Chapter Text
Once Formaggio began nearing the close of his sentence, he would occasionally find himself looking back on the day of his trial and dwelling on the verdict that had changed his life forever.
Standing in the middle of the courtroom, with the attention of both the judge and jury leering in on him, had made him extremely anxious. Their eyes appeared to be just as cold as the chill of the building, but he had never been too sure over which of the two that was causing him to shiver. There was too much evidence stacked against him, he knew that well enough, and he believed there wouldn’t be any point in trying to defend himself when there were so many charges.
His plea bargain greatly narrowed the longevity of his trial. The judge concluded by sentencing him to serve twelve months in prison. As the gavel slammed down onto the round block of wood, Formaggio felt his stomach sink with matching tempo.
But when security began escorting him out of the courtroom, the last thing he expected was for his aunt to rise from her seat on the bench and to pull him into one last smothering hug. He could remember how warm she felt, the subtle aroma of her perfume, the way her soft crying somehow still wracked his entire frame. He left the courtroom with his navy blue uniform top stained with tears before he was escorted back to his temporary jail cell, where he shed a few tears of his own.
Even if he believed Isadora could be the most aggravating woman in the world, being able to see her was like the chance of sunshine in the aftermath of an awfully stormy day. If he could smash through those glass panels and be able to hug her, just one last time, it probably could have made his darker days even brighter.
And to think... If he would’ve just refrained from being such a klepto, he wouldn’t even have to serve twelve months in prison. He would still be in the comfort of his small home, the same old house his mother had raised him in, watching cartoons on his television set and getting messages on his pager whenever his friends wanted to make plans to hang out. Instead, he was forced to endure the poorer living conditions of a maximum security prison. His mattress would always give him back pains, no matter how much he twisted and turned, and watching the mildew grow in the corners of the shower cubicles was more entertaining than watching soap opera reruns on a black and white television screen. He had once found solace in his prison family, who had filled the gap in his heart left by the peers that abandoned him back home, but now they were nothing more than a group of miserable, melancholic kids with spirits left shattered by an immense amount of grief.
Formaggio would be a liar if he said he hadn’t cried after hearing about Angelo’s passing. But as he wept, he found himself debating with his conscience if his mourning was justified, if Angelo even deserved his grieving at all. Formaggio could write an essay on all of the messed up things Angelo had done, from the way he behaved to the way he would treat his own friends. Their clashing personalities caused them to fight more than they could ever get along, and at one point Angelo had even called Formaggio the “shittiest person he had ever met.” But even if Angelo was never the greatest friend in the world, Formaggio could never let himself forget the things he had done for him: bringing him into their group, looking out for him, giving him stamps and essential items, and rolling his cigarettes. In his opinion, all Angelo needed was to get his ass kicked. Dying from a fatal stab wound had taken his punishment a little too far.
That alone made him wonder if he would die before the upcoming winter. His near death experience from June persistently tormented him at every given chance by haunting him in his thoughts and dreams. Nobody else would dare try to do anything so sick and heinous to him, so long as Risotto was around to make more examples out of the ones who had. Not only did the incident with Zeno instill fear into the other inmates, but Scaletta’s mangled body was yet another occasion that intimidated them. Even if they couldn’t prove that he had done it, the floating rumors were enough to justify their beliefs, mumbling and whispering to everyone they knew that Risotto gouged out his eye and used some of his entrails to leave the gruesome message on the tiles: Pedofilo Malato.
However, no amount of revenge enacted upon his attackers could ever make it go away. Every single inmate that had been involved in the incident could be stabbed a million times over, burned to nothing but a crisp of flesh, or even executed by the most brutal firing squad, and yet they would still be able to seep through the confines of his mind, pick at every nerve of his being, and remind him of the incident all over again. Revenge would never make it go away, no matter how much he wished it could, and that was what tore at him the most.
Despite it being a serious topic of conversation, he only ever expressed these thoughts with Risotto. He didn’t want his mother or his aunt worrying about him more than they already were. The letter about Angelo’s stabbing had stirred up so much discourse within their family that he could hardly imagine their reactions if he told them about what happened on that dreadful day. A look into psychiatric evaluation had become a frequent topic of conversation between him and his aunt ever since, and her constant talk about getting him a therapist following his release was so exhausting that he wished she would just stop bringing it up already.
The consistent communication he kept with Flora had been therapeutic enough, though he missed her more than anything in the outside world— more than getting to watch the sunrise and sunset, more than getting to go out and take walks around his hometown, more than his favorite flavor of ice cream from his favorite ice cream parlor. More than hanging out with his friends, more than raiding the liquor store and running off with a full case of beer, more than getting to sleep in on his comfortable mattress with nice, warm sheets.
He would hate to leave someone as sweet as Risotto behind. Risotto had taught him many things, had always been there for him, and always stood up for him when nobody else would. His company is what kept him giddy and happy throughout his darkest times. Though the parting would hurt, he knew that losing Risotto was due sacrifice for his departure from that prison, a barbaric and bloodthirsty place he hoped he would never, ever have to return to. At the very least, he hoped that he and Risotto would be able to keep in touch. He couldn’t imagine continuing his life without him.
But being back at home, in the mere presence of his loving family, would have truly made him happy. That’s all Formaggio ever wanted. He couldn’t possibly ask for anything else.
September 14th, 1991
The leftover chess pieces on the board were left astray from every move, capture, and check that came before that very moment. His pearled king had been put in jeopardy by a pesky, midnight colored knight, but so had his queen, and the young Drago couldn’t find any leeway that would successfully bring him out of check while still spare him from the capture of his most powerful piece.
“This is a tough one. Real tough,” he mumbled to himself. His body was slouched over the table as his amber green eyes hopped back and forth between each and every piece. As he kept Vinny on the edge of his toes, Risotto took a more relaxed position in his seat, his shoulders resting comfortably against the back of his chair and his arms folded across his chest.
If he didn’t want his shampoo bottle filled with several ounces of urine, Risotto had to promise that he would take Vinny seriously that time around. He wasn’t completely sure if he should have taken his threat to heart, but Vinny wanted to get better at the game without being given any more pity, so Risotto knew better than to not respect his wishes.
The room would have been completely empty if it weren’t for those two and their prolonged chess match. The quiet in the room allowed them to put every ounce of focus into the game, and though he wasn’t complaining, Risotto had still been curious about the absence of any other inmates.
By his general understanding, it was visitation day. He suspected that Formaggio would have been making his way down to speak with his aunt by now, meaning the inmates from A block would have been making their way back from the visitation room. And still, as the seconds ticked by on the wristwatch stowed inside of Vinny’s pocket, not another man had come in sight.
“Where is everyone?” Risotto thought aloud.
“Good question, but I’ve got no clue.” Vinny didn’t spare a single glance away from the chess board as he spoke. “I do know that Enzo’s at the infirmary to get his monthly checkup for his lungs and to get his meds refilled. I had a couple of other guys go out and run an errand for me. Other than that, your guess is just as good as mine.”
Risotto found that slightly peculiar. Not once did he ever see Vinny anywhere without being accompanied by some of his posse; if it weren’t an entire group hovering over his every move, then at least one other inmate from his block would be accompanying his side. He had at least expected Tony to be snoozing beside the door, but when he first found himself entering the room, Vinny was the only soul present, sitting at the big round table with the chess board already set up and his nose buried deep into a “sports” magazine.
Vinny quickly crossed one leg over the other when he finally noticed that someone else was in the room. “Woah!” he shouted, “Don’t sneak up on me like that, Riz!” and gave an awkward little chuckle as he tossed the thick stack of pages beside his feet. Risotto noticed his odd behavior within the second he had acknowledged him, from the way his leg remained tightly knit over the other for at least thirty minutes after their first match had begun, the bottom leg that just couldn’t sit still beneath the top, and the way the blood had ran up to his cheeks.
Eventually, Vinny had calmed down enough to be able to reach over and move his chess pieces without his lower body remaining so stiff, and just as Risotto chose not to comment on his... “predicament,” he chose to hum and make no further inquiry about the absence of his men.
“But it’s a good thing that they’re away,” his opponent muttered after a near quarter of a minute had gone by. Risotto happened to be scratching an itch on the band of his arm when Vinny spoke up again. “There’s some things I’ve been wanting to talk to you about, and I’d prefer we do it alone.”
It wasn’t unlike them to have small talk during their games. Less talking and more thinking had always been sort of an unspoken rule for chess, but the room had always been filled with the noisiest of men, Chubs and Enzo’s bickering being the most disruptive out of all of them. Sometimes the two would get so distracted they would briefly abandon their game just to have a short conversation with each other, over menial topics such as, “What do your tattoos mean?” or “What’s the weirdest shit you’ve ever done?” or “Who’s the prettiest woman you’ve ever met?” or “How long are you serving, Riz?”
The last question’s answer was only knowledgeable to Vinny and other “witnesses.” Said witnesses depended on if they were actually keying in to their conversation that day, or if they were all too busy trying to stop Enzo from slamming a chair over Chubs’ head with all the might and strength he had in that single arm of his. By Risotto’s word, Vinny had promised to keep his secret under lock and key.
That was the issue, however. It was usually so noisy and chaotic that they could hardly hear themselves think over the others, yet now it was so quiet that they could hear every enunciated syllable on each other’s tongues. It made him wonder whether Vinny truly didn’t know where his men were off to accomplish, or if Vinny had purposefully made plans for them to be away just for that very moment. But considering the oddball situation he had stumbled upon before they began their chess match, he snorted at Vinny’s statement and uttered a humoring comment.
“I hope whatever you have in mind doesn’t pertain to that magazine you were reading.”
At the mention of the magazine, Vinny snapped his gaze onto Risotto, his lids expanding away from the amber green of his eyes, and by the end of his remark his eyebrows and lips quirked in a way that read nothing but pure horror.
“Oh, you are fucking sick, Nero!” he exclaimed. “I can’t believe you actually said that shit!”
Risotto let out a booming laugh in response. Vinny soon laughed along, and for the first time in quite a few minutes he was able to relax back into his chair. He was well aware that Risotto was just toying with him, but he felt it was justifiable to try and defend himself from being caught red handed.
“Look, I got a little bored, alright? I wasn’t expecting you to walk in so early. You caught me off guard.”
“Then I’m glad I came earlier than usual. I can’t imagine having to walk in on you rubbing one out.”
“Kid!” They laughed even more afterwards, the blush in Vinny’s cheeks prime evidence for his shame. He used his palm to shield his burning face as his shoulders shook, and there was a fervent shake of his head. “No, no, no! I was not about to do that! And I definitely don’t intend on doing the shit you suggested!”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“You are sick! Sick, sick, sick!” Vinny reiterated, using his free hand to wag his finger at him every time he repeated the same word. After they had calmed down enough to give themselves a rejuvenating breath of air, and Vinny was almost no longer red in the face, he folded his arms against the space that had been left from the chess board and tried to look Risotto in the eye without letting another laugh escape him. “No, but seriously,” he said, clearing his throat. “Risotto, I need some advice.”
“Advice?”
“Yeah, advice.” When Risotto reacted with a slight quirk of his eyebrow, Vinny let out a sigh. “Okay, look, I know it may sound weird. I usually ask for advice from some of my prison family, y’know, Tony and Leo and all of them, but as of right now, their opinion is dog shit to me. I need advice from someone who actually has common fucking sense for a change.”
“What makes you think I have more common sense than them?”
“Don’t try and bullshit me, Riz. You’ve got loads of sense. Hell, you may not talk as much, but I’ve never heard anything stupid come outta your mouth when you have. You’re pretty damn smart, and you seem like you’ve always got your shit together. As for them, well, those goons can practically spew bullshit every other word and not even realize it. That’s what I hate about them and like about you.”
“And yet you still claim you aren’t trying to seduce me. You’re not being very convincing.”
“Look, don’t you start that shit back up!” Vinny spluttered out playfully, wagging his finger at him once more. “I’m not gonna say it again, Riz! I don’t fucking swing that way.”
Their chortles vibrated in their throats, but after the joke had passed for a second time, Risotto rubbed his chin as he mulled over the opinion given about his character. Intelligent? Well, the literacy rate of his peers may have had a significant decline since he took his first few steps into the facility, but he believed he had everything but his shit together. The only reason he could ever be given such praise is for being so reserved about his inner turmoil. Then again, nobody ever asked to hear for it, and Vinny’s negligence to do so gave him all the more reason not to argue. Because Vinny was asking for his help, Risotto wouldn’t dare deny him his ears, especially after Vinny had already done so many favors for him.
“What’s the matter?” Risotto asked.
“What’s the matter?” Vinny scoffed at the query as if it were the most ridiculous question he had ever heard. “Riz, everything’s the matter. I’m losing an entire fucking decade of my life behind bars, in this corrupted shithole of a prison. I might have been involved in some deep shit when I was free, but there’s nothing that has made me any more paranoid than being locked up. I’ve had to watch my own ass— literally, my own ass— since I was fifteen fucking years old. I mean, it’s bad here now, but you can hardly imagine what it was like in ‘86. People were fighting each other left and right, slitting each other’s throats, and my cellmate... my... motherfucking cellmate...”
A slow huff had followed the trail of Vinny’s speech, his thick eyebrows furrowing and his fingers beginning to drum restlessly against the table. Risotto was expecting him to elaborate further, but he had no intention of pressing him to speak on it if it made him uneasy. He remained silent, and for a while the only noise in the room came from Vinny’s fingers rapping against the table and the low hum of the lights above them.
“Y’know, everybody here thinks that D block has the sickest bastards,” he said suddenly, “and for the most part, they aren’t wrong. They’re the ones who’ve raped and killed their way into this place. They’re the ones who followed a psychotic Nazi to the end of the fucking earth. But people can be sick in the head regardless of the crime they committed, and what block you’re from has got nothing to do with it.” He narrowed his eyes at the younger man sitting in front of him. “You wanna know the real reason why I’m so paranoid, Riz? The reason why I have someone I trust by my side everywhere I go?”
“Why?”
“Well, when I first got here, I was actually doing pretty okay,” he said, and though the volume of his voice seemed to drop much lower than before, the pace of his fingers would gradually increase with every other spoken word. “The place might have smelled, the food might have sucked, and people might have been killing each other, but I was quick to get around and make acquaintances. At the time, I had a cellmate that was more than twice my age. I think he was, what, in his late thirties? Yeah, and at first, I was worried that I would be intruding on his personal space. He used to have the entire damn cell to himself before having to share it with some rowdy teenager.”
Out of nowhere, his fingers stopped drumming against the wood and clenched into the top of the table, his lips twisting into a forced smile. Then, he started to laugh, a quiet snicker that soon phased into louder cackling, as he threw his head back enough to unveil every minute detail of the snake wrapped around his neck. Risotto watched his outburst with indifference, and it lasted for less than a few seconds before Vinny threw his head back into place, his face showing nothing but disgust and his tone no longer calm and collected.
“But that’s just what he fucking wanted, isn’t it? He wanted a young and handsome little boy to share a cell with, since he was so lonely, so touch deprived, so fucked in the head to try and get on top of me while I was sleeping... No, no, I take that back. He didn’t even do that first. I woke up to that son of a bitch standing beside my bunk, his pants pulled down to his fucking ankles, stroking his dirty little cock in his hand, and I screeched before that fat sack of shit started climbing on top of me. But when I came to, I had been hunched over his unconscious body, and my heart was beating so fast I thought I was about to have a coronary. There was enough moonlight in the room for me to see the blood from his head start to pool out onto the concrete, and I thought I would be forced to sleep with a fucking corpse in my cell until a CO unlocked the door and walked in on the scene.”
By the end of his spiel, Vinny’s nails had indented the table nearly as deep as any graphic carving left by other inmates. But his grip on the wood soon diminished with his softening expression, and his head lolled forward as his focus fell onto his lap.
“I didn’t mean to kill him, Riz,” he said softly. “I never had the intention of killing anybody. Maybe I did say all of those nasty things about the government, and maybe I did threaten to take their power, but I was fifteen. A child. What I said was fucking childish. All I wanted was to be able to look out for my ma, to support my family, but I got tossed in here with all of these sick fucks, crazy junkies, and full blown psychopaths. Because I wasn’t there to protect her, my ma had been killed a few days before I turned sixteen. I found out about it on my fucking birthday. Can you even imagine how I fucking felt?”
“Of course I can’t,” Risotto murmured, his eyes narrowing with sympathy.
“And to this day, that shit still fucks with me,” Vinny went on. “I was already fucked up from getting the lights nearly fucked outta me by that goddamn creep, but when I lost my ma, I felt like I had lost everything. I had never even thought of suicide until my sixteenth birthday, and I had been thrown in solitary more times than I can count for trying to end my shit. To this day, I still have trouble sleeping at night, and sometimes I’ll start to cry whenever I happen to think about her. This shit ain’t healthy, Risotto. Nobody, and I mean nobody, should have to go through this.” Vinny finally looked up from his lap and gazed into his ruby red eyes with the most dismal expression he had ever seen. “Don’t you agree?”
Risotto didn’t have to think twice before he said yes. The corrupted system they were confined under wasn’t healthy at all, and he knew well enough from firsthand experience. He had been targeted by a group of supremacists, with a leader who had the intention of doing the most damnable things to him. It had been worse when someone he had hardly known for long had to suffer over his own actions to retaliate. That alone was a reminder that, on that very day, he could have lost Formaggio— no, that Flora could have lost her son over a dispute that never even had anything to do with him.
Formaggio was too young. Vinny had been too young. Arguably enough, so was Risotto, but he had been through so much abuse and neglect since the day his mother died. At this point, he had already gotten used to it.
“Do you think it’s fair if I get an early release?” Vinny asked next, which made Risotto’s brows furrow with confusion.
“The warden gave you an early release?” he queried.
“...The warden?” Vinny’s mouth twitched into a simper. “Heh, he said the warden. No, Riz, fuck that old bastard. When I appealed the first go round, the warden denied my fucking plea because I killed the same guy that tried to fucking rape me. I’m tired of playing my shit by the fucking book. I mean escaping. I mean breaking out and hightailing it the fuck outta here. Do you think it’s fair if I escape? If I take it upon myself to leave all of this bullshit behind?”
What Vinny said had both surprised and intrigued Risotto. Escaping? Vinny was planning an escape? How was he going to pull it off, and where was he planning to go for the coming days, months, or even years afterward? Would he even be able to make it after a few days, or would he be found and brought right back to the prison? He dawned on those questions before recalling Vinny’s original inquiry. Considering all of the things he had been through, it was fair for Vinny to want to make an escape, but was it fair for him to leave everyone else behind?
Maybe that’s what Vinny meant when he said his friends lacked common sense. Maybe they had an issue with what he planned on doing, and maybe it brought up a bit of conflict within their circle.
“Is there a certain reason why you detest the opinion of your friends?”
“I detest their opinions because they don’t know what the fuck they’re talking about,” Vinny retorted. “They’re so stuck on this prison shit that they don’t realize we’ve all led completely different lives on the outside world. In here, I may be a part of the A block family, but out there, I’m right back to my fucking roots. Us Dragos, the very blood that runs in our veins, belongs to something powerful, something unstoppable. But before they got here, they were nothing but a bunch of petty street thugs. We’re on two entirely different levels.”
“When you say ‘something powerful,’” Risotto said, “do you mean the mob?”
“There’s... more than one mob, actually.” Vinny said this as if he were reluctant to reveal something relatively vague. “Regardless of which one, they still wouldn’t stand a chance in any of them, and besides, I’m not escaping on my own. My mob is gonna help me get outta here. I can’t afford to bring along any deadweight. That’ll just fuck up my entire plan.”
Now that he thought about it, it made plenty of sense as to why Vinny couldn’t take any of his friends with him. Although it wasn’t necessarily fair to them, since Vinny would be soaking up the benefits of his getaway while they would have to serve the rest of their sentences, it was clear that he had stronger connections with the outside that they had no further knowledge of, connections that would be too dangerous for them to get involved in.
“Then it is fair,” Risotto finally answered. Vinny nodded his head at that. “But I’m wondering how you’ll manage to escape and hide yourself from the law. Wouldn’t you have to be on the run for the rest of your life?”
For a moment, Vinny only gave him a few blinks of his eyes, his expression showing little emotion and his mouth drawn taut. He must have been pondering something, because he appeared to be staring off into nothing but space before his focus fell back onto Risotto.
“Riz, I’m about to tell you something I’ve never told any of them,” he said, “and I want you to promise me, promise me, that you won’t speak say a word about it. Deal?”
Risotto thought back to the day he told Vinny about his sentence and how Vinny promised he would never bring it up outside of their long conversation. So far, he had been keeping his promise, and because of that he saw no issue with returning the favor. “Deal.”
A deep sigh left his parted lips before Vinny began to reveal his secret.
“My entire family are sworn associates of Simpatia, one of the largest crime families in Italia,” he began. “My pa has been a renowned Caporegime of the family for many years. If I can find a way to break out of prison, I would be able to escape from Sicilia and get into mainland Italia with the help of some of Simpatia’s soldatos. Then, I would have to find my way towards Firenze and regroup with my pa to get myself officially sworn in. That way, I would be pardoned from the law, and all of my previous charges would become null and void.”
Risotto’s eyes expanded after hearing the last portion of Vinny’s explanation. “Really?”
“Actually, wait...” Vinny pursed his lips as he rubbed his goatee and the stubble that was beginning to form around it. “No, let me rephrase that. My charges wouldn’t be null and void, per say. They’re on my permanent record, so I would still be considered a felon in the eyes of the government. But the thing is, when you’re in one of the largest, most powerful syndicates, you become untouchable by the government. If I’m just Vinny Drago, they can do whatever the fuck they want with me. They could throw me in here for a thousand years if they really wanted to. But if I become Vinny Drago, an official soldato for the Simpatia crime family, I’m one step above the government within the political hierarchy. All I have to do is get sworn in, and I’ll forever be under the protection of the mafia.”
Before that Saturday afternoon, Risotto believed that spending his life in prison would have sealed his fate, even though that was the very last thing he ever wanted to do. But after hearing about what the mafia, Simpatia, could do for Vinny after his escape made him wonder if his fate could change. An organization that could take him in, pardon him from the law, and ultimately free him from his destiny...
“Do you think I could have a place in the mafia?” Risotto asked him.
Vinny paused for yet another moment to resubmerge himself within his thoughts. He blinked a couple of times, became unexpressive, and stared off into space before uttering something that would stick with Risotto for the rest of his life.
“Riz, if I thought you didn’t have a place in the mafia,” he said, “I wouldn’t even be talking to you about this right now.”
“...Are you serious?”
“Absolutely.”
“And you still say you aren’t trying to flirt with me?”
Vinny’s palm landed with an audible smack against his forehead. “Oh, kid!”
What Vinny had told him sounded like the very Holy Grail of all of his problems. He alone didn’t have the connections to plan an escape, nor did he have anyone that could possibly take him to the mainlands. If he ever managed to break out of prison on his own, the only choice he would have was to try and find his way back home to attempt at convincing his father in giving him another chance. But the skies would have to be green for that to ever happen. His father would turn him in the instant he showed his face around, and he had never been close enough with anyone else in his family.
The same way Risotto could never bring himself to believe in God, he could never bring himself to believe that the life bestowed upon him was anything but a curse. Life hadn’t been fair to him when his mother had passed away, nor had it been fair when his father fell into a crippling drug addiction, nor had it been fair when he was abused and neglected as a result. Life hadn’t been fair when his cousin died, nor had it been fair when the murderer received a light sentence, and it definitely hadn’t been fair when he had to serve life for getting his justice.
Now everything seemed like nothing but a dream come true. He wouldn’t have to spend the rest of his cruel life in prison anymore. He was aware of the depth of his crime, and he knew he would have to reap what he had sowed, but in the end, life still wasn’t fair. Not only was life unfair to him when the drunk driver took his only family away, but it wasn’t fair to the same drunk driver when Risotto plunged the knife into his throat. It was an eye for an eye situation that once would have had him rotting in prison, but had now given him a place in the mafia.
“Don’t expect the mafia to be any less dangerous than being in here,” Vinny said, the acute warning pulling him out of his thoughts. “You’ll still be risking your life. You’ll still see people suffer. You’ll still see people die.”
“I’ve made people suffer. I’ve caused their deaths,” Risotto said. “I would rather witness death and suffering on the outside rather than the inside. If I see someone die on the outside, I would at least be able to catch a fresh breath of air afterwards.”
The gap in Vinny’s front teeth became visible behind his slightly parted grin. “See? I told you you were smart, Riz.”
“Does that mean you’ll allow me to come with you?”
“Yeah, of course.” After hearing him say those words, Risotto cracked a smile. “I’ll have to tell my associates that I plan to bring you along, but trust me, when I tell them that you took down a Nazi that was in control of the entire prison’s drug ring. They’ll eat that shit right up. In fact, I bet they’ll be begging for you to join us.”
Once he was given another chance at redemption, for the very first time in his life, Risotto finally believed that life was fair. Now only would he be pardoned from the law, but he would have the opportunity to make himself of use, to be valued, to finally be appreciated by other people. Granted, being involved with the mob wouldn’t make him any less of a criminal, but that wasn’t what mattered to him. What mattered was that he could finally look into his future and see a brighter opportunity for himself— not as an old prison cook falling under the impounds of dementia, but as a well respected soldato, a mafioso, working for one of the largest syndicates in Italy. Life was fair... no, life is fair.
Unfortunately, those pleasant feelings didn’t last for long.
Vinny went on to babble to himself about some of the missing pieces of his plan when someone had stumbled up to the door, his hand bloodied and his face streaked with tears. Soon enough, Risotto had been struck with a harsh reality that made him believe he was a fool for even thinking anyone in such a cruel world could have a better fate.
He knew something had to be wrong when he saw Formaggio nearly trip on the crack of the threshold, almost plummeting face first into the concrete, before he caught himself on the doorframe. Risotto rushed out of his seat and joined him at the door, and tried to help him stand upright as he frantically asked him what was wrong. The blood pouring out of his hand made him think someone tried hurting him again, and he felt the familiar feeling of rage boil in his chest.
But when he heard Formaggio whimper, “She’s gone,” Risotto’s entire face had fallen. Formaggio said it once more, “She’s gone,” and Risotto’s anger had been quickly substituted by dread. Formaggio said it one more time, but couldn’t even get past “gone” without being consumed by a choking sob, collapsing to his knees.
Risotto couldn’t believe what he was hearing. There was no way that this could be happening. Everything suddenly felt like a joke to him. Everything had been going so well, so how the hell could it be happening?! Her medication was helping her get better, they frequently exchanged letters, there was even talk about her about her being able to visit him soon...
Risotto followed Formaggio’s fall and swaddled him in his arms as he bawled into his bloody fists. He tried to console him as much as he could without breaking down into a violent fit of tears himself. And Vinny, as he watched everything go down with a face full of shock, couldn’t help but be reminded of the day he received the anonymous letter informing him of his own mother’s passing. He firmly clasped his hands together, sending a small prayer above to bless Formaggio, bless his family, and bless the angel that had already made her way towards heaven.
Life isn’t fair.