The charm of Mr. De Luca

Il Prigioniero's

Matteo stopped his vehicle in front of the courtyard of a first-class prison building, in a district of Venice. The building was impressed haunted, made of white limestone that extends on the edge of the canal. The building consists of two sections separated by canals and connected by a bridge.

Fear again scolded Mia, when she set foot in the front room of the prison. Two guards approached Matteo and asked for her needs, making Mia clutch her husband's arm. “Can we schedule a meeting with prisoners named Fausto and Santos today?” ask Matteo.

“Ah, the perpetrator in that bloody wedding shooting?” guess the warden. “You're lucky, their schedule is empty today. Already several times they have received guest journalists from various regions, but they never gave any information,” he continued.

“We are not journalists. Let's just say I'm one of his old friends,” said Matteo flat.

The warden then observed Matteo from head to toe, before leaving Matteo just like that to head to the information table. The man seemed to chat for a while with his partner, while taking some form sheets. He returned to where Matteo and Mia were standing.

“Fill these files first. After that you both followed us," he thrust out the paper he had brought from the information table.

Matteo took the sheet and the stationery out of the warden's hand. He then wrote down his light name and address. When he finished, Matteo handed the paper and stationery to Mia. It looks like Mia's fingers are trembling holding a pen. He took a few breaths before putting his name there. Mia Jiga rubbed her wet palms.

“It's okay, way mia. There I am,” whispered Matteo gently. He tried to calm his wife.

Finished with all the administration, the two guards drove Matteo and Mia to a room that was sealed in glass. On either side of the bulkhead, there is an elongated wooden table equipped with a telephone to communicate between visitors and prisoners.

Long enough Mia and Matteo waited there. They sat quietly in the chair provided. Until the iron trellis that was opposite them shifted and opened. Two violent-faced people, dressed in dark blue prisoner uniforms, walked slowly towards the chair before them. Two guards appeared to stand by on the left and right sides behind the two. They stood up swiftly and vigilantly.

The two prisoners then grabbed the phone provided and stuck it to their ears. Same with Mia and Matteo.

“Matteo Roberto's son,” greet one of the prisoners with a sour face. It says Fausto's name on the left chest of the prisoner's uniform he wore. While another looked at Mia with a hard-to-understand look.

“Thank you for your support to both of our families, Mr. Matteo. I no longer need to bother working to support them more than worth it,” Fausto grinned as he occasionally glanced at Mia.

“I don't feel at home here. How long do we have to be imprisoned?” timpal is another.

“Why don't you ask my wife directly, Santos?” Matteo asked back in a cold tone.

“So she is his bride?” fausto Sela. While Mia was just silent. Her lips were perfectly clenched. Sweats and tears fall together. His palms were cold and cold. Anxious and frightened rails mixed into one adorning her beautiful face. Mia did not expect that Matteo would take her there.

“Don't be afraid, Mia! Face them!” Matteo whispered firmly. He embraced Mia's shoulder to give her strength.

“You killed my father and husband?” mia asked with a trembling tone of voice.

Instantly, Mia's stuffing that was held back from earlier finally broke. His cry to lure the two guards who stood guard not far from them to get closer. “What's the problem?” one of the guards squinted his eyes suspiciously.

“Nothing. We are only moved because long time did not meet our brother,” Matteo pretext. The more tightly he clasped his wife's shoulder.

Moments later, Matteo said to Fausto, ”Maybe I can help you to ease the punishment, as long as you guys want to give me more information.”

“What information? We do not have any information,” Santos shook his head while leaning his back on the chair.

“You'll let them go, Theo?” mia protest. Highlights of fear and anger mixed into one in her beautiful eyes.

“Trust me, Honey. Please,” reply Matteo with a shady and soothing look.

“We won't say anything, Matteo Roberto's son! It is better for us to be jailed for life than to lose our lives, ” Fausto said.

Matteo snorted in annoyance and clenched his hands. “Job! At least show your remorse in front of my Mia! Had it not been hindered by the iron bars, I would have beaten you to death!” snarl.

Santos was silent for a moment before returning to voice, “Ma’afkan us. There was nothing we could say other than ...” he paused for a moment. “I can only remind you. Be careful of those around you. Someone close to you,” said Santos slowly.

The man with a scar extending from his temple to his right cheek finally stood up and put down the phone. Followed by Fausto who did the same. They called the warden to come closer, then left the room without saying goodbye to Matteo and Mia.

Mia was relieved, when they had already disappeared from her sight. “Don't bring me here again, Theo. I can't,” lamented while bowing my head deeply.

“Sorry, how mia,” Matteo hugged his wife and kissed the top of Mia's head many times. He decides to take Mia back to Brescia.

During the journey home, Mia did not talk much. His feelings were mixed and became unbecoming. However, now he is increasingly convinced that Matteo has nothing to do with the bloody events of three years ago. Mia has to convince herself and trust her husband more. "Thank you, Theo. By seeing them there, I feel that justice for my father and Valentino has been served. You don't have to prove anything to me anymore" said Mia after a long time she just fell silent.

Matteo, who was focused on his steering wheel, immediately turned his head. "You sure you don't want more, Mia?" an offer that sounded strange and a little scary to Mia.

Mia nodded slowly. "I just want to live my life in peace, like any other normal human being. May we one day live in peace. I don't expect any more blood to flow from wasted lives."