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ch. 20 The power of the clan
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2025-12-14 19:18:05
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The Revenge Of The Boss Ch 23: The Last Shooting
It was time.Don Mimmo had waited long enough. The funerals had come and gone, the crowds had dispersed, but the judge—Magistrato Terraverde's spiritual heir, a man named Antonio Ricci—still walked the streets of Palermo with his head high, digging deeper into the Corleonesi ledgers, seizing assets, and preparing a new maxi-trial. He was the primary target of Cosa Nostra's most ruthless faction, and everyone in the underworld knew the Corleonesi would not tolerate another season of his investigations.The order came down quietly: no more warnings, no more bombs that killed innocents and drew too much heat. This time, it would be direct—a blitz of lead in broad daylight, meant to silence him forever.The ambush was set for a Wednesday morning in the heart of Palermo's Libertà district, a bustling central neighborhood lined with apartment blocks, cafés, and narrow arteries perfect for escape. Judge Ricci's routine was known: every day at 8:45 a.m., his armored Fiat Croma, flanked by two
The Revenge Of The Boss Ch.22 The Attack on the Judge
Four days had passed since the carnage on Via dei Nebrodi, and the air in Palermo still carried the acrid scent of smoke and grief. The church of Santa Maria Assunta, a baroque jewel in the heart of the old city, had become the epicenter of the city's sorrow. The funerals for the innocent civilians killed in the bombing—nine lives extinguished in an instant—drew a crowd so vast that the narrow streets leading to the piazza overflowed with mourners. Black veils, tear-streaked faces, and clenched fists filled the square. Flowers piled high against the church doors, and the bells tolled a somber rhythm that echoed through the ancient stone walls.Inside, the caskets were lined up before the altar, each draped in white cloth and adorned with photographs of the dead: a young mother clutching her child in happier times, an elderly shopkeeper who had merely been walking his dog, a teenage boy on his way to school. The priest's voice trembled as he spoke of forgiveness and divine justice, but
The Revenge Of The Boss Ch. 21: The Chief of Chefs
I had always known the day would come, but when it finally arrived, it still felt like a cold hand gripping my chest. Don Mimmo called me early on a Sunday morning, the kind of morning when respectable people are at Mass and the rest of us are nursing hangovers or counting cash. His voice was calm, almost gentle, the way it always was when he delivered news that could not be refused.“Vito,” he said, “today you become one of us in the true sense. The Cupola meets this evening. You will be presented.”I thanked him, hung up, and stared at the wall for a long minute. I had spent years moving weapons, heroin, and money across borders, always loyal, always useful. But until that moment I had remained outside the innermost circle. Now they were bringing me in. The Cupola—the Commission, the provincial governing body of Cosa Nostra—was not a club you applied to join. You were chosen, or you were not. And once chosen, there was no resignation letter.I knew what the Cupola was, of course. Ev
The Revenge Of The Boss ch. 20 The power of the clan
My first real assignment came down like a verdict from the old men upstairs. They didn’t ask if I was ready; they simply told me what needed to be done. I had to take back a string of locations we’d lost—some in Palermo itself, where our name still carried weight, others out east in the Catania area, and more scattered along the coast where the sea wind carries the smell of salt and diesel. Business had gone quiet in those places. Too quiet. Money wasn’t moving the way it should, and when money stops, respect follows close behind.The three pillars that keep a clan alive are the same everywhere: drugs, prostitution, and guns. Of the three, guns matter most. You can traffic heroin or run girls without much firepower if the territory is calm, but the moment someone decides to challenge you, everything rests on what you can put in your soldiers’ hands. Automatic rifles, machine pistols, grenades—those are the votes that count in our elections. Without them, you’re just a loud voice beggi
The Revenge Of The Boss Ch 19: The Return to Power
The BMW roared through the narrow streets of Naples, weaving past early morning vendors setting up their stalls of fresh fish and bruised fruit. Vito sat in the passenger seat, the Beretta tucked into his waistband, a comforting weight against his skin. Carmine drove with the casual precision of someone who'd spent his life evading tails—mirrors checked every few seconds, speed fluctuating just enough to blend into the chaos of the city. The satellite phone buzzed once in Vito's pocket, but he ignored it. That number was for later, for the calls that would set the wheels in motion."Uncle, you sure about Palermo first?" Carmine asked, his voice low over the hum of the engine. "De Santis is in Rome, holed up like a rabbit. We could hit him tonight."Vito shook his head, staring out at the glittering Bay of Naples as they approached the port. "Rome can wait. Palermo is home. It's where the roots are buried deep. And Don Mimmo... he's the key. He's held the fort while I rotted in that ca
The Revenge Of The Boss Ch 18 The ghost of Rebibbia
Exactly thirty years had passed since the last successful escape from Rebibbia High Security Prison. The last was Vallanzasca in 1993. Since then: nothing. Reinforced walls, seismic sensors, dogs, drones, 41-bis, infrared cameras. No one had escaped alive. Yet, on the morning of January 24, 2026, cell 14 of the EIV was empty. The ventilation grille was open, the screws placed neatly on the floor like a calling card. In the tunnel they found only a cleanly cut piece of mountaineering rope and a phrase scratched with a nail into the concrete: "I'll come back for everything." The newspapers went wild. "THE GHOST OF REBIBBIA" "DON VITO RIZZUTO ESCAPES 41-BIS LIKE A RAT IN THE SEWERS" "He was sick, old, finished... and instead he flew away." The police searched Rome for three days. Helicopters, checkpoints on the Tiburtina, sniffer dogs in the sewers. Nothing. No fingerprints, no cameras had captured him. Only the white Doblò with Croatian plates found burned near Tor Cerv
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