Page 374 of Marcello

They were training to be the family’s foot soldiers… and Lars had insisted I train with them.

The only solace I had was that though they were all years younger than me, most of them looked like they were about to die, too.

“Come on,” Lars called out from 50 feet above us. “Part of this job is physical conditioning, so put some effort into it. You’ve only got… oh… another 3000 steps to go.”

“Gesù Cristo,” I gasped, “take me now.”

Lars trotted down the steps until he reached me. “Come on, Consigliere, be a good example for the men.”

“Fuck being a good example.”

“You agreed to do this.”

“That was before I knew I was going to die in the process,” I wheezed. “My brain is my primary asset to the family – it’s worthless if I have a stroke.”

Lars chuckled. “You chose the location.”

“I should have gone with someplace a little less hilly.”

He shook his head in mock disappointment. “Alright, take your time – but I expect full effort when we move on to physical combat this afternoon.”

“Fine. Whatever. Just leave me to die in peace.”

Lars turned and raced up the steps, yelling at the men to double their pace.

I took the opportunity to pause and look at the beauty surrounding me.

We had relocated to Positano, one of the most famous towns on the Amalfi Coast. It was an old fishing village filled with vibrantly colored buildings. It had become a haven for movie stars back in the 1950s; the advent of Instagram and social media had turned it into even more of a hotspot.

There were both pros and cons to Positano.

The biggest negative was that it was a massive tourist attraction. In the spring and summer months, thousands of tourists disembarked daily from ferries and flooded the picturesque streets.

But it was December now, and the cold weather and rains meant that the ferries had stopped.

The entire town was almost completely shut down except for locals… but the tourists would return in just a few months. As a result, we had decided to make our home base in Nocelle, a tiny village several thousand feet up the mountain from Positano.

Positano had thousands of locals. Nocelle had dozens. That was how small it was.

Roberto had used shell companies to anonymously buy the biggest houses in the village. The owners tended to be multi-millionaires who rarely visited anyway. After our exorbitant offers and a little back-and-forth, they all agreed to sell.

The purchased buildings weren’t nearly as spacious as our home in Tuscany, but they were still luxurious. And they were close enough that they formed a small compound, which allowed us to house dozens of foot soldiers, servants, and our families onsite.

When I say ‘our families,’ I meant Dario, Alessandra, and Elena… Rachel and Lars… and Sofia and me.

Valentino, Caterina, Massimo, and Lucia were currently on the island of Capri.

Adriano, Bianca, Roberto, and Mei-ling lived in the seaside town of Amalfi, the namesake of the Amalfi Coast.

We weren’t far from each other. We had a helicopter on standby, and saw each other at least once a week. But it was still an adjustment.

I had lived my entire life with my brothers under the same roof. Except for Dario’s imprisonment in San Vittore (and a few other exceptions over the last nine months), I had seen them almost every single day.

It made me sadder than I’d expected to be away from them… but the tradeoffs were worth it for our family’s continued safety.

Living here was fantastic for defensive purposes. There was limited access to Positano by road, and none to Nocelle. The residents had to carry their groceries and supplies up the steep cliffs by hand. No cars whatsoever.

If an enemy wanted to attack us from the sea, the nearly vertical slopes of Positano would make it excruciating to reach us.