Author's note: This story was an entry into FAWC (Friendly Anonymous Writing Challenge), a collaborative competition among Lit authors. FAWC is not an official contest sponsored by Literotica, and there are no prizes given to the winner. This FAWC was based around the theme of music, with four songs given to choose from. The song that inspired this story was Oh, Is There Not One Maiden Breast from Gilbert & Sullivan's "The Pirates of Penzance."
It was removed due to poor communication on my part. I've altered the ending and have now submitted it as a standalone story.
*****
Tomasso was wide eyed, his heart pounding in his chest as he sped down the Strada Adriatica in his tiny Fiat. The much bigger and faster Peugeot was right on his tail, and nothing he did put any distance between the two vehicles. Up ahead, a sharp curve in the road appeared. Tomasso pressed down on the accelerator, increasing his speed, desperately trying to pull away from his pursuers. He entered the curve with squealing tires as the car struggled to hold the road. The Peugeot surged forward, pulling to his left and nudging the rear of his car enough to cause him to lose control. The Fiat glided sideways, then went into a roll, flipping over the short retaining wall and onto the jagged rocks at the edge of the Adriatic Sea. The Peugeot pulled up and stopped and two men got out, stepping over the short wall and approaching the Fiat. Tomasso was covered in blood and struggling to get the door open when the men approached him. One of them raised his arm and pointed a gun at Tomasso. Before he could say a word, the man fired three quick shots, ending the life of Tomasso Marriotto on his twenty-first birthday.
"Addio per sempre, Marriotto," the man muttered before he and his partner scrambled back to their car and sped away.
* * * *
Sergio sat in his dorm room, reading the letter from his mother again and again, tears welling up in his eyes. Tomasso was dead, undoubtedly murdered by someone in the Capurso family. He cried not only for his cousin, but also for himself. Sergio had longed to go back home to Bari after finishing college, but he now realized that would mean almost certain death.
Forget the Hatfields and McCoys. The feud between the Marriottos and Capursos went back for centuries. It is difficult to believe such things would continue in modern times, but vengeance runs deep in Italy. In truth, no one alive today even remembers how this all started, but they keep the feud going nonetheless.
Sergio was one of the few males left in the Marriotto family that still called Bari home. The rest were either dead, or had been run off by the Capurso family. For reasons unknown to anyone, the Capursos had never extended the feud beyond Italian soil, so many of the Marriottos had opted to emigrate to the United States and Australia in the early twentieth century. A small number of them had remained, refusing to give in to the hated Capursos. One by one, they died.
Once a male of the feuding families reached his twenty-first birthday, he became a target. It was the reason that Sergio was sent off to college in the states by his mother. She had hoped he might be able to legally emigrate there after completing college. Now beginning his senior year, Sergio was only months away from being forced to return home, which would make him the newest target on the Capurso hit list. Unfortunately, family feuds don't qualify a person for political asylum. Sergio would have to apply for United States citizenship, then return home and wait. He knew there was no way he'd survive long enough to return to the states. He would have to find another way to remain in the country, and find it fast.
* * * *
Sergio sat at a table in the nearly empty bar, his best friend Jim sitting across from him. Each of them had only morning classes on Tuesdays, freeing them to spend the afternoon as they wished. Sergio wished to spend that afternoon getting hammered at his favorite watering hole. Jim sat across from him, having a difficult time believing the story he was being told.
"Jesus, Serge," Jim laughed. "I've got to hand it to you. You are one creative son of a bitch."
"I wish I was making it up, Jim, but I'm not. I'm a...what do they call them? Dead man walking?"
"I'm sorry. Who the fuck put you up to this? Mike? Bob? Lee? Oh...it must have been Ellie. She loves fucking with people."
Sergio let out a huge sigh and pulled a newspaper clipping out of his shirt pocket, handing it to Jim. Having taken four years of Italian in high school, Jim was able to comprehend enough of the article to realize that Sergio was telling the truth. The picture of Tomasso accompanying the article sealed the deal. He was undoubtedly a blood relative of Sergio.
"Holy shit," Jim exclaimed. "You really weren't kidding."
"No. I'm not. If I go back home, the next article will be about me."
"What the fuck, Serge. Who the hell still does this shit?"
Sergio shrugged and frowned.
"Seriously," said Jim. "You fucking Italians and your vendetta bullshit. Why is it okay if you stay here then?"
"No one really remembers why this started, but I think there was some kind of dispute over land. The Capursos just want us out of the country. After that, they don't care what happens to us."
"So what are you going to do?"
"I don't know. I can try to stay here and hide, but I'll never be able to work in a real job."
"Oh, come on. This country is full of illegal immigrants. How do they do it?"
"I don't know. Live in large communities with their own kind and keep to themselves for the most part, I guess. But let's be honest. They work in pretty menial jobs. I have no community to hide in, and how the hell would I support myself? What kind of life would that be?"
"More of a life than your cousin had, Serge."
Sergio fumed at his friend. "I need to find another way. Maybe...maybe I can get someone to marry me. Then I'd have a chance to stay here and get my citizenship."
Jim looked at his friend with skepticism. Sergio fit the classic description of tall, dark, and handsome. With an athletic build, dark curly hair and light brown eyes, he made women swoon. Add in the Italian accent, and he'd wet more seats than a school full of toddlers.
"Do I need to remind you that you've developed quite a reputation as a playboy, Serge? Do you really think you're going to get a woman to believe you fell in love with her overnight? And that you absolutely must get married immediately?"
Sergio frowned and look at his friend. "Well, I can be honest with them. Maybe I can offer to pay them something. I don't know."
"Come on. The world has changed, Serge, but not that much. Maybe little girls today dream of being doctors or lawyers, but I'm betting they also still dream about that fairy tale wedding too. Do you really think you're going to get someone to give that dream up to help some college Lothario with an unbelievable story?"
"Well, I have to try, Jim. I have no choice," he said, looking up to see their friends Julie and Rich walking over to their table.
"What's going on?" asked Rich as he took a seat.
"We're just trying to work out a problem for Serge," replied Jim.
"What's wrong?" asked Julie. "Is there something we can do to help?"
"Yeah. You can marry him, Jules," quipped Jim.
Julie laughed in response. "Oh, sure. Why not?" she giggled.
"You may be the only one in our graduating class that Serge hasn't slept with, Jules. It's like you'd be pure on your wedding night," Rich added with a guffaw.
"You're all a riot," Sergio snapped. He got up from the table in a huff. "I'll see you later. I have shit to do," he said and walked out of the bar.
"What the fuck was that about?" asked Rich.
"I really wasn't joking. Serge does have a problem. If he doesn't get married pretty quickly, he'll have to leave the country at the end of the spring semester."
"So? Why is that a problem?" asked Julie.
"There's some stupid fucking Italian blood feud back from where he grew up. If he goes there as an adult, they'll kill him."
