Forbidden To The Mobster

What is a child's first memory of life?

Many would say it's something related to play, or maybe one of the parents reading a bedtime story. But in my case, my first memory is the last night I saw my parents alive. I was only four years old at the time, and everything seemed so confusing in my mind.

I couldn't remember why we were in the car that night, but I vividly recall the worried faces of my parents. My mother, Beatrice Piromalli, was sitting next to me in the back seat, holding me tightly. She would glance back from time to time, and all she would say was that they were coming. My father, Andrea Piromalli, was at the wheel, driving the car with a tense expression, promising he would lose them.

“What's happening, Mom?” I asked, feeling my heart race.

She looked at me with sadness in her eyes and replied, “Don't worry, sweetheart, we'll be fine.”

My father, Andrea, was at the wheel, driving the car with a tense expression, promising he would lose them.

“Daddy, why are we going so fast?” I whispered with fear.

He glanced in the rearview mirror and forced a smile. “We're just playing a racing game, Catarina. We're going to win.”

I don't remember who we were racing against, but I do remember a black car pulling up next to ours. I remember the bright lights and the roar of engines as the black car tried to push us off the road. The collision was sudden and violent, and then everything went dark.

After some time, I opened my eyes and saw that the car had flipped, and my parents were sadly no longer with us. Two pairs of black shoes were beside the wrecked car, and I didn't know what to do. “What should we do with her?”

Another man, who wasn't in my field of view, responded, “We can't leave her here. She's just a child.”

The other owner of the shoes calmly said, “We'll take care of her. She has no one else.”

Then he knelt. His eyes met mine, and he reached out his large hand towards me, and I, scared and confused, held onto the hand of the man who appeared to be around my father's age. He helped me out of the wrecked vehicle and enveloped me in his protective arms. That's how I was saved that night.

“Don't worry, little one,” he said kindly. “I'll take care of you.”

That's how I was saved that night by the man I would later discover to be Don Salvatore Mancuso, the boss of the 'Ndrangheta.

My life changed forever that night when I was torn from my past and thrust into a dark and complex world that Don Salvatore ruled. He became my guardian, my protector, and later, my mentor. The 'Ndrangheta was a different kind of family, one that embraced me when my own was taken from me.

It's ironic to think that my earliest childhood memory is also my worst nightmare. I was saved by Don Salvatore Mancuso on that dark night, and since then, I have walked in his shadow, sheltered and guided by a world that many don't understand. And despite it all, I wouldn't trade my story for anything in this world... even though it's the cause of my insomnia.

***

The feeling of waking up startled was a constant reminder in my life. Fourteen years had passed since that fateful night when my parents died, but the past continued to haunt my dreams. On this day, however, I couldn't afford to get lost in memories.