Mafia Morality by Emily Blackburn
They were part of a tribe, a very exclusive
tribe, which many of their fellow brothers had devoted their entire lives to.
Commitment was the key; service was the method of execution. Many who joined
had died throughout their stay, some for good causes, others for unknown ones.
But it was clear to most, that the Sicilian[1]
Mafia, were certainly not a bunch of people whom you wanted to get in trouble
with. Notoriously known as the “Cosa Nostra[2]”,
they valued brotherhood above anything else. They were loyal and courageous, though
many would have said that such noble and worthy values were put to bad use.
Those who were found guilty of treason and betrayal were said to have died a
horrible death, as that was the penalty for breaking the time-honored code.
Life in the Cosca[3] was complex,
you never knew who was above you in the system, only who was below. Information
was exchanged quickly, efficiently and discreetly, allowing everything to run
smoothly and objectively. However, in the event that a member had valued money
over the secrecy of such operations, the consequences would have been
disastrous, not only for the person himself but for the clan. Such people were
a disgrace, and disgraces were eliminated immediately for the sake of the tribe
as a whole…
“Explain yourself. What was your price?” he
asked in a calm and composed voice. Such interrogations usually started off
like this. The Consigliere[4]
took his time, slowly slithering towards him, like a python waiting to
constrict his prey in the split second he faltered. “The stubborn bastardo[5]”,
he thought to himself. There was a burning passion in many of those who served;
they just weren’t allowed to express such strong feelings. Goals and objectives
had to be met and they were not prepared to let anything stand in their way from
completing their missions. “I didn’t give him anything. I didn’t utter a word.
He just…just…we… said that…” Giovanni’s speech drifted into a series of
incoherent phrases. His muscles were tense and he felt like he was going to
throw up. Wondering whether he would be able to get himself out of this mess
alive, he said a prayer to the Virgin Mary, silently proclaiming that he would
do anything for her if he managed to get off scot-free.
“What did, we, say?” the interrogator asked,
placing a great deal of emphasis on the ‘we’. He spat it out in pure disgust,
as if the mere thought of being associated with such vermin was the most
undesirable thing in the world that could happen to him. He shot a menacing
glance at the two other gang members who were standing in the alleyway,
forbidding them to do anything that would let their friend escape from his
impending death. Giovanni calculated his chances. The odds were that the boss
probably had a dozen other men lined-up behind the walls; ready to attack once
the order or cue was given. However, if he could distract the interrogator and
stall for time, he might just be able to make a quick break for the main road
or any other escape route that seemed feasible. He stared piercingly into the
eyes of his interrogator and replied, “I did not accept any bribe.” He knew
that this in itself was a lie, a lie as fake as the replica dragon tattoos
which he had on his chest, arms and legs to make him look more overpowering
than he really was. But admitting to his crime was a sure death sentence, and
that was the surely the wrong move to make. He thought of his precious wife and
children, who knew nothing about his underworld connections. What was he going
to say to them? How would they accept it? A million thoughts and questions ran
through Giovanni’s mind, but none of them as important as what he was focusing
on at the moment: to survive this whole episode and start a new life. He
regretted not skipping town earlier, for they would not have been able to trace
him under the false identity he would have undertaken. With the money he had
gained from the sale of the information, his family wouldn’t have to worry
about finances for the next fifty years of their lives. He recalled the grin of
satisfaction on his wife’s face when he told her that he had made a bomb from
his recent business venture. “Business
venture indeed”, he thought. But staring back at him were no longer his wife’s
light blue irises; instead, it was the interrogator, with a twisted smile on
his pudgy face.
“A
tough cookie, aye?” He said sarcastically with a smirk. “You should know better
than I who you’re messing with here, big boy. The mafia isn’t exactly a
confectionary store where you’re allowed to stick your filthy paws in our
candy.” The Interrogator was not pleased. Most of the people whom he squeezed
confessions out of were breaking down by now. Yet he still saw that questioning
had no effect on Giovanni, it just made the little squirt even more determined
not to admit to his crime. In a fit of anger, he shoved Giovanni up against the
wall and snarled, “Just take responsibility for your crime like a man, dude!”
Giovanni thought that the interrogator sounded desperate, for he just wanted to
get his job over and done with. He saw this as his chance, to make a quick dash
towards the stairwell, which was about ten feet away from both of them. But he
first needed to get the interrogator literally off his chest, for he was nearly
suffocating from the pressure his large frame put on him. He was so dangerously
close to his own lean and toned body.
“You
think you’ve got all the authority and control, don’t you, hotshot? You use
underhand methods to get people to confess to treason and corruption, thinking
that you’re always doing the right thing. Well get this straight buddy, you’re
not.” The interrogator took a step back, and Giovanni felt the grip on his
shoulders soften. He had twenty more seconds before he would sprint away and
survive what awaited him if he continued to drag on and on. Giovanni reached
out and gently placed his palm on the interrogator’s left chest. He felt a
muscle tense underneath and knew that the interrogator was certainly on his
guard. He decided to continue with this charade. “Look back on your moral
values, your pride, and maybe, just maybe, you ought to reflect on your
repulsive behavior. That might give you more apt definition of morality.”
He
smirked to himself. He might actually manage to get away with this. He thought
about the riches, the flamboyant and extravagant lifestyle that he could
indulge in soon. The money he used to rake in was never enough. A small fry
like him could never earned enough in the business to please his dear
Francesca. She was the bright and vibrant moon in his dark and cloudy sky,
giving him passion and drive to do the things that lead him to the farthest
corners of the Earth. “She, makes everything, worthwhile.” Giovanni thought to
himself. He thought about the times, he lightly caressed her at night, and she
told him about her dreams. They planned to migrate to Canada, to escape from
all the madness. He knew it was extremely risky but for his beautiful
Francesca, he had no qualms about following through with his plans. But enough
of that for now, he had to get out of this mess once and for all.
The
smell of cigarette smoke lingered in his nostrils. The interrogator was breathed over him and Giovanni made a
subconscious attempt to control his pulsating heart. “Why do we even bother
with people like him, Capo[6].
This dog has no pride. He is a piece of scum, with no regard for his brothers.”
The unexpected comment came from one of his subordinates, Olivero, who seldom
spoke up on matters like these. But then again, he was in no position to say
anything, and his remarks drifted out of his head just as soon as they had come
in.
Giovanni
saw this as his chance and shoved the interrogator back against the wall,
causing him to stumble back a few steps. He made a quick dash towards the
stairwell, running as fast as his two legs would carry him. “I’m going to make
it.” he thought, and But tragically, that was not fast enough. The interrogator
realized that he had been tricked and in the blink of an eye, his reflexes
kicked in. He drew his Beretta[7]
from his coat and fired two shots. As soon as the bullets ripped through his
body, Giovanni collapsed to the ground, gasping and reaching for the stairwell
in his dying moments, before expiring. He had not managed to survive the final
showdown.
The
interrogator walked up the steps and checked him for his pulse. Zero, that was good.
No confession, but his mission had been accomplished anyway. Who was Giovanni
to preach about morality? This was the Mafia for Christ sakes! “Pal, you had
the wrong idea the whole time. There are only two morals – Loyalty and Honor.
Violate any of these and you have to go, simple as that…” he said to himself.
[1] An island of southern Italy in the
Mediterranean Sea.
[2] Another name for the Italian Mafia, a criminal
syndicate. Italian for “Our Thing”.
[3] Sicilian for clan. Derived from plants with
spiny, closely folded leaves symbolizing the tightness of relationships between
members of the Mafia.
[4] A leader of an organized crime syndicate
[5] Italian for bastard.
[6] A caporegime or capodecina, usually
shortened to just a capo, is a term used in the Mafia for a high ranking made
member of a crime family who heads a "crew" of soldiers and has major
social status and influence in the organization.
[7] An Italian firearms manufacturer.
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