'The lost city of Atlantis once existed', 'Aliens are walking among us'. 𝒁𝒂𝒓𝒂 believes in all. But Mafia in the 21st century is a MYTH.
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𝑮𝒊𝒂𝒏 𝑨𝒓𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒊, the underboss of the organized crime family Cosa Nostra, meets a kindergarten te...
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My solo drive to Fosdinovo, a small village away from the common itineraries of Tuscany was like a roller coaster ride. From the flat wide-open land to the streets full of people, crossing the road without looking. The weather had been like a woman's mood, bright sunny to the cloud threatening to open. The food I ate on my way here was up to my throat, frightening to spill it out as I drove through the potholes. No man had ever gone through this much inconvenience to meet his end.
Fosdinovo's weather in March is called pazzerello(somewhat crazy), my rented car was running AC on full blast. The heat outside was fighting to get in, making a humid temperature inside. A thick cloud of dust momentarily barred my view. When the dust settled, relief washed over me as I had reached the green landscape again. Women wearing loose cotton dresses were working on the grape farm, their heads covered in a red bandana, tied into a bow on top. The pot-bellied men gave me a sharp-edged look, straightening the straps of their dungarees. I rolled my eyes at their attempt at intimidation.
I reached my destination, pulling over the car in front of a humble cottage surrounded by flower vines. A middle-aged man running his fingers over the grapes, like it was pussy steered from his lovemaking session with the bunch of plump grapes and opened the door to the cottage.
I had to hunch down to walk inside through the small doorframe. The cottage raked of the finest cheese. Even with the possibility of death, my soul screamed at me to eat them as my last dying wish. Crossing the small living room I entered the room of Francesco Armani.
A century ago, one of the two Armani brothers decided to expand their illegal business on the American territory. One took half of his inheritance to set up his business overseas, while the other remained in Italy. They lived a peaceful life in the humble streets of Fosdinovo.
Each and every woman here working in the farms holds a short temper and a pistol. The old pervert I passed on my way here will crush my throat like a ripe grape If I as much as raise my voice in front of this 80-year-old man. Shriveled like an old prune, who somehow still had a head half peppered with grey hair. His body was slightly shaking because of his age, but they will remain still while aiming a shot.
"You haven't done anything to deserve to sit with me..." he began in his brittle voice, glaring at me with his gunmetal grey eyes clouded by thick whiteness. He perched on the walnut chair with the help of a cane. "But you are Claudia's son..." he smacked his lips, shaking his head sadly, motioning me to sit on the chair across from him by the window opening to the grapes farm.
"Why did you kill your don.?" He demanded, watching me closely.
He knew everything. Sometimes I wonder if he knows everything or just bluffs by stating something everyone is speculating. But he has the power to ask them without the risk of getting killed.
I told him everything my father had done from the beginning. It started 5 years ago to please the man he was associating with. They wanted kids, Francesco spat on the ground, holding his cane in a tight grip I didn't know he had the power to. My father realized how beneficial it had been, he lured everyone in the mayor's son's club.
