Chapter 72

Mafia Kings: Valentino: Chapter 72 Teaching Isabella and Ludavica how to use an iPhone was like trying to teach two time travelers from the 1800s.

It astounded me how little they knew –

But it wasn’t their fault. They’d been closed off from the outside world ever since they were little. Maybe even since they were born.

Anyway, they marveled over how they could see almost anything.

I thought they might start Googling porn – dick pics, maybe –

But they didn’t.

I guess they were too innocent.

Instead, it was all about works of art. Paintings, statutes, that sort of thing.

And pictures of cities – Tokyo, Athens, Moscow.

And cat videos.

They seemed to like those.

“It’s so cute!” Isabella cried out – a lot.

When we finally got to Cefalù, I took the phone back.

“Awwwww!” both girls whined.

“Time to go see the world in person and not on a fuckin’ phone,” I said as I handed it to Paolo.

“...okay,” Isabella grumbled.

Cefalù was a beautiful medieval town on the seaside.

Narrow, winding streets made of cobblestone.

Apartment balconies overhead with brightly colored laundry drying on the railings.

And everywhere you looked, shops for tourists: cafés and restaurants, clothing stores, knick-knack stalls full of tchotchkes.

There were all those shops for tourists because there were tourists everywhere. They thronged the streets, snapping pictures, and stopped off for cappuccinos or glasses of wine.

Isabella and Ludavica alternated between staring at everything in openmouthed wonder and shrinking away from the crowds of people.

It was no wonder they shrank away: there were probably more people in the streets of Cefalù than they’d seen at any one point in their entire lives – except maybe at mafia weddings. Maybe.

I got on one side and positioned Paolo on the other. We ran interference for the girls, acting as bodyguards as we pushed our way through the crowds.

We finally reached a place where the tourists thinned out, and I herded the girls over to a streetside restaurant. We took a table and gave the server our orders, which came out a few minutes later. I had a beer, Paolo had coffee, and both Isabella and Ludavica got glasses of white wine.

“Wow,” Isabella said, her head swiveling around to take it all in.

“What’s it like getting out of the house for the first time?”

“Amazing,” she murmured as she stared around.

She meant it. Though she was clearly overwhelmed by all the people, I could see in her eyes that she was taking in all the little details.

“Oh my gosh – it’s a Testa di Moro!” she cried out.

That’s ‘head of a Moor’ in Italian.

‘Moor’ was the old term for any Muslim from North Africa hundreds of years ago.

“A what?” I asked, looking around.

“Those faces over there! I’ve read about them, but I’ve never actually seen one before!”

Isabella pointed at a nearby shop with a bunch of ceramic pots sculpted to look like human faces, always in pairs.

One was a man with a mustache and a turban, and the other was a beautiful woman, sometimes with a crown.

I’d seen variations of them in tourist shops in Pozzallo and Gela but hadn’t thought to ask about them. Mostly because I hated Rocco and his crew and didn’t want to talk to them.

“What are they?” I asked.

“They’re a Sicilian thing,” Paolo answered.

Isabella nodded. “There’s a couple different legends. One is that back when Sicily was under Arab control – in the 9th and 10th centuries – a Sicilian woman of noble birth had an affair with an Arab man. When her family found out about it, they executed them both and turned their heads into vases as a warning.”

“Jesus,” I said, appalled.

“Forbidden love,” Isabella said with a sigh. “Not looked upon highly by my countrymen.”

“It’s grimmer than the other version,” Ludavica agreed.

“Which is what?” I asked.

“Sicilian woman has an affair with a Moor, but she finds out he’s going back to North Africa – and that he has a wife and a kid he forgot to tell her about. So the Sicilian chick kills him and chops off his head, then turns it into a vase to grow basil.” Ludavica smirked. “I prefer that version.”

“Why?!”

“I prefer just the guy getting his head chopped off instead of the woman.”

“Ugh,” I said.

“You’re awful squeamish,” Ludavica teased me.

I wanted to snap, Yeah, it hits pretty hard after what I saw in the barn yesterday –

But instead I said, “No, you Sicilians are just fucked up.”

Ludavica laughed. “I won’t argue with you on that one.”

“And this is a Sicilian tradition?” I asked.

“Yes,” Isabella said. “People use them in their homes for flower pots.”

“Then why haven’t you ever seen one before?”

She made a wry face. “Papa thinks they’re morbid.”

I laughed darkly. “THAT’S pretty fuckin’ ironic.”

“What are you talking about?”

I stared at her like You CAN’T be THAT stupid.

“Because of what he does for a living?” she asked, then gave me a pshaw. “Your family does it, too.”

I scoffed. “You might wanna ask your father’s former consigliere about it.”

Isabella immediately went pale. “Eliseo?”

“Is that the poor bastard’s name?” I asked. “Eliseo?”

“Eliseo Marconi. What do you know about him?”

I wanted to say, What’s left of him is out in your barn being slowly tortured to death –

But something was off.

Isabella looked like a terrified girl in a horror movie, standing in front of a door in a dark house...

Who knew there was something terrible in the next room and knew it might destroy her...

But was still trying to build up the courage to confront the unthinkable.

Ludavica’s expression confirmed it.

She was practically begging me with her eyes:

Please don’t say anything – PLEASE.

I immediately backed off. “Why – what do you know?”

“Papa said he embezzled a bunch of money and ran off,” Isabella said quietly, her face still pale.

“Yeah... that’s what I heard from Rocco,” I muttered. “That he ran off. But your dad’s trying to find him.”

Color flooded back into Isabella’s face.

Ludavica looked grateful.

Paolo just seemed confused.

But Isabella’s voice was still sadly haunting as she said, “I hope Papa never finds him.”

Too late, I thought, but I kept that to myself.

After the grim detour about Eliseo Marconi, things gradually went back to normal.

After eating lunch, we walked around. The girls went into lots of clothing stores and oohed and aahed over the outfits.

“You know your father would never let you wear any of these,” I cautioned.

“I know, but I can look,” Isabella said grumpily.

Two hours after we arrived, Paolo got a text from Cat.

“Your lady friend, boss,” he said, holding the phone out to me. “She’s at someplace called the Minerva.”

I’m at the Hotel Minerva. Room 404.

I used Google Maps to find it.

It was only seven blocks away and a few blocks north, right on the seaside.

“Alright, thanks,” I said as I handed the phone back to Paolo.

“I’ll see you in the lobby in – how about four hours?” he said.

“Make it five.”

“Oooooooh, somebody’s got stamina,” Ludavica smirked.

I shot her a look like STOP.

“Have fun with your girlfriend,” Isabella teased me.

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Your mistress, then.”

“Not my mistress, either.”

“Fuck buddy,” Ludavica chimed in.

“NO – ”

“Your forbidden lover,” Isabella said as she put her clasped hands next to her cheeks.

“I’m leaving now,” I said loudly.

The two girls catcalled me about my ‘lover’ and ‘mistress’ as I walked away.

The last glimpse I caught of Paolo seemed like he was asking, Why ME, God?

I chuckled.

Careful what you wish for, dude –

Like a promotion.

You might just get it.