Page 28 of Beauty and the Mafia Boss

“Let's wait for his next steps.”

“Do you think he'll get in touch?”

“No. I think he's going to make a big deal about the victory he thinks he had. He'll probably try to sell the company to the Russians at a bargain price, just to make sure we don't get our hands on it.” Tizziano nods with narrowed eyes. His violent instincts are already standing at attention, wanting an order to obey. They are the ones that make me choose the next topic of conversation.

“The hunt?”

“It's just waiting for nightfall.”

***

Traditions are like iron and fire; they make cities or ruin them. The La Santa initiation ritual takes place only once a year and is the most anticipated moment for soldiers. The process is long and divided into three phases that last an entire week.

In the first phase we eliminate the weak, this is quick. Intense physical exercises, endurance and agility tests designed to exhaust our men's bodies. Some don't make it past their first night under Cesare's orders.

In the second phase, the psychological aspect is the main target of the tests, all limits are pressed, and the men who survive, but do not progress to the next phase, do not return home the same as they came.

And in the third and final phase of the process we have the first sacrament and the last challenge: baptism and the hunt. And finally, those who survive are declared officers of La Santa.

Tonight, on the fifth night since the beginning of the process, is the moment of Baptism, and when the first rays of sun bathe Sicily, each of the newly sworn men will go in search of an enemy of the Sagrada to eliminate them.

Our families hang roses with thorns still on their doors and windows as a sign of support for the initiates. The night of the Hunt is known as the Notte di Sangue[52], and its name is self-explanatory.

I can already feel the smell of expectation getting stronger and condensing into a physical presence with each step I descend, with each echo of my shoes on the cold floor, with each meter advanced in the dark gallery that takes us to the core of Cantina Santo Monte.

Below the training center, underground, is the heart of Sagrada, the place where our men are made, molded, accepted and marked. On this ground, mere mortals become soldiers.

The earth beneath my feet is a constant reminder of my responsibility, it was bathed in the blood of our family and is honored with the blood of each generation that joins it.

The Capital, the church that appears in the large gallery in front of me, dates back to the original foundation of La Santa. One day, better men than us decided to establish their dominion here and today our power only grows, taking space by force, without looking at the obstacles, infiltrating where we were always told we would not be welcome and making the denied land ours by conquest.

The large dark wooden door opens for me to go through. Before entering the church, my eyes look for the bells in the tower, frozen in time. All my soldiers are gathered, awaiting my arrival.

My feet take me into the soundless, tension-filled interior of the church, it crackles in the air like a physical presence. A red carpet stretches the length of the nave, marking my path and with every step I take, a line of soldiers bows in reverence.

I head to the altar, where, in the center of a semicircle formed by the leaders of each sector of the organization, already accommodated in their seats, there’s chair designated to me. Every inch of this ceremony, from the sepulchral silence echoing in the temple to the positioning of the chairs, was designed to project strength and towering determination.

At the ends of the temple, two men, one on each side, light the wick of the last two torches attached to the wall, starting a chain reaction that lights up and illuminates all the walls and surrounds the semicircle of power of the Sagrada with a crown of flames.

We are born in blood, killed in fire and reborn from the ashes, after all. Flickering shadows dance across the ceiling, one above each of our heads, the largest of them over mine, marking my ultimate authority as the organization's absolute leader. I get up and everyone follows me, even suspending their breathing for a few seconds. I raise my right hand to begin the last challenge of La Santa's initiation ritual, the hunt.

“Today you are here to join our family, to commit to protecting our interests and following our orders. But before that, you need to prove your loyalty and courage. We are La Santa, the blood that runs through our veins is the sameblood that ran through our ancestors. Today we honor them by keeping our tradition alive.”

I go down the three steps one by one until I reach the common floor and face the first man in the first row of initiates. I don't need to order him to come closer. This is a crucial moment in the formation of our organization, and everyone present is aware of this.

The determination in his dark brown gaze doesn't hide the nervousness in his controlled gestures, but that doesn't surprise me. As if we were in an open confessional, one by one, the initiates approach and are questioned about their crimes and weaknesses in life before initiation. They confess to everyone and pledge their loyalty until the end of their lives. When the last promise sounds, I reach to the side and take a bible from the pile to my left, I open the cover finding the surgical cutout in the core of the paper that reveals a weapon, the baptism pistol.

Its hilt is marked on both sides with our symbol, and the barrel engraved with our oath. From this moment on, the only way for any of these men to leave La Santa is death.

One by one, I repeat the process with the patience that only years of respect for traditions and commitment to the organization allow me to have. Each soldier follows the process, each of them accepting the destiny they sought in the months of training that preceded initiation and of which they have proven themselves worthy in the last five days.

The ritual is accompanied only by the sound of soldiers' footsteps, creating a mystical and solemn atmosphere. I know that in the veins of each of these men there is an urgent desire to prove themselves worthy.

Tizziano is the only other member of Sagrada's semicircle of power who has a say in this ceremony. As second in command, it is his role to demonstrate authority and exhort the men who will follow La Santa. The underboss gets up and comes downstairs, stopping next to me before starting to speak.

“Tonight, you will be the weapons wielded by Sagrada, your faces will be the last seen by our enemies, and those of you who survive will be part of the greatest Sicilian story ever told, the story of La Santa. And, as part of it, you earn not only the right to bear our brand, but also to witness a moment that only those who dared to defy death will take to the grave in secret, your Don.” He nods in my direction. “Your brother, kneeling in unison, asking for the blessing of the one and only: La Santa, The Sagrada.”

And, as one voice, the last statement of our oath is sung by every man present in time.

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