Bound to the Mafia

Chapter 4 - Bruno - 7 Years Ago

I throw Giovanni to the ground and fall down after him, getting my arms through his as he thrashes and swears at me. The group around us cheers for me or urges Giovanni to get his shit together.

Giovanni's tough, though, and he works his way out of my grip in the dirt and tries to get the upper hand on me, and we grapple as dust gets kicked up. Our work shirts are already stained brown, and we've breathed as much sawdust as dirty air. This is nothing.

We're in the little yard-space behind Uncle Carlo's workshop, and by the way things look right now, you'd think it's a regular community picnic of Italians.

Some of the other guys around my age are watching us wrestle, waiting for their turn to take on the winner. They're alright guys. I got into my share of serious fights with them the first few months I was in this big new country, but sometimes a bloody lip and a good fight are all you need to make a solid friend.

And the girls aren't far away. Most of them are Italians, but some of them are more local, come to see how we have a good time in the old country. We boys like showing off for them, and they sure as hell seem to like watching. A few of them are cheering us on, especially Giovanni's sweetheart.

I hate to make her man disappoint her, but I've got something to prove to these second-generation kids!

Giovanni has his knee in my stomach for a moment, and I almost think he's about to get the better of me. Just as he starts to try and pull us over and pin me down, though, I remember a trick my uncle taught me, and I move just so in his arms, making Giovanni lose his grip and giving me just enough advantage to turn him over on his stomach and wrench his arm behind his back.

"Fuck!" he groans, and he taps the ground to the cheers of some of the crowd around us as I stand up, holding my arms out and strutting around with a big, stupid grin on my face. It's a strut that's gotten me in more fights than I'd like to admit, but Giovanni and I are on good terms, and he's a pretty easygoing guy when it's all said and done.

As I put my hands on my hips and let myself breathe, raising my eyebrows at some of the girls cheering and clapping for me, I see past them to the handful of tables, where some of the older adults are hanging out.

Teenagers aren't the only ones who spend afternoons behind Uncle Carlo's shop. With a few tables, some decks of cards, and some homemade limoncello, Uncle Carlo managed to turn this little yard into a regular community center.

It's not unlike back home. Back in Taranto, we're all just a bunch of workers and workers' kids, so it doesn't take much for us to figure out how to have a good time with what we've got. And days like this, I'm starting to see why Uncle Carlo likes this country as much as he does.

These wrestling matches happen pretty fast and loose. Anyone who wants a turn dives in, and every now and then we get some grudge matches going, but we're all pretty good-natured. If anything gets too heated, we laugh it off over a drinking match when the adults aren't around, or if they're nice enough to turn a blind eye.

My next opponent is a big guy named Ricky, but the fight with Giovanni hasn't come close to wearing me out.

The fight is a back-and-forth of him trying to get a hold of me and me being too quick to let him. Just when I think I've got a hold of him, he surprises me, and vice-versa. Even though I've been here a while, there's still some national pride that goes into these fights. We're all Italians, but I'm fresh off the boat, so to speak. I've got to show off how we do things in southern Italy, and they want to see if they measure up to a hot-blooded European like me.

Their parents all tell them stories about how tough people in the old country are, and I aim to prove them all right.

The fight ends with me getting up under Ricky and suplexing him into the dirt, and the crowd of teens loses their shit. Apparently wrestling is pretty popular on TV here, so theatrics like that are impressive.