Don Lupara picked me up in his Russian Zil from my Positano “mental health facility” and take me “home” to the Cattavia family estate on the outskirts of Naples. If only Ginevra had been travelling in Lupara’s Russian Zil amour plated and all she would still be with me. But being of Russian manufacture it was “in the shop” the day of the murderous blast.
It was all pleasant chit chat as we made our way to the Lupara compound. Don Lupara’s wife Malvagia gave me a crushing hug with moist eyes and numerous may God bless you dear one. A feast had been prepared with the freshest seafood and a bottle of the best Greco del Tufo white wine. Again the chit chat was continued but with hesitation. All of us could only think of Ginevra and at times I could have sworn she was by my side laughing and holding my hand. A true spirit or the remnants of LSD in my brain?
After the dishes were cleared out came to grappa and coffee and Don Lupara had I had a chat about “my future”. The gang war with Cyclops had ended and in defeat and in disgrace after masterminding the death of my Ginevra Cyclops had fled to Romania where he had been working the narcotic trade with a group of vicious Russians that in their lack of any sense of brutality and adherence to any morals whatsoever made the Camorra of Naples look like schoolchildren.
Don Lupara explained how exhausted and demoralized he was and offered me a successorship to his narcotics trade. Scampia would be all mine pulling in somewhere near 75 million Euros a year net of expenses. I would have turned down the offer prior to Ginevra’s assassination but I had thoughts about being a drug lord. There was little else in my life and isn’t that what my sweet Calabrian plum would have wanted? Any way for revenge would be acceptable to me and to hell with my former morals. We could talk about my successorship to Don Lupara some other time.
I asked Don Lupara why he hadn’t put out a contract on Cyclops. He took a huge swill of grappa and excused himself saying he would be back in a moment. He returned with a wooden box and said that in the box was my answer. It was Ginevra’s Smith and Wesson six shooter. Puzzled I asked him what did this pistol have to do with a contract on Cyclops. He responded that he had saved this task of honour and revenge for me. There was no hesitation on my part to blast that shit Cyclops to pieces. A life situation had transformed a good ole Bombay boy into a killer. I wanted the bastard to squirm and beg for mercy.
A Bird's Eye View of Fashion, Food, Travel, Culture, Beverage and Curiosity 