Chapter 100 Chapter 100 How many of us will die? ...

Anyone looking down at the town from above could clearly see how quickly tonight's attack unfolded and how quickly it ended.

The mafia split into three groups and infiltrated the area, seemingly searching for something in the dark. Unfortunately, they encountered true masters of infiltration. As orange and red flames blazed at the town's two entrances, the monastery's alarm bells rang repeatedly. Those who had fallen asleep early, those who had just passed out, and those still celebrating suddenly woke up and grabbed the nearest weapon.

After notifying the priest to sound the alarm, Elio immediately turned back. The bonfire in the square was still blazing, and the atmosphere was ablaze. He ran towards it anxiously, then slowly stopped in surprise.

The two unfortunate mafia members who had broken in were tied up and kneeling dejectedly on the stage, being pelted with stones by children. A young man with a red face wanted to step forward and kick them a few more times, but the militia stopped him and continued to maintain order in the crowd.

Obviously, they were waiting for something.

Moments later, Gatlin arrived, dragging two battered Mafia members with him. The crowd erupted in cheers, and the militia quickly rushed forward, swiftly tying them up. By the time Giotto appeared at the alley's entrance, their excitement had reached a fever pitch.

At first, Elio was confused by their chaotic chatter. But soon, as the remaining three mafia members were tied to the stage and knelt in a row, their cries gradually became unified and clearer. When Elio finally understood what they were shouting, a cold shiver ran down his back.

What these Sicilians shouted was "blood debt must be paid with blood."

Giotto took a sip of wine, and his face immediately flushed. He didn't know if the firelight had any influence on it. The militiaman who offered him the wine was shaking, and seemed to want to ask him to take another sip, but Giotto smiled and waved his hand away, pushing it away. Then, he walked steadily onto the stage.

"Blood debt must be paid with blood! Blood debt must be paid with blood!"

Coincidentally, that stage had also been used during the day for the play "Adelzi," which tells the story of Prince Adelzi of the Lombard Kingdom who bravely resisted the Frankish invasion and was ultimately defeated and exiled. And at night, in the shadows of the dancing firelight and amid the cheers of the Sicilians, Giotto stood on the simple wooden stage and waved his hand.

The cries of "blood debt must be paid with blood" gradually died down, but only in volume. Their demands and desires burned in their eyes and on their red faces.

"The residents of this town have been controlled by the Mafia for a long time," Giotto said. "At first, they called it 'protection money.' At first, they promised to understand our difficulties. At first, they asked for only a few piastres. In exchange for protection, we paid. And the Mafia has truly lived up to their promise, protecting us from robbers and even from the plunder of nobles and landowners."

The audience responded sparsely, "Yes."

"Then, somehow, they adjusted the 'proportion,'" Giotto continued in a rhythmic voice. "They first visited the blacksmiths and tailors, then the shops, bars, and olive groves, demanding a share of the profits. Why! We thought with our simple minds, it sounded reasonable. Considering that they had truly protected us and even shed blood together, we gave it to them."

The voices gradually rose, "Yes!"

"Back then we thought we were friends of you Mafia guys," Giotto said, turning his head to the Mafia guys kneeling beside him. "You took care of us, and we took care of you. God knows, we Sicilians are always so generous to our friends! Even when you opened your greedy mouths wide and asked us to give you half of our harvest, we did so! And what did you give us in return?"

Under Giotto's piercing gaze, the Mafia knelt on the stage and could not speak. They did not speak, and the Sicilians in the audience could not wait to shout, "They took my best bread and didn't even pay!"

"They drank my wine for free and even acted crazy in my shop!"

"They cut me off last year just for the few granas I gave them!"

"They wanted to buy my father's merchandise at a 90% discount," Frank Jr. shouted, "and when they were rejected, they got so angry that they beat him to death!"

After the shouting died down and everyone had finished shouting their accusations, Giotto, who was lingering behind the Mafia, spoke again.

"Not only that," he said sarcastically, "you've even called in the police to harass us, trying to make us surrender. The other day, your people set fire to our place—and it was a huge fire! Your boss really thought we would surrender, didn't he? Then you must have forgotten that we are Sicilians with blood!"

The crowd in the audience chanted, "Sicilians!"

"God knows," said Giotto, "how generous we Sicilians are to our friends. But God also knows how we Sicilians treat those who betray us!"

"Blood debt must be paid with blood!"

Little Frank yelled as he rushed to the front of the stage. No one stopped him. The militiamen simply watched with solemn expressions as he leaped forward with a knife and stabbed his father's murderer. The Mafia man groaned and fell to the ground. The audience erupted in cheers and applause.

Little Frank burst into tears. But just as he was about to continue stabbing, Giotto grabbed his trembling hand.

"You have made him pay for his blood," Giotto said gently. "Your father would be proud of you."

Little Frank suddenly lost his strength and fell to his knees. He looked at Giotto with tearful eyes, as if he were looking up to a god. "Will he?"

"He will," Giotto assured him. He glanced to the side, and Gatlin immediately came forward, helped little Frank to sit down and rest, and stuffed him with a piece of bread soaked in wine. The blush of revenge had just faded from the young man's cheeks, and the red of wine immediately painted his pale cheeks, preventing him from being overly excited and fainting on the spot.

"One has fallen," said Giotto, stepping forward and shielding little Frank from view with his shadow. "There are six left. What are we to do with them?"

At this point, the Sicilians' cries were no longer unified. Some shouted, "Kill them all," others, "Cut off their plundering hands," and still others, "Cut off their ears." Giotto's eyes darted through the crowd until they met Elio's silent eyes.

They stared at each other briefly, then Giotto looked away.

"It sounds like we can't reach a consensus," Giotto said lightly. "I suggest, why don't we lock them up first and discuss it after dawn?"

Everyone looked at each other, realizing how late it really was. They'd been partying all day, then furiously demanding "blood debt with blood"... and come to think of it, they'd indeed paid blood debt with blood. After the excitement and satisfaction of witnessing blood, a slight drowsiness crept in; the suggestion of going back for a good night's sleep was truly tempting.

So, after Giotto suggested that they gather here again at noon tomorrow to vote on how to treat the prisoners, everyone yawned and dispersed with a satisfied feeling of "finally getting revenge." For them, this day of celebration ended successfully.

Giotto didn't join them. He methodically arranged for the militia to remove the prisoners and guard the still-bleeding Mafia (who wasn't quite dead yet). As for the remains of the bonfire in the square, Giotto told them to get up tomorrow to pick them up. After everyone except those on duty had retired, and it was almost dawn, Giotto returned to his cabin under the morning stars.

At this time, he was not going to sleep yet.

Because in Giotto's view, this has just begun.

"Where's Elio?" Giotto asked wearily. "Is he asleep?"

"Not yet." Elio said while sitting on the bed.

Gatlin was about to light the lamp when Giotto waved him off. "It's almost dawn anyway," Giotto said, letting himself fall back onto the bed with a long sigh. He almost fell asleep, but the noise of Gatlin sitting on him woke him up. Then, Gatlin and Elio watched as Giotto pinched his thigh and bounced back to his feet.

"Why don't you get some sleep?" Gatlin couldn't bear it.

"That won't do," said Giotto, with a bitter face, "I can't sleep—I mean, I can't sleep."

Elio watched him get up from the bed again, and in the early morning light, he poured some wine. He swallowed it in one gulp, and Giotto's face immediately turned red.

"Are you still thinking about what to do with our captives tonight?" Gatlin took the wine jug from Giotto and drank some. "If you ask me, of course we should kill them all. Since we've already pissed off the Mafia, we might as well just keep doing it."

He offered Elio the wine jug. But Elio gently pushed it away and shook his head. Giotto looked at him with a red face. "I sense you have a different opinion."

"I don't know, Giotto," Elio replied, "I don't know."

Gatlin handed the wine jug to Giotto, who, though blushing, looked troubled and put the wine jug back.

"Besides the priest, you're the only one here who's really educated, Elio," Giotto said to Elio, sitting down on the bed. "We never asked you, but I just know. If you asked me, I'd say I wished you weren't involved in what's going on in our town, but..."

"Don't talk nonsense, Giotto," Elio said gently. "You have cared for me for so long, taken me in so generously, and so considerately not asked about my past. What more could I ask of you? How could I live with my conscience if I withdrew from you in your time of need?"

Giotto looked into his eyes, moved. Gatlin exclaimed, "Great!" and clapped Elio's back hard, nearly knocking him to the ground. This, of course, ruined the atmosphere. Giotto frantically lifted Elio up, and then the others looked at each other and burst into laughter.

"To get back to the point, Giotto," Elio said, "if there's anything you need from me, just tell me."

This was the first time he had taken the initiative to shake Giotto's hand. The Sicilian, with his naturally warm and cheerful nature, didn't understand why Elio was always so "shy," but he fully understood the meaning of Elio's handshake. Giotto stared at him for a moment, then laughed heartily.

"Excellent, Elio," said Giotto, "I really need your advice right now!"

"Opinion?"

"Yes, opinion," Giotto squeezed his hand, "what else do you think it would be?"

Elio instinctively pulled his hand away. Giotto had anticipated this reaction and couldn't help laughing again, but this time Gatlin hit him on the shoulder, and Giotto immediately flinched. Speaking of business, his expression finally became serious.

"What do you think we should do with these Mafia guys we caught today?" he asked.

"To some extent," Elio said, his expression becoming serious. "I agree with what Gatlin said. We should kill them all. Since we've already provoked them, we have no choice but to continue to provoke them. If we give in now, or at any point in the future, we will only receive a violent counterattack from the Mafia."

“That’s the point,” Gatlin said.

But Giotto said nothing. He just looked at Elio, as if he knew Elio hadn't finished speaking.

"But it won't be easy to fight them," Elio said. "Even though you haven't told me anything, I can tell that the Mafia you're talking about has bribed the police and used some unknown means to shield the nobles and landowners. I'm afraid we don't have as much power as they do..."

"We don't have to worry about the police and the nobles," Gatlin said. "We just need to take down the Mafia before they can react. Then, they'll have to accept the consequences."

"Yeah," Elio said, "and how many of us are going to die?"

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The author has something to say: (I’ve actually written one hundred chapters… hehe…)