My Favorite Gangster

Son of a mobster

Vincenzo

My mind recalls in dreams that mission in Afghanistan that I will never forget, not even with the expensive therapy in Bali that my father paid for.

I wake up abruptly, sheets soaked in sweat, and release a deep exhale. Damn. And I thought I wouldn't have these nightmares again, especially after not having them for several months.

To my troop, nicknamed "the devil's troop" for how fearsome and bloodthirsty we were in combat, they assigned the mission to destroy one of the Taliban's operating bases, which was functioning in an abandoned hospital.

My commander had assured me that he had done the corresponding intelligence work and was sure that there were no minors in the area.

When we arrived at the hospital, we got rid of the Taliban taking refuge there and started to destroy all the weapons depots with grenades.

I approached a room where there was a depot of black market missiles and threw a grenade. I was about to run out, but when I turned to look, I saw a girl no more than 8 years old, holding the grenade in her hand and offering it to me, as if saying, "Look, you lost this," with her innocent eyes unaware that I would be responsible for her death.

About 20 more children came out from among the missile boxes, looking at me with a glimmer of hope in their eyes, believing that I was a good soldier who had come to save them.

I screamed, I don't exactly remember what, and tried to run towards them to take the grenade from the little girl and try to save them, but it was too late. The grenade exploded, and I flew far from the shockwave.

I do the breathing exercises my therapist taught me to avoid panic attacks and remind myself for the thousandth time that I have nothing to worry about, as I'm in my comfortable bed in the large mansion my father recently bought on the outskirts of a quiet city in Colombia.

I walk to the spacious marble-built bathroom, turn on the faucet of the sink, and plunge my face into a good amount of cold water, trying to push those traumatic memories out of my mind.

After that fateful event, I was never the same. I lowered the excellent performance I had as a troop captain in the French Foreign Legion, and eventually, I ended up with a dishonorable discharge, no right to retirement, and no right to be called by the rank that I worked so hard to achieve.

Yes. I was part of the renowned and much-feared French Foreign Legion.

I started my military career at 18 when I did my military service in the Italian Air Force, following in the footsteps of my father, Santino Marinetti.

The Marinettis are the most important lineage in Italy and all of Europe. It was a noble family and therefore very wealthy, who held the Grand Duchy of Rome.

The history of the Marinetti dynasty dates back to the year 500 AD when Italy was under the Byzantine Empire, and its main cities were ruled by duchies, led by an imperial official who held the title of Dux, but the people preferred to call him "the grand duke."

So, Rome was governed from that time by the Marinetti family, and although the reign of the duchies disappeared with the fall of the Exarchate of Ravenna, my family still had a lot of power in Italy, having the favors of the current monarch and contributing economically to the country's architecture and culture.

It was practically my family that helped lift Italy and make it one of the most admired countries for its exquisite culture, and also helped build the Vatican City.

When the monarchy in Italy disappeared after World War II, and consequently, the Marinettis could no longer be a dynasty, they still remained the most powerful in Italy because it's no secret that whoever has the money and the weapons has the power.

The tradition was the same in all generations of the Marinettis: the firstborn was the one who held political positions, the second had to try to be a decorated military officer, and the other brothers would serve as support.

The thing is that... the Marinettis began to get involved in shady business after World War II, when the family's power wavered with the fall of the monarchical system, and my great-grandfather founded La Capitalena, the most powerful mafia organization in Europe and perhaps the entire world.

It was the mafia's money that allowed my grandfather Angelo to found the pharmaceutical company Salute Marinetti, and I think we all know that the pharmaceutical industry is the most lucrative business of all, so my family was, so to speak, the one in charge of the world economy, with its legal and illegal businesses.

And I speak in the past tense because... because my dad is about to retire from the business.

Massimo is my adoptive father. I became an orphan at 4 years old when, in a settling of scores between the Russian mafia and La Capitalena, my father Santino was murdered along with my mother. Their dismembered bodies arrived at my grandfather's house in coolers.

I was very young when that happened, but unfortunately, I have a vivid memory of hearing the screams of my grandmother and Massimo.

Luciano—my older cousin-brother—and I ran to the living room and saw our grandfather cursing and banging his head against the wall, while my grandmother looked for something with which she could end her life.

Massimo, on the other hand, cried loudly, kneeling on the floor, caressing my father's head, promising to avenge his death.

No. That was not a good memory for any child, but unfortunately, Luciano and I have had to carry that, added to the abuses of my grandfather, who, of course, became colder and much more aggressive after the murder of his favorite son.

For some strange reason that I still don't know, Grandfather Ángelo seemed never to love his firstborn, Massimo. He sent him to study in England and was very cruel by forcing him to have a child through a surrogate at the age of 20—to ensure the Marinetti lineage—and not allowing him to study in Rome or take Luciano to London.

So, Luciano was left in the care of our grandparents from his first year of life, just like me, who was born a year after him. But the worst part of my grandfather's mistreatment fell on Luciano, precisely for being Massimo's son, that son with whom Angelo always had problems.

My mind erased most of the traumatic memories of those complicated years living with the Marinetti grandparents, but what still remains in my mind is how my grandfather crushed Luciano's fingers for not cutting the meat well, barely at the age of 5.

From the age of 5, the Marinettis were already trained to be killing machines. From the age of 5, Luciano and I knew what it was to handle a weapon, so it was only logical that my grandfather wanted us to eat at the table with the adults from that age, dressed in our miniature Armani suits.

Every time Luciano struggled to cut the meat with the knife, my grandfather crushed his fingers, and if my grandmother tried to intervene, my grandfather hit her in front of us.

But the worst was when, out of nerves or simply because his movements were a bit clumsy—like any child's—Luciano spilled the glass of juice on my grandmother's expensive tablecloth.

I remember perfectly how Angelo lifted Luciano by one arm, as if he were a ragdoll, and took him to one of the rooms to beat him mercilessly with his belt.

We told our parents what was happening, of course, but when Massimo dared to question Angelo's "teaching" methods, the old man hit him on the forehead with the handle of his weapon, so nothing could be done against Angelo's unorthodox methods of disciplining his grandchildren.

Still, Massimo tried to give Luciano and me a somewhat normal childhood. So, every time he had a break from his university duties, he returned to Rome and took Luciano and me out, even if he had to drug Angelo to make him fall asleep and not ruin our lives.

He took us to the park, bought us ice cream, took us to the movies..., and maybe those good memories are what don't allow me to say that my childhood was absolute s**t because it wasn't.

When the bad memories of my grandfather's mistreatment come to my mind, they are almost immediately replaced by the laughter of two children who, despite living in hell, had each other and did crazy things whenever their grandfather wasn't watching.

The bad memories are also replaced by the sweet smile and affection of a man who unfortunately had to become bad to avenge his brother's death.

Massimo Marinetti may be a ruthless mobster, a killer, and a complete bastard, but he is the best father anyone could wish for.

He is a very bad man. He has done very ugly things, but with his children, he is all love.

And well... of all his troop of children, I am the one who most resembles him, even though I am his adopted son and not a direct blood descendant.

Massimo has six children in total, counting me, but his five biological children were born through surrogacy, as he claims to be asexual and doesn't want any woman in a divorce to take away his children. Smart man, after all.

Luciano is the eldest of all, at 28. He is the most attractive of all, with gray eyes that seem impossible to belong to a human being, and freckles all over his body, being his greatest charm, as they make his beautiful face look more interesting. He is a criminal defense lawyer, but he went into politics like Dad, and was a congressman much loved by the youth, and... he's gay. Yes. The fearsome Massimo Marinetti got a gay son, but of course, we all love him just as he is. He didn't turn out like Dad in the sense of enjoying killing people, but he does command respect with words and with his gray eyes that can sometimes be scary.

I am the second, at 27, and I complied with the family tradition by joining the armed forces and then becoming Dad's right-hand man in his mafia.

The third, and the one who changed our lives as soon as he was born, is Santino. He's 21 and turned out to be the least Marinetti of all since he is a sweetheart. As he was Dad's favorite, he was not afraid to rebel at 17 when he refused to study a university career and got tired of living the typical magnate's son's life who couldn't go out without an escort. He went to the United States to pursue his dream of being a racing car driver. Currently, he is the main face of the Ferrari team in Formula 1 and the pride of all of us.

After Santino, there are the twins Gianluigi and Lorenzo. They are 10 years old, and Dad is a complete softie with them. While Luciano and I had to stand up for the Marinettis, undergo military training, study, and do everything Dad wanted, these two brats could choose from an early age what they wanted to be. That's how Gianluigi has been training from a very young age to become a famous footballer one day, and Lorenzo is showing talent in dance and theater.

And the youngest of the Marinetti squad, the one who definitely managed to make Massimo retire as a mobster, is named Antonella. She's turning 3, and she's the most beautiful and tender girl that could exist on the planet. Well... actually, she's tender only when there's no reason to make her angry because when she does, even the devil hides.

And I firmly believe that Dad had Antonella just to give me some kind of responsibility—practically, I'm the one who raised her—and to make me finally affectionate with someone, since, although I adore my brothers, I've never been one to give kisses and hugs.

I love my brothers a lot, and I love them all equally, but Antonella... she is my everything. I feel something inexplicable every time I see her laugh, and my heart seems to melt every time she hugs me and gives me affection.

My dad thought that with Antonella's arrival, she would bring some tenderness into my life and that I would stop being so cold and ruthless—because I turned out to be worse than him—and that eventually, my desire to kill would go away.

I cynically smile at my reflection in the mirror and laugh like the psychopath I have always been.

Dad is very mistaken if he expects me, a guy who killed his abusive grandfather when he was only six years old, to bury his desires to kill just like that.