Chapter 2 Doménico Vescari

Doménico Vescari.

If I have to name the worst moment of the Vescari family, I can say without hesitation: It was when they murdered my mother. I remember that day so clearly that today, twenty years later, I relive the moment with sorrow.

It was my eighteenth birthday, and the family was gathering at home to "Celebrate." My parents had traveled a week earlier to Sicily to close an important deal and were already on their way back home. But only my father returned, because a few kilometers away they ambushed them and my beautiful mother died.

The war for territories never ends, no matter how dirty and vile the attack is. If there is any chance to take out the leader, the plans are made and executed. But here it is not just between rival clans, it goes beyond that. There is a hatred between two mafias, two families that have been killing each other for more decades than can be counted.

Gravano vs. Vescari.

I brush away the snow that accumulates on my mother's tombstone.

"Fiorella Vescari. Beloved mother and wife." The inscription on the plaque is simple but powerful because that's what she was: mother, wife, and the only true love we knew at home. My father has refused to replace her with another woman; he said he would never be able to feel love for another woman and that wouldn't be fair to anyone.

He always carries a photo of the two of them together.

Anyone who says there is no love in the mafia is lying. Because we have seen it firsthand, and it's the only thing we aspire to have after power.

I leave the bouquet of white roses on the marble. As the eldest son, I am the first to do so, and my brothers, in order and complete silence, leave theirs. Alessio, Fabio, and Luca step back after placing their flowers. My father couldn't come; his illness keeps him in bed, but he asked me to leave a message for his wife.

"Father said to give you a message, mother, and it is: 'I will soon join you, dear.'"

Alessio places his hand on my shoulder. It's time to go back home and the weather worsens, like our emotions. The sky grows darker. The snow falls heavier. And although we don't say it, we all feel the same.

My birthday celebrations ended twenty years ago, but my brothers without fail return home early, we dine together, and talk business. The Gravano are waiting for our father's death to return to old habits, and we are preparing for the new leader to be chosen. Any of the three eldest will do an excellent job; we were raised and educated to lead.

The high-ranking members will name the next capo a few days later. And unfortunately, the day is approaching because Don Salvatore Vescari has refused to treat his cancer and his end is imminent.

"The doctor said it's a matter of time, but we should start making arrangements for his funeral. This morning, your father met with his lawyer and the notary," Vittorio, his right-hand man and lifelong friend, informs me.

I say nothing, only give a slight nod and set my wine glass down on the table.

"Until he dies, I'm not making any funeral arrangements. It's shady to buy a coffin when someone is still alive," Fabio says to Vittorio with a threatening tone. He is closest to our father and among the four, the one suffering the most.

"You won't have to do it because that's not your responsibility, brother. It's mine, as the eldest son." I cut him off before he continues. Vittorio doesn't deserve to be treated that way either; he's family. "I'll take care of the arrangements."

No one says anything when I decide to speak.

"I'm sorry, brother, it wasn't my intention."

I look at my brother, I can understand his pain, but bad attitudes and disrespect won't help us.

Vittorio Russo is my godfather, who has taught me everything I know, and like all of us, he is just as devastated. Luca, the youngest, hasn't eaten or slept well in days; in fact, now and then he brings the fork to his mouth but doesn't eat. Alessio only leaves the house to go to the company, and when he returns, he locks himself in our father's room to check if he's still breathing. Fabio doesn't leave the house at all, and I watch over everyone and everything.

It hurts me that my father is taking his last breaths. As a leader, he was an example to follow. As a husband, the best of all, and as a father, an example. He spoiled us, some more than others-the two youngest-but he was not indulgent regarding education, professional training, and of course, as soon as we learned to read and write, he was already talking to us about business and how the work is done.

"It's not me you should apologize to, apologize to my godfather for your disrespect. You're not talking to just anyone; he is still our father's sotto capo and family."

Fabio doesn't know where to hide his face, lowers his gaze, takes a deep breath, and doesn't look at me, he looks at him.

"My brother is right, and I sincerely apologize. I'm stressed, tired, and I took out my frustration and pain on you. I hope you can forgive me."

He sounds sincere, and Vitto just nods with sad eyes.

This is bullshit.

I clear the plates and someone knocks on the dining room door, the nurse peeks her head in, and I glare at her. She's new, and I gather patience from who knows where.

"What do you want?" I take a deep breath and look at Alessio to take over.

"Come in, you already opened the door without permission, now speak."

"I'm sorry... it's just... I don't know..." she frustrates me.

"Are you capable of finishing a complete sentence?"

"Mr. Salvatore just passed away."

I don't know why I do it, but I look at the clock on my wrist. 00:23.

"At what time did he pass away?" My brothers are already standing, as is Vittorio.

The nurse doesn't look at me. Her gaze is fixed on her feet and her hands behind her back.

"Five minutes ago, sir."

I look at Vittorio, and he already knows what he has to do.