Mafia Kings: Valentino: Dark Mafia Romance Series #6 by Olivia Thorn

Mafia Kings: Valentino: Chapter 28

As we approached the airport, I pulled up my window shade and looked out.

Sicily is the biggest island in the Mediterranean, just west of the toe of the ‘boot’ of Italy.

Palermo is its biggest city and sits on the northern shore. Through the window, I could see the port and the massive docks for all the cruise ships.

The city itself was an odd mix of the old and new. There were lots of ancient buildings, usually tan with orange-colored roofs… and then it became this sprawling, modern city that stretched for miles.

What I noticed most of all were the mountains. They surrounded everything: the city of Palermo and pretty much the entire northern part of the island.

The plane landed at the airport, which only had two runways.

When we got off the jet in a hangar, a black BMW was waiting for us.

The driver – a sour-looking guy in a suit 15 years out of style – stood by the car.

“Your names?” he asked my brother in a Sicilian accent.

“Niccolo and Valentino Rosolini.”

He gestured to the rear doors. “Get in the car.”

Not much in the way of hospitality.

Niccolo and I settled into the backseat. At least the car was a lot newer than the jet.

“We will reach the Don in 30 minutes,” the driver said to us as he pulled out of the airport.

I looked at Niccolo. “Does Don Vicari live in Palermo?”

“No, that’s just where we’re meeting.”

“Why didn’t we fly onto his property?”

“Because no one knows for sure where it is, and he probably doesn’t want us to know. One more lesson: Sicilians are famously paranoid.”

“You would be, too,” the driver said in a grumpy voice, “if everybody tried to kill you all the time.”

“Agreed,” Niccolo said pleasantly, then gave me a look. See? Be careful what you say.

We drove for 20 minutes along the coast. Once we got off the highway, we started down winding streets bordered by tan residential buildings. The two- and three-story ones looked like they were a couple of centuries old, but the taller apartment buildings might have been built in the last few decades.

It wasn’t the best neighborhood. A lot of the buildings looked rundown, and there were piles of garbage along the street. Cement walls along the road were plastered with tacky billboards for grocery stores and car dealerships.

If this guy wants to meet HERE, I thought, I don’t see how he’s the richest man in the Cosa Nostra.

I had to eat my words. The rundown neighborhood gave way to a nicer area, and the car pulled up to a huge hotel that sat behind a tan wall with metal gates.

A white-gloved porter let us in, and we parked in front of the lobby.

I noticed a couple of things.

Number one: the valets eyed our car nervously and kept their distance.

Number two: when the driver got out, nobody came over to take the keys from him or drive the car somewhere else. Apparently he was just going to leave it there, and nobody was going to say otherwise.

Number three: when Nic and I got out, the driver didn’t make the slightest effort to open our doors for us.

Not that I cared; I wasn’t a spoiled little rich boy who needed my car door held open for me. But it was interesting that the driver genuinely didn’t seem to give a fuck about offending us.

He led the way into the lobby, which was insane.

In The Godfather Part II, Michael Corleone goes to Cuba to see another gangster about investing in Havana casinos. The problem is that he goes at the end of 1958, just as Fidel Castro’s forces are about to seize control and turn the island communist.

Anyway, the hotel in the movie is amazing: beautiful, huge, and built over a hundred years ago with a lot of old-world charm and luxury.

That’s what this hotel reminded me of: the Cuban hotel in The Godfather Part II. It looked like somebody had transported it right from the film into modern-day Palermo. The polished wooden check-in desks… the plush red-and-gold carpet… the white hallways and high-arched doorways.

The driver led us past all that and down the hall.

I noticed once again that all the desk workers and bellhops glanced nervously at us as we passed. Still, nobody said anything or even smiled in greeting.

Apparently they knew we were there for Don Vicari…

And they knew who – and what – he was.

The driver ushered us into an elevator made of dark wood and brass trimmings. When we got out on the fourth floor, we walked down the luxurious hallway past a dozen rooms until we reached a couple of big-ass doors. On the wall was a brass plaque engraved with the words La Suite Presidenziale – The Presidential Suite.

The driver knocked twice.

At the same time, Niccolo flashed me a look: Don’t do anything stupid.

Then the door opened, and we walked into a completely different world.

Half a dozen guys stood around in the foyer of a giant suite. They ranged from my age to late 40s, and they all wore suits that were either cheap or a decade out of style.

These guys definitely didn’t give a shit about fashion.

A couple of them patted me and Niccolo down. Satisfied that we weren’t carrying, they led us through another set of doors…

And into the main living room of the suite.

At the far end of the room, in a throne-like wooden chair, sat Don Vicari.

He was in his late 50s – about my father’s age when he died.

Once upon a time, Vicari had probably been a real bruiser. He was built like a heavyweight boxer and still had a muscular body, but he also had a gut.

He wasn’t fat, though – at least not around the face. No jowls, no double chin. More like he was just… solid. Meaty. A guy you did not want to get into a fistfight with.

His suit was even worse than his men’s: casual, old, and out of style. It looked like he’d stopped buying new clothes 20 years ago.

The only flamboyant thing he wore was a diamond set into a heavy gold ring. Not like a wedding ring, with the rock exposed, but with the diamond sunk deep into the gold base.

His hair – combed straight back from his forehead – was thinning slightly but still jet black.

The mustache was exactly the same as I remembered it: big and bushy, a real porn ‘stache. No beard, although he had five o’clock shadow on his chin and cheeks. Which was impressive, considering it was early afternoon.

But it was his eyes that stopped you in your tracks.

They were just… dead.

The brown irises were so dark that they appeared almost as black as the pupils… and he stared at you like a shark would: utterly unconcerned about whether you lived or died.

A stone-cold killer’s eyes.

to think

looked at me, a shiver ran down my

Vicari,” Niccolo said cheerfully. “Good to

as he gestured

How do

No Thanks for coming.

Just Sit.

We sat.

the part of the respectful guest. “Thank you for having us. It’s an

great honor that your don couldn’t be

angry. More like he was just saying Bullshit in

was recently made on my brother’s life. Blame me

looked at me. My skin crawled as he peered at me like he was buying a horse. “So this is

said theatrically,

looked me up and down dubiously. “He’s a little

you who’s

like I’LL KILL YOU MYSELF IF YOU SAY

But Vicari laughed.

gave one single, barking

brain apparently didn’t let his face know that

“Heh. That’s funny.”

don with a desperate grin. “Valentino… he’s a kidder, that

said, and looked back at Niccolo.

with one hand like, Go right

marries my daughter, I back you at the Council,” Vicari said. “In addition, I’ll loan you 20 of my men to go

held the first hint of displeasure I’d

like it was

“We have the

me, I knew that was

“He’ll live here in Sicily for the first five years. You can come visit, but he stays in Sicily. After five years, we can

“Reasonable,” Niccolo agreed.

was getting pissed about being talked about in the third person – and that my entire life was being negotiated without me having any

moment, I kept my mouth

said. “Lots of them. And I want them as soon as

Niccolo

I didn’t say anything, Vicari looked at me and

“Understood,” Niccolo interjected.

want to hear him say it,” Vicari said, not

understand,” I

measure. After a few seconds, he spoke. “You got something to

– ” Niccolo started

a hand without looking

Vicari asked

at him

“Why does your daughter need an

in expression. “What you

panicking. “I’m sure that –

my future son-in-law,” Vicari

up and

a great beauty, but nice enough. But she’s an odd duck. Always got

her suitors before. She didn’t care for any of them. But she’s 24 now. It’s time. She

Jesus…

had told me a lot about Sicilians, but he didn’t mention

great wife, but we’ve got servants for cooking and cleaning,” Vicari continued. “You’ll

“Why me?” I asked.

your family’s desperate,” Vicari said. He wasn’t mean-spirited, just matter-of-fact. “And I want to expand out of Sicily. It’s a good match.

“What about Mezzasalma?”

almost approvingly. “Mezzasalma controlled the southern part of Sicily. Ragusa, Pozzallo… Rosolini, too. That’s where

family’s name was the same as the town my grandparents came from.

Vito’s territory when he left,” Vicari explained. “Mezzasalma was his enforcer. Then Mezzasalma killed Gargano and his entire family. Wiped them all

were okay with that?” I

He was in charge back then. He never had a problem with Mezzasalma. Mezzasalma was respectful to him. And he always paid my family our cut. Besides, Gargano

Of course, he was making me rich with the percentage he was paying me – but I knew he’d eventually try to do to me what he did

when he came to me and asked to go the mainland, I gave him my blessing. I took over his territory,

– ours,”

glared at me,

didn’t seem

never thought he would try to take down your family. He was always sentimental

us if you’d

“No,” Vicari said matter-of-factly.

“Why not?!”

like you didn’t owe me shit. Which is

“And why’s that?”

once you marry my daughter, you become

probably meant

say ‘blood of my blood’ was actually Sangue

literal translation of Sangue di mi sangue

was a Sicilian saying

no

“…what?” I asked, puzzled.

an old Sicilian blood oath,” Niccolo said in

oldest,” Vicari said. “Older than omertà.

of

“Sangue di mi sangue is an unbreakable promise. It means that you’re not only part of my family… you’re my flesh and blood. Anybody who fucks with you, fucks

supplying us with more than

I’ll take it

“Wonderful,” Niccolo said drily.

if I’d been ‘blood of your blood,’” I said sarcastically, “then you would have warned us

was personal. Like I said: in Sicily, the strong eat the weak. Whoever Mezzasalma went after, the strongest would win – and that’s exactly what happened. He

fucked

it

you fucked his

the strong eat

another reason I wanted the marriage. Any men

I laughed.

frowned. “What’s

girl who took

stared at

in. “Actually, Adriano was the one

Bianca who wrecked the fucking car,” I

figured credit where

you

“My sister-in-law.”