Page 86 of Marcello

Ciro shook his head. “Motherfucker’s tough.”

“Not that tough,” Cesare sneered. He began to circle the seated man slowly, like a panther eyeing a crippled fawn.

Cicciobello had always been the friendliest of Cesare’s crew, so I whispered to him, “What the hell’s going on?”

He answered nonchalantly. “Oh, we just caught one of Amato’s guys nosing around the docks.”

“Who’s Amato?”

Cesare overheard.

“Amato is a Cosa Nostra piece of shit who’s been fucking around in Naples for way too goddamn long.” He smacked the prisoner on the back of his head. “Isn’t that right?”

The guy in the chair stayed quiet.

“Cosa Nostra?” I asked, confused. “Like… The Godfather?”

“Yup,” Cicciobello confirmed.

Suddenly, all the pieces fell into place.

The man’s tailored black suit –

The mafia guy who had picked me up from my dorm in Florence five months ago –

The bodyguards around Fausto’s mansion –

Oh shit – Fausto’s in the Cosa Nostra!

If I gave anything away by my expression, Cesare didn’t notice. He just kept circling the guy in the chair and mad-dogging him. “They like to think they’re in The Godfather, but all they really are is a bunch of Sicilian faggots who suck each other’s dicks all day long. Isn’t that right?”

The guy spat on Cesare’s pants. “Vaffanculo.”

Go fuck yourself.

Cesare looked down with exaggerated slowness at the bloody gob of spit on his jeans.

Then – without warning – his right hand flashed out in a jab.

CRACK!

The Cosa Nostra guy’s skull jerked back. When his head rebounded into place, his eyes were dazed and unfocused, and blood started streaming out of his nose.

“Get him up on a hook,” Cesare ordered as he used the prisoner’s jacket to wipe off the spit on his pants, a look of disgust on his face.

Ciro and Toro hauled the Cosa Nostra guy up from the chair.

“What’s going on?” I whispered to Cicciobello.

He grinned. “You’ll see. By the way, congrats on getting Lametta’s job.”

“What happened to him, anyway?”

“When the Cosa Nostra fucker started bleeding, Lametta puked.” Cicciobello chuckled. “Cesare made him clean it up like a little bitch and kicked him out.”

I made a mental note to myself:

Whatever happens, don’t puke.