Malavita

Malavita

Alfio could feel his anger rising again. He tried to contain it. “You steal the bread from my starving children’s mouths. Don’t you feel ashamed at all?”
“I’ve never taken anything from you that you did not offer me first, Alfio.” Ettore smirked across the counter. “Do you think me a criminal?”
Teeth clenched tight, Alfio chose to leave his question unanswered.
“I see an intensity in your eyes today.” Ettore said gently. “In twenty years at this job, I have seen this look before. Hate only lives so long in a man’s heart before it must break free. Pray that when it does, it comes as tears and nothing more.”
With that having been said, he lifted the envelope from Alfio’s outstretched hand and turned back towards the entrance. Hidden behind the counter, Alfio fingered the safety of his pistol and watched the man’s balding head disappear through the strings of beads that were his front door.
The arms of the clock were approaching 12:30, and outside the sun was at it’s highest point. The man on the radio had said temperatures might break 40° Celcius, too much sun even for Alfio’s dark Sicilian skin. Inside the shop it was nice and cool, mostly as a result of the refrigeration units that kept the gelato cold. Besides ice cream, the shop also sold specialty deserts, sweet breads and cakes.
It wasn’t easy running a business in Biancavilla, Sicily. No one had much money, which meant business was always slow. Alfio wasn’t a rich man any means, but he thanked god every night for blessing him with as much as he had. He had three young sons, a wife that cared deeply for him, and a job that didn’t involve working out in the blistering heat all day. But still, he wasn’t a rich man.
The shop closed around dusk, but Alfio didn’t head for home till almost midnight. He ran the bakery almost entirely on his own, which meant that there was always more to do than he could finish in a day. He walked six blocks down narrow streets, finally ending up at his front doorstep. The windows in his house were dark, meaning his family was already asleep. His sons would be waking up early to help him open the shop, then they would head off to school. His wife was never awake long past cooking dinner, she was always so exhausted from long days washing and cutting hair at the salon. Cold meat and salad were waiting for him on the kitchen counter.
Early the next morning, Alfio woke his eldest son Eugenio.
“Tell your brothers they can sleep in, but make sure they are up for school. I’m opening the shop alone today.” He whispered to the boy.
“Thank you papa.” He mumbled and rolled over.
Alfio turned to leave the room and paused. “Everything I do is for you and your brothers.” But the boy was already asleep.
The sun had barely risen and already Alfio felt the day would be hotter than the one before. He spotted Ettore’s red Fiat parked downtown in front of the Iceberg Cafe. He was one of the few people in town who could afford to own an automobile, a luxury that made him the envy of many younger men. It also made him especially easy to locate. People on their way to work were hustling in and out the coffee shop’s front door for quick meals of Briosh and Granita. The old men were already out front around a table, smoking cigarettes and talking about being young.
Opening the door, Alfio saw Ettore seated at one of the back tables. He was with two other men, each with rifles hanging loosely off the back of their chairs.
“Ciao Ettore” He called across the busy room as he pulled the pistol from inside his shirt.
“BLAM”
Ettore was splashed with blood as his friends neck exploded. To his right, the other man turned to reach for his revolver.
“BLAM”
The second bullet hit the other man just him just above the ear. Ettore let out a surprised cry of anguish and turned to run towards the back door. Alfio could almost taste his panic.
“BLAM”
The third bullet passed through the terrified man’s left shoulder as he ran outside. The people in the café had fallen silent. Now they calmly stood up and walked out. Alfio stepped over to where the men had been sitting, there were car keys on the table. He followed the crowd through the front door.
When Ettore saw Alfio step out from inside the building, he let go of the driver’s side door and ducked under the Fiat. It was as if he thought the locked car would still protect him somehow. Alfio walked over to cowering man and got down on one knee.
“Please don’t kill me! I have three children!” The frightened man screamed curling up in a ball. Alfio found himself thinking of his boys still asleep at home.
“So do I.” he said as he pulled the trigger.