Mafia Kings: Massimo: Dark Mafia Romance Series #3

And that was how I found myself standing before la Vedova – the Widow.

The most powerful woman in all of Italy.

She was in her late 60s, with a thin face and grey hair pulled back in a severe bun.

As befitted her nickname, she wore all black. Her dress was old-fashioned, with a hem down around her ankles, long sleeves, and a black lace collar that covered her neck.

She was thin and frail, about 5’ 4” – but if her body was feeble, her spirit was anything but.

La Vedova had never been a great beauty, not even when she was young. But beauty and traditional femininity had never been the source of her power. Rather, it was her commanding aura and iron will that made her one of the most feared leaders in the Cosa Nostra. I had met hardened hitmen who spoke in fearful whispers about la Vedova.

We were in a room inside a palazzo – or palace – built during the Renaissance. Palazzos were more common than you’d think; Venice had nearly a hundred. Over a dozen had been turned into hotels, and many more housed universities or government offices.

The Fioretti family’s palazzo was one of the most impressive in the city. It was decorated in the old style – as in the 1600s. There were golden curtains on the windows, marble busts set into alcoves in the walls, and furniture that looked like it might have been stolen from Versailles when the Sun King was still around. The molding along the 30-foot-tall ceiling was baroque and full of curlicues, and the ceiling was painted with murals that rivaled the Sistine Chapel.

Everything reeked of power, money, and aristocracy.

The Widow sat on what could only be described as a throne, which was on a raised platform at the far end of the room. She was surrounded by men in black suits, including her consigliere – a rail-thin, middle-aged man who hovered at her side and occasionally whispered in her ear.

It was all very intimidating.

That was the desired effect.

I tried not to show my nervousness as she sized me up.

“So. You are the brother of Dario Rosolini, the new don of Tuscany,” she said haughtily.

“Yes, Signora.”

“What order of birth are you?”

The phrasing was odd, so I didn’t quite understand the question.

“…ma’am?”

“Order of birth – birth order. Are you the second oldest? The third?” she snapped impatiently.

“The fifth of six brothers.”

She gave me a withering look. “So I don’t even rate a visit from the next in line to the throne.”

I tried to remember that I was here to be a diplomat – and as such, I needed to keep my temper.

Thank God they hadn’t sent Adriano.

“I was judged the most suitable out of those available, Signora,” I explained. “Adriano, my second-oldest brother, is still recovering from injuries he sustained when – ”

“Ah, yes, the recent unpleasantness in Florence,” she interrupted. “Has your family finally put a lid on that pot? Made sure it won’t boil over into other people’s territories?”

She put a great deal of stress on other people’s territories.

“Yes, Signora.”

Her lip curled slightly in disdain. “Somehow I doubt that. What brings you to Venice, Signor Rosolini?”

“We wish to reestablish communications after the upheaval in Florence.”

“I wasn’t aware – were communications severed?” She managed to sound both slightly concerned and entirely dismissive at the same time.

I glanced at the rail-thin man standing next to her throne. “Your consigliere never returned my brother Niccolo’s calls.”

“My consigliere is quite busy, Signor.” She said it like it was an obvious point, and I was stupid if I didn’t realize it.

“I’m sure, my lady. But we feared it might have something to do with… the appearance of the situation.”

A hint of a smirk appeared on her face. “And what appearance would that be?”

“A Sicilian named Mezzasalma killed the entire Agrella family and tried to make it look like our doing.”

Her consigliere leaned in and whispered in the Widow’s ear.

Once he was finished, she asked me, “Are you saying you didn’t kill your business partners of 20 years?”

“No, ma’am, we did not.”

“It would be understandable,” she said with false sympathy. “Your brother, a recently crowned don… a brand-new regime coming in, eager to expand your territory, even at the expense of old alliances… by the way, my condolences on your father’s death.”

She sounded genuine when she mentioned my father.

I bowed slightly. “Thank you, Signora. But we did not betray the Agrellas. Rather, they betrayed us by working with Mezzasalma… who then turned on them and killed them all.”

“Mm-hmm. And this Sicilian… is he alive?”

“No.”

“And neither are the Agrellas. Pity that all the witnesses are dead, isn’t it?” she asked sardonically.

I struggled not to sound like I was agreeing with her, yet also acknowledge that it wasn’t the best look for our family.

“It’s… inconvenient, Signora.”

She burst out with a single laugh. “‘Inconvenient’! Yes, it is. So how can you prove that you didn’t betray the Agrellas?”

“It’s impossible to prove a negative, Signora. But – ”

“That’s very slippery of you, sir,” the Widow interjected. Then she smiled the tiniest bit. “You sound like my granddaughter.”

I’d heard of Lucia Fioretti.

None of it was good, other than she was very pretty.

But I had to play the diplomat.

“I’m sure she’s a charming young lady,” I said.

The Widow snorted.Exclusive content from NôvelDrama.Org.

“She’s a brat. Spoiled rotten and thinks she knows everything. But she is my granddaughter.” The Widow lifted her chin and peered down at me from beneath her eyelids. “So what are you hoping to achieve in this meeting, Signor Rosolini?”

“As I said, to reestablish contact between our families.”

“So you can get close enough to slip a stiletto in my back, perhaps?” she purred.

I gave her an alarmed look. “We would never do that, Signora – I assure you.”

“I did not attain my standing in the Cosa Nostra by taking mafiosos’ assurances at face value,” she said tartly. “If all you came here to do was say ‘hello,’ then consider contact reestablished. Otherwise – ”

Things were not going the way I’d hoped.

Time to bring out the big guns.

“Ma’am,” I said, interrupting her as gently as possible, “could we speak in private?”

“So you can slip a stiletto in my front, Signor? I think not.”

I glanced at her consigliere and all the men surrounding her on the dais. I didn’t trust a single one of them with what I was about to say. “I have a piece of delicate information – ”

“Delicate or indelicate, I trust my men with my life. Anything you can say in front of me, you can say in front of them.”

Great.

I weighed what I was about to do.

I wondered if Niccolo and Dario would approve…

Screw it.

I didn’t see what other choice I had.

“We have reason to believe that my uncle – ”

“Fausto,” she interrupted me with a huge smile – like they were old friends. “How is he these days?”

“Treacherous, ma’am,” I said darkly.

“Oh?” she asked in mild surprise.

“We believe it was him who – ”

“Believe it was he,” she interrupted.

I frowned at her, not quite understanding.

“…what?”

“It is not ‘we believe it was him,’” she said snootily. “It is ‘we believe it was he.’”

I couldn’t believe it.

Here I was, about to tell her that my uncle was a traitor and a viper –

And she was acting like an old schoolmarm.

The Widow continued her lecture. “Precision in speech is a virtue, Signor Rosolini. Pay attention to your grammar, or risk not being taken seriously.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that, Signora,” I replied darkly.

I couldn’t help myself.

At least it was only about 1% as bad as what Adriano would have said.

The Widow raised her nose even higher in the air as she glared down at me.

“You do so remind me of my granddaughter. She’s sarcastic, too.” Then the Widow relented. “So… what, exactly, do you believe your uncle has done?”

“Fausto conspired with a Sicilian named Mezzasalma to murder the Agrella family… and then they tried to pin it on me and my brothers.”

From the look on the Widow’s face, this time I’d actually shocked her.

Before she could say anything, her consigliere leaned over and whispered something in her ear – and covered his lips with his hand.

When she’d regained her composure, the Widow said, “That’s quite an accusation, Signor Rosolini.”

“It gets worse. We also believe Fausto was responsible for the death of our father.”

She stared at me in disbelief. “His own brother.”

“Yes.”

“He was your father’s consigliere for – what was it – 20 years?”

“Twenty-five, ma’am.”

“And you think he’s a modern-day Claudius?”

I had absolutely no idea what she was talking about.

“…a what, ma’am?”

“Not a what, a who. Claudius, the uncle of Hamlet – the play by Shakespeare? Claudius killed his brother the king and stole his throne. You really should brush up on the classics, Signor Rosolini.”

The schoolmarm bit was getting old.

“Maybe after we stop this particular pot from boiling over, Signora.”

The Widow narrowed her eyes. “Was that sarcasm again, Signor Rosolini?”

“…a little,” I admitted.

She stared at me for a second longer, then gave a brief snort.

“At least you’re honest. I’d love to introduce you to my granddaughter – I think you’d hit it off fabulously. IF she didn’t try to cut your balls off.” The Widow smirked the tiniest bit. “She is my granddaughter, after all. However, I find it incredibly difficult to believe that Fausto would do such a thing. What proof do you have?”

One of the men behind the Widow’s throne – a guy with salt-and-pepper hair – reacted to something in his suit jacket. He pulled out his phone like he was getting a text or call on vibrate. He quietly descended the rear of the dais and left via a door in the back of the room.

I didn’t think anything of it –

At the time.

“My new sister-in-law saw my cousin Aurelio with the Agrellas a few hours before the massacre.”

The Widow raised a single eyebrow. “And?”

From her reaction, I realized Niccolo had been right: our evidence was flimsy at best.

“She said that when Mezzasalma kidnapped her, he suggested they would be visiting Fausto’s estate.”

“This sister-in-law sounds like a busy woman,” the Widow said drily. “Did Mezzasalma mention Fausto by name?”

“…no, ma’am,” I conceded.

“So you saw your cousin at a meeting – ”

“My sister-in-law,” I interrupted.

Both the Widow’s eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”

“My sister-in-law saw Aurelio, not me.”

“And you thought it necessary to interrupt me to clarify that point?” she asked haughtily.

I couldn’t help myself. “Precision in speech is a virtue, ma’am,” I said, stone-faced. Just to be safe, I added, “A very wise woman told me that once.”

The Widow looked down at me for several seconds with heavily lidded eyes.

“You’re treading a very thin line, Signor,” she finally said.

I was worried I’d let my irritation get the best of me. “My apologies.”

“Don’t apologize,” she said with slight amusement. “Like my granddaughter, you may be insolent, but at least you’re entertaining. What exactly is it that you expect me to do, Signor Rosolini? Declare war on your uncle on your behalf?”

“No, ma’am. We only ask that you keep in mind what I’ve told you, if and when he comes to you – ”

“Or sends his fifth-in-line instead?” she asked, smiling slightly at her little jab.

I clenched my jaw and forced a smile. “Aurelio is his only child, so I guess you’ll be getting a visit from him.”

“Oh, the heir apparent. Wonderful,” she said sarcastically, then switched to a regal tone. “I promise to keep in mind what you’ve said, Signor Rosolini. And as far as our two families are concerned, yours and mine – consider communication reestablished from this point forward.”

As the Widow said the last part, she glanced sternly at her consigliere, who lowered his eyes to the floor, chastened. Mommy had just spanked him in front of God and everybody.

“Thank you, ma’am,” I said with sincere gratitude.

Given the start of the meeting, things had gone better than I thought they would.

The Widow sat up straight on her throne. “Now, unless there’s anything else – ”

Before she could finish her sentence, all hell broke loose.