(continued from previous post)

Massimo knew his mother would be crazy with worry about him. It had been dark for hours.  He was too afraid to come out from the hillside cave where he had run to hide.  Massimo didn't know if Vincenzo, or his man Paolo, would come back and kill him for what he'd witnessed.  Massimo was terrified, and he was sick with grief over seeing the horrific murder of Salvatore.  Who should he tell?  He checked his cell phone again, still no signal.  It was probably for the best, just in case Vincenzo was able to listen in somehow.  A man who is capable of murder might be connected to…to what?  Probably Mafioso or a gang, Massimo thought.  He had heard of crooked police, who were paid to frame innocent witnesses of crimes.  Then, crooked judges would send the innocent witnesses to prison, where they would be killed by a murderer already sentenced to life.  The gangs and Mafioso families, like the notorious Traficante family, had these types of people in their pockets.  Vincenzo was probably like that.  Untouchable. 

Massimo sobbed, he couldn't believe Uncle Salvatore was dead.  Salvatore had been in charge of planting and harvesting operations at the Vetrano family vineyard since before Massimo’s father, Guiseppe, was born.  He'd been like a dear uncle to Massimo's Papa and his siblings.  When Grandpa Arcada, Fortunata Vetrano's father, had died, Uncle Salvatore grew close to Marco and Gino. Massimo and Antonio had not yet been born, so they never knew their Mother's father.  Now, Uncle Salvatore was more of a Grandfather to Massimo and his brothers.

Salvatore and Grandpa Vetrano tried to pass their grape harvesting wisdom on to each of the boys, as they had to Guiseppe. However, the three wine-wise men could clearly see that Massimo was the only one of the four, who was born with the wine-for-blood passion of the vines.

As Massimo paced the dirt floor of the cave, he kept trying to replay in his mind what he'd heard Vincenzo say to Uncle Salvatore.  They talked about where something was hidden, and Vincenzo said the others were expecting "it" sooner.  So, Uncle Salvatore had something that Vincenzo wanted?   

The only thing Massimo could think of that anyone would want from Uncle Salvatore, would be the recipe for his mixture of fertilizer, lime, and other ingredients he used in the soil on their land. The Vetrano grapes grew incredibly robust and with so unique a flavor that Salvatore had been offered money for the secret.  The old man kept it close to the vest.  He was constantly testing the soil all over the property to see what the ph balances and moisture levels were and other were other things Massimo did not yet understand.  Uncle Salvatore was still teaching him about the soil.  Now, the lessons were over.  How was the Vetrano family's wine going to continue without the old man's soil and fertilizer recipe?  Surely, Papa or Grandpa Vetrano must know the secret.  Massimo intended to manage the earth himself someday, like Uncle Salvatore.  He would not only run the business of the vineyard, like Papa, but he would also put his sweat and blood into the very grapes that made the Vetrano wine.  His only dream in life was to take over the vineyard and continue the family's, centuries-old tradition of making wine.  

 

Snake eyes slithered toward him, glowing red, leaving a trail of blood behind.  As they came closer, the left eye began to pucker and the face of Vincenzo grew around the eyes.  When his long fangs were about to sink into Massimo's flesh, Massimo jerked awake.  He'd fallen asleep on the damp floor of the cave.  He was grateful to be out of the terrible dream he was having.  But now, he was worried about the sound he heard that woke him up.  Something made a scratching noise outside the cave's entrance.  An owl or a mouse, maybe?  He pulled his cell phone out to see the time.  Nearly midnight! 

He stood up, panicked, "Aww jeez, Mama!"  He hated the thought of worrying her for so long. 

He had to get back to the Villa.  Hours had passed, Vincenzo might be long gone.  Massimo would sneak home over the hill where his cave was located, through the orange grove, and onto the secret path near the creek.  None of the Vetrano land workers knew the way to the cave.  The creek flowed through land that was completely wild and unfarmed.  Not even a thug like Vincenzo could find the path.

"Mazzy?  Is that you?"  Naturally, Gino knew how to find the path. 

He was too afraid to speak, what if Gino wasn't alone?  He didn't know yet, that Vincenzo couldn't be trusted.  His oldest brother must have read his mind.

        "Mazzy, it's just me. No one else is here."

Gino bent down and made it past the entrance of the cave to where he could stand.  He was feeling his way along the side wall, when Massimo opened his phone for the light.

"Massimo!   What the hell have you been doing?"

Massimo rushed to his brother, threw his arms around him and clasped him tightly around the waist.  An agony too ancient for a fourteen-year-old boy to bear moaned out of him.  He crumbled into sobs on the cave floor.  Gino waited until his brother could speak, and when he finished telling Gino what he had seen in the vineyard; he immediately took Massimo to their father.

 

Hours later, the four brothers waited in the hallway outside their father's office.  The viper tank that filled the wall behind his desk was the same wall that divided the hallway and the office.  The curtain behind Signore Vetrano's desk was closed. They could see nothing inside the office, only the snakes inside the tank.  The thick glass of the tanks prevented sound from penetrating, and the thick wood of the door was almost sound proof.  The muffled tone of a heated discussion could be detected, between Papa, Grandpa Vetrano, and their mother. But even if the brothers could hear anything, the adults always spoke in German when they wanted to exclude the kids from their conversations.  It drove the brothers crazy.

"This is so unfair!"  Antonio pressed his ear against the heavy, dark wood door.

"Antonio, get away from the door!"  Gino pulled his younger brother from the door and pressed his own ear to listen.  "I can't hear anything, either."  He whispered, closing his eyes in concentration. 

Gino was suddenly pulled away from the door and replaced by Marco, who stood with his back to the door, arms crossed.  A militant soldier guarding his post.  While three years separated the two, Marco was built identical to his older brother in height and frame.  However, Marco's non-stop martial arts training made him much stronger than Gino, not bulkier and more muscular, just faster and stronger.  Marco always said that Gino was the smart one, Antonio was the misfit artistic one, and his own role in the family was to be a soldier for their father.  Massimo's role was obvious, he would take over the vineyard someday; every one said Massimo’s blood was made of wine.

 

Massimo sat on a leather bench along the wall, quietly staring at the floor.  Antonio went over to him, sat beside him, and put an arm around him. 

"Mazzy, I'm so sorry for what you saw.  I can't imagine…" his voice choked.  "I gotta say though…you're handling it like a real man."  He patted his little brother on the back.

Marco agreed, "Bud, I'd say after today, you're a soldier now."

Massimo's eyes snapped up to his brother, "You think that's a good thing? If that's what being a soldier's about – you can keep it!"  Massimo wiped his face with the front of his shirt.  He pointed at the ground, "right here, this vineyard – this is all I want with my life."

Massimo stared at the snakes in the tank and whispered, "It was all Uncle Salvatore wanted, too."

Moments later, their mother opened the office door and looked at the four of them.  Her eyes and her nose were swollen and red.  "Come on boys.  We need to talk to you all."

When Massimo passed by her, she pulled him close and squeezed him tightly.  Signora Vetrano took her youngest son's face in her hands, and kissed him on each cheek. 

"My sweet angel..."  She choked, then patted him on the bottom to keep him moving along with his brothers.

They filed into their father's office, which was furnished and appointed like a small apartment.  Signore Vetrano sat in a burnt orange, wing-back chair and Grandpa Vetrano sat in its identical twin.  They saw where their mother's tea cup sat and her cigarette burned on the coffee table in front of the brown leather sofa, so they avoided her spot.  She only smoked in the most stressful of times; when Grandma Vetrano died, when Marco busted his head open breaking bricks with it and was unconscious for two days, when Gino contracted malaria, and now – when Massimo saw their beloved Uncle Salvatore murdered. 

"Boys, what has happened is truly un giallo.  We don't understand."  Their father leaned forward as he spoke.  His black hair fell forward over his forehead; he stared at the floor for a moment, a grownup version of Massimo in hallway only moments before.  Signore Vetrano took a deep breath, sat up straight and pushed his hair off his forehead.

"We've just learned from someone Grandpa trusts that Vincenzo has been working for the Traficante family."   The brothers gasped and grumbled in disbelief.

"We can't fight a family like that." Marco said.

Signore Vetrano shook his head dismally, frowning deeply.  "No, and now we know Vincenzo is one of them." He looked to Massimo, and face broke for a split second.  Then he righted himself, and looked to his own father. 

Grandpa Vetrano's eyes were sunken and watery.  "Salvatore was more than il mio amico, he was il mio fratello.”  He looked at Marco then his own son, "There must be some sort of rappresaglia from this family."

Massimo had never heard his family talk this way before.   He understood that Uncle Salvatore was like a brother to Grandpa Vetrano but what sort of retaliation would be expected?  He reached for a bottle of water sitting on the coffee table in front of him, and swallowed the lump in his throat to wash away the dreadful image of losing a brother.  He started to ask a question but Gino cut him off.

"So now we're a family that takes out vendettas?  Papa, can't the polizia help?  Massimo is a witness!"

Fortunata slapped her hand on the arm rest of the sofa. "No!  Ma che!  My baby will not speak to anyone about this! Non faccia lo stupido!"  Gino lowered his eyes and said he didn’t mean to be stupid.

Signore Vetrano explained that they were very afraid for Massimo's life.  "Luckily, Gino was smart and didn't tell anyone else that he'd found Mazzy.  See, right now…everyone is still looking for your brother." 

Their mother lit another cigarette and blew a wide plume of smoke above their heads. Their Papa went on.  "The police and our workmen are all searching.  Your aunts, uncles, cousins…everyone thinks he's still missing.   The TV and radio stations are running alerts, the church is open and serving coffee…everyone wants to help find Don Vetrano's grandson."

Massimo looked to both men, "Papa…Nonno -- why haven't you called off the search?  I'm home."

Their mother burst out crying, their father looked tenderly to her, "Fortunata…amore, please."  He paused a moment while she blew her nose and settled. 

He looked back to Massimo, "Figlio, patience."

"Mi scusi, I'm sorry."  Massimo had an anxious feeling and he wanted to comfort his mother but didn't dare move.

"Soon, the morning news will be making the announcement that Massimo has been found."  He stopped to take a drink from his glass of wine.  "We are going to alert the family, the police, and the rest of the community…that Massimo was found drown and dead in the sea."

Antonio was the first to react with a burst of breath that was more of a laugh.  He quickly sobered when he saw his father wasn't kidding.  "Papa, what are you talking about? We're supposed to tell everyone Mazzy's dead?"

Massimo was reeling' he felt faint and sick all at the same time.  He knew exactly what his father meant and understood why his mother was so upset.  His gut told him he was about to lose everything, so he might as well put up a fight.

"I'm not going anywhere."  He stood up and faced his father.  His chin thrust out a notch, head tilted back, a young soldier ready to battle.  Pointing at the ground as he had earlier in the hallway, Massimo declared, "This is my home!"

He looked to his brothers, his usual group of protectors.  They weren't on guard for him, not even Marco. 

He turned, gently placed his hands on his Grandfather's knees and looked into his face.  His dark eyes spilled tears down his olive cheeks.  The old man's green eyes pooled.

"Nonno…you understand the love for the vines, I want to work the soil…please…don't let this happen."  Nothing.  He moved to his mother, fell on his knees before her, "Mama please," begging, hands in prayer, "I've never left home…don't send me away…" powerless, he dropped his head in her lap and sobbed.

Gino jumped out of his seat, "Papa, is he right? Is that what you're doing?"  He looked over at his little brother, "Are you sending him away?"   

Marco jumped up and bowed his chest to Gino saying he was disrespecting their father.   Gino got back in his face and Antonio got between them yelling they both were being idiots; Mazzy was too young to go anywhere, hear Papa out. 

When Marco and Gino looked as if they were going to fight, Fortunata looked to her husband, "Guiseppe, do something!"  He poured more wine in his glass.

After few more moments of letting the boys argue, Grandpa Vetrano quietly said, "Boys, that's enough. Sit!"

A gunshot couldn't have quieted them faster.  Fortunata wiped Massimo's face, handed him his water, and pushed him back to his seat.  Guiseppe looked at his father and gave a small nod.

Don Vetrano started, "Massimo and your mother will travel to stay in America for a time.  Your father and I will know when it is safe for him to return."  This wasn't an option or a debate.  "We will mourn the boy as if he is dead.  We'll have a funeral, a burial, and a time of black for the family.  No one beyond this room can ever know that Massimo is alive."  He looked at the three brothers intensely, then his son, and Fortunata, then lastly at Massimo, upon whom his gaze softened.  "You have seen such horror…and so young, my boy.  For that – I am truly sorry."  

The old man's face hardened again and he looked back to the brothers.  "Gino, you're the eldest, you'll go to America, too."