Field of Blackbirds - Clayton Jeppsen & Lindsey Jeppsen (me reader txt) 📗

up the way. Marcielli was again relieved when he reached a more crowded area. He made it to the subway with no trouble. At the subway, however he remained cautious, although the shoulder-to-shoulder traffic comforted him; he looked over everyone in the crowd. He saw no one of concern and began to relax.
Maybe tonight’s not the night, he thought. Maybe I’m overreacting, he told himself.
Marcielli waited for another ten minutes until train #560 arrived. It would take him the majority of the way home. He stamped his ticket and began to push his way to the back of the train for a place to sit. Marcielli lifted his bag off his shoulder and plopped it onto a seat. As he was sitting down, something caught his eye, the dark suits. No, he thought.
Three rows back were the two men that had been following him. He sat down and froze. He couldn’t move. His blood began agitate his veins. He thought his heart would burst. His face felt warm and heavy. The excitement was infesting him. The anticipation was more than he could stand.
. . . . . . . . Marcielli stood up, and walked right up to them, not knowing exactly what he was doing, not knowing exactly what he would say. His mouth began moving;
“I’m right in front of you. Go ahead and get it over with. I’m not going to tell you anything.”
Marcielli wasn’t sure if he was even thinking straight. The two men didn’t seem surprised. They actually looked very calm. The shorter, stalky man, with a big nose and bald head turned to the taller, older man with slicked hair.
“Do you know this guy? He asked.
“No, I dun know ‘em.”
The shorter guy looked back up at Marcielli, “Listen wise guy, we dun know you! Now why don’t you sit down, shut up, and stop causin a scene.”
That’s exactly what Marcielli wanted, a scene. He wanted witnesses.
“I saw you at the game. I’ve seen you in front of my apartment. I even saw you at church. Don’t act like you don’t know who I am.”
The taller man grinned, “Hey kid, you know what I think? I think you’re delusional. I think you’re mental and I think you’ve lost it.”
Marcielli suddenly became enraged. Even he, himself, was not sure where he got the courage to say what came next.
“I am Marcielli Corleon, son of Dominico Corleon and if you think I’m going to tell you where he is, you might as well just kill me now.”
Now both men were smiling. The shorter, stalky man, bumped the taller man with his elbow.
“Can you believe this guy? Sit down kid, before you have an anxiety attack.”
Marcielli knew people were staring at him, but he didn’t care. These men would be crazy to try something now. Marcielli sat back down in his seat. When his stop came, the two men did not get off with him.
The Italian Mafia never forgets to pay back; even if those on the other end would gladly wave the payments. Over fifteen years ago, Marcielli’s dad, Dominico Corleon, assassinated Renato Curcio, the leader of the Red Brigade Terrorists. The Gambino family hired Dominico for the task and swore him to a code of silence. After a few years, the alcohol began causing Dominico to talk. Links were made between the Gambino family Mafia and the assassination. The only way for the Mafia to get rid of the link, was to get rid of Dominico Corleon. Because the Red Brigade was also an enemy of the government, the government agreed to take Dominico under their wing and offer top-level government protection and anonymity.
Since Marcielli was ten years old, they’d lived in nine different homes. So far, the government relocation program had placed them in five different cities in Italy. Presently, Dominico and Rianna were living in a small city called, Tivoli, just outside of Rome. Marcielli came back to Milan to play college soccer and to reclaim the heart of Marianna Lucini, who was so unexpectedly and swiftly ripped away from him. He knew it was a risk. Marcielli’s parents even pleaded with him not to come back to Milan and warned him about the dangers of the Mafia.

Marcielli’s apartment was only one street away from his old home. He felt this side of Milan was his true home. It is where he learned most of life’s lessons anyways. Marcielli didn’t want to turn bitter, like Dominico. He didn’t want to live his life in hiding or on the run. He wanted to face his fears, not warm them under the blanket of drunkenness. As a boy, Marcielli learned what he wanted out of life. He wanted to love more. He wanted to hope more and be closer to God. And he wanted to show more excitement toward life. This was why he wanted to start over in Milan. He hoped that he and Marianna could settle down there.
Marianna was happy to see Marcielli again and was touched that he thought about her over the years. They had been together now for over a year and on one occasion; Marianna even hinted to Marcielli that she wanted to marry. After a game last week, she mentioned to Marcielli that her grandmother restored her wedding dress for Marianna. This made Marcielli happy. He loved Marianna and referred to her as, “Bellezza di Milano”, the Beauty of Milan.
Just like when he was a young boy, Marcielli passed through the market square to his home. Everyday he passed the Gothic Cathedral, Duomo. It was where he first felt the tingly grace of God during his first mass. It was where he hoped to marry Marianna and bless his children.
When Marcielli finally arrived at his apartment, he noticed something was stuck on the front door. As he got closer, he saw light reflecting off of a blade. It was a knife. It was holding up a piece of paper with a list on it. Big bold letters scribbled, “OMERTA”.
Marcielli looked over his shoulder to see if anyone was watching. He pulled the knife from the door and walked into his apartment. After taking a quick look around, Marcielli read what was on the list.


1. A code of silence - Never "rat out" any mafia member. Never divulge any mafia secrets, even if threatened by torture or death.

2. Complete obedience to the boss - Obey the boss's orders, no matter what.

3. Assistance - Provide any necessary assistance to any other respected or befriended mafia faction.

4. Vengeance - Any attacks on family members must be avenged. "An attack on one, is an attack on all."

5. Avoid contact with the authorities.


This was the Omerta, the Code of Silence; the Mafia’s Law. It was something Marcielli learned about by his father’s careless ramblings through a bottle of brandy or bourbon. Things began to make sense as Marcielli read the five rules on the list. He knew Dominico had broken the first and last law of the Omerta and it finally caught up with him. If the Mafia couldn’t find Dominico, the next best thing was Marcielli.
Marcielli examined the knife that held the list. He realized that it was an official Mafia switchblade with the words, “Made in Sicily” on one side of the blade and “Omerta” on the other. Marcielli had always wanted one of those knifes. So he wasn’t sure if this was a warning . . . . . or just a gift.


Chapter 7 - Dinner & Proposal


Marcielli worried he would be late. Marianna had planned this special evening for them weeks ago and he knew how important it was to her. He turned his walk into a jog as he rounded the corner of her street.
“Marcielli, Marcielli!” shouted the LaRusso girls. “Where are you going in such a hurry?” They asked him.
The LaRusso girls were six and eight years old and they were, in no way, shy about their affection for Marcielli. Occasionally he would stop to flatter them but this time he knew better.
Marcielli finally reached Marianna’s house. As he buzzed the domophone, he looked down at his watch and saw the five digit change into a six. He was barely on time. Marianna buzzed him in. He climbed to the third floor and began to smell freshly baked bread, herbs and garlic. Marianna told him that she would cook a gourmet dinner for him; one that he would not easily forget. She wanted to prove to him that she could cook. She thought this might remind Marcielli that she was ready and able for marriage. In Italy, first and foremost, a girl must know how to cook. It was only a plus if she also happened to be pretty.
When Marianna opened the door, she had a slight grin on her face, “You’re cutting it close Mr.” she warned.
“Bella Bambina!” Marcielli wrapped his arms around her.
“Okay,” she gave in. “But I must keep you on a tight leash from now on.”
Marcielli hung his jacket next to the door and turned back toward Marianna. He paused and took a second to soak in her beauty. She was gorgeous, he thought. Marcielli had seen her almost every day for over a year, but he was still caught off guard in her presence. She was wearing a pink, long sleeve, angora sweater with black fitted pants and platform heels. Her outfit looked great with her dark brown hair that waved around her face. Her dark brown eyes were sanded with shimmering bits of amber. She was graceful. Marcielli told her she had a harlequin, 1920’s, model-look. It made him want to hold an umbrella over her as she walked down the street in a fur coat or light an expensive cigarette for her, even though she didn’t smoke.
“What Marcielli?” asked Marianna, smiling with her head tilted downward.
“You’re beautiful!” he said.
“Thank you!”
She quickly changed the topic. “I hope you’re hungry.” she said.
Marianna escorted Marcielli over to the table and pulled out his chair. “I’ll be right back.” she promised.
Marcielli took his seat. He was impressed to