Code of Submission {Italian Mafia Story}

Chapter I: The Letter

Author Announcement ~ Hello! Before you begin reading, Code of Submission, I want to preface that all characters, unless otherwise described, are speaking in Italian. Language barriers are utilized within the story as a writing strategy to create miscommunication and tension, so I ask you to be a bit imaginative with this aspect of the work. Thank you, and please enjoy–votes and comments are appreciated! If you enjoy a particular chapter, feel free to offer your thoughts or feedback. 

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By now, I would've forgotten what my Papà's features looked like if it wasn't for my brother, Domenico, taking on many of the features of his face, even representing the exact shade of blue eyes and bulbous shaped nose. He's a distant memory I fight to forget. We had a close relationship until he left my family and I around the approach of my seventh birthday.  The explanation for his permanent departure from our lives, my life, was relayed to us through my Mamma, Augusta. She didn't have the emotional capacity to say much beyond, "Papà has another family that he would rather protect"–a phrase that has left me with the burden of having known him as a loving Papà at one time in my life.

My adolescent mind was incapable of fathoming never seeing him again. One moment prior, his love for my brothers and I was being reassured, then the next, traces of his existence dwindled until the only proof that he was real was the hollowness I felt in my chest. Eventually, the pain evolved into a pit of anger that I attempt to conceal with a false presentation of indifference–people are liable to discover this deep-seated pit of resentment and shame in my heart if they venture too far into my past, so this is also greatly concealed from friends and lovers. My Mamma, maternal aunt, and brothers are the few individuals who have access to my heart, but even they are limited to view certain aspects of myself through a small window.

About eighteen years had passed without my papà's name, Giuseppe Morello, being mentioned by family and friends. When he disappeared from our lives, Mamma's petition for divorce spurred rumors among our community in Sicily, and we were forced to move to her hometown, Naples, to temporarily live with her older sister, Giada Moltisanti, a petite women with curly hair as tight as her household rules. She is a strict, religious widow, with lots of criticism to offer about our reasons for moving away–Mamma did her best to hide these comments from us though. I believe that by divorcing Giuseppe, my Mamma showed her strength in raising three children alone and outcasted. 

When we receive a letter from my second cousin, Paolo Bellucci, which informs us of Giuseppe's natural passing, we're unprepared to hear both his name and death. Although those seven years of my early childhood were spent visiting and playing with our extended family, Paolo and my great cousin, Aurelio, shortly after Giuseppe, disappeared from our lives. Thus, receiving word directly from Paolo was a surprise to us all. 

While reading over the letter, my Mamma's forehead furrows, and two familiar harsh lines consume the focal of her face. She often wears the expression of deep thought and sorrow, causing her features to look weathered.

"Paolo extends an invitation to us for the funeral," she flatly says.

After a moment of silence, I ask, "Mamma, what are you thinking?"

Lifting her gaze from the crisp piece of paper in her hands to look at me, she responds, "I can't, I can't. Take this from me," holding out Paolo's letter for me to grab, "please, Sofia." I notice the slight shaking of her hand as she swiftly draws back her arm to stabilize it against her stomach. I know I'm powerless in relieving the anger, confusion, and grief that overwhelms her, as I'm incapable of removing myself from these identical emotions. But her following statement leads me to question whether she actually understands what I'm experiencing and feeling in this instance.