Death And Love Poems (2) Mafia Romance

42. Free time and dangerous people

Marco

The coastline of Rio de Janeiro is rather beautiful, one of the most beautiful in the world, how the rocks rise from the sea, creasing it and making it stand out. And there is Cristo Redentor looking down on me and the city.

"Sir, can we go now? It's getting dark," says Gianni, one of my four very personal bodyguards. 

"No, not yet. I want to watch the sunset."

"But if you want us to hike back down it will take a while and if you want us to jog back to our accommodation, which I advise strongly against, we need to pass some dangerous places in the dark," enforces also Aurelio.

"Don't need to be afraid." I give him a small smile. "And yes I want us to hike and jog back." Right now we are on top of Pão de Açúcar and we were doing all that because I needed to clear my mind; still need to after the talk with Thiago.

"Sir, you cannot tell us that. Don Lorenzo will have our head in the most literal way if something happens to you. You went off-script more than enough on this trip. Respectfully, you were climbing unsecured on the sixth floor of a building. It's still beyond me why you did that," says Luca, agreeing very passionately with his colleagues.

"Yet nothing happened. But I am not fooling myself it's totally safe because it never is. For example, that guy over there, to your left, is watching us for a while. He isn't a tourist so you better find out whose man it is and if the one I left cold on the toilet twenty minutes ago is his colleague or part of a different gang."

Francesco's face gives a desperate 'you did not' stare.

"Just kidding, I didn't kill him. He is just unconscious but will stay so for a few hours. As a sign of goodwill, only hiking, you can call a car after that."

One of them mutters a grazzie a Dio. It's funny. I didn't have bodyguards before. Before I was the bodyguard. And if I am being honest to myself, when Stefano acted in a similar slightly bratty fashion, though in his case it was drinking or sniffing too much, or getting into a fight, it was rather cumbersome.

I sigh and start the descent. This time we are even quicker. I am pleasantly exhausted when we reach the foot of the hill but my mind isn't calm as I hoped.

His words still linger. The discussion was going well. I didn't expect him to be on board from the first moment; it's understandable that he needs to digest the proposal, verify the sources, and get over some aspects, but it looked like he understood where I was coming from.

I don't know how much Roxi told him about us. If they are even expecting a child, a fact that I'm still not entirely over, she should have told him most things and probably did...

How might she have phrased it? Marco is the guy I slept with to get revenge for my family. Sounds about right. And he cannot possibly like me in these circumstances.

I was aware of all this and it was as fine as it could be, but then he said that stupid sentence: And why would I do this?

You don't ask why you would punch a guy who left bruises on your girlfriend's arm if the occasion arises.

Doesn't he know it was Stefano? But wouldn't he fucking ask?! Or research?! Roxi has deep-rooted issues with these things; she doesn't just tell stuff. He should know... He should know her better.

Then there is that thought that worms its way into my head: What if it was someone else? What if it was him? Marco, stop it, you are again projecting. It's most likely what you want to see not what's actually there.

Back at the apartment, I shower and lay down on the bed. It's eight in the evening, too early to sleep. João should be out by now so tomorrow we can fly back.