Page 209 of Vita Mia

“Pronto?This is Anastasio?”

“Don Anastasio?”

“Si, who is this,” he asked.

“Don Giovanni sends his regrets.”

Anastasio’s head turned to the window. The high caliber bullet pierced the glass pane with a circular precision before shooting through the dimpled crease between the Don’s brows. As the bullet ripped through his skull and he was blown backward off his feet he had one dying thought. He should have never moved his family out of the Secondigliano.

***

DON FRANCES TACETTAwas once the powerful leader of the Ndrangheta. After the wipeout of the Calderone’s he ruled a short time unchallenged. But the Ndrangheta was at constant war with the invading foreigners and his own men thought his leadership had weakened. Twice they attempted to assassinate him. And twice they failed. Tacetta relocated to the Campania. Giovanni Battaglia’s invite into the Camorristi had been the power play he needed to rebuild. And over the year he had done well.

He guzzled down the wine and belched. The whore on his knee licked at his acne on his jaw as if it were candy. She purred to give him pussy. He’d had a taste before and it was pure, almost virginal. He wanted another fuck.

“I hear that American black cunt will testify against Giovanni today,” said one of his men at the table dealing the cards. They were in the back of his restaurant waiting for the call from Ballistrieri.

Don Tacetta shrugged and picked up his cards. “Doesn’t matter, either thePolizia di Statoput the noose around Giovanni’s neck or we will. The Camorristi is back on top.”

His men all nodded in agreement.

The whore slipped her hand to his groin and squeezed. She whispered what she would like to do to him. Typically, he wouldn’t have her so close to the business discussions. But she was fresh meat. He’d never seen her before last week and he’d been craving her pussy every day after the first time they met.

“Deal me out!” he said when his erection became too much.

“Boss? We just started. I want a chance to win my money back!”

“Your money is my money!” Tacetta barked.

The other men laughed. His whore stood. She took his hand and they walked out of his game room to the hall where the bathroom was. Ballistrieri was meeting with the Russians, and Santoro’s today trying to broker peace. He had to wait on the call. If it went south, then they would wipe out what was left of them and join forces with the Santoro’s to take back their shores.

Tacetta threw open the bathroom door. Several stall doors were already open except for one. He could hear one of his men pissing inside of the stall. He didn’t care who was present. A whore was a whore. This one had fiery red hair and breasts as round as apples. Her heart-shaped hips and creamy thighs under her tiny skirt made his mouth water. She took several steps back swaying her hips. She licked her ruby red lips and went to her knees by the sink and mirror. He’d let her suck on it for a few minutes but it was the pussy that he really wanted.

The whore dragged down his zipper and eased his dick out into her mouth. Tacetta let go a deep sigh. His fists were against his gyrating hips and his trousers down to his feet. He was not a handsome man. Only five-foot-three he had such bad scarring from years of acne his face looked minced and disfigured. But he’d always enjoyed women. So much so his own wife allowed his top mistress to live in their home. It was the greatest reward in his mind for being a Camorra Don.

The man in the stall behind him flushed the toilet. The whore kept sucking and swallowing his dick. As soon as the fucker was out of the bathroom he’d bend her over the sink and fuck her good. But the powerful suction of her jaws was making him weak. He opened his eyes and grabbed her by the hair to slow her down before he ejaculated. She countered his move and grabbed his hips with her nails to hold him still. Tacetta frowned. He was about to strike her when the stall behind him opened. Out of reflex, his gaze went to the mirror and the assassin moved on him quick. A wire was wrapped around his neck. Tacetta gasped and grabbed at his throat. The man behind him was tall and strong. He was lifted up against the man’s hard frame at least two feet from the ground. He kicked his feet and gagged. The surprise made him ejaculate prematurely. A shoe dropped off his left foot and the lack of oxygen to his brain made his eyes bulge and his body jerk. He’d never been deprived of breath so long. It burned. It felt like his lungs were on fire. Spittle sprayed his lips.

“Don Giovanni will see you in hell!” The whore said and spat on him.

Tacetta blinked in shock. The whore smiled as her face slowly faded and he slipped into the dark abyss of death. He was dropped to the floor in a silent dead heap. It would be over an hour before one of his men ventured out of the game room to check on him.

***

DON JOSEPH CARDINELLIloved his home in Maiori. He loved the Amalfi. There was serenity to be found near its shores. And with the Camorra swirling in the chaos he craved serenity more and more. He grew up in the Amalfi. His family were fishermen and Camorra. It was all he knew. And for years they served the Racchi clan humbly. When Giovanni approached him after Racchi’s murder in prison to lead the clan he thought it was a joke. And then he considered it an honor. After a year of warring over turf and position he now knew the job was a curse.

“Boss, we will stay close to the road. Caesar and Bilbo will go with you,” his enforcer Tito said.

Don Cardinelli gave him a nod of understanding. Every evening he visited his remote part of the coast to fish. He’d do so at dusk, which was the best fishing hour. The mobile phone in his pocket rang. He balanced the fishing pole under his arm and walked down to the pier. He fished out the phone in time to see the caller was Ballistrieri. Don Drago Ballistrieri never let go of his grudge over the killing of his cousin Piero Tacchini. It was how he let that dirt farmer Don Santoro turn him against Giovanni after the fire destroyed Melanzana and Giovanni was torn apart by grief for this little girl. Cardinelli warned them all against it but no one would listen. Everyone had dreams to be thecapo di tutti capi. Ballistrieri really believed he deserved the role.

They were all idiots.

“Aren’t you going to answer it boss?”

“Not until I catch my dinner,” Don Cardinelli said. He dropped his bucket and then cast his line. His men didn’t join him on the pier. They faced the forested enclave that led to it aware of any danger that would approach. And it wasn’t until the fish began to nibble that Don Cardinelli knew the danger had arrived. The gunfire erupted in the distance and followed to the shore. His men were dropped before they could return fire. The Don kept reeling the fish caught on his line. His father had taught him about the patience of the pull. Other fishermen fought with their captives which drove fear and desperation into the prey. The fish, or any scared animal fought when facing a life or death decision. But what happened to the prey who accepted his fate, the one who allowed death to claim him? Would that soften the blow, make it easier to be absolved of sin? He hoped so.

The old sullen Don reeled the fish up. If flapped its tail and he grabbed it and unhooked the guppy. Too small and young to be killed he tossed it back into the sea.

“Don Cardinielli,” a man said who had walked up the pier. The man put the gun to the back of his head. “Don Giovanni sends his regrets.”

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