Page 128 of Niccolo (Mafia Kings #7)
A fter Sicily, we flew back to stay with the Widow in Venice. Before we left for Rome, there were a couple loose ends to tie up.
We sent Isabella and Ludavica via private car to Geneva, guarded by a couple of our foot soldiers. I figured the two women would be out of reach of Don Vicari in Switzerland, and they could sightsee while they waited for their passports from the Italian consulate.
Neither of them had ever registered for a government-issued ID; there was no need when you were imprisoned on a mafia don’s compound.
So I also made a call to one of our bought-and-sold politicians in Florence to help expedite the process.
Once the women got their papers, they would fly to the US with some money from our family to start a new future.
We said our goodbyes, with Caterina and Isabella tearfully hugging each other.
Valentino was uncharacteristically humble when he apologized to Isabella and Ludavica for all the danger he’d put them in.
“If you hadn’t, we probably wouldn’t be able to live our lives together, free and out in the open,” Isabella said happily as she squeezed her new wife’s hand.
It was a good reminder that my little brother was, deep down, a good man…
And that wonderful things could come out of the worst circumstances.
I just hoped I could remember that last part in the days to come.
After Isabella and Ludavica’s departure, the rest of us flew into Rome aboard another private jet provided by the Widow. Since Massimo and Lucia’s engagement, she had taken on the role of benefactor for our family, and we were delighted to have her on our side.
She was, however, insistent that they eventually have another wedding in Venice.
Thank God she wasn’t angry about the impromptu ceremony in Sicily…
Or she at least didn’t let on.
We landed midafternoon at Leonardo da Vinci International Airport, about 16 miles from the heart of Rome.
There were quite a few of us onboard.
Dario and Alessandra…
Adriano and Bianca…
Massimo and Lucia…
Lars and Rachel…
Roberto and Mei-ling…
Valentino and Caterina…
Me…
The Widow…
Plus ten of our best foot soldiers.
Twenty-four people in all.
It was quite an entourage –
And we were met with an equally impressive number of bulletproof limousines outside the hangar.
Don Severino stood amongst a collection of his own sharply dressed foot soldiers. As we walked across the tarmac, he smiled, flung his arms open wide, and said, “Benvenuti a Roma.”
Welcome to Rome.
Don Severino was about 55 years old and powerfully built, with a tan, craggy face. He bore a strong resemblance to the British actor Ian McShane.
His black beard was streaked with grey, and his salt-and-pepper hair was longer than usual for a man of his age. If he weren’t dressed in the finest Armani, he could have easily passed for an aging ruffian in a dive bar.
“Are we sure this is safe?” Adriano muttered angrily.
Even though we were still 50 feet away from him, it was as though Don Severino had overheard.
“The safety of every single one of you is guaranteed by me personally during your stay in Rome,” Don Severino said in a booming voice. “There will be no tolerance for violence of any kind against you – or by you, against any other person.”
He was warning us not to try to kill Fausto, or there would be hell to pay.
I was sure Fausto would get the same speech –
Though I doubted our uncle would heed it.
Severino strolled forward to meet Dario and the Widow, both of whom headed up our procession. Dario walked arm-in-arm with Alessandra, and they were flanked on either side by some of our best foot soldiers.
Severino took the Widow’s hand and bent over it, kissing her fingers. “Ah, Donna Fioretti, you grow lovelier every time I see you.”
He used the proper term for the female leader of a mafia family – Donna – as a formal address.
The old lady scoffed. “And your flattery grows more outlandish every time I see you, Don Severino.”
He laughed, then turned to Dario. “Welcome, Don Rosolini.”
He also bowed slightly at the neck to Alessandra and gave her a charming smile. “So good to see you again, Signora Rosolini.”
Severino had been at Dario and Alessandra’s wedding… although he, along with most of the other families in the Cosa Nostra, had skipped Adriano and Bianca’s nuptials. That was back when everyone thought we had murdered the Agrellas.
“Thank you, Don Severino,” Alessandra said pleasantly.
The mafia don addressed the entire group as he gestured at the limousines.
“Please, everyone, arrange yourselves as you see fit.” Then he turned back to the Widow and Dario. “Donna Fioretti, Don Rosolini and Signora Rosolini – if you would join me in the first car, I would be honored.”
Dario smiled politely. “I would like my consigliere, my head of security, and his fiancée to accompany us.”
He meant me, Lars, and Rachel.
I trusted Severino’s promise to keep us all safe…
But I certainly wouldn’t mind having a Special Forces soldier and an ex-MI6 agent in the car with us.
Severino smiled back. “As long as no one gets murdered – why not?”
There was a moment of anxiety on the part of the Widow when she had to be separated from Lucia, but Massimo promised he would keep her safe.
Then everyone split off to different limos, with at least two foot soldiers guarding each couple.
A moment later, we were off.
It was a bit snug in the back of the limo with seven people – Severino, the Widow, Dario, Alessandra, me, Lars, and Rachel – but we made it work.
Protocol demanded that only the heads of family speak unless spoken to – something I had stressed to Lars, Rachel, and Alessandra in the plane – so Dario, the Widow, and Don Severino did most of the talking.
Severino offered us a bottle of champagne.
Everyone declined. Alessandra was pregnant; she had just begun to show the tiniest bit. Lars and I were technically working, and Dario and Rachel joined in out of solidarity.
The Widow had her own reasons.
“I don’t get drunk with rival mafiosos,” she said tartly.
Severino laughed, then poured himself a glass. “Well, you’re missing out, but you can always drink amongst yourselves at the palazzo where you’ll be staying. It’s one of the crown jewels of my family’s collection – an absolutely stunning view of the Palatine Hill.”
The Palatine Hill was one of the seven hills of Rome and the one where the mythical Romulus was said to have founded the city.
Two thousand years ago, the Palatine Hill was where the rich and powerful lived, including many emperors.
Now it was a giant archeological site – a series of ruins, but incredibly impressive ones.
“Where will Fausto be housed?” Dario asked.
Severino tilted his head and smiled the tiniest bit, like Naughty, naughty . “You know I can’t divulge that. Just as I won’t tell him where you’re staying.”
“Where will the Council be held, then?” the Widow asked.
“I have a place near the Trevi Fountain,” Severino said, referencing the famous landmark built in the 1700s. “The location is secret until tomorrow, but your drivers will know where to take you. They’ll be outside your door at 9AM.”
“I prefer for our own people to drive us,” the Widow snapped.
“Venetian boatmen driving in Rome traffic – a perfect recipe for disaster,” Severino said playfully. “If it makes you feel better, Bella Donna, I will come to get you myself, just as I did at the airport. So if you die, I die as well.”
“Hmph,” the Widow grumbled, but she didn’t refuse the offer.
“Who will be accompanying Fausto?” Dario asked.
I was proud of him; he was asking all the right questions with just a hint of skepticism.
“If Fausto wants an escort, I’ll send along my consigliere,” Severino said. Then he smiled. “I’m rather fond of mine, so I won’t knowingly send him off to his death.”