His Mafia Queen

A Well Read Man

WARNING: This story contains mature themes and strong language that may not be suitable for some readers

GABRIEL

A well-read man is a powerful man.

My grandfather taught me this when I was five. His guidance and love in all things are my most enduring and beautiful memories in a life otherwise filled with darkness.

We would sit in this very garden, flanked by palm trees and tropical foliage, the faint scent of jasmine and briny bay water in the humid tropical air. The imposing, Mediterranean-style stucco mansion cast much-needed shade on us while we waited for his private chef to make breakfast.

He'd drink coffee from Italy; I'd have fresh-squeezed orange juice from one of the many groves our family owned here in Florida. Those were my grandfather's legitimate businesses, ones that I now run. I also have inherited his not-so-legal ones, and in turn, have assumed all his influence and power.

Some would say more power than my grandfather would have dared to dream.

Back then, twenty-five years ago, the butler would emerge, carrying four newspapers, and place them on the table. My grandfather would sort through the stack and find the local paper with the comics for me, fold it just so for my small hands, and hand it to me without a word. He'd dive into the New York Times, then the Wall Street Journal and the Miami Herald. After, he'd reach for the news sections of the Tampa Tribune.

He was a fast reader, something I eventually learned to emulate.

"Nonno," I'd ask, "why do you read so many newspapers?"

He would take a thoughtful sip of coffee and consider me with those hazel eyes, another thing I've inherited from him.

"Gabriel, a man needs to be informed about the world. He needs to know where the power lies, and where it's headed. It's important to know who is killing whom. A man needs to know the direction of the stock market and the follies of the unwashed masses. And above all, a man like me —men like us, Gabriel—needs to know if anyone's in our business or threatening our way of life. Knowledge is power, my boy. And don't forget books, either. They teach you much about the world. News in the morning to prepare for your day." He would hold up a section of the newspaper. "And a fiction novel to tease your subconscious at night. A well-read man is a powerful man."

I think about this almost every day, as I sit in the same garden, drinking Italian espresso and reading the same four newspapers he once did.

Usually I start with the New York Times—I enjoy their international coverage—but today I'm selecting the Tampa Tribune first. My eyes scan the bold, black headline above the fold.

"City Councilman Missing; Links To Organized Crime Revealed In Exclusive Jailhouse Interview."

Hmm.

Before I can read a word, I hear footsteps crunching on the crushed shell walkway. Setting the paper aside, I spot my lawyer, Michael Malka, coming toward me. This isn't much of a surprise, because we meet every Thursday morning in my garden.

"You're early today," I call out. Today is hot and sticky, with a blue sky overhead. The birds chirp and the wind blows through the palm trees. It's the kind of scene poets describe, but you know the darkness has already begun to squirm beneath the surface.

"There's a lot going on this week." He eases his large, suit-clad frame into the chair opposite me, and removes his sunglasses. He knows I hate talking to people whose eyes are obscured by dark lenses. "So, you've seen the article."