“Nice car, good ride?”
“Yes, I’ll be on the docks tonight when the shipment comes in,” I assure him.
“Thank you.” He taps the car hood for luck as I back out.
The cover of darkness is ideal for drug smuggling, but it would be better if it didn’t rain because driving on poorly marked highways is treacherous at best. The drugs are wrapped and hidden in the bottom of cans packed with pineapple. The cans will need to be opened and the drugs repackaged before moving it along the supply chain.
I stop at a tabacchi where sundries are sold to buy nicotine gum. I’ve been trying to quit smoking for years. While sipping an espresso, I notice an advert on the counter for a large fundraiser in Rome at the end of the week to raise money for restorations at the museum. My interest is piqued and I’m free of Lia, so I make a mental note to go. These events typically draw people with money and influence, so this may be an opportunity to mix business with pleasure.
With so much history in Italy, there is always something to restore. Stick a shovel in the ground and you’re bound to hit some antiquity. The new subway terminal for the Colosseum has dragged on for fifteen years because a work stoppage is called every time a relic is found, no matter how small. I understand the government wants everything salvaged, but there’s a point when you need to press on in the name of progress.
My second phone vibrates; ah, family.
“Hello Grandfather.” I slip inside my car for privacy. I ignore the ugly stares and gesticulations of those waiting impatiently for my parking spot.
Horns honk so I put my car in gear and head downtown to see my mother.
“I want you to check out our Sicilian friends. Word has it they will be in Rome this weekend for some museum event. Don De Luca has been shipping in more cocaine than he’s selling us and it’s part of our joint venture, so he might be skimming. We’re also light on the weapons.”
“I’m on it. Do you have proof?”
“We’re working on one of his informants as we speak. He’ll crack. This might be a way into the oligarchy. I want that before I die,” Grandpa states.
I know how important it is for him to have a seat at the table with the others who run the international underworld syndicate referred to as the 12.
“Got it. I’ll be there. Do I approach him?”
“You can tell him we know he’s cheated us and there is a price. He won’t give up his seat at the table, but he might be persuaded to share it if you know what I mean. Until then, we can use him for access. I’ll think on it. Plan to kill his son as a warning for stealing. How is your mother?”
“Sure, I’ll wait for your word. As for Mama, I’m on my way to visit her now.”
“Enjoy your time with her.” He hangs up.
That is cryptic even for the old man.
I pull into a reserved spot near our ice cream shop. It’s one of many businesses we own and launder money through. Plus, we deal drugs out the back, packed under pints of gelato or boxes of waffle cones right under the unsuspecting noses of the authorities.
“Mama.” I hug her and give her a kiss on both cheeks before she returns to a huge mixer filled with lemon gelato. “You work too hard,” I say, and I mean it. I can’t remember a day when I haven’t seen her break her back to make everything from scratch.
Even though she comes from one of the most successful Albanian criminal families, she wants her independence and I admire her for it. As always, she’s dressed for work in the kitchen, wearing a smock over a faded house dress and sensible no skid sneakers.
One would never suspect that she has riches at her disposal. Her hair is under a shower cap to keep it out of the food, but she no longer tries to cover the grey. I notice dark circles under her eyes and worry she and Papa are not getting along.
“It’s a normal day,” she says, wiping her brow with the back of her hand.
“What’s up?”
“What? You’ve been out, I hate you being near the Michelis,” she chastises me.
“Mama, it’s part of the job. It’s a brilliant plan. It’s always good to have an inside track when we’re encroaching on their territory.”
“Shit, it’s dangerous as hell. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you. You could be taken for a mole. Well,” she scoffs, “you really are one. I raised you better, you’re too important for such nonsense. Look at what your grandfather has built. It will all be yours one day.”
“Yeah, like when I’m too old to enjoy that kind of money. I mean, grandfather won’t give up the reins for a long time, and then there is your brother who might take over. Besides, I love living in Italy.”
“True, but you can be head of the family in Italy and my brother can take over things in Albania.”
I shrug. I’m young, too young to be that powerful, and I’m still learning from Grandfather. I’m smart enough to know there are a million ways to get things done.