.
"La nuova era e alcuni tatuaggi"
(The new era and some tattoos)
Sicily, Kingdom of Italy; 1863
Three years later.
The shot echoed so loudly in his ears that by the mere shock he lost all his strength and ended up falling to the ground, and maybe it was that very thing that prevented the bullet from hitting him, who knows? It was so dark, and he couldn't see much other than the shadows of the citrus trees around him.
Mario was quick to crawl and hide (or so he hoped) behind a small log. His entire body trembled, and a layer of cold sweat slid down his face. He must have guessed something like this would happen; he was an idiot, a great idiot. What did he expect after a threatening letter telling him to resign from his position? Free money?
The wind was blowing, the night dominated everything, and he was sure he could hear footsteps. Nearby steps. Steps of more than one person.
He vowed that, if he survived, he would resign. Citrus and estates and money could go to hell. Find someone else to manage all this, if they found one.
The footsteps came closer, and the man felt his stomach churn. By sheer instinct, he squeezed his eyes shut. He was afraid.
The footsteps stopped beside him. He heard a sinister laugh, and then...
Another shot.
He screamed and continued doing so for a few seconds before realizing he was not in pain and that the creepy laugh was gone.
He opened his eyes, confused and curious at the same time.
And then he saw it.
Red.
Red that glowed in the dark of night.
In front of him was what seemed an apparition. A person with red hair and eyes, who had flames of the same tone drawn all over the right part of his face and that ran down his neck until they were hidden in his clothes; in one hand he held a sheet (was that the threatening letter he had received?), and in the other a kind of lupara(1). It looked, surprising as it was, bored.
"Both of you, don't move," the specter spoke, and the administrator was surprised that his voice didn't sound like one of an adult but rather like one of a teenager.
Maybe because he was one, now that Mario saw him well, he looked like someone young despite his sullen expression. How old was he? Thirteen? His features were still too-
"I said," the teenager repeated and pointed the pistol towards his side. "Don't move. And less you, bastard."
Mario turned to his right and almost passed out from shock.
Beside him was a man, his face distorted with fury. A gun was lying beside him. His hand was bleeding. Quiet to the point of being inconspicuous but grumbling under his breath.
Oh, and a dog that curiously didn't make any noise but showed his teeth and seemed to threaten the man with his eyes.
You close your eyes and miss out on many things, eh?
"Wh-what..."
"Signor, uh..." the teenager raised the page and read, "Mario. Will you please get up and move? I'm in charge of taking this one to the authorities."
"But what-"
Mario could not finish because the rough laugh of that strange man interrupted him. By mere reflex, he crawled away from him.
"You more than anyone should know it is not much use, is it?" he said. Mario trembled, and the teen frowned. "Have you already forgotten your father's teachings? Come on, take me. When the sun rises again, I will look for you and unlike you, I will shoot you in the heart."
Undeterred, the teenager sighed, closed his eyes for a few seconds, and shook his head. Still pointing his gun at the man, he took a few steps forward, and the moment he opened his eyes again, they were shining in a way that made Mario want to run.
"I promised to someone I would not be aggressive and would control my desire to fill people like you with shots," the youngest commented calmly. "Don't make me break the promise, yes?"
Mario couldn't take it anymore.
"This is crazy! What the hell happens to people?!" he shouted and ran like a soul that the devil takes in the opposite direction to where he was, stumbling other times, and still exclaiming things like, "I'll never ever return!".
The action was so sudden and, to a certain point, ridiculous, that it made the teenager get distracted for a few seconds and turned to see Mario with some confusion, seconds the other man took advantage of to run away. The dog, noticing the action, came out after him in an attempt to stop him.
And all in a blink of an eye.
"I hate this."
The teen thought he might as well try to shoot the fugitive, but in the middle of the night, with a moving target and Argo behind, he didn't want to risk missing.
That threat was the fourth that any of the administrators received so far this year. The fucking fourth. And as much as he didn't say it out loud, he liked Piero well enough to be upset with those thugs who were threatening wholesale.
Well, at least he had tried to stop them. It was something, right?
Argo ran back to him with a piece of cloth in his snout. The man had escaped, but at least he had taken a bite; that comforted him a bit.
G sighed, and with a headache that was becoming more frequent, he decided to go to Piero and inform him that yes, damn it, it had happened again.
"Is it happening to him too? This is outrageous! What-"
"Signor Raffaele," Giotto interrupted him, trying to be as kind as he could. The man was nervous as hell, and it was to be expected; his situation was not particularly good. "Calm down and have tea, okay? I assure you it will help you relax."
Raffaele looked at him for a few seconds as if he were lost, gave a heavy sigh, took the cup between his hands, and then took a good sip. He blinked and then willingly took another.
Giotto smiled. He had specially made the tea taste sweet and have a relaxing effect after a few minutes. It seemed like it was working.
"Yes, Signor Piero has also had several problems in that term," he answered the question. "He has changed his administrator at least three times in two months. Even letters have arrived here, but..."
"Nothing happens, right?" Raffaele smiled with melancholy. "Nothing happens..."
After the Unification's success and officially became the Kingdom of Italy (Giotto liked the name; he wasn't going to deny it), several things had changed. The main one: the aristocracy had weakened, and now what commanded more than blood or a title, was money. And to gain it, several methods were used.
Now a kind of "protective" groups had appeared and demanded a sort of fee to maintain the "security" of where you lived, your business, or whatever other thing they could imagine. Even people from the high aristocracy were suffering from it. Those who were most unprotected ended up being those with citrus estates: the trees were so fragile that even a slight change in the watercourse could end a crop, and thugs easily took advantage of it. Also, there was the issue that administrators were threatened to resign so they could later obtain the position.
Until now, Giotto had been fortunate not to have run into someone like that and only heard rumors. It could be said his acquaintances had had the same luck or, rather, they were lucky G's reputation was such that all people usually thought about it before approaching to bother.
G get angry when people related him with the things his father do in the past, but on those occasions when the only ones who knew about his old family were the ones he wanted to scare, he admitted that it turned out to be a plus. Giotto could hardly contradict his logic.
But it seemed even the shadow of the past was beginning to become less heavy as time passed. When Piero's administrator received the first threatening letter, G had turned pale: what little his last name could have served him, it was fading. And that was why this, the fourth time, he decided to go for a walk at night at the estate with Argo at his side. Giotto wasn't afraid for him, G could defend himself quite well; in fact, he feared what might happen to the other guy, especially with the modifications that G had made to his gun.
It couldn't be people had to suffer so much, there had to be a way to help, a way to...
Suddenly, the sound of the mansion door opening echoed through the room, followed by loud footsteps that showed anger, and others accompanied by barking.
Near them, on the main stairs, Piero's little dog stiffened and ran upward as fast as his short legs would allow him. It was of little use to him, as Argo did not take long to reach him (advantages of being big) and grab him to start licking. Ever since Piero had allowed Argo to enter the mansion, it was a familiar scene to watch. Not a very good one for the other little dog, though.
"G, welcome back," Giotto greeted, just at the exact moment the teen put his feet in the room where they were. "How do you-"
"Giovanni? What did you do to your face?" Raffaele asked with the same expression someone would have if they had suddenly seen a ghost enter. Just a little and the cup of tea would fell from his hands. "Is that a..."
"Tattoo" G completed, "And is G, Signore. G."
"Did you get a tattoo on your face?!"
"I think it looks great," Giotto commented calmly. "It gives you a lot of style, G! It only hurts me that you went without me. Let me throw a tantrum to show my displeasure."
"You had things to do in the morning, don't blame me."
"Wait, is it recent? It was today?"
"Yes."
"Effectively."
"But why-"
"I didn't really want to continue wearing a scar on my face, thank you," G replied. "Also, in that way there is another reason why people would hesitate to approach. You know, prejudices."
Raffaele should be outraged; the rules of etiquette dictated that. But…
But to be fair, he couldn't deny it looked good.
"Red flames?" he asked curiously, "Why something like that?"
"Because I owe a lot to the flames. On the one hand they hurt me, but on the other they have also saved me. You can say it's a kind of tribute."
G himself was the one who had made this simple but meaningful design. He had been thinking about it for days.
Giotto would have liked to be there. And it wasn't he hadn't been able to cancel what he had to do; it was he felt G needed to be alone at that moment. The fact that his friend had accepted it so easily said he thought so too; to be able to face what it meant for himself, but with the awareness there was someone by his side who was waiting for him, who hoped everything was fine.
So that not only the physical wound would disappear, but also the emotional one.
"By the way, bad news. There is no administrator anymore. Again." G commented, "Good part. Argo ripped half of the pants off whoever was threatening. At least when he gets to his leader, he will have to explain how a dog left him without pants."
"How do you know this person has a leader?" Raffaele asked, "Cannot be he is acting by himself?"
"That's the point," G said. "They hardly act on their own. Being in a group gives more security due to the inherent support that one has, as well as making the tasks simpler. Someone alone would be more easily caught, more easily eaten by those who are in groups," he shrugged. "Or maybe I'm thinking too much about how it worked before. Don't pay too much attention to me."
"It does not sound crazy," Raffaele commented. "As perceptive as ever, Giovanni. By any chance you don't know things about international trade?"
"Well, it depends of… Wait, what?"
"Is it for Japan, Signor Raffaele?" Giotto asked, "Are there still problems?"
Both Giotto and G were aware of Raffaele's silk import business from Japan, Italy, and France. For a few years, tensions began to rise, and Raffaele had started to have problems getting the cloth. And from his face, it didn't seem like the situation had improved.
"As things are going, I will have to go personally to buy what I need since all the intermediaries refuse to go," he admitted, discouraged. "I'm not even sure how I would do that. I-"
"We can help!" Giotto exclaimed, "G is fast at learning. "
"Giotto, no," G was quick to say.
"Giotto, yes," answered the blonde and then smile. "After he learns he could teach me. From there, we could go."
"Giotto."
"Oh, wait. I suppose the expenses would be very high… Now that I think about it, how long is it for arrival?"
"Giotto."
"I guess we would have to-"
"Giotto!" G ended up despairing, to the point that he took his friend by the shoulders and began to shake him as if he were made of rag. "Stop offering yourself to travel for months, will you?!"
"But that way we would help Signor Raffaele! Also, we could learn more-"
"That's not the point! What if you end up in the middle of a dangerous situation?!"
"For that I am with you," he said in the most natural way possible. "You are always so reliable, G. Being by your side nothing will happen to me."
"Excuse me?!"
Raffaele watched as the two continued to discuss hypothetical situations and even more hypothetical trips with an almost funny calm. In the end, he ended up laughing while shaking his head. Even if they had grown up (the first time he saw them, they were barely… Ten years old?), they were still too young for him to accept exposing them to such danger as such a trip would mean. But he couldn't deny he appreciated that it seemed like they were taking this possibility very seriously and just because they were trying to help.
"What is all the noise?" a new voice joined. "Perhaps already-"
Piero fell silent, froze with his raised arm holding what seemed to be some kind of invitation.
Giotto cocked his head, while G and Raffaele just blinked, confused.
"What's on your face?" Piero asked while staring at G. It seemed that his soul was going far away, to an unknown land never to return. "I-is, is-"
"It's called a tattoo," G completed. "Thanks for not screaming. By the way, you no longer have an administrator for the plantations."
"What?"
"Ah!" Raffaele exclaimed, "What you have in your hand, did you also receive the invitation?"
"The invitation? Invitation from what?" asked Giotto.
"To a new Opera," answered the older one, "With a title and plot quite... peculiar."
"Peculiar," G repeated, "Oh, I don't like how that sounds."
"Well... It cannot be denied it is original. I have a feeling it will be a success."
"Can you end my mental torture and say what it is about?"
Raffaele sighed.
"It's…"
"I mafiusi de la Vicaria"
By Giuseppe Rizzotto y Gaspare Mosca
Elena read the title and felt a strange feeling.
The term Mafia wasn't something new to her (it had become viral for about two years now); and she knew its meaning wasn't exactly a good thing.
A kind of uneasiness washed over her, and although she knew she should relax, she found herself unable to do so. Much less with all those men around her, those men who were calm outside her home, who saw how her family lived from day to day and never, never took their eyes off, neither at them nor at the entire surrounding territory. Her father told her that she exaggerated (as always, Elena the dramatic) they were simply doing the job he had entrusted them to do: take care of them, but she could not help feeling uncomfortable with those presences.
Besides, it also caused her some suspicion. Why, if everyone, including the aristocrats, began to complain about the insecurity situation, her family's wealth had not diminished but, on the contrary, were increasing? Elena was sure that she saw something new inside her house every day, and she didn't understand why.
Or rather, she didn't want to think about it too much. It wasn't that hard to find out. If her family wasn't part of the victims, then...
They were the evildoers. Or at least they were connected with-
"Elena!"
Elena gave a little cry and almost fell over with fright. Her little brother laughed to the point where he had to put his hands on his stomach.
"Flavio!" she reproached him. "Do you want to kill me?!"
"You were very distracted; it was a golden opportunity!"
Elena felt the blood rush to her head, and she was about to start scolding him, but a single glance at her brother's happy face was enough to make her forget the offense. She appreciated him too much to be mad at him.
"Is something wrong, Flavio?" she asked curiously, "Why aren't you in your room?"
"Father is looking for us," answered the kid and instinctively stiffened. "There are guests. We have to go down to say hello."
"Again?" Elena sighed. One of the things that were also becoming common was having new people in the house every day. Her father gloated that all these people were of high rank, they were marquises and dukes, counts, and barons, and most of them were foreigners. His influence had multiplied dramatically in just a couple of years.
And again, Elena didn't want to think about the details that were making that possible.
"Is it the invitation from the Opera?" Flavio asked when he saw the paper in her hands. "Do you think we can go tomorrow? It would be amazing!"
"You don't even like opera, you little impostor."
"No. But it is one of the few times when we can go to the city," he replied with some contained emotion. "I have wanted to go to the city for a while."
Elena smiled, and warmth invaded her chest. She was glad Flavio was not like her arrogant older brother and that his reasons for wanting to go out were, if perhaps too innocent, noble.
Flavio hoped to meet those who saved him in the bombing of the city three years ago, and thus, finally, thank them for what they had done. He could not do it years ago because his father had not even deigned to listen to uncle Piero when he explained what had happened and that he needed to thank two strangers for saving his son (although it was something curious that precisely Uncle Piero seems to know those people. Before she had even obtained answers in that term, her father, again, had refused to listen and had simply closed the door in Piero's face).
Finding two people among all the city inhabitants was difficult, almost impossible, but she didn't dare say that to her little brother.
"Let's go downstairs before he comes for us himself," she declared. Neither of them wanted to anger their father; that was for sure.
Both went down the stairs with a certain heaviness and slowness. And although the living room was full of lights, it always seemed dark to them when their father was around.
Without looking directly at the guest, the two bowed and saluted, coordinating almost seamlessly. There was a high-pitched laugh from their mother and a slight growl from their father.
"I introduce you two of my children," their father, Ignazio, spoke. "She is Elena, and my youngest son, Flavio. Both of you, our guest comes from Rome, treat properly, I trust you will do well."
"From your words I suppose there must be an older one, is he not at the moment?"
"Unfortunately, he is on a trip in London. But-"
Elena stopped listening to her father when she realized the guest's voice was female. It was strange, they did not usually receive many women, which caused her great curiosity. Trying to be discreet, she looked up.
The woman radiated a special aura of calm, and the smile on her face was a kind one. All her clothes were white (how did she keep them so clean?) and countered with her black hair. Her eyes were blue and, on her face,...
"Is that a tattoo?" she asked in surprise. Her voice echoed throughout the room because she had unconsciously spoken too loudly, and Ignazio turned to see her with suppressed anger at such interruption and lack of manners.
Even her mother seemed to grit her teeth as she shook her head. And Elena felt her soul fall to the ground.
"Pardon, I-"
"There is no need" the woman smiled at her and even gave a small laugh. "It looks like a tattoo, doesn't it?"
"Is it a special kind of flower?" she dared to ask, "The orange tone it has is beautiful."
"Elena!" Ignazio yelled at her, "Stop saying so much nonsense, you-"
"There is no problem, really," the woman interrupted. "In any case, the one who is being impolite is me. I haven't even introduced myself."
"Oh, it's not-"
"Please," she interrupted again and then gave Elena a friendly smile.
As if he already knew her.
"Elena Giardenne, isn't it?" Elena nodded. "My name is Sepira. I hope we get along well."
(1) A lupara is a sawed-off shotgun. A weapon that was created in Sicily in the 19th century.
Little disclaimer. Yes, G is still too young for a tattoo, but if Gokudera on the manga can smoke at the same age, I don't think G's tattoo is a bad thing.
Temporal jump and I can say with this one begins, called "a new arc." Now the first generation are teenagers, and things start to get murkier and more interesting.
You will notice (or maybe not) that now I put the location as the Kingdom of Italy. As I see that these little historical data tend to like, as an explanation, Italy officially existed at that time. The Italian Unification was finished in 1861 (except for Rome, which was still going to be late in being annexed), and from there, Italy was born: a new country, a new way of managing. The economic model went from being feudal to a capitalist one, and that's how the mafia, as we know it, was born, taking advantage of this change to level up and become stronger. What was happening, I hope it is understood with what I wrote in the chapter; in the same way, I will continue to delve into the subject, and if something is not understood, you can say it without problems.
The opera I mention exists. And it was released in that year.