Maybe this city had some romance left in it after all…
Chapter Three
But for Carlo, the romance of Rome was far overshadowed by the ugliness of its violent underbelly.
And as he walked away from the café, past the steps of the Palazzo and down the stairs to the metro, he was thinking only of his father.
Giorgio Ambrosi had been a well-respected man in the neighborhood of Trastevere, south of the city center and away from the glitz and glamor of the tourist spots. It was a working-class neighborhood, a little run-down, but familiar. It was the kind of place where people took care of each other.
Carlo had always admired his father for the way he’d built up his museum from nothing – just a small bank loan and the strength of his charisma were enough to get the place going, and Giorgio’s work ethic ensured that Carlo and his brother Rocky always had food on the table and a roof over their heads.
The museum was truly something special, and it brought business to the neighborhood. The whole community had enjoyed it, and everyone admired Giorgio for what he’d been able to do.
But as Carlo got older, he realized it hadn’t been quite that easy. Things weren’t as simple as they seemed, not in Trastevere. And as he came to realize, Giorgio’s bank loan hadn’t come from the bank at all – but from Dominic Pirelli, the local mafia don.
Dominic was almost a mythical figure in Trastevere, spoken about in hushed whispers. He brought protection to the neighborhood, but his gang was ruthless. If anyone found themselves upside-down on a loan owed to Dominic, they quickly got a taste of how cruel he could really be.
And for the Ambrosi family, the consequences of doing business with Dominic had hit home in a very personal way.
Carlo still remembered the way his father had looked at him when he spilled the news. There was such guilt in his eyes… such shame. It was unlike anything he’d seem from his father before, and it was such a shock to him that at first he didn’t believe it.
“You’ve got to go to work for Dominic, son,” Giorgio had said, looking deep into Carlo’s eyes as he put a hand on his shoulder. Carlo was just eighteen at the time, still a gangly kid with freckles and vague dreams of being an actor.
“Papa, what are you talking about?” he’d replied, not understanding. “I’m a good kid, don’t worry. There’s no way I would join the Pirellis. I’ll stay far away from them, I promise.”
His father didn’t reply, except to look at him with such heartache in his eyes that it gave Carlo pause.
“Papa, you’re scaring me,” he said, searching in his father’s eyes for an answer. “What’s going on?”
“I owe the Pirellis a lot of money, mio figlio,” Giorgio said. “For the museum. Dominic’s come to collect on his debts, and I can’t pay him.”
Carlo couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He shook his head in mute confusion.
“I’m sorry, my son. There’s no choice. Your brother’s too young. It has to be you. It’s either this, or…”
His father trailed off, and Carlo began to panic.
“What the hell am I going to do for them? I won’t last two weeks with the Pirellis. Papa, the mafia—”
“Enough!” cried his father, a pained look on his face. “…Enough. Carlo, what’s done is done. Don’t think of it as the ‘mafia’. Think of it as… a family. The Pirellis are like our family now.”
Carlo was angry now. “How can you say that, Papa,” he cried. “We’re nothing like them. You’ve seen how violent they can be.”
“My son, if I don’t pay off my debt to Dominic, then we’ll see the full force of their violence,” Giorgio replied. “Forgive me, Carlo. You know I didn’t want this. But when your mother died, I had nothing left. Nothing!”
He looked away, casting his eyes to the floor.
“The museum… it’s all I have.”
For a long moment, Carlo stayed silent. A whirlwind of emotions was swirling in his heart, but he saw the resignation in his father’s face and he knew there was no way out.
“…All right,” he said finally. “It’ll be all right, Papa. Don’t worry.” He put a hand on his father’s shoulder, pulling him in for a close embrace. “I’ll pay off our family’s debt. I’ll work for them, but I won’t become one of them. Not in my heart. It’ll be just like acting – like playing a role from a script. You’ll see.”
His father smiled sadly. “Son, you are becoming an honorable man. I only wish your mother could see you today.” He looked around at their modest kitchen, with its dingy tiles and faded wallpaper. “She would never have wanted this for us. But you and your brother… you’ve got a chance to make something of yourselves. You hear me, Carlo?”
The two of them looked at each other with a strange intensity in their eyes, as if the words passing between them were far more important than they could ever convey.
“I hear you, Papa,” said Carlo. “Why don’t you get some sleep. I’ll clean up the dishes.”
“Son…” his father said, trailing off again. He was never the type of man who shared his emotions so easily.
“Yes, Papa?”
“…I’m proud of you.”
Carlo smiled, and hugged his father again. “I’m proud of you, too, Papa. We all are. I love you.”
And in that moment, the two of them shared a strange feeling – a feeling that would return to Carlo again and again in the years to come, always arriving in the darkest of hours, when the world he’d been wrapped up in was threatening to tear him apart from the inside out.
It was a feeling of understanding. Carlo saw what he had to do, and he understood why he had to do it. He had to protect the name of his father, and by extension, his mother and brother. His family depended on him.
And armed with that knowledge, there was no one in this world that could take that away from him – not even Dominic Pirelli.
He would make this sacrifice for his family, but he would never forget who he was.
Chapter Four
A chime sounded, and a robotic female voice echoed through the empty subway car.
“Prossima fermata, Trastevere.”
Fingering the wad of banknotes in the pocket of his leather jacket, Carlo stepped out of the traincar and took the stairs two at a time, as he’d done since he was a boy. No matter what was going on in his life, he always loved the feeling of stepping out from the subway station and feeling the cool breeze of Trastevere on his cheeks.
He knew the roads by heart – probably could have walked home with his eyes closed if he had to. But why close his eyes, when the beauty of the city was all around him?
What he’d said to Jessica was true: he still felt as though he didn’t know all of Rome’s secrets, even after living here his whole life. But in this neighborhood, there wasn’t an avenue or an alleyway he hadn’t been down a hundred times.
“Buona sera, Natalina,” he said, as he passed his favorite panetteria, whose owner always seemed to have a sweet of some kind waiting for him.
“Ciao, Carlo!” she called from inside the shop, her grandmotherly face breaking into a wide smile when she saw him. “Why don’t you come in for a snack? I’ve just made some biscotti. Delicious!”
“Natalina, that sounds wonderful,” he replied. “But I can’t, I’m sorry. I’ve got to go home now.”
“Ah!” she cried. “You youngsters… always moving, always going somewhere! No matter. You come see me tomorrow, eh?”
He laughed. “I will, Natalina, I promise. And hey – I might have a friend with me, too.”
She raised her eyebrows. “A friend, huh,” she smirked knowingly. “What’s she look like?”
“She’s American!” he called out over his shoulder, and he laughed again as his reply sent her eyebrows even higher.
“What! Una regazza Americana! Che cosa bella. You just be careful, Carlo! These Hollywood girls… they steal your heart! You can’t trust them! Why, my neighbor’s son married an American, and…”
“Cia
o, Natalina,” Carlo waved, leaving her to her chatter.
He had to laugh. If there was one thing Natalina liked more than baking, it was gossip. By tomorrow, she’ll probably tell the whole neighborhood, he thought to himself.
But his smile quickly faded as his mind turned to the business of the evening.
He wasn’t going home – not yet, anyway. First he had to stop at Dominic’s club, to pay his respects to the boss and hand him this week’s earnings. And the sooner he got this unpleasant errand over with, the sooner he could go home and crash for the night.
He’d had such a spring in his step leaving the subway, but now his feet were dragging slower and slower as he neared Dominic’s club, at the end of a long, seedy-looking street called Via Lavandaio. The name meant Washerman’s Street, because historically this neighborhood had been where all the laundrymen of Rome lived and worked. But all the washermen had moved away or changed jobs long ago, and now the avenue was the main going-out district of the neighborhood.
And Dominic’s club, Terrazza – the Terrace – was the biggest of them all.
It was only 8:30, much too early for the evening’s patrons to begin arriving. But tonight was Thursday, and Thursdays at Terrazza were always big nights.
In the past two or three years, this neighborhood was starting to become trendy, thanks in no small part to Dominic’s pull with city council members. He was making a fortune off of Trastevere’s transformation, at clubs like Terrazza and a dozen others lining the street.
It didn’t matter to Dominic that the character of the neighborhood was changing – and frankly, most of the residents of Trastevere were happy, as they were seeing business boom for the first time in years. But in Carlo’s opinion, their joy was short-sighted. All these bars and clubs moving in – all the big, flashy new buildings – they were destroying the very thing that made Trastevere special in the first place.
But he kept his opinions to himself, of course. No sense ruffling Dominic’s feathers. And anyway, there wasn’t much he could do about it, now was there?
Carlo walked up the steps of Terrazza, bathed in blue neon light, and slapped hands with the two bouncers working the door: Matteo and Luca, two huge Sicilians who’d been working under Dominic for over a decade.
“How’s it going, guys?” he asked, and they silently nodded their hellos. “You seen my brother?”
“Not tonight, Carlo,” said Luca. “I think Dominic’s still got him down in Fiumicino working the docks.”
“Dio mio,” Carlo groaned. “I don’t know what Rocky did, but Dominic’s been riding him hard for a month now.”
Working the docks – helping unload the illegal imports on shipping vessels – was one of the more undesirable jobs in the organization. It was filthy, tedious, and the police presence in the harbor meant you were at higher risk of getting caught. Carlo’s brother Rocky had been working for Dominic for just over a year now, but somehow he kept managing to screw up one way or another.
Carlo hadn’t wanted Rocky to join the organization in the first place. He’d even gone to Dominic and tried to convince him that his brother wasn’t cut out for the job. But Rocky had always loved the allure of the mafia, and he didn’t listen to Carlo’s pleadings. He’d always been into those gangster movies, with lots of guns and glamour, even though Carlo had tried to explain to him that the day-to-day mafia work was nothing like that.
And in no small part, Carlo felt responsible for bringing Rocky into this life.
“Well, if you hear anything, let me know,” Carlo said. “Thanks, guys. I’ll see you.”
The bouncers opened the door for him, and Carlo stepped into the dimly-lit hall of the nightclub, past the bar and into the back room through a small door to the left of the stage. From there, it was up another flight of stairs and down a narrow hallway, with one-way mirrors looking down at the dance floor below.
Security cameras were everywhere, their red lights serving as a reminder that in this place, you were always being watched.
As Carlo approached the door to the inner offices, the doorman – Vincent Pirelli, Dominic’s cousin and one of his most loyal workers – put out a hand to stop him.
“Just one minute, Carlo. Dom’s in there with some big-shots.”
“Sure, Vinnie,” said Carlo. “No problem.”
“And by the way,” he said, “it would be a good night not to piss off the boss. He’s in a real mood tonight.”
Carlo smiled inwardly. It seemed like Dominic was always pissed off at Vinnie about one thing or another. Vinnie was a good guy, but he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed.
“I’ll try,” he replied. “Thanks.”
Suddenly, the door swung open, and two men walked out, accompanied by another bouncer. The men passed quickly, but just a passing glance at their faces was enough to make Carlo’s blood run cold.
“What the fuck?” he thought to himself. He’d seen those men before, he was sure of it.
But where?
He turned to try and get another look at them, but they were already far down the hallway.
Trying to shake off the feeling, Carlo rolled back his shoulders and walked through the door. He couldn’t be distracted by the sight of those guys – whoever they were – during his meeting with Dominic.
When you were talking to Dominic Pirelli, you always had to be on your toes.
Chapter Five
Dominic took a long sip of his whiskey, curling his tongue approvingly as he felt the pleasant, burning smoothness swirl around his gums. He held the glass up to the light, nodding as he examined its rich, golden color.
Contrary to the Italian stereotype, he wasn’t much of a wine-drinker – but damn, could he appreciate a nice glass of Scotch.
His eyes flicked over to the TV monitor near his desk, displaying a near-empty club on the small black-and-white screen. The picture switched to a view of the parking lot, and he watched the two men he’d just been meeting with as they climbed into the back of a silver Mercedes.
They’d brought the scotch as a gift – a peace offering, of sorts. But even though he was drinking the whiskey, Dominic wasn’t sure if he was willing to accept the peace offer or not.
The door opened, interrupting his thoughts. He looked up from his desk with minor annoyance.
“Boss,” Vinnie said. “It’s Carlo.”
“Can’t you knock?” said Dominic. “How many times I gotta tell you?”
But his cousin just stared back at him with that dumb look of apology Dominic knew all too well. He sighed. You couldn’t change some people.
“Send him in,” he sighed.
“Sure, boss.” The door closed momentarily, and Dominic had just a moment to collect his thoughts before Carlo Ambrosi walked in.
Jesus, the Ambrosis. What a family. Out of the whole neighborhood, he didn’t think one family had given him more headaches then they had. It had all started with Giorgio’s museum – it had seemed like a simple enough loan, but of course the old man was one of those types to put “artistic integrity,” or whatever you wanted to call it, above profit. It hadn’t been long before Dom had realized he was never going to get his money back.
If it had been anyone else, he would have solved the problem one of two ways, with a noose or a bullet. But he couldn’t do that to Giorgio. The guy’s wife had taught Dominic in kindergarten, for Christ’s sake. Dom may have been many things, but he wasn’t a monster.
So he’d called Giorgio into his office, and they’d worked out a deal. His son Carlo would join the family and work for Dominic until the debt was paid off. It wasn’t supposed to have been more than a year or so. Dom knew the kid had a future in front of him.
But here it was, eight years later, and Carlo was more wrapped up with the Pirelli family than ever.
That was the thing about the Mafia: it grabbed hold of you. And once you fell in with the family, you never really left.
“Evening, Dominic,” said Carlo, walking in and touching the gold ring
on Dominic’s left hand before grasping his right in a firm handshake.
That’s one thing Dominic always liked about Carlo: he was respectful, but he wasn’t a brown-noser. Some of the guys acted like puppy dogs, always looking up to Dom wide-eyed and seeking approval. But Carlo was smart; he saw what it took to earn Dom’s respect. He worked hard, and he carried himself well – he was even a role model for some of the younger guys.
Sometimes, Dominic even wished Carlo had been born a Pirelli.
“Mio figlio,” Dom said. “You want a drink?” He picked up the bottle of Scotch and offered it to him. “It’s good stuff.”
Lust for Danger: A Mafia Romance -- Book One: The Family [Erotic Mafia Romance Book] Page 2