Page 4 of Niccolo

One of my favorite games was ‘Playing Roberto.’

It was definitelynotRoberto’s favorite, though.

I would have to badger him until he gave in. Once he finally did, we would wear each other’s clothes, which couldn’t have been more different.

I favored the normal clothes that my other brothers wore: jeans, hoodies, t-shirts.

Roberto, on the other hand, preferred wearing a suit and tie.

We were all required to wear formal attire for weddings and funerals. I suppose my little brother developed a taste for them, because once he turned 13, that’sallhe wore.

While the rest of us were sporting American casualwear – Levi’s and Nikes – he was wearing Armani.

Anyway, we would switch clothes, I would slick my hair back, and Roberto would tousle his so he resembled me. Then we would go out and interact with our family and the servants.

Roberto wasterribleat playing me. He had a very mild, unassuming personality, and he was just never able to replicate my natural exuberance.

I initially wasn’t that good at imitatinghim, but with practice, I was able to reproduce his mannerisms exactly – to the point where even my mother and father couldn’t tell if I was Roberto or Niccolo. The servants in our household had no clue.

In much the same way that I had studied Roberto’s reactions when I teased him in different voices, I learned that I could alter people’s perceptions of me by playing a character.

I guessthat’swhere I got my sense of theatricality. I enjoyed being a chameleon.

When Roberto and I interacted with others side by side, everyone immediately spotted Roberto as the counterfeit.

But when I went out alone, dressed in his clothes, I could fool everyone: my parents… the servants… and Adriano, Massimo, and Valentino.

Only Dario could tell the difference – every single time.

3

Growing up, there was Mama, Papa, my brothers…

And Uncle Fausto and my cousin Aurelio.

They had lived with us for as long as I could remember.

Aurelio was a year older than me, the same age as Adriano.

I barely remember Aunt Felicia, Aurelio’s mother. I’d only been five years old when she passed. She died giving birth. The baby had been severely premature and hadn’t survived, either.

Fausto never remarried, though I found out later that he carried on a series of clandestine affairs with much younger women. I didn’t discover that fact until I was in my teens.

None of us thought it odd that Aurelio didn’t have a mother. It just was the way things were. We had Mama and Papa, and Aurelio had Uncle Fausto. End of story.

Although everyone liked Uncle Fausto, my brothers and I would have been glad if he’d found another wife and moved out –

Because wehatedAurelio.

I might have been annoying as a child, but Aurelio was a vicious little shit: arrogant, cruel, sarcastic, and a complete asshole.

The only positive thing about him was that he made me look like an angel by comparison. No matter how much I annoyed Adriano and Valentino, I could always count on Aurelio to do something toreallypiss them off and take the heat off of me.

Uncle Fausto would occasionally scold Aurelio, but he never disciplined him. He told me once that whenever he looked at his son, he thought of his deceased wife. Maybe that was why he could never bear to raise a hand to him.

Mama and Papa seemed to pity Aurelio because he’d lost his mother and did their best to treat him with love – though he mostly returned their affections with sullen scorn.

Maybe it was growing up without a mother…

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