Page 72 of Marcello

“You’re not from around here,” Ciro said, his voice suspicious.

“No, I’m from Florence.”

“What the fuck is a Florentine doing joining the Camorra?”

I rubbed my thumb and forefingers together. “Money.”

Ciro laughed along with the rest of them.

“I heard that,” Cicciobello said.

The pizzeria owner came over and set glasses of beer in front of me and Cesare.

Cesare ignored the old guy and lifted his glass in a toast. “To money – let’s go get fuckin’ all of it.”

We lifted our glasses and roared in approval.

I was in.

After a couple of beers and a lot of trash talk, I excused myself to go take a leak.

Once I was safely locked inside the bathroom, I checked my phone.

There were multiple missed calls from work – mostly my boss.

I ignored the voicemails and read the texts instead.

Where the hell are you, Marcello?

You’ve totally screwed up the schedule. I had to call in Pasquale to cover for you.

I’m writing you up. Call in NOW.

His attitude irritated me, and I could only handle one asshole boss at a time, so I texted back a very simple reply:

I quit.

I felt bad about Pasquale, though. He’d stuck his neck out to get me hired, so I texted him, too.

Hey man, I had to quit. I’m sorry if the boss gives you any flack over it. I’ll make it up to you.

Besides work, there was one more message –

From ‘Uncle.’

It was short and to the point:

Tick tock, tick tock.

“Tick tock yourself, asshole,” I muttered. “I’m in.”

I thought about calling Fausto right then and there, but decided to wait. I didn’t want to take a chance that Cesare or any of his gang might overhear.

I’d paid a terrible price to worm my way inside, and I didn’t want to ruin it with a stupid mistake.

So I took a piss, washed my hands, and silenced my phone as I left.

I spent the rest of the day with Cesare’s crew drinking beer, eating pizza, and shooting the shit.