Page 9 of Niccolo (Mafia Kings #7)

D ario finally came home, alive and in good health.

I’m not a religious man, but I thanked God incessantly for his safe return.

Everyone else was there to meet him when he walked out of San Vittore. I wanted desperately to be there with them, but it would have been foolish.

To have both don and consigliere in the same place – out in the open, in foreign territory – with multiple enemies looking to collect our scalps? Unwise. So I stayed home and waited.

When he arrived with the others, I met him at the door.

“Welcome home, Don Rosolini,” I said.

“Good to see you, Machiavelli,” he replied.

We paused – laughed – and then hugged each other fiercely.

The others (Adriano and Valentino in particular) wanted to start partying. Champagne, scotch, cigars –

And escorts brought in from Florence.

Dario refused, thank God. “Too dangerous. That would be the easiest way for our enemies to get at us. There will be time for women in the future. For now, we work. We have a lot to accomplish in a very short time. When we’ve righted the ship, then we can celebrate.

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m due for a long-overdue talk with my consigliere. ”

The two of us retired to the parlor.

“How bad is our situation?” Dario asked me somberly.

“Considering we lost half our territory and roughly the same percentage of our revenue-generating businesses, not great. But it could be worse.”

“I’m not talking about the business. I’ll speak with Roberto about that later. I’m talking about our standing with the other families.”

He meant within the Cosa Nostra.

“They’re going to test you. Maybe not right away, but eventually. That much is certain.”

“Yes,” he said dourly, like he knew my answer but hated to hear it anyway.

“Fausto’s a known quantity, so they’ll most likely leave him alone. It’s you they don’t know, other than as Papa’s son. And while that will buy you a certain amount of deference for a while, it won’t last.”

I went through our list of ‘frenemies’ first.

The Agrellas would most likely seek to renegotiate our holdings in Florence, if not outright challenge us for control.

The other Cosa Nostra families were likely to make incursions into our territory – maybe attempt to take over the drug trade on the fringes, or try to cut a deal with local pimps – in order to see if we would defend our territory.

But Dario surprised me.

“We’re getting out of drugs and prostitution,” he announced.

I raised my eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“It’s a new day, consigliere. Set up a talk with Roberto about ending those parts of the business.”

“Just because you want to wash your hands of them doesn’t mean human nature will change,” I said. “Men are still going to want to get laid. People are still going to chase away their problems by snorting shit up their nose.”

“I don’t care.”

“You will when the other families try to take over those aspects of the business!” I retorted. “You’ll care when pissant street gangs start peddling drugs cut with rat poison, and the bodies start piling up in the morgues!”

“We’ll deal with those problems as they arise,” Dario said gruffly.

“It’s going to be nothing BUT problems! Plus the loss of valuable profits when we – ”

“Consigliere?” Dario said coldly. “Move on.”

Fausto might have been a bastard, but he was a clear-eyed bastard. He had constantly told me how awful humanity could be, which is why a consigliere had to always question, always doubt –

Always suspect others of betrayal.

Ironic, I know.

But serving as his apprentice had given me a clear-eyed view of the world and the dangers in it.

By contrast, Dario had always been a bit of an idealist. I’d just never realized how much of an idealist.

These decisions he wanted to make were going to come back to bite us in the ass, I just knew it…

But I was here to serve my don, not argue with him endlessly.

So I moved on from our ‘frenemies’ to those who hated our guts.

“Lars said you killed Aristide Caproni.”

“I did.”

“Does the Camorra know that?”

“From the number of times their people tried to shiv me, I assume they suspected.”

“One of these days, the Camorra’s going to come for you.”

“Let’s worry about it when it happens.”

That was a recurring theme:

Let’s worry about it when it happens.

I just hoped we didn’t pile up so many future problems that they buried us when they finally arrived.

I ran through dozens of other problems we should be on the lookout for.

As an American politician once put it, the ‘known knowns’ – the things we knew…

The ‘known unknowns’ – the things we understood we didn’t know…

And the ‘unknown unknowns’ – the unforeseen things that could come out of nowhere and knock us on our asses.

Once I was finished with the briefing, Dario said, “I have a question, and I want you to answer it honestly.”

“As your consigliere, I will always give you my honest – ”

“Cut the bullshit, Niccolo. I need an answer without you prettying it up.”

“Alright,” I said, surprised. “Ask away.”

“The others. What do they think of me?”

My eyes widened. “You mean – Adriano and Massimo and – ?”

“Yes.”

“They adore you,” I said honestly. “No one in the family has ever been more respected. Not even Papa.”

Dario looked pained. “How easy is it going to be to retain that respect?”

I frowned. “Dario… we’ve always looked up to you. You know that, right?”

“Yes, but I was never in a position to destroy the entire family before. What happens if I make a mistake?”

“Papa and Fausto made plenty of mistakes.”

“Yes, but never any fatal ones.”

I sat there and thought before I answered.

My don was having a crisis of confidence… which, honestly, I had expected.

Dario had assumed his new role as the result of a tragedy: Papa’s untimely death. It was a job he had prepared for, yes, but one he had not anticipated having to do for at least another ten years.

It had also happened under the worst possible circumstances. He’d been locked away in prison for years. He hadn’t really led anyone during that time.

He had gone from having to survive day to day…

To being responsible for the survival of the entire family.

But interestingly enough, he had specifically asked how our brothers saw him…

Suggesting that was what worried him the most.

I finally said, “You’re concerned about how the others will see you when you fuck up.”

“‘When’ I fuck up?” he asked sardonically.

“Of course. You’re not perfect. It’s a matter of ‘when,’ not ‘if’… and how big a fuck-up.”

“You’re so reassuring,” he said, his sardonic tone sliding into sarcasm.

“You asked for honesty, not reassurance,” I reminded him. “Regretting it already?”

“Somewhat,” he grunted.

“You’ve always been everyone’s hero. And you’re afraid of not being their hero anymore. You’re afraid of them seeing you as a failure.”

He looked angry at first. Then his expression softened, and he sighed. “As much as I hate to admit it, that touches a nerve… so it must be accurate.”

“You were always excellent at peering into other people’s hearts,” I said. “I was always good at getting inside their heads.”

“True,” he admitted.

“I’m curious – did you know Fausto would fail in his duties as consigliere?”

“You mean, did I know he would try to get out of going to jail?”

“Yes.”

“Not exactly… but there was always something that bothered me about him. A feeling that he was primarily out for himself, rather than the good of the family.”

“Well,” I said bitterly, “you’re a better mind-reader than I ever was, because I never even suspected until the moment he let us down. That’s why you took the fall for all of us, wasn’t it? Because you didn’t trust him.”

He nodded. “I couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t fold if the cops offered him a deal.”

“Dario,” I said softly, “any man who would do what you did… who would make the sacrifices you made for us… I would follow him into the mouth of Hell. And so would every one of our brothers. No matter how many mistakes he made along the way.”

Dario was visibly affected by that. He teared up the tiniest bit.

To save him embarrassment, I shifted gears into a jovial tone. “I could tell you to get over yourself – to keep a stiff upper lip when the others inevitably find out you don’t shit marble – but as your consigliere, I’d rather present you with a solution.”

“Which is…?” he asked. He seemed grateful to be spared any more sentimental mawkishness.

“I can be the villain of the tale.”

He frowned. “…what?”

“You’re the hero – you always have been. They look up to you.

“Me? I’m the annoying one. The know-it-all. The one they tolerate at best, and hate at worst.

“Let me take on the unpopular decisions. Let me be the focus for their irritation. I can take it. Having never been anyone’s hero, trust me, I don’t give a shit how much I piss them off.

“You’ll retain your aura of mystery and command, and they’ll never question you. Any decisions we know they’ll hate can come from me. That can be my gift to you, as my don.”

He sat there and pondered my words.

“You’re serious,” he said.

“Completely serious. Of course, I reserve the right to annoy the fuck out of you if I think you’re going down the wrong path.”

One corner of his mouth lifted the tiniest bit. “I wouldn’t expect any less, Machiavelli.”

“Good – then it’s settled. You play the king and conquering hero; I play the court jester and devil’s advocate. But… seriously… I need to say something.”

He frowned. “What?”

With complete and total earnestness, I said, “I want you to know that as your consigliere, I will always have your back. I will always speak truth to you… and I will never do to you what Fausto did to us. When the time comes, I will absolutely fall on my own sword – for the good of you and the entire family.”

“…I know,” he said, and smiled sadly. “I’ve always known.”

“How?”

“As you said, I’m excellent at peering into other people’s hearts. Especially those of the people I love.”

With tears in both our eyes, we stood and hugged.

“Welcome home, big brother,” I murmured.

He just hugged me all the tighter.