Page 5 of Niccolo

Or maybe he was just born bad.

Whatever the case, we all fuckinghatedAurelio – and he hated us in turn.

In contrast, IlovedUncle Fausto.

My other brothers were fond of him, but I adored him nearly as much as I did Dario and Mama.

My relationship with Papa was a bit fraught. He loved me in his own way… and he went to great lengths not to play favorites… but I was a perceptive child. I could tell he gravitated towards my more rambunctious, rough-and-tumble brothers, probably because they reminded him of himself.

Dario, Adriano, and Massimo got the lion’s share of his attention (although he was brutally hard on Adriano because ofhis temper and lack of emotional control). Valentino got coddled because Val was the baby.

But Papa never quite knew what to do with me and Roberto. We were the oddballs. Roberto, the kid who loved playing Accountant with his pencils and pens lined neatly in a row – and me, the little Know-It-All.

But Uncle Fausto delighted in me.

I would see a twinkle in his eye whenever I made a particularly clever joke or pun.

Hemighthave been able to tell me apart from my twin when I imitated Roberto – but he played along when everyone else just got exasperated. He would interrogate me, asking me questions, trying to get me to stumble and make a mistake. It was because of Uncle Fausto that I became an expert at imitating Roberto.

And he chuckled every time I infuriated my brothers with one of my annoying schemes.

I was 13 years old when he laughed after one of my con-man escapades and said, “My little Machiavelli.”

“What’s a Machiavelli?”

“He was a Renaissance philosopher and political advisor. The two of you share your first name – Niccolo. He was one of the smartest men who ever lived.”

“Like Albert Einstein?”

“No. Einstein was ascientificgenius. He discovered the secrets of the universe: matter, energy, and time. Machiavelli plumbed the depths of men’s minds and hearts: why they acted the way they did, and how to manipulate them.”

“Like Tom Sawyer,” I suggested.

Fausto laughed. “Yes, I suppose so. Italy’s own Tom Sawyer.”

That sold me. I immediately went to my father’s study and searched his books for anything by Machiavelli.

The only thing I found was an old copy ofIl Principe –‘The Prince.’

I devoured it. It was tough going at first, but it became easier as I grew accustomed to Machiavelli’s old-fashioned language.

Fausto came upon me reading it the next day.

“Ah,” he said, impressed. “I see you found your namesake’s most famous work. What do you think?”

I thought about how to sum up everything I’d read.

“…I think he makes a lot of sense,” I finally said.

Fausto regarded me in silence for a moment. Then he said, “You know, I consider Machiavelli to be the firstconsigliere.Do you know what that is?”

Of course I did. I wasn’t stupid.

Though Papa took pains to keep the details of his business from me and my brothers, he still told us stories about Nonni – Italian for ‘grandfather’ – and how he had come over from Sicily to make a better life for his family.

I learned that Nonni had been part of a group of businessmen called theCosa Nostra –‘Our Thing’ in English.

Papa and Uncle Fausto were part of theCosa Nostra,since they’d inherited the family business from Nonni. One day, my brothers and I would be part of the family business, too.

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