Page 146 of Vita Mia

“Signore Battaglia. My name is Elian and I will be handling your transfer. First let us get you some medical attention.”

The offer of respect was something he’d been denied far too long. He didn’t respond to it because he didn’t trust it. But the men did as the lieutenant had ordered and helped Giovanni toward the door. As Giovanni limped down the hall with him. He passed several inmates. One in particular caught his attention. Aldo, the gypsy, had come from his cell. He stood tall and erect in the corridor. He gave Giovanni a nod of respect which meant that the message he sent to bring back Carlo had been delivered. It was the first time in weeks that Giovanni smiled.

***

“WHAT HAPPENED TO HER?” Mirabella asked.

“The Puglias,” Nico said. “The fighting has escalated to the point of chaos between them and the Camorristi. The Forcella took a very hard hit.”

“Because it’s Giovanni’s territory? The disrespect knows no bounds.” Mirabella mumbled. She passed cars that had been burned to charred scrap metal. And the businesses her husband once offered protection too had been ransacked and burned. Most were closed. Napoli was overcome by sanitation issues that her husband and his clan bosses worked to maintain. But now the stench and pollution from the untended trash had tripled. The poor residents had to step through knee deep garbage on some streets.

“This is horrible.”

“The Russians. Tarzan claims this territory. The clans are too busy fighting to care, so the people here are under siege. Giovanni’s people too.”

“Where are the Ballistrieri’s in all of this?” Mirabella asked of Tacchini’s old clan.

“Don Ballistrieri has officially aligned himself with Don Santoro. They are now public in their claims to the Campania. Don Ballistrieri says it is retribution for his cousin Tacchini’s death, but the truth is, greed is always the biggest motivator.”

She could see children in the streets playing in the garbage. It was close to midnight and they were as young as her own kids. She looked up at ropes of laundry that zig zagged above to neighboring buildings and the decrepit places of residence that people lived in. The car turned onto a very narrow alleyway that ascended between a building. Her caravan could easily be boxed in with the streets so narrow. And she felt the danger.

Nico checked the chamber of his gun. “Don’t worry. Even if they want to hurt you, I got enough men and bodies to drop them and get you out if need be.”

“I want to help these people.”

“The only way to do so is to stop the war and invasion of foreigners. We can’t do either,” Nico mumbled. “Not without Giovanni.”

Mirabella nodded in agreement.

Nico’s cell phone rang. He answered, said a few words, listened and then hung up.

“News?”

“Good news. Our contact in the prison said the gypsy saw Giovanni receive medical attention and then he was moved.”

“Medical?”

“He’s okay,” Nico said. “The Carabinieri have him. He’s been moved out of the prison and is headed to Rome. It’s all we know.”

“And that warden?” Mirabella mumbled.

“We can’t touch him. No word from Carlo yet?” Nico asked.

Mirabella’s heart sank. Her stomach cramped with worry. Carlo had not called or sent any message to her. If he wasn’t coming, then they would have to delay vengeance. And she didn’t want to wait.

“Let’s focus on Tarzan,” Nico said.

“Yes, one monster at a time. But Nico, the Ballistrieri’s, their betrayal is unforgivable. We are still Camorra and I need the message sent. I’ve held off our men in the Secondigliano to keep the trouble down. It was a mistake. Look at what they have done. We can’t let this continue.”

“Agreed. I’ll see to it personally.”

She gave him a wan smile for the encouraging words. The car turned into another tight alleyway and parked. There was no light except for the moon, so she could see very little. Mirabella opened her purse and removed her small gun. It was a present after her kidnapping from her husband. She lifted her skirt and Nico looked away. She slipped the gun into the garter holster on her thigh. She’d be able to reach it from a snap release of the velcro.

“They won’t search me,” she said. “And if they do it won’t be this high.” She turned the band toward her inner thigh so a pat down of her curves wouldn’t detect it. She’d fix it later.

“You ready?” he asked.

“No. But that doesn’t matter does it? Let’s go.”

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