Page 6 of Niccolo

There were always men in black suits and ties who worked for our family stationed throughout the mansion’s hallways.

‘Bodyguards,’ Papa called them… though I later learned the real term for them: foot soldiers.

Not to mention the time that Mama had led us children out through a secret passageway when armed men attacked the house.

Only Dario had stayed behind to help my father and the foot soldiers defend the mansion.

I was 11 at the time. Adriano had been 13 and complained bitterly for months afterward that he hadn’t been allowed to stay with Papa and Dario.

Our father and uncle taught us the rules from an early age:

Never talk to a policeman.

Never betray a family member.

If you swear on something you love, you never,everbreak that promise. EVER.

And while I didn’t know the exact mechanisms of my father’s business, I knew that he was what was called a don – the old name for a master or lord.

His advisor, his right-hand man, was called hisconsigliere.The don’s counselor.

“You’re Papa’sconsigliere,”I said.

Fausto cocked his head. “I never told you that.”

“I hear things.”

My uncle gave me a wry smile, then said, “Come with me.”

I followed him to the parlor at the front of the house. Uncle Fausto knocked once and walked right in without my father saying,Come in.

Which was unthinkable for anyone else. We children were forbidden to interrupt our father when the door was closed unless it was a matter of life and death –

Like men with guns attacking the house.

My father looked up from his desk and squinted at me. “Ah, Fausto… has my son been naughty?”

“Quite the contrary. Show him what you’ve been reading, Niccolo.”

I held up the copy ofThe Prince.

My father’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s pretty heavy reading for a kid your age.”

I just shrugged. “It’s okay.”

“What’s your favorite part so far?” Uncle Fausto asked me.

I thought for a second. “I like the part where Machiavelli says, ‘Everyone sees what you appear to be, but few really know what you are.’”

“Why do you likethatpart in particular?” Fausto asked.

“It’s sort of like when I play Roberto, and nobody knows who I really am.”

“And what do you like about it?”

“Fooling people.”

Uncle Fausto gave a sly look at my father, then asked me, “What would you say the main message of the book is?”

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