Page 2 of Marcello

It turned out that he’d financed his new house and car by taking money from ‘some people’ who’d approached him.

Initially, they’d only wanted a few favors here and there –

Things only a judge could do.

Suppress some evidence in a case.

Rule against the prosecutor’s motions in favor of the defense.

You got in bed with the mafia, I said in horror.

Quiet, he hissed, looking furtively around the café as though afraid of who might hear.

Things had gone fine at first, he said. But then they wanted him to dismiss a case – an open-and-shut one where the defendant was guilty of killing someone.

Papa said he’d balked at doing that – that it would have been obvious he was on the take.

So he got the prosecutor to reduce the charges to manslaughter instead of murder. But he presided over the trial fairly, and the defendant was found guilty.

He got nine years in prison.

Papa’s new ‘friends’ didn’t like that at all.

They told me I have to make restitution, my father said miserably. And part of that is they want to meet with you.

What the hell do they want from ME?!

I don’t know. All I know is a meeting with you is the only thing they’ll take as repayment.

Forget it, I said as I stood up. You got yourself into this jam – YOU get yourself out of it.

Marcello, please, he begged as he grabbed my arm. If it was just me, I wouldn’t ask – but they’ve threatened your mother, too… and Edoardo and Gemma.

My little brother and sister.

I stared at him in horror.

What the fuck have you done, Papa?! I asked, furious.

I’m sorry… please, Marcello, he whimpered. Please.

And that was how I found myself sitting across from the devil at his mansion in Tuscany.

“Your father’s been a very naughty boy,” Fausto Rosolini continued. “Taking my money, then not fulfilling the obligations that come with it.”

I just sat there in silence.

“Your father tells me you’re a very intelligent young man,” Fausto said. “What are you studying at university?”

“Business,” I muttered.

“I see. You’re a handsome fellow – do you have a girlfriend?”

“Not at the moment.”

“Good.”

I had no idea why the hell he would say that, but before I could ask, he continued. “You’re in excellent physical shape. Are you a footballer?”