he was thinking only of his father.
Giorgio Ambrosi had been a well-respected man in the neighborhood of Trastevere, south of the city center and away from the glitz and glamor of the tourist spots. It was a working-class neighborhood, a little run-down, but familiar. It was the kind of place where people took care of each other.
Carlo had always admired his father for the way he’d built up his museum from nothing – just a small bank loan and the strength of his charisma were enough to get the place going, and Giorgio’s work ethic ensured that Carlo and his brother Rocky always had food on the table and a roof over their heads.
The museum was truly something special, and it brought business to the neighborhood. The whole community had enjoyed it, and everyone admired Giorgio for what he’d been able to do.
But as Carlo got older, he realized it hadn’t been quite that easy. Things weren’t as simple as they seemed, not in Trastevere. And as he came to realize, Giorgio’s bank loan hadn’t come from the bank at all – but from Dominic Pirelli, the local mafia don.
Dominic was almost a mythical figure in Trastevere, spoken about in hushed whispers. He brought protection to the neighborhood, but his gang was ruthless. If anyone found themselves upside-down on a loan owed to Dominic, they quickly got a taste of how cruel he could really be.
And for the Ambrosi family, the consequences of doing business with Dominic had hit home in a very personal way.
Carlo still remembered the way his father had looked at him when he spilled the news. There was such guilt in his eyes… such shame. It was unlike anything he’d seem from his father before, and it was such a shock to him that at first he didn’t believe it.
“You’ve got to go to work for Dominic, son,” Giorgio had said, looking deep into Carlo’s eyes as he put a hand on his shoulder. Carlo was just eighteen at the time, still a gangly kid with freckles and vague dreams of being an actor.
“Papa, what are you talking about?” he’d replied, not understanding. “I’m a good kid, don’t worry. There’s no way I would join the Pirellis. I’ll stay far away from them, I promise.”
His father didn’t reply, except to look at him with such heartache in his eyes that it gave Carlo pause.
“Papa, you’re scaring me,” he said, searching in his father’s eyes for an answer. “What’s going on?”
“I owe the Pirellis a lot of money, mio figlio ,” Giorgio said. “For the museum. Dominic’s come to collect on his debts, and I can’t pay him.”
Carlo couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He shook his head in mute confusion.
“I’m sorry, my son. There’s no choice. Your brother’s too young. It has to be you. It’s either this, or…”
His father trailed off, and Carlo began to panic.
“What the hell am I going to do for them? I won’t last two weeks with the Pirellis. Papa, the mafia—”
“Enough!” cried his father, a pained look on his face. “…Enough. Carlo, what’s done is done. Don’t think of it as the ‘mafia’. Think of it as… a family. The Pirellis are like our family now.”
Carlo was angry now. “How can you say that, Papa,” he cried. “We’re nothing like them. You’ve seen how violent they can be.”
“My son, if I don’t pay off my debt to Dominic, then we’ll see the full force of their violence,” Giorgio replied. “Forgive me, Carlo. You know I didn’t want this. But when your mother died, I had nothing left. Nothing!”
He looked away, casting his eyes to the floor.
“The museum… it’s all I have.”
For a long moment, Carlo stayed silent. A whirlwind of emotions was swirling in his heart, but he saw the resignation in his father’s face and he knew there was no way out.
“…All right,” he said finally. “It’ll be all right, Papa. Don’t worry.” He put a hand on his