Page 210 of Vita Mia

The trigger pulled and the sound of the bullet escaping the chamber popped like a firecracker. The front of his skull blew his brains and eyes into the water. He slumped over the railing of the pier and flipped into the water a dead man. Alone with his fishes.

***

BALLISTRIERI HUNG UPthe phone. He sat behind his desk staring at his bad decision. Across from him sat Don Bruno Santoro and to his left sat Ludwig Ivankov, the Russian known as Tarzan. Neither men could be trusted to not react to the news he had to share.

“What? What is it?”

“Dead, Don Anastasio, Don Tacetta, Don Cardinielli, all dead.”

“I don’t give a shit about your Camorra dogs. I told you, I want that cunt and those kids’ dead before Giovanni was released. You two assured me it was done.” Tarzan shouted.

Don Santoro frowned. “We don’t kill women and children. I’ve explained that to you before.”

“Then there is no alliance. I lost blood. A son! Only blood will replace it!” Tarzan demanded.

“Son?” Santoro frowned. “Three sons,” he said and beat his chest. “Giovanni took three sons from me. I want blood too!”

“The difference between me and your farmer is that I take what I want, not feed off scraps like you two.”

“Hold your tongue Russian or I’ll cut it the fuck out!” Don Santoro got to his feet.

“Enough of this!” Ballistrieri said. “We can’t afford this now. Giovanni is out, and he’s hunting us.”

Tarzan laughed. “He’s hunting you. I’m hunting him. When I’m done I’m taking everything. Women and children first.”

The Russian and the two enforcers he brought with him walked out. Santoro’s men had their guns drawn as if they would stop him. They did not. Ballistrieri had no doubt of Santoro’s commitment to the annihilation of the Battaglias. But the Russian had a point. Santoro’s methods were old and outdated. A few bombings and kidnappings could not stop the train headed to run them all over.

“The biggest threat right now is that Russian,” Don Santoro said. “We need to deal with him. There isn’t anything Giovanni can do to either of us.”

“Don’t be so sure. Gio is far from beaten.”

“Then we stick to the plan. We put a bullet in him and it all goes away.”

“I’m working on it,” Don Ballistrieri said. “Now, you need to head back into Puglia. We need to be ready.”

The Don gave him a nod and walked out. Ballistrieri closed the door. He wiped his hand down his face and stared at the phone. When his desperation didn’t will it to ring he walked over and picked it up. Things were happening fast. Had he made the wrong deal? He picked up the phone and dialed Dominic Battaglia once more. Now that that the Santoro’s and Russians were gone he needed reaffirmation. The mobile number for Dominic didn’t answer.

“Damn it!” Ballestrieri shouted and slammed the phone down. He put his face in his hands and waited.

***

TWO WEEKS EARLIER —-

“Don Drago Ballistrieri, welcome to my home,” Dominic said.

Ballistrieri and his men entered the sunroom on the Mancini Estate with measured caution. Since their arrival, they’d been relieved of all weapons. They were in Sicily. No power structure was greater than that of the Don of Palermo. And Dominic had fulfilled that role with promise. He was a necessary ally if he were to defeat Giovanni.

“It’s changed, a bit.”

“Ah?” Dominic looked around at his redecorated surroundings. “That’s right you’re a distant cousin of the Mancini’s?”

“No blood relation. Marsuvio Mancini was my Godfather.”

Dominic shrugged off the information.

“Grazie for the invite Domi. I wasn’t sure if I should accept.” Don Ballistrieri welcomed the glass of whiskey and took a seat at the table. Dominic’s men were in the dozens. They surrounded the place and roamed the halls of the estate with assault rifles.

“You’ve been quite busy arming yourself and gathering the clans since Giovanni’s arrest,” Dominic said. He took a sip while staring at Ballistrieri over the rim of his glass.

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