“Dear God.”
“Salvatore was sitting at a table nearby, eating cake and observing the events, absolutely unaffected by what had happened. It was as if there wasn’t a man with a metal rod sticking out of his chest sitting not even fifteen feet away from him. At first, I thought the kid must have been in shock, but he stood up and casually walked toward the buffet table to take another piece of cake. He passed the bloody scene as though it didn’t bother him in the least,” she says. “There is something wrong with him, Milene. Please, be careful.”
When I end the call, I spend some time mulling over what Nonna said. I’ve already noticed Salvatore is a bit odd, so she hasn’t told me anything new. What interests me more is the fact that he became a don at what? Twenty-eight? That’s unheard of.
T
