Fratelli d'Italia

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic

When young Antonio Cabrini sees the local gangsters in his city of Naples he is fascinated. He vowed then that he would be part of their organisation. He would stop at nothing.

Antonio Cabrini always said that there was one day that changed the direction his life took. It was nineteen eighty four and the seven year old Antonio was playing football with his ten year old brother Francesco and a few other amici. The run down area of Napoli had no parks or pitches so the boys kicked their battered football up and down the streets. All through the school holidays they would play football and dream of playing for SSC Napoli.

Their game came to a halt briefly as a gleaming red Alfa Romeo headed down the cobbled street. Antonio and his friends watched on as the posh car pulled to a stop. Three men in dark suits climbed out of the car and went into the barber shop on the corner.

‘Who are they?’ asked Antonio.

‘They are Cammora. Gangsters.’ said his friend. ‘My father says they are dangerous men.’

As the other boys resumed their game Antonio went over to the bakers. He peered through the large window. The three men were in deep conversation with two other men in the shop. The other two looked worried. They handed over an envelope. The three smiled and nodded.

Andiamo Antonio.’ called his brother Francesco.

The three men came out of the bakers. Antonio stared in fascination. The way they carried themselves, they walked down the street like they owned it, and the expensive suits, made the men seem like they were from another planet. Antonio watched on. The Cabrini family were poor but then so was everyone in this part of the city. As one of the men passed Antonio he nodded. The gangster smiled and spoke. Ciao amica. Antonio grinned. The boy felt honoured to have such a man acknowledge him. Amica, he had called him. Friend. Antonio hoped that indeed once day they would be friends. It was at that moment that the seven year old knew what he wanted to do with his life.

He returned to his friends and their game of football. As they played he no longer dreamed of playing football in Serie A. He wanted to be like the men he’d seen in the expensive car. Forse un giorne. Maybe one day.

 

Over the next few years Antonio looked on as the members of the Cammora went about their criminal business. The more he saw of the finely dressed men the more he was in awe. Antonio and his friends stared as one gangster kicked and punched a man until he lay bleeding in the gutter.

‘Animale.’ whispered Francesco in disgust.

Antonio said nothing.

 

One day when he was twelve years old Antonio saw his brother being pushed and shoved by two larger boys. Che cazzo, Antonio spat. Despite the boys being around fifteen years old he charged towards them. He grabbed a wooden mop as he stormed across the school yard. Before his brother’s attackers knew what was happening Antonio set about them with the mop handle. He whacked and pounded the two boys. He carried on the onslaught even when the boys were on the ground. It took two teachers to drag him off the two boys.

As he was being dragged away to the headmaster’s office Antonio yelled out to the school yard.

‘Nobody messes with the Fratelli Cabrini.’

The last face he saw as he was being pushed into the building was his brother’s. Antonio smiled. His brother looked down as his feet.

 

Back in their small flat that evening Antonio was told to sit down at the kitchen table. He did as his father told him. His mother chewed a thumbnail, tears and worry in her eyes. His father paced up and down the tiny room. He never took his angry gaze off Antonio.

‘Expelled?’ he snarled.

‘Papa, they were picking on Francesco.’

‘The two boys are in the hospital. What did you think the school would do? You left them with no option.’

Antonio did not speak.

His father drew back his hand, preparing to strike the boy. Antonio raised his head, jutted out his chin. Do it!

Francesco burst into the room. Their father turned to his older son.

‘Antonio was sticking up for me. I was being picked on.’

‘You should have told a teacher. They would have dealt with it.’

I dealt with it.’ snapped Antonio.

His father spun on his heels. He slapped Antonio hard across the face. Antonio tasted blood. Tears of indignation burned in his eyes. Why couldn’t they see he’d done nothing wrong?

‘We will find you another school.’

‘Of course, Papa. Whatever you say.’

 

San Cristoforo’s school was across the city. The bus ride would take him over an hour. His father explained that none of the local schools would take him. As Antonio hopped off the bus and shuffled towards the school gates he noticed the other school children. They stared at him. He was reminded of a film he’d seen about a prison. One lad drew a finger across his throat. The school was definitely rougher than his last school. He shoved his hands in his pockets. He had to try and stay out of trouble.

At the lunchtime break a lad a few years older than Antonio marched up to him. He shoved him hard. Suddenly there was a crowd surrounding them. They clearly knew what was coming next.

‘You’re new to San Cristoforo’s. Let me explain how things are here.’

The lad threw a fist. Antonio ducked but was caught by the elbow that followed. He was rocked back on his heels. The crowd cheered as the bully attached again. Antonio defended himself but didn’t really feel able to go all out as he didn’t want too much trouble on his first day. A fist slammed into the side of his head. Trouble, it seemed, had found him. The next volley of blows sent him to the concrete.

The bully grinned. Antonio managed to get to his feet.

‘Hey, schifuso.’ Antonio called.

The bully turned to face him.

Che cazzo dici?’

‘I said, bitch, that you’re nothing but a coward.’

The boy laughed.

‘How am I a coward? Look at the state of your face.’

‘Prove you’re not a coward.’

‘How?’

‘Meet me outside after school. We can solve this like men. Only boys scrap in the playground.’

‘Alright.’

 

In the class that afternoon the teacher did not even ask about Antonio’s bloody nose. At his old school questions would have been asked, parents called in.

 

By four o’clock that afternoon Antonio was standing on a scrap of waste ground. Facing him was the large boy who had floored him in the playground. Gathered round them were a dozen children from school. They had left whatever they were doing to come and see the new kid take on the tough boy. The lad stepped forward.

‘I’m Vincenzo.’

‘Antonio.’

‘So this is where I kick your backside again.’

‘We’re not in the playground now, amico.’

Before the boy could reply Antonio flew at him, fists flying. Vincenzo looked shocked as the angry youngster slammed fists into his face.

The two boys fought as the crowd shouted. Antonio knew that his future at the new school hung in the new balance. He ignored the pain from the blows, focused on destroying the boy in front of him.

He managed to get Vincenzo on the ground. He grinned. He grabbed a fistful of hair. He pounded fists into his face.

Basta.’ the boy called. Enough.

Antonio grinned. He got to his feet. Leaving the crowd discussing what had just happened Antonio headed for the bus stop.

 

He closed the front door behind him. His father appeared in the hallway. He had his arms folded across his chest.

‘You’re late.’

Si, papa. I missed my bus.’

His father stared at his son. The bruises on his face said he was lying. Antonio, his expression neutral, looked at this father. The man sighed. Pointed to the kitchen.

‘Your mother has made lasagne. Mangia.’

From that moment on things would always be that way between Antonio and his family. He would get into trouble after school and come home an all hours blaming broken down buses or road closures. He always had a believable excuse ready. Not that his family believed it, but they couldn’t prove otherwise. One night as Antonio and Francesco lay in the room they shared Francesco asked if he was okay.

Si, Francesco, va bene.

 

As he crossed the city going to and from school he noticed much more of the gangsters. The Cammora members hung out in certain coffee shops and ristorante. Antonio would look on trying to take it all in.

Although he was not well behaved at school he towed the line just enough to avoid expulsion. All the children at the school spoke the name of this boy, Antonio Cabrini, with respect. He had a group of lads that hung around with him. They included Vincenzo. They all had one thing in common. They were trouble.

He drifted into petty crime. A handbag pinched here, a crate of fish snatched there. He soon found that crime paid. He would come home from an afternoon spent racing round in stolen cars to see his brother bent over the kitchen table, focused on his school books. While his brother was rewarded with good grades, Antonio earned well from his criminal activities.

 

A few years later.

The day he failed all his school exams his father sat him down in the kitchen. He took the seat facing. He looked worried and much older than his years.

‘What are you going to do now?’

‘Don’t worry, papa. I’ll be okay. I will earn a living.’

‘That’s what I’m worried about. Look at your brother. He is going to make something of himself. Why can’t you be more like him.’

Just you wait and see, thought Antonio.

 

Two years rolled by. Antonio worked hard at his illegal activities. He would do anything, he would steal cars to order, burgle factories. On occasion he even delivered packages for the members of the Cammora. This he considered an honour and would refuse payment.

 

Antonio arrived home one evening. He shrugged out of his new suit jacket. He went through to the kitchen. His mother was dishing out pasta fazule while his father opened a good bottle of wine. Francesco was sitting at the table.

‘What’s this?’

‘Your brother has good news.’ beamed his mother.

‘Oh yeah?’

‘I’ve been accepted by the Carabinieri.’

‘You’re going to be a police officer?’

Francesco nodded.

Congratulazioni.’

Antonio hugged his brother, kissed him on both cheeks. Despite sleeping in the same room Antonio felt a thousand miles from his older brother.

 

Francesco did well as an officer with the Carabinieri. His hard work, dedication and vigilance impressed his superiors. Antonio, meanwhile, worked hard in his own illicit endeavours. Both men made names for themselves in their chosen fields.

 

By the age of nineteen Antonio had had enough of small time criminal activity. He felt ready. He felt like an athlete who’s Olympic Games was just around the corner. His time had come.

He knew who he had to see. There was one man who could help him. Everyone across Campania knew the name Don Moretti. Antonio knew that if he was to be the success he knew he could be then he had to speak to the Don. The clan boss had an office in the Piazza del Plebiscito. As far as the authorities were concerned Moretti was a legitimate businessman. But the whole region knew otherwise. The police left the Moretti operation alone. If a police officer came sniffing around then the Don would give them a proposition. The offer was quite simple. Either the policemen let Don Moretti take care of them financially, or he would take care of them.

Antonio took a deep breath. His whole future was riding on this. He was dressed in his best suit and there wasn’t a hair out of place. He knocked gently and entered.

The small reception room held a chesterfield sofa and a bookcase. A guy a few years older than him got up off the sofa as he entered. The man shrugged, what do you want.

Buon giorno, I’d like to see Don Moretti. I would like to work for him. I’m loyal, hard-working and I think-’

‘What’s your name?’

‘Antonio Cabrini.’

The man went through a doorway. He reappeared a few minutes later.

‘Don Moretti will see you now.’

His tone implied that a great favour was being done by granting him an audience.

Grazie.’

‘Thank him, not me.’

Antonio was show into a large office. Oil paintings of the coliseum hung on the walls. A man sat behind the ornate desk. He leaned back in the leather chair. He was in his fifties, his grey hair slicked back. His suit looked expensive. Antonio held the Don’s gaze drilling into him. He was in awe. It was like having an audience with the presidente della Republica Italia.

The Don rubbed his jaw. Then waved a hand, gesturing for him to speak.

‘Don Moretti, I would like to offer my services to you. I feel I could be useful to your business.’

‘Well, Signor Cabrini, I am aware of your activities in this city. You have something of a reputation. Your actions would have eventually conflicted with my interests. I’m glad you decided to come and see me like a man. There are many reasons I should hire you. I could use a man like yourself. You have shown imagination and enterprise, even by coming here today.’

Don Moretti paused, tapped a finger on this table in thought.

‘But I must say no to you.’

‘Don Moretti, please, you said it yourself-’

‘Your brother Francesco.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Your brother is a police officer with the Carabinieri, is he not? And he is doing well from what I hear.’

‘I am not my brother.’

‘How can I trust someone whose brother works for the very organisation plotting the downfall of men like me?’

‘I pledge my loyalty to you, Don Moretti. If you would just give me a chance.’

Don Moretti reached into his desk drawer. He placed a gun on the desk between them.

‘Salvatore Tripodi.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Tripodi has been stealing from his Don. Steps must be taken.’

Antonio understood. This was his chance. He would have to commit murder, thus forever allying himself with the Cammora boss.

Allora?’

Antonio got to his feet. He reached and pocketed the gleaming silver pistol.

Grazie, Don Moretti.’

Va bene.’

 

Antonio marched across the piazza breathing hard. This was it. This was his chance. If he did this, this awful act, then not only would he be forever connected to the Don but therefore the Don would be similarly linked to him. If he killed this ma, Salvatore Tripodi, then he would get his wish. He lit a cigarette and walked quickly down the street.

 

The next evening. The Ristorante Opera was packed. Waiters darted in between the wooden tables with all kinds of pasta dishes and bottles of wine. The air was filled with the sounds of chatter. Luciano Pavarotti played out over the speakers. Salvatore Tripodi, a man in his early thirties, was eating lasagne while telling his young goomah about his day. His mistress feigned interest while sipping the expensive vino.

Waiters bustled past showing customers to their tables. Tripodi did not notice the young man at the bar finishing his glass of beer. The man slipped off the stool and moved quickly across the restaurant, squeezing past people and between the tables.

Salvatore glanced up as the young man approached his table. The young man fumbled in his overcoat, whipped out a silver pistol. Salvatore tried to get to his feet. Antonio put four bullets in his chest. As screams rang out Antonio pushed his way through the panicked diners and out into the dark city streets.

 

An hour later at a bar across the city, having vomited several times, he ordered a bottle of wine. He downed two glasses one after the other. Part of him still felt sick at what he had done but there was also the exhilaration. He was thrilled. His hands trembled. He had gotten his wish. He now worked for Don Moretti, one of the most powerful men in Campania.

 

Back home that night he found his brother still in his police uniform. He was going through case files at the kitchen table.

‘Ciao Francesco.’

‘Antonio, are you okay? You look pale.’

‘Stomach bug, I think.’

‘You look after yourself.’

Antonio smiled. He prayed that his older brother never discovered the details of his new employment.

 

Five years later.

Antonio had it all. He ran his own crew under Don Moretti, he had an apartment in the centre of Napoli, a gleaming red Alfa Romeo, more Vespa scooters than he knew what to do with, and a string of beautiful mistresses who knew their place. He had also committed countless murders and other awful acts. He did whatever was necessary. It was just business, nothing more. His brother, Francesco, would not have understood. His rise through the ranks of the Carabinieri had been as meteoric as Antonio’s in the Cammora, except his brother was catching the murderers.

All the time Antonio had worked for Don Moretti there had been comments from the criminal fraternity concerning the embarrassing fact that the other fratello Cabrini was a police officer. This ridicule made Antonio work even harder and made him even more ruthless. Eventually the comments were saved until he was out of ear shot.

One member of the Moretti clan made a wisecrack during a meal with a dozen clan members. When Antonio was ordering the baked ziti a man named Fabrizio Lorenzelli quipped that he should order the pork. The joke was obvious, as his brother was a pig he should have the pork. Antonio laughed along with the rest of the table. He wagged a finger at Fabrizio.

‘You’re a funny guy.’

 

The next morning when Fabrizio started his car there was an explosion that flung the vehicle three feet into the air. He was killed immediately.

 

Don Moretti summoned Antonio to his office. The Don paced up and down behind his desk. He glared at Antonio.

‘Fabrizio Lorenzelli was killed this morning.’

‘Really? That is a shame. He was a good earner from what I hear.’

‘Do you know anything about this?’

‘No, of course not.’

‘Fabrizio worked for me. I cannot let things happen to those who work for me.’

‘I have no idea who was behind this. Perhaps he had some gambling debts, or maybe it was a jealous husband of some woman he was screwing. Who knows?’

Antonio shrugged.

Don Moretti’s face turned red with anger.

‘I cannot have somebody in my organisation acting like this, capisce? Anything else like this happens and I’m not going to be so understanding.’

Antonio said nothing.

The Don smiled. Both men knew the truth that Antonio was behind the killing.

‘His patch is now yours.’

‘You honour me, Don Moretti.’

‘Now, get to work.’

 

Antonio Cabrini was well known across Napoli. He was a key member of the Moretti clan. He was renowned as being a tough guy you would not cross, but at the same time was well-known for being a man you could go to for help. Signor Cabrini would help you out if your landlord was bearing down on you or if the garage had messed up your car and were refusing to fix it. If you had a problem you could go and see Antonio Cabrini and he would take care of it, for a price, of course.

One man wanted his daughter to go to university but she was a couple of grades short of the entrance qualifications. Antonio had a word in the right ear. The daughter was enrolled in the university. And the father had a new partner in his pizzeria.

 

Antonio knew that his brother Francesco had had to work especially hard because of his criminal brother. He’d had to go to great lengths to prove he was not corrupt. But the hard work paid off. Antonio lost count of the promotions he heard his brother had been given.

Antonio was pleased his brother had done well for himself. Francesco had even married a local woman and seemed content with his new married life.

When the two brothers met at their parents’ house the atmosphere was friendly but inevitably awkward. The conversation usually followed the same pattern.

‘How’s business, Antonio?’

‘Is this an official interrogation, officer?’

‘I thought you were an honest businessman.’

‘I am, but often honest men like me are victimised by the police.’

At which point their mother would fix them both with a stern look and tell them Stai zitto, shut up.

 

One evening when he was in his thirties Antonio rushed to the hospital. He found the right room and went in. Don Moretti looked so old and thin. His wife Carmela was at his bedside. The Don managed a smile as Antonio took a seat at his side.

‘Allora Antonoi, seems like my days in this thing of ours are over. It doesn’t seem five minutes since the young Antonio came to me wanting work.’

‘Don’t talk like that. You are a fighter. With the right help-’

‘We’ll see.’

 

Four days later Don Moretti died in his sleep. Antonio was at the hospital when it happened. He kissed the Don on both cheeks. He paid his respects to his widow. He said a silent prayer in this hospital chapel for his former boss and mentor.

As he marched down the hospital steps he lit a cigarette. He reached for his mobile phone. He barked out instructions to his senior men. He had to act quickly.

Over the next forty eight hours fifteen of Don Moretti’s highest ranking men were killed. There were explosions, drive by shootings and knife attacks.

One man, Gianfranco Puzo, had been Moretti’s right hand man. He had been tipped to succeed when the Don passed. Gianfranco attended an opera at Napoli’s famous theatre, Teatro di San Carlo, that evening. The lights came up on stage, the theatre went dark. The audience held its breath. The performance was about to start.

Gianfranco shifted in his seat, made himself comfortable. Antonio was sitting directly behind him. As the sopranos on stage launched into their opening number he leaned forward. He grabbed hold of Gianfranco’s head with one hand. The other held a large knife. He quickly sliced open Gianfranco’s throat. Leaving the man bleeding to death in the darkness Antonio left the theatre.

 

He drove through the dark city streets. He made calls on his mobile phone. His men reported similar successful evenings, using code. When one man said the packaged had been delivered he actually meant that the car bomb had killed one of Antonio’s rivals.

He grinned. He pushed his foot down on the accelerator. As he drove his mind raced. He had done it. He was now the boss. It felt like the natural progression. He now controlled what had been the Moretti organisation.

 

The next morning he called a meeting in a restaurant. All his senior men were there. Glasses of the finest vino were poured. Each man stood as Antonio raised a toast.

‘To Don Moretti. Riposare in pace.’

Riposare in pace, the men repeated.

Antonio looked around the room. He would trust these men with his life.

‘I want you to spread the word. Antonio Cabrini is the new capo di tutti capi.’

His men clapped and cheered. A few minutes later he raised a hand for silence. The applause stopped.

‘Give each captain ten thousand Euros. Tell them it’s a gift from their new boss. Let everyone know, loyalty will be rewarded.’

Before they left the ristorante they queued to kiss the hand of the new boss. They addressed him for the first time as Don Cabrini.

 

Antonio, his men and the whole of the organisation worked hard with renewed fervour. The old boss was remembered with fondness but the new capo was running a tighter ship and demanded results.

 

After twelve months Don Cabrini was looking to expand his operation. The neighbouring region of Lazio was largely controlled by the Fercam clan. Antonio wanted to take over the Fercam outfit.

Ambizione, gentlemen. That’s what it’s all about.’

‘But Don Moretti never-’

‘Don Moretti was a great man. He was a legend in our business. But these are different days. In the coming weeks measures will be taken against Fercam.’

‘Don Cabrini, with all respect-’

‘Do you trust your Don?’

‘Si, Don Antonio, sempre.’ Always.

‘We move against these paisan from Lazio.’

Antonio glanced at his men. Most of them were nodding with approval.

‘But the Fercam clan won’t give up without a fight.’ mumbled one man.

‘Then we wage a war.’ yelled Antonio.

 

The following week one of the Fercam captains was killed in a drive-by shooting. The Lazio gang retaliated by torching a restaurant that Antonio owned. The Cabrini clan robbed a row of shops in the Lazio region. Each shop owner was killed. A boxed up pizza from the famous Napoli pizzeria, Di Matteo’s, was placed on the counter of each shop. That sent a message. It was the men from Napoli were behind this. It was a warning.

The tit for tat attacks continued. The skirmishes escalated. A member of the Fercam clan was spotted in a bar in Napoli. His body was delivered to the Fercam headquarters in pieces. Don Antonio Cabrini warned his men, stay out of Lazio, unless you are there on my business.

 

One afternoon as Antonio was dining on tagliatele with meatballs his mobile phone rang. He took a gulp of Peroni lager then answered the phone.

Pronto?’

‘Don Cabrini, the casino has been raided. Ten men are going through the place as we speak.’

‘Fercam?’

‘No, it’s the police.’

‘I’m on my way.’

Cursing the Polizia for interrupting his lunch he rushed to the car.

Ten minutes later he was standing in his casino watching uniformed men search the place.

‘Everything is in order, officers. I can assure you that it’s all above board. I’m a legitimate businessman.’

The officers continued their search.

‘Perhaps we can come to some arrangement. If you could do me a favour and stop this interruption then I’m sure we could do you a favour in return.’

The senior officer growled Enough at him and continued rifling through his office.

 

Over the weeks that followed the Cabrini clan and the Fercam clan continued their attacks but Don Antonio was getting increasingly distracted by the police attention he was attracting. His headquarters, clubs and casinos were constantly being searched. The police had surveillance on many of his dealings. When he walked down the street he could almost hear the click-click-click of the police cameras. Many of his men reported being tailed by police in unmarked cars. One of his soldiers quipped that it was very considerate of the police to guard them during their war with the Fercam clan.

 

Don Antonio called a meeting. Nobody needed to ask what the meeting was about. Sitting around the long table was ten of his captains. They smoked cigarettes and talked. The burden that the police attention was putting on each man almost weighed on their shoulders. The strain showed on their faces.

‘We need to take action. We have to send a message, loud and clear.’

None of his captains spoke.

‘We need to take out the guy in charge of the investigation.’

Antonio’s men looked at each other.

‘What?’

‘The officer leading the investigation-’

‘Yes?’

‘It’s your brother, Francesco.’

Antonio took a long drag on his cigar. He below smoke towards the ceiling.

Allora. My brother cannot win his campaign single-handedly. Let us see to it that he has no army behind him.’

 

The next few months saw the killing of many high-ranking police officers and anti-crime politicians. The Cabrinis were sending a clear message. Anyone involved in the investigation of the Cammora would die. It was no coincidence that Francesco Cabrini escaped death. One morning as he was leaving the police station with two of his men shorts rang out. The officers to his left and right slumped to the ground as they were hit.

 

Instead of deterring the police interest Don Cabrini found that the killings increased the investigation. Members of Antonio’s operation were arrested. The Don put out feelers. He would pay a large amount of money to know where the police were holding his men. Nothing came back. Antonio found this disturbing. Normally if the right palm was greased anything was possible.

The Cabrini clan continued their attack on the police but no sooner was one senior investigator killed than a replacement was appointed. Antonio shook his head, we cannot kill them all. What is it with these people?

 

A few weeks later a police officer on the Cabrini clan payroll sent an urgent message. The officer still could not find out where the prisoners were being held but he had discovered something else. Several of the prisoners had turned informant. As a result arrest warrants had been issued for Antonio and his right hand men.

He fumed about these informante. These men were no better than rats. Hadn’t he treated his men well? He rewarded enterprise and hard work. And this is how the schifuso repay him? What had happened to Omerta? The code of silence. You did not talk to the police. They were there to oppress you, not to help.

Later that day Don Antonio Cabrini packed a suitcase. He had no option. He had to go on the run.

 

The man who had been the most powerful man in Campania spent the next three years on the run. He moved under cover of nightfall from safe house to safe house. He travelled from city to city. The authorities searched tirelessly for the Camorra boss. The newspapers reported the search and how, apparently, the net was closing in on the most wanted man in Italy.

 

Antonio had been at the apartment in Civitavecchia for just three days. He was due to move across to a farmhouse in Tuscana in two days time. One of his men called every few days to deliver fresh supplies and to update his Don on what was happening in the world. Don Cabrini would give his orders. It was difficult in those troubling times but he did what he could to control and manage his empire from afar.

Early the next morning Antonio was woken up by the sound of splintering wood. He sat up. He heard boots storming down the hallway. He leaped to his feet. He grabbed his pistol. He had taken to sleeping fully clothed in preparation for a dawn raid. He dropped out of the first storey window and landed in a back entry. He fired at the police officer coming round the corner. He made it away on his heels.

He heard shooting from behind him. He didn’t look back but knew the police were on his tail. He rushed along the cobbles, turned sharp lefts and rights in an attempt to lose his pursuers. He ducked as the police fired shots at him.

As he turned into the piazza he slipped. He crashed to the pavement. He jumped to his feet but the seconds lost saw the police closing in. More shots were fired. Well, they’d have to kill him.

‘Antonio.’ called a familiar voice.

Don Antonio stopped in his tracks. He turned slowly, his pistol raised in front of him. He was ready to shoot. Walking slowly towards him, his pistol also raised, and wearing his police uniform was his brother Francesco. Despite the clock on the tower overhead time seemed to stop.

Antonio grinned. His grip on his gun tightened. His finger danced on the trigger. No man could stop Antonio. One bullet and he would be free and away. Then a thought came to him like a cloud crossing the sun. His mind went back to the games of cops and robbers that the two used to play as children.

He dropped his weapon to the floor. He raised his hands in surrender.

The two brothers stared at each other as police officers swarmed into the square. They clamped handcuffs on Antonio’s wrists. He stepped forward towards Francesco. The officers restrained him but Francesco waived a hand, it’s alright.

Antonio walked over to his brother. He leaned in close.

‘Well done.’ he whispered.


Submitted: November 11, 2014

© Copyright 2021 CTPlatt. All rights reserved.

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Comments

Chris Green

Great story, Chris. You capture the essence of Italy beautifully and build the narrative with great care and attention to detail. The story is first class and the twist well delivered. Nice work
Regards
Chris

Tue, November 11th, 2014 1:14pm

Author
Reply

Thanks again for the feedback Chris. I've got another couple to type up. They will be on in the next few days.
I can't seem to find the right balance between writing the stories and typing them up. :-)
Cheers
Chris

Tue, November 11th, 2014 5:17am

Ben A Vanguarde

"If he killed this ma..." "...shorts rang out..." are a few mistakes I found. Very vividly described and well written. Reminds me of The Godfather - yes, I actually read it when it came out. Great attention to detail and place. You have talent, Chris.

Tue, November 11th, 2014 6:51pm

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