Salvatore Dalla
For four days, I’ve kept the father and the girl who haunts me locked up in the company’s dungeon. I’ve tried to stay as far away as possible, but now and then, she dominates my thoughts.
I don’t talk about her with my brothers or with Amadeu, and I’ve kept my distance from the cameras as well. Distance is like the wind—it can snuff out small flames from candles, but it can also ignite large fires. I’m glad to have extinguished any flames that might have been kindling within me.
One of the most important lessons my father taught me when I was initiated was that mafia bosses must never feel. When he told me this, I didn’t fully understand how we shouldn’t feel. I knew he loved my mother, me, and my brothers, but over time, I understood. Strong feelings weaken us, especially if others are aware of them.
He protected and cared for us, as he did for everyone in the famiglia, but he only loved us when we were alone at home. I didn’t want to love anyone but my brothers. They, like me, were born into this world and were destined for the mafia’s fate. I would do the same with my future wife, who would also be part of the famiglia. I would protect her, but I knew I would never love her. My marriage would be consummated solely to ensure my heir, but I would never allow love to be part of the equation.
Not having seen the prisoner has removed any sense of guilt from me. For the first time, I felt like I was doing something wrong, but I wasn’t—this is my norm: imprisoning, torturing, killing, or assigning tasks to anyone who crosses my path. And they had crossed it.
Yesterday, when we left the company, Amadeu informed me that the old man would be recovered. His daughter has been taking care of him and feeding him. He’s now fit to do whatever I need, and today, when I woke up, I decided it was time to get rid of them. I have some meetings scheduled for early in the morning, and afterward, I’ll decide what to do with him, or rather, with them.
"Boss, we can go down whenever you're ready," Amadeu informs me as I finish my last morning meeting, which took longer than I expected.
"I need to make a call and I'll call you," I say, and he takes the hint, leaving my office and leaving me alone with an unease I’m not used to feeling.
I activate the camera system on my laptop, and quickly, the image of the two prisoners fills the screen and my attention. The girl is sitting on the mat, still dressed in the same clothes and without the black coat, which remains draped over her father's body. The old man rests his head on her lap, and she strokes his hair with care, as if afraid of breaking it with a stronger touch. She speaks to him, who keeps his eyes closed, and I’m curious about what she’s saying, so I turn on the ambient sound and immediately regret it.
She sings softly to him a well-known Italian song; her delicate voice is almost a lament with each word. I’m struck by the sadness in the song through her voice.
“There are people who love a thousand things
And get lost on the roads of the world
I who love only you
I will calm down and give you
What remains of my youth
I have only had you
And I won’t lose you, I won’t leave you.”
“Foolish girl,” I mutter to myself. “What are you doing here?” I ask the screen as she continues to sing her lament.
Without any answer, I turn off the camera system and go to the bathroom, splash some water on my neck and face as if that could calm the turmoil in my mind.
I know what to do with her father, but I have no idea what to do with the ragazza. I dry my face and neck and grab a glass of whiskey. Standing before the glass wall that separates me and gives me a privileged view of Rome, I contemplate what to do with the girl.
I can’t keep her prisoner forever, so my options are: give her some role within the mafia or send her to one of our casinos/bars. The second option doesn’t appeal to me at all. I know that’s where the disinherited daughters of the famiglia or women taken as payment for debts go, but they all deserve to be there. The girl who sang sweetly to her father does not.
Her gaze shows determination as much as it reveals her innocence. I bet she’s never been touched by a man; throwing her into one of the casinos would condemn her to prostitution and the use of her body. I never do that unless they accept it themselves, and deep down, I knew Amapola would never accept it. I would rather condemn a woman to death than to forced abuse and exploitation of her body.
Death is not an option for her. So I need to find a way for her to serve me.
“I’m ready,” I say to my head of security when he answers the call. Within a minute, he enters my office.
“Yes, sir.”
“We’re going to the dungeon. Prepare the delivery we have to make in Caserta for the old man. He should be removed from the dungeon early in the evening, when the neighborhood traffic slows down, and proceed directly to the delivery. You will be responsible for giving him the instructions; he must not fail.” I give the coordinates, making it clear that if the old man fails, he will have failed too.
“Consider it done, boss,” he agrees. “And what about the girl?”
“During the old man’s first job, I’ll keep her here to ensure he doesn’t mess up. Afterward, we’ll use her as needed, just like him,” I inform him.
“Do you want me to go down to inform the staff?” he asks.
“I’ll do it myself,” I say, standing up and fastening the button of my three-piece suit.
I enter the elevator and maintain an impenetrable demeanor as I feel my heart race for the first time.
As the elevator doors open into the dungeon, Amadeu quickly steps in front of me. The cold, sterile environment calms the sensations that had been overwhelming me. Amadeu opens the door to the cell where the two are being kept, and I enter the room.
The smell is unpleasant, but not as bad as when her father was alone. She looks up at me, and I’m taken aback by the dark circles under her eyes. When I saw her earlier on the camera system, she had her head down, so I couldn’t see her expression, but now up close, it’s clear she hasn’t slept more than a couple of hours a night in the past few days.
Perhaps the cold has kept her awake, or the fear of the unknown, of what might happen to them both. Maybe it’s also due to hunger, given their minimal food intake, though I’ve allowed a bit more, it’s still inadequate for both.
“Stand up,” I command, staring at them. The old man, scared, quickly gets to his feet, pulling her up with him. He is indeed better; probably his daughter’s care has saved him. But she, with every second I look at her, seems to be deteriorating even more.
“Are you going to kill us?” he asks.
“Not yet,” I reply, meeting his gaze. He looks at me like a frightened rat. I must admit, I take pleasure in the reaction I provoke in people.
“Please, sir, I beg you for our lives, for my daughter’s life,” he begins, and I raise my hand to silence him.
“Spare me the sob story,” I warn. “I’m here personally to inform you of what will happen to both of you, so there’s no doubt about what you must do. If you act against this, let me make it clear that death will be your path.”
I watch the old man gulp nervously.
“Release him; wasn’t the agreement my life for his?” the girl challenges what I’ve just said.
“I never make agreements, girl. I thought you’d understood that by now. I only tell you what will be done, and you do it without contesting.”
“It’s not fair,” she says, perplexed.
“I am the one who dictates fairness, not following others' standards, only my own. From now on, don’t interrupt me again.” I see anger flare in her eyes, but when I hold her gaze, she lowers her head, breaking eye contact. I know she fears more for her father’s life than her own, but I don’t care about the reasons. I’m satisfied; it should be this way: I speak, and she listens in silence.
“Tonight, Amadeu will take you out of here,” I say directly to her father. “He will give you instructions on what to do; don’t question him or cause problems. Your daughter will be kept here, so if you don’t follow his instructions, she dies. If you give us trouble, she dies. If you ask anyone for help, she dies. If you fail, she dies. Your death will be the consequence for any situation I don’t desire. I will ensure a slow and painful death for you personally. Consider this a warning.” The old man’s face is now wet with tears of fear. I’ve done what I came here to do, turning on my heel to leave the room. But before I cross the door, I hear a whisper from the girl that stops me in my tracks.
“Sei un mostro!” That’s right, she had the audacity to call me a monster.