SYNOPSIS

The word “mafia” was taken from the Sicilian adjective mafiusu. In the 19th century, this term was used to describe an ambiguous, arrogant, fearless person; but also to refer to someone who is entrepreneurial, proud, courageous, daring, who was recognized for his own merits, qualities or talents, and, above all, for the supremacy of blood.

Meanings aside, it was in mid-1865, in Sicily, that the term “mafia” was first used to describe a criminal association with ramifications in the local government.

There are those who argue that these organizations have medieval origins, that their members were farmers and small landowners who came together to defend their goods from feudal lords; and some argue that the mafia emerged from the union of peasants in order to protect their lands from foreign invasions.

Regardless of the origin, it is certain that “mafia” is used to designate a criminal organization that uses unscrupulous means to defend its assets and, mainly, its people; and those requesting protection are required to pay taxes under pain of harsh reprisals.

Although the word "mafia" is derived from a Sicilian adjective, the term is not exclusive to Sicily. Italy is the country of origin of the various mafia organizations, the best known being the Cosa Nostra, which are the Sicilian buggiardos, the Camorra de Napoli, the Ndrangheta of Calabria, and the bloodthirsty Società Foggiana.

But it was in Vennidit, the birthplace of the most feared families in the mafia, and believe me, no organization was as feared and respected as the "Titolari dei segreti"
Anyone can wield a weapon and impose themselves on the other by force, but only those who know what everyone is trying to hide are able to make their knees voluntarily bend.
Men bow to arms, but governments bow to men's secrets.

My name is my legacy. I'm Ricardo Venni, the heir to the mafia.

VENNI - HEIR TO VENGEANCE

I loved Ellie more than my own life, but I couldn't live on eggs all the time. 


Ellie needed to know what her role was in my life, she wasn't my prisoner, she was my wife, my son's mother, and the only way to make her understand that I need her is to let her go, I was ready to open the door. 


Sitting in the chair beside the bed, I had already taken several shots of Bourbon, had already shot one of my men, punched at least two others all because my girl doesn't trust me enough to realize that there is no other, that it's just her, always her. 


— Good morning, wandering principessa, I imagine that you intend to feed our son since he has been locked in here for hours. 


— Riccardo, how long have you been here? 


— Long enough, now sit down and have your coffee. 


I handed her a tray of her favourite coffee, latte and brioche. 


My serious and hurt expression left no room for discussion, she just accepted it and started eating. 


Chapter 53