Black Death And White Roses (1) Mafia Romance

23. The second sons have the fun

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.