Page 16 of Sweet Prison
“Of course.” He unlocks the cuffs and lays his phone in front of me. “Knock when you’re done.”
A moment later he exits the room, shutting the metal door after him with a resounding clang. That sound still grates on my nerves, even after all these years.
Lifting the phone, I dial Salvo’s number. We’ve been friends since we were kids, long before my mother married Nuncio, a lifetime prior to everything going to shit. He’s probably the only man I trust implicitly these days. Things would be a hell of a lot simpler if I could get Salvo to visit me here from time to time. I’d be able to get the latest on Cosa Nostra’s dealings without having to wade through Nuncio’s moronic crap. But that would broadcast to every Tom, Dick, and Harry that Salvo is still my supporter.
I don’t need the Family or anyone else getting suspicious, trying to figure out what I’m up to, so I can’t risk bringing Salvo here. He needs to keep his distance from me to maintain the trust of the other capos. None of them is a fan of mine. At times, though, I can’t count on anyone but my oldest friend to handle an urgent matter for me. That’s when I use a burner phone carried by the COs loyal to me to call Salvo. And this particular issue needs to be handled promptly.
The instant the line connects, I get straight to the point. “Brio and Leone have been hounding Nuncio to include chicken on the snack menu at the casinos. Were you aware?”
“No.” The silence stretches for a few heartbeats. “How did you find that out?”
“Doesn’t matter. Keep an eye on them. Especially Leone. Did your guy dig up any dirt on him?”
“Not really, aside from the fact that he’s banging Adriano’s wife.”
“Okay. Keep your man sniffing. Especially around Leone, but also the others,” I say. “You need to pay a visit to the Yakuza.Remind them about the deal I closed with Tanaka last year while he was locked up in here with me.”
“Will do. You’re including them in your future plans, then?”
“Maybe,” I say, reluctant to share more over the phone. “I’ll call you if I need anything else.” I pause for a breath but feel the need to add, “I owe you, and once I’m out, you’ll be rewarded for sticking by me all this time.”
“That’s not why I’m helping you, Massimo. You know that.” Salvo sighs. “Any news from your lawyer?”
I lean back in the chair and focus on the cracked ceiling. Five more years.
At the start of my prison term, I was optimistic. I had faith that McBride would be successful in appealing my sentence. No dice. Then, my hopes shifted to an early parole after I served the mandatory minimum of three years. But that got denied. And so did my next application. And the next. With every rejection, it became more and more clear that someone was doing their damnest to keep me locked up. Someone with deep pockets and the right connections to make it happen.
Nuncio has been my primary suspect since he stands to gain the most by keeping me in the pen. But I’m fairly certain he doesn’t have the balls. It must be someone else. Lately, I’ve been inclined to believe it’s Batista Leone. The snake has many friends inside the courts and the Department of Correction, and he’s cultivated that network since before he became my father’s underboss. I do not doubt that he knows somebody with the power to deny me parole.
“Nope,” I bite out. “Nothing new on that front.”
“I’ll reach out to my contacts again.”
“Alright.” I nod, knowing nothing will come of it. He’s tried several times already.
“Are you going to tell me who your other source is?”
For a split second, I contemplate keeping my little spy’s identity to myself, but then change my mind. I might need them to exchange info at some point. “My stepsister. Zahara.”
“You’re kidding me!” he chokes out. “How on earth… Isn’t she still in high school?”
“That makes her a very clever, resourceful student. She’s been getting me whatever I need for a couple of years now.”
A pregnant pause stretches across the line. Salvo is very rarely at a loss for words. My admission must have shocked him. I’m not sure why that would be the case. He knows me well enough, he shouldn’t be surprised. I don’t cling to principles of morality unless they align with my purposes, and I’ve never been above using anyone—regardless of who they are—to further my business interests.
“Keep watching Leone,” I say and cut the call.
Shortly after I return to my cell, Sam drops by with my mail. The rest of the prison population will be getting theirs after lunch, but I enjoy preferential treatment. As I tear open the envelope, I wonder if this letter will include another editorial on sewing. I don’t mind those. They serve as nice fillers, camouflaging the important information Zahara slips to me. And I find it funny when she asks what color fabric she should choose for her next project. As if I can tell the difference betweenchestnutandcopper. It’s all fucking brown to me. Nevertheless, I often end up answering the bizarre questions posed by my teenage stepsister. It’s beyond idiotic. Still, it’s rejuvenating, somehow, to juggle such mundane things every now and then.
In my initial letters to her, which I sent infrequently until I could be sure they wouldn’t draw unwanted attention, I steered Zahara to tell me more about what was happening at home. Thekind of shit that gave me a better idea of what Nuncio was up to, and what he may not be sharing with me.Who attended the annual Family meeting that Stepfather likes to host?Anyone new I might not have met?What did everyone talk about, or did it turn into a TED Talk?Small things that made it seem like I was missing being there. Then, I ramped it up a bit, focusing on broad areas of business.Is there anyone who doesn’t agree with Nuncio’s decisions?Do any of the C-level execs visit him more often than the rest?I figured whatever I could glean had the potential to be useful.
But as time passed, and more letters were exchanged, I realized that my stepsister could become an even greater asset than I previously considered. An asset I’d be an idiot not to exploit to the fullest extent.
So, I did.
About a year ago, I asked if she could find a particular document for me in her father’s office without him or anyone else knowing. My goal was to confirm that Nuncio followed my instructions and signed the contract as I ordered him to, but I was also eager to learn if she could pull it off. Lo and behold, not only did she locate what I was after and assure me that the contract had been executed, but she went a step further and relayed other specifics covered in the terms of the agreement—things like quantities and purchase rates.
A week later, she’d figured out my coded message on how to access Nuncio’s safe. Ever since then, unaware of my designs for her or the Family, my unsuspecting mole has been providing me with invaluable insights. Because of her, I know the exact details her father “forgets” to mention when he visits me on Thursdays to deliver his reports about our business. Or rather—my business.