Chapter 104 Chapter 104 Some things have nothing to do with nationality...
Rambo Bovino, son of Luca Bovino, the landowner who managed this area, had come to collect unpaid taxes. It sounded like he wasn't going to acknowledge the protection money the townspeople paid to the Mafia, since he hadn't received any. But to say the Mafia hadn't given him any benefits was sheer nonsense.
Then again, the question of whether or not to tax something was not something that could be settled verbally. Giotto didn't fight him back directly, but instead politely took him on a tour of various unimportant places, including a look at the dozens of new recruits from the militia who were being trained under Elio's leadership.
After hearing that there were actually hundreds of such strong young men, and thinking about how they would react to "compensation for the taxes of the past few years" at Giotto's suggestion, Luca's tone immediately softened and his attitude became understanding. He was very willing to understand the difficulties mentioned by Giotto; and Giotto also took the opportunity to climb up the pole, smiled and put his arm around his shoulder, and renegotiated the "price".
Logically, with such a flexible father, Lambo shouldn't be too naive. However, the child was spoiled and pampered, his mind full of medieval chivalry novels and stories of bravery. He happened to hear that Luca was acquainted with the leader of the new militia, and curiously, he pestered Luca, insisting on meeting the increasingly famous "Giotto."
The child didn't even think about it; in front of Giotto, he was like a little lamb. Luca immediately forbade Lambo from leaving his home freely, but despite all his precautions, an unexpected event occurred: Lambo, perhaps reaching puberty, became dissatisfied with his father's discipline and actually climbed out the window.
Unfortunately, the young master had no experience of running away from home. Just when he was about to land safely, he slipped and rolled down the road. Giotto happened to be visiting at that time, and he inexplicably picked up the dusty and sobbing Rambo who had rolled at his feet.
Luca, who was coming to greet Giotto, saw this scene and his face turned pale, blue and red. He wanted to grab Rambo and beat him up. Giotto pretended not to see his expression, helped the child up, and asked him in a gentle voice what was wrong. He coaxed Rambo into submission and listened to him finish the story. Luca almost wanted to dig a hole and bury himself there. Giotto was still wiping Rambo's tears and asked with a smile, "Have you heard of what Giotto looks like?"
Lan Bao was not shy either, and wiped away all his tears with his sleeve. Upon hearing this, he looked longingly, "He must be tall and strong, with muscles all over his body..."
Giotto was speechless, and Luca's originally embarrassed expression was suddenly mixed with suppressed laughter. The reason was simple: Giotto himself was not tall or burly, let alone muscular; and because he was born in a poor family, he did not eat carefully since childhood, so now he can only be praised as "well-proportioned", and his height is definitely not worth mentioning. He is about to turn twenty years old, but he is only slightly taller than the teenage Rambo.
"Maybe there'll be some cool tattoos..." Still yearning, Lambo saw Gatlin with a stern face (also trying to hold back a smile) behind Giotto, and his eyes suddenly lit up. He was about to rush over with joy, "You must be Giotto!"
Gatlin grabbed Rambo by the back of his collar, like a cat. Stuck in mid-air, Rambo didn't understand what was happening, but he pawed forward twice, looking even more like a cat.
(Here Giotto was obliged to pause and ask Elio to stop laughing.)
Then, Luca snatched Rambo from Gatlin's hands, pressed his head, and demanded an apology to the two distinguished guests. Upon learning that the man in front of him, even with his hair all tousled, was still no taller than Gatlin, Rambo was momentarily disillusioned. After a moment of daze, he regained his composure and successfully convinced himself that height had nothing to do with being a knight!
(“That still doesn’t explain why you picked up the kid,” Elio said.
Giotto took a sip of his lemonade. "I haven't finished yet."
Rambo insisted on going to Giotto's place to see the militia, but Luca refused. The two men started arguing, and Giotto raised his eyebrows and sat there drinking tea and watching the show. Suddenly, Rambo blurted out, "I'm part of Italy, too! Father, why can't you understand? I also want to work for the unification of Italy—"
Giotto spat out his tea, and Gatlin's eyes widened. The servants hurried out, shattering their priceless porcelain cups without a moment's notice. Only Luca managed to cover Lambo's mouth in time, but the landlord's face still paled as quickly as a corpse's.
Even when he saw Elio beating someone, Luca had never shown such an expression. He looked at Giotto with a bleak, pleading look, and finally realizing that something was wrong, Rambo panicked and leaned towards him, and was hugged by Luca.
Being stared at like that by the father and son, Giotto could only sigh and put down his teacup. "Please stop looking at me like that! I promise that this friend next to me is as trustworthy as I am and will never reveal what I just said to anyone who shouldn't hear it. You should look at the people next to you, Luca. Do you think they can be trusted?"
That's pretty much what happened. Luca, worried about the servants at his estate, tearfully entrusted Lambo to Giotto's care. Under the circumstances, the militia seemed safer than his own home. At this point, Lambo was reluctant to leave Luca, perhaps realizing the disaster he'd gotten himself into, but afraid to disobey his father's decision. So, he followed Giotto, looking back every few steps and tears welling in his eyes.
Hearing this, Elio couldn't laugh anymore. The candlelight flickered in the room, and there were only Giotto and himself. The assassin could still use his eagle eyes to ensure that no one was outside.
This was clearly a very suitable place for conspiracy. Elio finally understood why Giotto would stay up late at night and sneak into his room to tell stories.
"Elio," Giotto leaned forward and lowered his voice, "I know you're not Italian, and there's no reason for us to ask you to do anything for her. But as a friend, I thought I should at least tell you what we're doing."
"That's the terrible thing, Giotto," Elio sighed, "you never really ask me to do anything for you."
Giotto smiled and said, "If things get chaotic one day, you'll have to know how to escape!"
“No, no, no, you don’t understand,” Elio said. “Every time you tell me I don’t have to do something, I always end up doing it. Sometimes I don’t know whether you really want me not to do it or whether you really want me to do it.”
Giotto was silent for a moment. He turned the cup in his hand, as if thinking about something, and then admitted frankly, "I do hope you can help. Anyone would think so, Elio. I even hope you can kill Ferdinand II directly-"
Elio raised an eyebrow, and Giotto quickly held his hand down, "I'm not serious, you know that."
"I know," Elio said. "Do you think I'd kill him for that?"
"Sometimes I can't tell if you're serious, Elio." Giotto laughed. "Back to the topic just now, if Ferdinand II were assassinated, the Bourbon dynasty would be in chaos and would be unable to take care of our affairs. That would make our cause much easier to carry out."
"But you're clearly not serious right now," Elio pointed out.
"Because you are my friend, Elio," Giotto said, "and because I know how difficult assassination is. No matter how many times you succeed, you never know if the next time you try, you will be discovered, killed on the spot, or worse. I cannot let you do that, even if I ask you."
In the candlelight, his golden eyes flickered with gentle and sad flames.
"This is not your 'cause,' Elio," said Giotto, in his gentle voice. "I cannot ask you to devote everything to it. But I cannot keep it from you, and thus keep you in dangerous ignorance, by not telling you what we are volunteering to do. So this is the only course I have left."
Elio pondered for a moment, then said, "Giotto, you may have realized that I'm not Italian, but you probably didn't know that I'm actually stateless. Besides, some things have nothing to do with nationality."
Giotto then understood what Elio was going to say and shook his hand without saying a word. Elio did not say anything else, but just looked at him for a while.
"You can quit at any time," Giotto whispered.
"I know," Elio smiled, "I will if I have to."
"Don't try to assassinate Ferdinand II," Giotto warned again.
"I know," Elio said, unmoving, "but if I have to, I will."
Giotto was shocked, "Elio, it's not time yet!"
"As I was saying," Elio said, "an assassin must wait until the necessary moment."
Giotto was silent for a moment, then changed the subject as if nothing had happened. "There's a rumor that the Austrian secret intelligence agency is snooping into our affairs. You should be careful lately."
Despite his words, Elio, who lived in the manor, could easily see that Giotto and Gatlin were still busy running around, leaving early and returning late, with little intention of keeping a low profile. When the three of them occasionally gathered together, they would discuss the current situation and future of the militia, looking at maps no longer drawn with wine. Giotto would also bring Rambo over to listen, and from time to time, he would use the landowner's young master's network of contacts to tell them some intelligence and gossip about the nearby nobles.
During this period, Giotto also became increasingly famous.
He originally did not like to go to other towns specifically, so as not to give them any special illusions or hints. When someone offered him tribute, whether openly or covertly, to guess his intentions and ask him to take power, Giotto would always refuse outright, leaving them no room for misunderstanding; but whenever people came with hope and prayers, Giotto never let them down.
From minor neighborhood disputes and job assignments to major commercial conflicts, banditry, and even family feuds, Giotto always found a way to resolve them all. If the townspeople's needs propelled him to the position of mediator, then what truly secured his position was his discerning eye for right and wrong, his compassionate heart for supporting the weak. All of this helped Giotto uphold justice, and...
"Is it my imagination or what?" Elio was confused. "Why are our people becoming more and more numerous?"
Before he even entered the study, he had already counted the number of people inside. Gatlin was used to this and simply said, "We'll have more and more people."
"That sounds like something Giotto would say," Elio wondered.
"Because that's what Giotto said." Gatlin shrugged. "He also complained that there was not enough room for people in the study, and that those sitting behind the desk were too far away from the sofas. Sooner or later, the dining room would have to be converted into a conference room so that all his future companions could sit."
"That restaurant that can seat more than a dozen people?" Elio clicked his tongue. "How many people is he planning to accommodate?"
"A lot, I guess," Gatlin said, not surprised at all. "You know what kind of person he is."
Elio laughed. Gatlin laughed too, opening the door. Giotto, who had been waiting inside, looked up from the pile of papers on his desk and, smiling, beckoned them to come in and sit down, saying, "I heard you mention my name!" Rambo, half-reclining on the sofa, taking up several people's space, yawned drowsily. Gatlin casually lifted him up, and he lost his balance and nearly fell face first. Fortunately, the quick-witted and hand-held Nakel, a former boxer and now a priest, caught Rambo (Rambbo had fallen asleep on his lap). Elio and the priest helped Rambo up and placed him on the sofa across from them, but Rambo trembled even more, seemingly because of Arnold, the head of the Secret Intelligence Service, who sat beside him, though the latter was just resting quietly with his eyes closed, not even glancing at him.
Of course, it could also be because Gatlin, who was already sitting down, was staring at him with a look of disappointment, which contained many meanings, including criticisms such as "How dare you take a nap here" and "Elio and I have trained you for so long and you are still in this crooked state"; but because Giotto was standing up from behind the table and walking around to the middle of the two sofas facing each other, as if he had something to say, Gatlin swallowed the matter of Rambo and was the first to look at Giotto in a flattering manner.
"Have you any news to announce, Giotto?" Gatlin asked.
"Yes!" said Giotto gravely, "there is a matter which has troubled me for a long time, and I would like to get some advice from you."
He looked truly serious, his expression grave, his tone serious, and it was clear he was about to speak about something very serious. Everyone held their breath, watching Giotto with a serious expression, waiting for him to speak. Even Arnold opened his eyes and looked at Giotto seriously.
Then, Giotto looked around at them and actually smiled.
"Our militia really needs a name!" he announced cheerfully. "What should we call it? Do you have any good ideas?"
-----------------------
The author has something to say: *If you are interested in the historical background of that time, you can search it. The key nodes are 1848 and 1861, etc. I will not go into details here... Friends who have read aph (Hetalia) may be more clear about it. At this time, Lovino in southern Italy was "taken care of" by Antonio of Spain, and Feliciano in northern Italy was "taken care of" by Roderich of Austria.
Mini-theater 1: Oreo, who just found out that the intelligence department was watching them and then discovered that Giotto had poached the chief of the intelligence department:?
Mini-theater 2: Arnold, upon hearing that Giotto had called everyone over for this matter:?
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
