Il Secondo II, Part Two
CHAPTER TWO, Part Two
Quando il buio della sera maschera il mio viso, solo allora potrei dirti certe cose.
When the dark of the evening obscures my face, only then can I tell you certain things.
"What happens if we die in this, Stefano?"
What do you mean?
"Like, if one of us dies working in this business. What do you think will happen?"
I don't know.
I do know.
I guess the business just dies out.
Governments go into ruin.
"And everyone goes their separate ways?"
And one of us goes to prison.
I guess.
For life.
---
Stefano slapped a palm over his tired eyes. Celio's journals were a mess of chicken scratch and ramblings. He would mention vague events and plans -- both accomplished and in processing. The doodles he made were incomprehensible. Odd points and lines connecting them to each other from across pages. No labels. No references. It was like reading the notebook of a preschooler.
Except that preschooler was a conniving but deceased criminal mafioso.
After another fruitless night of research, he reached for his phone. A folder underneath it slipped to the floor along with its contents.
Groaning, Stefano got up to clean up the scattered pages.
A small envelope peeked from underneath the stacks of owned car documents. An unopened letter, slightly crumpled and a bit thick and heavy.
There was no addressee, but Stefano wondered why it was even hidden in -- of all places -- Celio's cars' files. He opened it without hesitation, a little aggravated and curious.
Whether you choose to read this or not, I just wanted to apologize. It was difficult to reach you since you left. When I chanced upon your gallery exhibit on the papers, I had to see it. To see you, maybe. And I did. I was too scared to approach you because Celeus was with me.
I know you saw us there. I knew you wouldn't come near. The way you looked at me wasn't the same. And it's okay.
I live in Santorini now and I'm teaching music at a school there. And my husband's a doctor there too. We're quite happy and I hope you are too.
The best of everything to you, Celio. I know you don't need it from me. I'm happy knowing you're safe now.
The letter didn't say who it was from, but Stefano knew. Behind the short message was a few photos. One was an old polaroid photo of the time Celio was in that daycare in Athens with the rest of the staff. The second was a lovely townhouse with a view of the sea with a built man and a dark-haired woman waving by their family sedan. The final one was a young mother on her hospital bed, gleefully holding a healthy newborn. Written behind it was, "Celeus - 6/4/00"
Stefano's brow scrunched up on his forehead.
There was an erased line at the bottom of the page that Stefano could still pick out. It said, "That's his name. I'm sorry if you don't like it."
---
Paolo tossed the letter into the fire. "There."
It fixed only one of Stefano's problems right now. Another few lives spared from Celio's mess. "You didn't have to come here, Paolo."
The lawyer shrugged and dusted his hands. "London's a drag right now and Lena told me you needed a hand."
"How did you even get past the crowd outside the estate gate?"
"I ride horses, Farfy."
Stefano blinked, not even bothering to translate that reply. "That aside, I don't think there's much we can do right now. And..."
"And?"
"Call Lena up for me, will you?"
"Taking her offer, I presume?"
"Just call her."
The week later, as the news continued to buzz with conspiracy theories of recent events, the biggest one blew onto news stands and stations like wildfire. Officials were called to hearings, some of them now behind bars. Police stormed into De Giorgio properties. The vineyard's employees took off to spare themselves from the chaos; the wine business crumbled quickly. Rallying anti-mafiosi started vandalized the estates with Molotov cocktails and painted words on the stone walls, reading, "Contro la mafie" and "Che liberazione!" and even "Vattinne!"
In the underworld business, several bosses were forced out of hiding. Small wars within the city erupted, tossing the blame for what crime, pointing fingers and causing major schisms that were broken down by the police.
The mafia, as everyone knew it, was falling.
Escaping in a runaway car and eventually crossing roads with rival and warring Families in the outskirts of the city; that's what they said. The news said Stefano Salvadore, half-brother and caporegime of the late Don De Giorgio, was also now dead.
And everyone believed it.