. Does she know she’s doing it?

She’s so captivating I’ve stopped eating, my fork halfway to my mouth. Only when her eyes flash open and she catches me staring, do I finally look away, trying not to choke on my food.

We go a few more minutes without speaking and they’re the loudest minutes of my life. My skin feels itchy and my hair is too tight. Reaching up, I yank it out of the bun. No one should endure that torture every day. I don’t have to, but I learned early how the more severe look earned me more respect. Ridiculous, I know, but that’s the patriarchy for you.

When I look up, Bonnie is staring at me still. The air feels charged and I can’t tell if it’s a good thing or not. Is she planning to lay into me about something?

“I don’t get you,” she finally says. “Who are you?”

I feel my eyebrows draw together because I’m not sure what she means, but I don’t have time to formulate a question.

“One minute you’re this terrifying ice queen—the mobster—but on the flip side, you’re this,” she says, waving her hand at me. “Laughing. Laid back. Caring. You’re like night and day and I don’t understand.”

Laying my fork down, I dab my mouth with a napkin. There is no easy way to answer her. It’s far too long and complicated, but something inside urges me to tell her everything about who I am. If it means she’ll stop seeing me as the Devil incarnate, it’s worth it, right?