I thought I’d take the matter in my own hands seeing as how I excel at tech things and have connections of my own. I used to follow my brothers without them knowing it, so I learned how they operate and how things really worked behind the scenes . . . as much as anyone could from the outside.
But in this matter with Guido, I can’t use their resources. It would give away what I know and raise questions I don’t want to answer. I’ve become streetwise and savvy at many skill sets, which I keep to myself because it makes life easier if a potential foe underestimates me. I always have a backup plan too. By that I mean, I know how to disappear before someone disappears me.
So here I am, a month later, using a disguise because there are security cameras everywhere, to be on a train that takes me to another part of Italy to get fake identifications. I’m having two passports made, one for me and one for Sophia. With today’s holograms, pictures, and chips, it’s a real art form . . . and expensive.
Two weeks later, I pick up the documents, but when I return home Sofia isn’t answering her phone. I assume her husband was around and she couldn’t talk, but when that night stretched into the next day, I got a sinking feeling in my gut.
I know better than to ask her husband, who is openly seeing another woman. I can only assume he did something to Sofia, the new version of divorce. His new girl parades around in her unnatural curves built by butt and boob implants. She is definitely top heavy by design. Her gloss covered lips are overstated and akin to that of a porn star. I’m sure fillers were involved. No one has lips that plump without it.
Guido parades her around like a prized filly when he meets my brothers for guys date nights, the nights not meant for the wives.
I’m mourning the loss of my friend. I have no idea what might have happened to her, and I fear the worst. Did he have her killed? Has she been sold into prostitution? She might be in one of our houses for the girls being trafficked. They’d be stupid to keep her this close to home so there’s no telling where they will send her to avoid someone in our community from recognizing her.
The men don’t tell the women anything, but we stick together and have a way of finding things out through our network. I say ‘we’ because I’m a woman and I’m disgusted by these man-pigs who treat us like property.
I’ve managed to dodge the bullet because of my birthright and status. Plus, I have come from money and money comes in handy. All my life I had the protection of my father, but do I have it with my brothers? Or the Calabrese family?
I’ve been to where the wives are sent after their husbands discard them. It’s a condo building that’s run more like a ghetto with armed guards. Sure, they have a roof over their head and the kids are fed but they are not free to leave.
The sons are usually taken away from them and given to grandparents until they can be trained as soldiers. Mafia husbands don’t trust angry wives and when the relationship hits a dead end, it’s the women who pay the price.
I do what I can to help but it’s limited and fleeting.
Sofia’s disappearance bothers me. I have no idea if she’s dead or alive but I’m making it my mission to find out.
Knowing how cold-blooded her husband is, I have to be careful. I’m a Conti but hey, in the mafia, there is no limit on how many family members can be killed by their own blood.
I’m on thin ice already for helping the girls in these shitty brothels, but the organization tolerates me as my presence keeps the girls calm.
Sofia’s husband, Guido, lives up to the stereotypical American bastardization of the name as a bad guy. It’s evident something is wrong. Sofia’s parents are afraid to even speak to me when I knock on the door of their apartment. All they can do is whisper through it to let me know they haven’t heard from her. Then they asked me to leave.
It pisses the men off when I try to mediate on behalf of the girls and get them much needed medical attention. I abhor what’s happening in these above-ground dungeons, but I can’t set the girls free because my own family would kill me.
Dressed in sneakers and an old shirt and jeans, I drop by the compound to take food and some womanly items to the women. On my way in, I see my brother and as I brush past him, he puts his arm up.
“What are you doing, Fausto?” I ask as he stops me at the door.
“You’re not allowed in. We got a new crew of guys and new girls. The word is you aren’t welcome around here. Your access codes have been revoked too, just thought you’d want to know. You aren’t on security anymore either, so I guess you are out of a job,” he taunts.
“Give me a break, you know some of these girls will be beaten to death,” I try to reason with him, but he’s not budging. Amazing how his voice is like Dad’s and now his behavior follows suit.
With my martial arts training, I could break his arm before he could stop me, but I don’t take the bait. It would ruin the element of surprise and the less he knows about me, the safer I am.
“Where did the girls go?” I look toward the woods as if to ask if they’re buried in a ditch. The drugs take a toll on their bodies and the girls never last long. It seems the only way out of here is in a garbage bag.
“Dunno, you can ask Angelo if you want,” he suggests in a mocking manner as if I really want to talk to the new don. “Or you might want to check out the Micheli family.”
“Fuck Angelo,” I spat at him which is dangerous since he’s in the ranks but he’s also my brother and I rely on the blood being thicker between us than him and Angelo. They can both be sons of bitches. “What about the Micheli family?”
“All I know is that money was exchanged, and we got word to move the girls out in a box truck. That’s it. Sofia is gone.”
“I doubt that we would do any business with the Micheli family.” I sneer, knowing we’ve had a long-standing feud with them.
How did he know Sofia is missing? Is he implying she went to the Michelis?
“Watch it, sis,” he hisses in my ear.
Weird that after Dad dies, and most probably at Dante’s hand, we’re in bed with them. I haven’t given Angelo Calabrese, the new don, enough credit for patching up those old wounds. It crosses my mind that Angelo might have been in on my father’s murder if what he’s saying is true. Angelo certainly stands to profit the most now that I think about it.