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.

liked to think I was

when this guy looked at me, a shiver ran down my

Niccolo said cheerfully. “Good

voice as he gestured

do

No Thanks for coming.

Just Sit.

We sat.

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

your don couldn’t be bothered to come,”

pissed off or angry. More like he was just

brother’s life. Blame me for his absence – I was

he peered at me like he was buying a horse. “So this is

Niccolo said theatrically,

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

show you who’s a

a death stare like I’LL KILL YOU MYSELF IF YOU SAY

But Vicari laughed.

he gave one single,

brain apparently didn’t let his face

“Heh. That’s funny.”

back at the mafia don with a desperate grin. “Valentino…

Vicari said, and looked

one hand like, Go right

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

Niccolo asked. His voice held the first hint of

Tuscans,” Vicari said – not boastful, just like it was a matter of fact. “But I’m not giving you any

“We have the money

what Dario had told me, I

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.

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

the moment, I kept my mouth

them. And

be so,” Niccolo said

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

“Understood,” Niccolo interjected.

him say it,” Vicari said, not taking his eyes

I said

settled back in his chair like he was taking my measure. After a few seconds, he spoke. “You got something to say, say

discussed the situation –

raised a hand without looking at

asked

him for a long

your daughter need an arranged

laughed, again without any change in expression. “What you mean is, is she an ugly

panicking. “I’m sure

to my future son-in-law,” Vicari said without

shut up and just

“Not a great beauty, but nice enough. But she’s

care for any of them. But she’s 24 now. It’s time. She waits any longer, she’s gonna

Jesus…

me a lot about Sicilians, but

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

“Why me?” I asked.

desperate,” Vicari said. He wasn’t mean-spirited, just matter-of-fact. “And I want

“What about Mezzasalma?”

the room.” Vicari nodded, almost approvingly. “Mezzasalma controlled the southern part of Sicily. Ragusa, Pozzallo… Rosolini, too. That’s where your grandfather Vito

name was the same as the town my grandparents came

Then Mezzasalma killed

you were okay with that?” I asked

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

getting too rich off the drugs he was smuggling in from North Africa. 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

gave him my blessing. I took over his territory, promised him a cut of all future profits, and off he went.” Vicari shrugged. “Mezzasalma

– ours,”

me, but

didn’t

never thought he would try to take down your family. He was always sentimental about your grandfather. I would’ve never guessed he’d try to kill the rest

us

“No,” Vicari said matter-of-factly.

“Why not?!”

didn’t owe me shit.

“And why’s that?”

once you marry my daughter, you become sangue

meant Blood

the right way to say ‘blood of my

di mi

was a

had no idea what

“…what?” I asked, puzzled.

oath,” Niccolo

oldest,” Vicari said. “Older than

of silence,”

silence,” Vicari said. “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 with me.

with more than

HE’S sangue di mi sangue,” Vicari said, pointing at me. “If your uncle fucks with him, then I’ll take it as my personal mission to destroy Fausto. But you?

“Wonderful,” Niccolo said drily.

been ‘blood of your blood,’” I said sarcastically,

“But don’t take it personal. Nothing about it was personal. Like I said: in Sicily, the strong eat the weak. Whoever Mezzasalma went after, the strongest would win

we fucked his shit

the first time, Vicari smiled – although it

his shit

it’s not just Sicily where the strong eat

not. In fact, that was another reason I wanted the marriage. Any men who could

I laughed.

“What’s so

a girl who took

stared at me blankly.

“Actually, Adriano was the one

wrecked the

credit where credit was

you say,” Vicari

“My sister-in-law.”