Page 102 of Marcello

I liked the marina because of all the boats. Millionaires’ yachts, sailboats, little day cruisers…

Every one of them a fantasy. Like I could jump onboard and sail away from Naples forever.

But my favorites were the little kid boats.

There was some sort of sailing school at the marina, because every afternoon, a half-dozen tiny sailboats would launch from the docks. They couldn’t have been bigger than eight feet long. From a distance, the boats looked like toys in a bathtub.

The only people aboard were little kids, one per boat. They manned the sails and steered their way out into the main harbor. A man in a rubber zodiac with an outboard motor would putter along behind them, shouting instructions if they veered too far off course.

Today was no exception. As I sat there drinking a beer, five little sailboats launched from the docks.

The kids were young – eight, nine, maybe ten years old.

Not much younger than that boy you threw in a dumpster, a vicious voice whispered inside my head.

I blocked it out and focused on the kids.

I would have given anything to be one of them…

Innocent again.

Untouched by all the horrific things I’d seen and done.

If I had been one of those kids, I would have never come back to Naples.

As soon as I hit open water, I would’ve just kept on sailing.

“Didja hear?” Cicciobello asked, jarring me out of my daydream.

“Hear what.”

He pointed at the castle, just a few hundred feet away. “There’s gonna be a rave there tonight.”

I looked over at Castel dell’Ovo, which sat on the same jetty as the marina. Its massive medieval walls soared up into the air, a dark fairy tale made real.

The castle walls were constructed from the same volcanic rock the ancient Greeks had quarried out of the ground 2800 years ago. I knew that from my short-lived job as a tour guide at Sotto Napoli.

Sotto Napoli… Jesus, that had been a long time ago.

I frowned as I looked at the battlements. “Doesn’t look like they reopened it.”

Castel dell’Ovo had been closed for renovations for years. A few tourists were always wandering around the perimeter snapping pictures, but there were never any tours.

“No, it’s just for tonight. Some billionaire rented it out for his birthday – it’s gonna be huge. Private guest list, but I got a hookup! One of my cousins is a bouncer at a club, and he’s working the door. Wanna go?”

I shook my head and turned back to the kids on their sailboats. “No thanks.”

“Come on, man,” Cicciobello whined. “We’ve been working too hard – we need to blow off some fuckin’ steam!”

“I’m good.”

“Come on, bro! I don’t wanna go by myself!”

“Go with somebody else, then.”

Cicciobello snorted. “You think anybody on our crew is gonna go to a fuckin’ rave when Cesare thinks they’re gay as shit?”

Cicciobello wasn’t making that up; it was an exact quote. I remembered the day Cesare had said it. Somebody had suggested going to one, and Cesare had contemptuously said the guy should cut out the middleman and go suck some cock instead.