Sweet Prison: Chapter 11

Letter #159

Dear Massimo,

In your last letter, you were curious about how we’re handling all the new things in our lives. No need to worry, Nera and I have settled into our new home. Everything is different but going as well as you can expect.

Her new husband has been under a lot of work stress lately, though. He’s not happy with the new direction the management is pressing him to take. But with the aid of well-gathered data, Nera helped him realize that the company stakeholders would not be pleased to learn of his past transgressions, especially of his involvement in the early retirement of the previous CEO. So, after he carefully reviewed the presented documents, he now understands that change is in everyone’s best interest, and I’m sure he won’t put up any more fuss.

Nera is also adjusting to her new role in the firm. Apparently, there was a personnel issue that came up yesterday that required immediate attention. One of the employees was caught slipping proprietary company info to a major competitor in New York. Upon discovery, management insisted that Nera fire him herself. Shouldn’t those kinds of tasks be handled by HR? My sister takes her job responsibilities seriously, but she still spent the rest of the night throwing up in the bathroom.

Zahara

PS: Are you still having trouble sleeping?

Letter #160

Zahara,

I understand your sister’s unhappiness with being pressured to personally handle the personnel issue, but she knew the stakes when she agreed to take on the job. In business, maintaining the stakeholders’ respect is always a concern. They will only remain loyal to the brand if they are continually assured that the leadership is capable of making hard choices and standing firm when required. She’ll need to get used to rolling up her sleeves and doing things herself, on occasion. This time, I’m sure it was necessary to make an example of the employee who broke the NDA. Company policy would have required it.

Nera mentioned that my Balkan friend was very efficient in washing and detailing her car last month. With such prompt and thorough service, she might be tempted to make frequent returns to his establishment in the future. However, she should keep in mind that top-level service commands proportionally high rates. She mustn’t throw away her money and should only use that place when the local guy, Primo, isn’t available.

As for your question—the answer is yes. But that’s okay. I got used to functioning on three to four hours of sleep a long time ago. Last night, an inmate next door was snoring so loudly that his bunk buddy tried to suffocate the cunt with a pillow. He failed, unfortunately. I might try getting myself thrown back in the hole (that’s solitary confinement) one of these days. With the right attitude, the experience is almost like being on vacation. The only downside, the absence of people starts fucking with my head if my trip lasts more than a few days.

I didn’t believe the bullshit about humans being pack animals until the first time I ended up in the hole. Did you know that silence has a sound? It’s a faint grind, like the creak of wooden boards in an old, abandoned house. You don’t hear it at first. But after a while, it feels as if your fucking skull is cracking from how loud it is. Once when my lonely ass was stuck in that six-by-six hole for an extended stay, I started talking to myself, and I don’t mean just mindless mumbling. One time, I had a very heated, hours-long discussion with my inner voice, trying to convince the motherfucker that it was not the right time to invest in government bonds. I won.

So, why haven’t you sent me any new sketches? Are you on a sewing hiatus? Or are you mad at me because I mistook the dress you designed for Salvo’s mother for a bathrobe? You can’t hold that shit against me. What do I know of women’s fashion? But you… You do. You’ve got talent. You should follow your passion and open your own shop.

M.

PS: Tell Peppe that I need my laundry done next Sunday.

Letter #207

Dear Massimo,

Batista Leone is not doing well. Last night we had to call the family doctor for an urgent home visit because Batista was having trouble breathing. His blood pressure was through the roof, and at first, we thought it was the result of him spending three days in a row getting wasted at one of the clubs. However, the doc said there are other worrisome health factors.

Nera has been going out of her mind over the possibility of something happening to her husband. She’s scared shitless about us ending up alone again. It’s still too long until we’ll have you by our side. How will we manage?

Nera’s work has also been causing her stress. The new chicken supplier from the South wants to renegotiate the rates. They demanded an urgent meeting next Wednesday. I managed to convince Nera to have Salvo attend the meeting in her place. She’s in the last trimester of her pregnancy and shouldn’t travel.

Just so you know, I’m pretty sure she’s pissed about being put in this situation. She may never forgive you for getting her into this mess. To be honest—I won’t, either. Even though it was the lesser evil among other, more terrible options. I’m curious if you feel even an ounce of remorse for doing it. Even a little? Even if the end justifies the means? Do you feel ashamed for putting my sister through so much grief? Is there, somewhere deep down inside you, a tiny frisson of self-reproach, perhaps hidden under that loud, ruthlessly cunning, and manipulative persona?

Anyway, I digress…

The C-level execs finally got used to the new management structure and have stopped voicing concerns every second day. That only happened after Nera was successful in expunging the problematic investments our lovely neighbors were allowed to make in the entertainment venues. Hopefully, things will stay calm from now on. Although Brio still makes a cutting remark here and there, no one pays much attention to him anymore. Adriano, however, is once more very insistent on expanding into the hotel market. His voice is heard loud and clear.

Speaking of Mr. Deep Pockets… You know, the more I think about it, the more I’m certain he simply doesn’t care about his wife’s skanky antics. But for the life of me, I don’t understand why someone like him would choose to stay with a woman like her. The other evening, I saw the two of them during a working lunch at the Villa, and there’s no love between them, as far as I can tell.

Zahara

PS: Do you regret it? Killing the guy who shot Elmo? Would you do it again, knowing the consequences?

Letter #208 (draft 1)

Why are you interested in Adriano’s relationship with his wife? Do you like him? Has that shithead been hitting on you? Because if he has, I’ll arrange for one of his own transport trucks to run him over and then back up to plow into him in reverse! There’ll be nothing left of that dickwad other than a red fucking stain on the road!

I crumple my letter and throw it in the trash can.

Fucking hell!

***

Letter #208 (draft 2)

Why does it matter if Adriano’s wife cheats on him? If the stupid motherfucker knows it and does nothing about it, he’s a fucking sissy. Is there something between you two? If he’s laid a—

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!

I flush this goddamned attempt at a note down the toilet.

***

Letter #208 (draft 3)

Can you find out Adriano’s daily routine? See if he likes to take walks during rush hour. Could you get me the day and maybe the approximate time? Please? I’m just curious to know what he does with his free time.

Crumbling the sheet of paper, I stuff it into the loud-fucking-breather’s throat. The dickhead shouldn’t have walked by my workout bench. Next time he’ll know. The fuck.

This is ridiculous, that irritating inner asshole comments. Maybe you should think about talking to someone. You know, like a professional.

“I swear, I’ll find a way to evict your ass from my head.”

Good luck with that.

***

Letter #208

Zahara,

Even if I knew the consequences of my actions in advance, I’m not sure I could have controlled myself. When I held Elmo in my arms, felt his blood oozing through my fingers… My fingers, that were covering his no-longer beating heart… I knew in my soul there was nothing that could be done for him. And I just lost it.

I was well aware of the countless witnesses to what I was about to do, but that didn’t stop me from offing the motherfucker who shot your brother right there on the spot. It was as if I was seized by some animalistic urge. If I was thinking rationally, and with hindsight, knowing that I’d lose eighteen years of my life, I would have waited to kill that asshole until no one else was around. But clearly, higher reasoning wasn’t something I possessed at that time. Logic didn’t stand a chance as I watched Elmo die.

As for your sister—she knew the deal. I didn’t trick her into accepting it, nor lie about what she’d face. So, no. I don’t feel bad. I am, however, sorry if that disappoints you. But something tells me it doesn’t.

You know me well enough not to be surprised. And you also know that it had to be done, despite it being a bitter pill to swallow. You know our world. How it works. You always have. You’ve been treading these waters for years, which is completely my fault. And I do regret that.

If I could turn back time and fix my one mistake in the past, I wouldn’t change my actions on the day Elmo died. I would use that one chance to stop myself from writing you my first letter. Or I’d burn that letter to ash before it ever got sent. Because the one thing I truly regret in this life is involving you in my mess and putting you in danger. For that, I hope you’ll find a way to forgive me someday.

I’m very sorry to hear that Leone isn’t feeling well. Let’s hope the slimy pig gets better. There is always a Plan B, but I would rather not have to put it into motion.

A friend of mine will reach out to Nera in the near future. Please make sure he is granted the favor he asks of her.

M.

PS: Does Adriano visit often?

Letter #241

Dear Massimo,

Lucia said her first word today. It was “no.” I’m not surprised—that kid is a handful. Iris almost had a heart attack a few days ago when Lucia got ahold of my jewelry box and somehow managed to break one of the necklaces Dad bought me. It took me a while to convince her that it doesn’t need to be fixed, I’ll never wear it anyway. Seeing those trinkets always leaves a sour taste in my mouth. It reminds me that Dad never remembered I can’t wear anything other than platinum. I mentioned it to him at least a dozen times, but he still just kept buying gold pieces. He probably thought gold looked more extravagant, and I simply stopped bringing it up after a while.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about Dad a lot. I spent so many years being angry at him, blaming him for always putting the business first, instead of his daughters. But now, as days drag on without him, I keep remembering the good times. All the piggyback rides he used to give me and Nera. And how he’d let me tie his tie for him, especially after Mom died. He might not have been the best parent… Actually, that’s a given, but… I don’t know. I think I judged him too harshly. Or, maybe, I just want to remember him as a better man than he was.

Speaking of good times… I’m working on a super cute jacket for Lucia. With puff sleeves and sequins on the lapels. I’ll probably use pink velvet. She’s going to look adorable! (It makes the hassle I went through with the store’s customer service reps after my order was screwed up worth it!) My only worry is that velvet should only be dry-cleaned, and this kid can be a bit of a disaster.

Which reminds me, Peppe says he’ll be spending next weekend doing laundry. It wasn’t in his original plans, but something happened—not sure what—and I guess it’s serious, because he mentioned he’ll need to use bleach to handle the stains.

And since I’m telling you about all this cleaning, here’s another thing: Nera had to send her car to be washed twice this week. Your buddy managed to remove all the sticky grime, but as you cautioned, he did quote her a higher price on her last visit. The prepaid services package she had has been used up. Since it was urgent, Nera had to accept the new rate, but she’ll probably talk with you about it on Thursday. Maybe there’s a way to convince your pal to give her another “friend discount.”

In other news, Batista is getting worse. Remember that Plan B you mentioned? It might be time to start seriously considering it.

Zahara

PS: Why do you keep bringing up Adriano? No, he hasn’t dropped by. And he hasn’t been here since that lunch, which was more than a year ago. Why are you asking about him so much?

***

Letter #258

Dear Massimo,

When my jewelry box went missing months ago, I thought Lucia had been playing with it again and must have hidden it somewhere around the house. After a while, I completely forgot about it.

So imagine my surprise when, this morning, a courier dropped off a package for me—a package bearing a logo from a distinguished custom jeweler, The House of Dubois in Paris. Can you guess what was inside? No? Okay, I’ll tell you. My old jewelry box. And it contained six necklaces and two bracelets. Stunning pieces that were exact replicas of my old ones, with one exception. These were made of platinum instead of gold.

It was you, wasn’t it?

I did not tell you about the necklaces so you’d buy me new ones. But… Thank you.

Zahara

PS: What happened to the original gold ones?

Letter #259

Zahara,

I gave instructions for them to be thrown into the Seine. They are at the bottom of the polluted river—a place where items that have caused you harm belong.

I also figured that having the gold pieces around may stir up bad memories for you, and that’s not something I want you to experience. I know your father gave them to you, and that might make them sentimental and irreplaceable, but you should only remember the good times with your dad, not the bittersweet moments. I’ve never been Nuncio’s greatest fan, but there’s one thing I can tell you about him with absolute certainty. He loved you, although he had a shitty way of showing it more often than not. Focus on the positives instead. You can still take comfort that he chose the jewelry that you like, and now you can enjoy it more fully.

Did you try on the new pieces? I had each one extensively tested at a special lab to ensure they would cause no adverse reactions before they were delivered. It took the bastards four months—almost twice the time Dubois needed to make your jewelry pieces in the first place. Which is why they didn’t arrive in time for your 20th birthday as planned.

So… Happy birthday, Zahara.

M.