Salvatore Dalla

"Well, between Graziela Rossetti and Carlota Carbone, I'd choose Graziela," Rico, my underboss, says.

"So would I," Fabrizio, my consigliere, adds. "She’s more reserved and accomplished, a true mafia wife."

"And she’s hotter," Rico says with a grin.

"Plus, her father is one of our most important capos; he controls the flow of all weapons into our territory," Fabrizio considers.

"Yeah, but Carlota’s father also brings in good money and something very important: pleasure." Rico smiles as always, and I wonder how my brother can have such a light soul in such a hostile environment. "The casinos and the women are crucial for us, aren’t they?"

"Is that all you think about, Rico?" Fabrizio questions.

"And you don’t?" Rico retorts, raising an eyebrow as he twirls his small switchblade between his fingers.

"What about you? What do you think?" Fabrizio asks me.

"Finally, you gentlemen remembered to ask my opinion. I was beginning to think you’d decide on my possible future marriage without even considering what I want. Who knows, maybe you’d even take the woman to bed for a test drive," I say seriously, and they swallow hard.

"We’re just trying to clear your mind," Fabrizio justifies. "We know you don’t want this, so we’re just trying to help," my consigliere speaks, not my brother. There are few moments when we strip away our mafia boss roles, and this isn’t one of them.

Fabrizio is trying to show me that we’ve delayed this issue long enough, that we’re running out of time. I know that, but it doesn’t please me at all to have to choose a woman so quickly. However, it’s what I must do; it’s what the mafia expects of me.

As the Don of the Dalla Costa, I need to think of everyone around me first, and only then consider what I want—in other words, the famiglia comes first, then everything else, including myself.

"I want to meet all the candidates you’ve selected; then I’ll decide," I state, not ruling out the possibility that one of them might be the chosen one, but not revealing which I prefer.

I keep my reservations even with my brothers; it’s a habit I’ve acquired and can’t shake off.

Even with them, the people I trust most in the world, the ones I’d lay down my life for, I maintain the facade of being all-powerful and inscrutable.

I know it pisses them off. Like me, they were raised to be mafia bosses, the rulers of everything, and not having everything under control, not being one step ahead of everyone else, bothers them as much as it would bother me. But with me, they don’t get that satisfaction. I give them plenty to think about.

I like knowing that even my brothers, the people who know me best in the world, still know very little about me.

My phone rings, catching our attention.

"Sir, we have a problem," I hear Amadeu's voice when I answer the call.

"Another one, you mean," I say irritably. I’m really tired of all this, but these are my obligations, and no one needs to know how I really feel. So, as always, I put on the armor of indifference and ask my security man, "What is it this time?"

"I just removed a woman from reception who was causing a scene, demanding to see you," he says, and I can’t think of anyone crazy enough to come to my business and demand my presence—or better yet, crazy enough to demand anything from me. But no one comes to mind.

"Who is she, and where did you take her?" I ask.

"The daughter of that little thief. I locked her in the dungeon," he reports, being as direct as I like, and I get up to meet them.

I calmly button up my suit, place the phone in my pocket, take my two inseparable guns out of the drawer, securing one in the holster inside my three-piece suit and the other at the back of my waistband.

“What happened?” Fabrizio asks, standing up, fully alert.

Though this ritual of arming ourselves is common, he must have sensed something in my conversation with Amadeu.

“The daughter of our new prisoner showed up and was making a scene at the reception,” I inform him. “I’m going to deal with this little obstacle and be right back.”

“I told you we should’ve killed him and his family,” Rico remarks with his usual calmness, still playing with his knife, not bothering to get up.

“That’s why I’m the consigliere and not you,” Fabrizio teases. “You always go for the easy way out.”

“I’m practical,” Rico counters.

“And I think,” Fabrizio replies, ending their trivial dispute. “I’m going with you,” he says just as I reach the door.

“Me too, don’t leave me out of the fun,” Rico adds. I don’t need to say anything. I head out of my office with the two of them right behind me.

I punch in the secret code in the elevator, and we descend directly to the basement—a place few know exists.

If this woman wants my presence so badly, she’ll get it. I just can’t promise it’ll be pleasant.

Being with me is like being with the devil himself—you don’t know what to expect, but you can guess it won’t be good.

As for my inner demon, sometimes I control it, other times it controls me. Today, I haven’t figured out who’s in charge, but I think we’ll find out soon enough.