Va Fa Napoli

Quattro

"You're still in bed?!" Unbelievable. Rachel still hadn't gotten up and it was around three o'clock now.

She'd taken the aspirin and drunk the water, but it looked like that didn't helped a lot. 

"My hangover is killing me." She grumbled from somewhere under the sheets.

I chuckled and walked over to the window. She reeked of alcohol and so did her room. The smell of it had reached me even before I'd entered Rachel's room. I opened the curtains and her windows. Finally some fresh air!

I squealed as a pillow suddenly hit my head. I turned around and met Rachel's death glare. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

I smirked when she pulled the covers over her head again. "I am." I said, as I pulled the covers off her again. "You're going to take a shower and then I'll get you something to eat."

"I'll get you breakfast from Starbucks." I sang when she didn't react. I knew my best friend good enough to know that offering her Starbucks breakfast would surely get her out of bed.

She groaned, yawned and grumbled some curses,  but, nevertheless, got up. "As long as you're paying." Rachel slowly trudged towards the bathroom. This was also kind of my way to make it up to her for these last few days.

My smirk fell and I quickly made my way into my own bedroom. I had some time for myself, since she took about an hour or maybe even more to shower and dress herself.

I grabbed my laptop and plopped onto my bed.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard. The only thing I'd have to do was type in Camorra and click on the search button. The results I'd get read weren't the thing that me so nervous though.

The way I would think of my father afterwards was what I dreaded. I'd always thought of my father as my hero. I didn't want that image to change.

Being in the Camorra didn't change my father's behavior towards me when he was still alive. Yes, he went on many business trips and was an awful lot away from home, but he never mistreated me. He and mom always made sure to call me at least trice a week when they went abroad. They always took souvenirs with them and made sure I missed absolutely nothing back home.

That still didn't change the fact that my father was probably in the Camorra for all those years. I didn't want to believe it, but it would explain a lot. Why else would he visit Naples so many times a year. I did ask a few times if I could join him, but even when the three of us went to Italy he never took me to meet the rest of our family.

I sighed deeply and pushed the search button. Whatever I would read, my father was still my father. That would never change.

I blindly clicked on first link I saw. It was a website about the Camorra and I started reading. In vain I tried not to let the words shock me.

money laundering, drug trafficking, illegal gambling, corruption and murder...

But they did. An emptiness I could not fully describe filled me. It's like a void. A dark void. A never ending dark void that consumes everything, so your left feeling nothing.

How could I pretend everything was okay after I'd read this? How could I pretend nothing happened, while it changed everything?

As soon as I'd heard the word mafia I knew corruption and murder were undoubtedly linked to it. Still, somewhere in my mind I didn't want to believe my father participated in those criminal activities.

I still didn't. 

I started blankly ahead of me, my mind reeling with questions.

While I was peacefully making my homework in class, was he trying to bribe policemen? And when I held my sweet sixteen back in America, was he committing a murder in Italy?