Marco

If I have to think about it, my life was never stable, never felt entirely safe and happiness has always been short-lived.

I shouldn't exist and my filiation was a source of scandal, suffering, and bloodshed.

My father was married when he met and fell in love with my mother and my mother was not any girl, as one may expect, but the daughter of a capo of a different clan. What can be more appealing to someone who can easily have a lot of things, than someone whom he really should not get involved with? My mother's status is, however, part of the reasons why I am still alive. Would I have been the son of a waitress that my father fucked drunk at a party, I most probably would have died in infancy.

It was not that her origins helped my mother a lot; her own parents had disowned her the moment they found out about the pregnancy.

She was lovely in more ways than one, a most graceful ballet dancer with long, wavy, black hair and the impressive dark eyes that the few people who knew us both say I have inherited. Because of her, my early childhood was happy even if we lived somehow secluded in a house on the outskirts of Rome, severely guarded by my father's bodyguards.

Being the only thing I knew, I didn't find it suffocating but it seems she did. She took her own life when I was around seven after what looked like a heated discussion with my father. I was not there when it happened; I had been picked up by Tomaso that day to see Father and never got to come back. It was the end of an era and the end of my innocence.

Would she be proud of what became of me? Most probably not.

I know Stefano's men, the men I used to command, are hunting me.  Unfortunately for most people involved, I left without anything; without much cash, a damn phone charger, or even a change of clothes. I need to get off the island and see a doctor or I'll end up like Roxi, fainting because of an infection while jumping from rooftops.

Ah, Roxi... It doesn't look like I am going to see her anytime soon. The last thing she needs in her life is Stefano sending snipers after her because of me. Though the underworld seemed to not be foreign to her. Those scars on her shoulder mean she had at least one unfortunate encounter I lacked the time to ask about.

Today I have decided to take the risk and finally flee the island. The wind is blowing in my face. It's a rainy day and the fisher boat heading to the mainland is almost empty. It would have been faster but more dangerous to take the train or a car or motorcycle. That is what they expect. On the radio were reported far too many motorcycle accidents for two days in the area.

Once on the mainland, it's the territory of a different clan so I am not in direct danger anymore and I can rent a hotel room, buy a charger, and make a plan. It would be best if I get out of Italy for the time being and ironically Switzerland would make sense as a first stop. Maybe I can stop in Bern and see Roxi briefly without anybody noticing. Who knows when I will have the next occasion if ever.

After that, I can head to Asia to find whoever did that. Yamato will help but it is going to be difficult anyway. The cursed needle that I have put in a small plastic box, dangles on a string around my neck. I stare at it for a while. It's plain, so it isn't a signed message. Whoever did that does not want to be found.

The ferryboat is close to the shore and I jump in the water to swim the last meters to avoid the two men in black that are stationed at the docks. Nothing like hanging around in wet clothes afterward. To be less suspicious I abandon the jacket and take the wet shirt off too.

Nowadays this part of Italy, namely Calabria, is under the control of the Bonavota family. Some years ago, I had a brief relationship with Alessandra Bonavota, the third daughter of Giovanni Bonavota, the capo. Unfortunately, she died, also by suicide which seems to follow me like a curse. But her father has been friendly to me even after her death. Well to Marco, Stefano Messina's brother; I am not sure if he would be friendly towards Marco the murderer of Stefano's daughter.

They were indeed expecting me here too.  Two suspicious-looking men make me hurry to get lost among the tourists on the streets of Marina di Zambone.

It's a tremendous effort to dispatch surveillance in every coastal city in proximity. But well, if my brother would murder my only daughter I suppose that is what I would do too. I understand his rage; everything speaks against me but part of me just can't help being hurt. How can he think I would ever do that after I have spent years of my life by his side, completely loyal?

I got rid of the phone before getting on the ferry. It was anyway dead and probably traced, and all my cards are now besides wet, probably also frozen. The amount of pickpocketing I had to do in the last week is frightening.

Ok, now I need a phone and for that, I will likely need to rob some tourists. Desperate times... From the park bench I sit on, the crowded little beach is easy to observe.

"Hey, do you speak English? You look like you speak English. Please tell me you do because I really need to pee and need someone to take care of my friend's stuff that went skinny dipping, while I do so," says a brown-haired girl in her early twenties, carrying a heavy camping backpack. Her eyes wander from my face to my torso, then back to my face. She smiles with a bit of a flirty undertone.

"I do..." I answer hesitantly.

"Great, I'll be back in five. And when I am back, I will give you my number and invite you for coffee," she says, winking. My smile is hesitant but it seems, I got a coin tossed from Fortuna that I shouldn't take for granted.

There is indeed a phone in the backpack and a hundred euros in cash. Regretful, I put both in my pocket and refuse politely the girl's coffee invitation though I would really welcome some food.

Half an hour later, I walk towards the train station in the city dressed in the finest tourist gear: some flashy shorts, an ugly t-shirt with the inscription 'Ciao Bella' slapped over it, a baseball cap, and sunglasses. At least now I don't stand out anymore.

On the train to Napoli, where I sneaked in without buying a ticket, I try to unlock the girl's phone, which I will have to abandon soon too. Let's try four zeros? It works. Today must be my damn lucky day.

At least the police are not searching for me, and I am not in the news. The poison is not traceable in autopsies and, the issues between clans are settled without the police mingling, most of the time at least. Stefano took that route too, it seems.

Three rings. He has to pick up. There are few people that have his personal number; he will know it's important.

"Alex? I need your help," I blur out before he hangs up.

"Marco. Shit." Alex takes a deep breath. "Did you do it?" he asks bluntly.

"No. How can you think I did?"

"I don't. I just wanted to hear it from you in case you actually did it for whatever reason. Where are you?"

"Almost in Napoli. You?"

"You know you have to get out of Italy alone. I don't want to trespass any agreements, but if it gets nasty I can send the boys in to get you, it's just going to be bloody if it comes to that. Nate is in Switzerland with Yuri. Go to Zürich and she can arrange everything including lawyers or snipers."

"Thanks. I have to go," I say, hanging up and getting fast off the train after it reaches Napoli Central Station.

I need a ride, a fast one. This will do, I conclude as I see a baby gang leader stopping his motorcycle in close proximity.

Still feeling bad about that poor girl's phone that I left at the train station's lost and found after deleting the last call, I decided to ask this time before borrowing stuff.

"Scusa, ho davvero bisogno di prendere in prestito la tua moto. Sarebbe possibile? Ti pagherò in tre giorni se mi dai un numero di conto./ Sorry, I really need to borrow your bike. Would that be possible? I am going to pay you in three days if you give me an account number."

"Vaffanculo,/ Go fuck yourself, loser."

I tried.

Fifteen minutes later I am on the highway heading to Rome with a scratched elbow, and probably a guy cursing at me after he wakes up and misses his bike and jacket.

The many curses must have reached me quite early because a black car is following me for quite some time. It appeared some hours into the drive. It's too long for it to be a coincidence. It is getting closer and it's trying to push me off the narrow street.

The machine is not in particularly good shape for a race and I notice just how serious the situation is when I hear the first bullet flying past my head.

We entered the outskirts of Rome. There is an abandoned warehouse on the side of the road. This should do. I steer abruptly off the street and into the building. The door is too small for a car so they need to get out which gives me time to prepare.

Well, prepare rudimentary because they have weapons and I don't, but this place is full of glass shards and pointy metal objects. It will have to do because I don't plan on dying here.

I hear them coming and can't help wondering whose men they are, because they are not familiar. Since Stefano is the leader of a powerful clan he could have asked smaller and some bigger clans for support. He has a good relationship with the leader of the Rogoli family in Ampulia so they might be Mario's men.

The warehouse is full of mechanical devices, ceiling-high shelves, and other good hiding places. Climbing one of them, I wait silently for the four men from the car to enter. They all step inside pointing their guns at an imaginary foe.

One of them signals the others to spread up and search. Nice.

Silently I climb down behind one of the men and plant the sharp shard in his neck. He voices a short grunt and collapses to the ground. Now I have his gun so better chances.

The joy is short-lived when two of the armed men step into the warehouse.

A shot signals the start of the swift violent encounter. It misses me by quite far but my shots do not miss their targets.

Bullets thunder, glass and metal break, and curses hurl creating a familiar, violent sonata. Bloodshed is my element and meanwhile, it feels like a more focused, agile, and precise version of myself is taking control in these situations, a dangerous monster that is nonetheless keeping me alive.

Three men lay on the ground. The remaining two try to shoot me again. One of them has a good aim and scratches again my already hurt left shoulder.

Panting and with sweat beads trickling down my forehead I plant a shot into the last man's right arm and sink to the ground breathing out reliefed.

I need a good night of sleep, some food, and a shower, but at least this is over, I very mistakenly assume. 

One fluorescent red light appears on my hand, another on my abdomen and suddenly I stay there glowing like a Christmas tree, realizing that I might probably die within minutes.

"Dio Santo..."

It takes a few minutes and nothing happens.

"Che cazzo vuoi?/ What the fuck do you want?" I scream into the hall.

Because killing me right away is not it.

Kneeling on the ground beside the dead bodies, I watch the elderly man who enters the warehouse and walks with steady steps toward me.

I look at his perfectly tailored suit, his dark eyes, and at the ring on his right hand.

"Non ti vedo da molto tempo, Marco. Vedo che sei fedele alla tua reputazione. Uno dei migliori assassini dell'emisfero./ Long time no seeing, Marco. I see you are true to your reputation. One of the best assassins in the hemisphere ."

"Davvero molto tempo/ Long time indeed..."

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Speculations. Who is this dude? :D