Marco

"Siamo stati seguiti, credo. Cosa sai finora? Sono gli uomini di Rodrigo?/We have been followed, I think. What do you know so far? Is it Rodrigo's men?" I ask Tomaso hastily.

Roxi is staring at us with an ambiguous look on her face. Great, and what now?

"Che cosa? Sei stato seguito?/ What? You have been followed?" This doesn't sound good at all.

"Sì... E vedo che sei venuto qui con un'altra questione di cui sei pronto a caricarmi. Quello che è successo? Stefano ha bevuto? Drogarsi? Più del solito, intendo. Prova a scoprire chi era, ok? Un furgone nero senza targa./Yeah... And I see you came here with another issue you are ready to dump on my plate. What happened? Did Stefano drink? Get high? More than usual I mean. Try to find out who it was, ok? A black van without a plate."

"Ok, lo farò. E no. Il signor Orlov lo ha chiamato. Non sono sicuro di cosa parlassero, ma ho potuto sentire le sue urla dalla cucina e sono corso da lui. Quando sono arrivato, tutto quello che potevo capire erano le parolacce più creative della lingua italiana. Presumo che non vogliano più fare affari insieme. Il che è... brutto, per usare un eufemismo, signore. /Ok, will do. And no. Mr. Orlov called him. Not sure what they talked but I could hear his screams from the kitchen and hurried up. When I arrived all I could understand were the most creative swear words in the Italian language. I assume they don't want to do business together anymore. Which is... bad to say the least, sir."

Tomaso has been working for our family for many years now. He is a good and most of all calm man. Otherwise, he wouldn't have survived three capos, Stefano not even being the most hotheaded, and by saying that it's implied the bar is set quite high.

"Dove cazzo sei stato?/ Where the fuck have you been?" Stefano is screaming from the distance and heading towards us.

Shit. 

"Roxi, I am really sorry but I have to go." I don't dare to look at her. I am aware of how it looks and how it makes us look: her as easy fun, me as a jerk.

"It's okay," she mutters slowly.

This will need some serious effort to make it up. I dare to look back in the end and she just stares at us with the same ambiguous expression, then blinks, puts the helmet she was holding down, and walks away calmly. There is no tantrum, not even a frown.

"Where were you? And why?" asks Tomaso silently while we are still far enough for Stefano not to hear.

"For a ride," I answer a bit unsure about what to feel and also not really feeling like explaining.

"You know... Roxana, she is a good girl and you are..."

"I know," I cut him off not wanting to hear what he has to say.

Stefano's hair is disheveled, and his shirt is half open. He looks like having been in a fight without having been in a fight, as far as I know at least. This is going to be a long night again.

Unwillingly my mind flies to the first moment we met more than twenty years ago. He was fifteen and I was seven. He looked much like a superhero to me; he, who was driving a car and firing guns while most children of that age barely knew how to ride a bike, and the most action and shooting they were taking part in was in video games. And rightfully so, because if you do that with fifteen it is quite probable you end up being a messed-up adult.

If that is the reference system I am beyond messed up though.

Stefano has issues, but the hero in a seven-year-old child's eyes stays, with reason or not, a hero for a long time.

We all have our demons and our motivations, and having been Salvatore Messina's son and heir came with great power and great pressure. Spoiled but never free, powerful but always at the whim of a not-always-kind parent, might have made Stefano into the man he is today, that and other smaller or bigger perks and tragedies.

"Let's go to the office and talk about what happened."

"Don Marco is right, let's talk calmly, Don Stefano," enforces Tomaso.

"There is nothing to talk about. I want to sever all business relationships with Alexei Orlov and if he annoys me further I am going to send him a traditional Sicilian present to remind him not to fuck with me ever again."

Once in the office, he pours himself a glass of whisky. That is certainly not the first today or the last and most certainly not a good idea.

"We can't do that, Stefano. It doesn't make any sense. What exactly did he say and why did that even start?"

"I told him that we are in business with Aziz al Rashid."

Fuck. Alex suspected but never knew for certain. Now he does and that will affect my relationship with him too. Unlike Stefano, I do like Alex. We also have history.

Many moons ago, while father was still alive and life was bearable, I was sent to London to study. Alex, the son of an old business partner and friend of his, was living there, most of the time at least. So it came that I met one of the most promising young British businessmen.

It was not hard to befriend him. Alex might not be the most jovial fellow but he actually has a pleasant personality and is extremely smart.

It made my years in London quite beautiful and carefree until father died and everything changed.

"Why? Why on earth did you do that?"

"Because we are doing that. I choose Aziz if I need to choose. Which reminds me, why the fuck did you tell Aziz that we are not sure about doing business with him? First, the shit you pulled in Mexico, and now this. I have the feeling you take a lot of decisions on your own lately," screams Stefano and bumps his fist against the table.

I sigh and try to remain calm. He is hitting a sensitive subject.

"I didn't pull any shit in Mexico. That is how things sometimes go down on a field mission: unpredictable things happen. But how can you know that if you never lift a finger in that regard and it is always somebody else that does the dirty work?" I reply trying to keep my tone as calm as possible but he is making it very difficult.

Tomaso is looking at me concerned, knowing how bad things can escalate when Stefano is in this mood.

"Now they think Rodrigo was assassinated and Hector's authority is challenged," barks Stefano.

This is not a discussion I want to have right now; it will only stir another conflict.

"Hector is a big boy; he can handle it, and if he doesn't, he doesn't deserve to be the boss," I answer truthfully.

"But we need Hector to keep the upper hand in South America."

"We shouldn't meddle in whatever is going down there. I still think it's a bad idea but I complied."

In the end, it is not like I feel sorry for Rodrigo, but I would have preferred our house to stay out of foreign conflicts and, well, to sip coffee on the balcony, not being shot at.

"That is not something you have a say in, as it also isn't who I do business with. And if I want it to be Aziz, it is Aziz," he screams again, reminded of the current matter.

The vein on Stefano's temple pulsates visibly and you can probably hear his screams till Taormina.

"Stefano, be reasonable. First of all, you don't know Aziz that well. This is a wild venture and if we play double Alexei will be pissed."

"So? I do business with whom I please. And he should be afraid of me and of losing business with me. Besides, I don't like Orlov. I never did. I don't like his face, nor his condescending attitude, nor how he thinks that he is better than all of us. 'I am not a mobster, Stefano.' He can go fuck himself."

This is not good, not good at all.

"But you do like his money and the fact that we have enough legal business to not have to rely on the illegal stuff like in the past. That is in part because of him. Because of him you can pose in Forbes, take a stroll in the city, sit at the big boys' table in daylight, and not worry about the police like our father did," I counter. Money is always a good argument, though Stefano cares less than I do where it comes from.

"I have money too and so does Aziz. Who cares where from? How can he think he is better than all of us but still want to pay money to kill the guy who wants to bone his wife."

That's a delicate subject I must admit.

"Well, wouldn't you want to kill the guy who is in love with your wife and actively trying to get her attention? You of all people should understand that with your very acute sense of property."

That I can tell stories about. Of how many times I had to clean up after a jealousy tantrum.

Stefano is a possessive man, jealous and impulsive. He had had many lovers over the years, never only one at the same time and never the same many months in a row. However, if he wasn't monogamous it didn't mean that the woman, or occasional man, didn't have to be and whoever even dared to look at his so-called possession was the object of his very destructive rage. And I was obliged to settle the matter after he got bored or it escalated badly.

"Acute sense of property... Well, I guess that is true for most men. I don't like sharing, but apparently, you don't have an issue with that, I see. Did you have fun?"

"Fun?" I ask slightly puzzled.

"The little Swiss girl does give good blowjobs. She almost gagged, but didn't in the end, and you know I can be rough. How she was looking at me with her doe eyes was quite delicious."

Motherfucker. I can see the malicious smile stretching over his face. He is really hard to understand or tolerate, many times, like now for example.

What the fuck did you do, Stefano?

"Asshole. How many times do I have to tell you to not fuck the staff," I say, trying to seem as unaffected as possible.

"I fuck who I want. I am the capo, after all, not you, little brother. Though it is said that the second sons have the fun. So cheer up, Marco."

"Mhm. I am having a blast. I still insist on disagreeing and think I did the right thing. Smuggling guns is dangerous and our guys never operated in Africa. It will probably mean casualties and unwanted attention so your business with Aziz is dangerous and makes zero sense," I continue with the main issues but my tone gets more and more out of control. 

He slept with Roxi and she didn't tell me anything about it. That means it was either bad or intentional. Don't think about it right now!

"The guns are only the beginning. I want to get on his good side and to the petroleum business. And besides, if I want to do it I don't need a reason or your approval. I am the capo, your capo too and you have to comply!" screams Stefano and throws all the objects from the table on the floor in an angry outburst.

"Not by my fucking choice! I dread having been born into this family. Oh, how I wish to be able to say I am not a mobster and a murderer but I fucking am, because of father and because of you."

It is not the first time we are fighting but it is the first time I said so bluntly how I feel and for one brief second it feels liberating until my eyes land on the blood drop trickling down from Stefano's nose.

"Stefano...?!" I scream hurrying over to catch him before he collapses on the floor to prevent him from hitting his head.

"He is having a seizure. Tomaso, call the doctor."

"Brother..." he gasps, grabbing my hand. The touch feels so conflicting.

"Fucking idiot..." I sigh.

"I don't want to die, Marco." His voice is fading.

"You are not dying."

At least not right now...