This had never happened before, and I was completely thrown off balance.
I was used to being kicked out of the shop—but to be invited inside… When I finally remembered how to move my legs and stepped into the salon, Carlo looked me over once more and said something I will never forget: “I never thought I’d take on an apprentice.
Especially one like you.” I felt a shock that no words could describe.
I asked him a hundred times whether he was really going to train me, and then I bounced around his salon, squealing with joy.
Later I learned a few things.
First, my god’s temper was even worse than I had imagined.
He often hit me on the hands.
Sometimes it escalated to a slap on the back of the head, but considering I had come to him with zero experience, there was always something Carlo didn’t like.
He threw a lot of curses in my direction.
He told me I could leave at any moment if I didn’t like something.
But hell if I was going to do that.
And, of course, I didn’t want to admit it, but Carlo was a talented teacher even so.
I learned quickly.
Second, he made it clear that in the future—even if I could do several tattoos a day—it would be better to limit myself to one job a week.
Or thereabouts.
And to choose clients very carefully.
Sometimes work is valued for its exclusivity and rarity.
I needed to become someone whose work people would desire the way they desire the most precious jewel.
But for now I could only dream of having so many clients that I would be able to choose.
Third, Carlo told me I would have to look after my own safety.
“I can already see that you’re going to become a beautiful woman.
Make sure clients understand they can’t touch you.
You’re above them—even if the man in front of you is a don.” He also made it clear that I alone was responsible for my training and that he had no intention of supporting me financially.
If I couldn’t invest in what I wanted, then I had come for nothing.
So I started taking side jobs.
To buy practice skin, ink, and everything else.
And, honestly, I just wanted some pocket money of my own.
I was responsible not only for my studies, but for myself.
I always came to him in secret.
In the evening, when no one else was left in the salon.
Mostly because there were far too many people who wanted to become Carlo’s apprentice.
To get a piece of the status he had.
Over the years, he had crushed that desire in a lot of them, but if they found out he had taken me on after all… Carlo didn’t want to disturb his own peace.
And I stayed silent about the lessons too.
Even the Mariani family had no idea where I was going.
Fortunately, they took about as much interest in my life as they did in the trash in the bin.
Over the years, even though my god could still be a real old bastard sometimes, he became almost like family to me.
I even told him about my parents and how I had ended up in Naples.
What I respected about Carlo was that he showed neither pity nor contempt.
He simply listened to my story as part of my life.
I began to feel his salon as my home.
My god—as family.
But… by now, seven months had already passed since Carlo was gone.
They say he died in his sleep.
Quietly.
Peacefully.
Yet I still cried as if a part of me had died.
I didn’t even understand how anyone could bear that kind of pain.
My god’s funeral was a grand affair.
The heads of every clan came to say goodbye.
I wasn’t even allowed in—because, in essence, I was nobody.
No one ever found out that Carlo had an apprentice, so I mourned him alone in my room.
Only a week later did Carlo’s grandson, Nino Greco, come to see me.
The only blood relative my god had left.
I had known about him, but this was the first time I saw him.
Nino said he had known about me too.
And that not long before his death, my god had started a tattoo on his grandson’s back but never finished it.
Knowing I had studied under him, Nino asked me to complete his grandfather’s work.
Until then I had never done a tattoo on a real person—only on practice skin.
But my god had taught me everything he could: his style, the way he worked.
So much so that I had already become an extension of him.
That was why I agreed.
Simply as a tribute to Carlo.
I never imagined it would be so difficult.
Doing the tattoo itself was simple.
I hadn’t even realized just how simple.
But… we were in Carlo’s salon.
Already empty.
The place where my god would never be again.
And I was finishing his final piece.
How many times I had to stop because the tears made it impossible to see properly.
When I finished, Nino spent a long time examining his back in the mirror.
And looking at the photographs I had taken.
Only after that did he say that of course he had doubted, but now he understood his grandfather’s decision.
It turned out Carlo had left me his salon.
And he must have known he was going to die soon, because he ordered his grandson to look after me as the continuation of my god.
That was why, already at the funeral, Nino had told everyone—without giving a name—that Carlo had had an apprentice and that in time this apprentice would begin working in the same salon where Carlo himself had worked.
Everyone had been waiting for that, because among the mafia tattoos held enormous importance.
For a long time I couldn’t believe what I had heard.
And then I cried all over again, over and over.
For almost seven months now I had been preparing little by little.
Earning money to update a few things in the salon.
To hire security.
Nino said no one would dare touch Carlo’s apprentice.
The other clans would never allow it.
But it would have been easier if I had been a little less pretty.
The pain of losing my god was still unbearable, yet standing here next to his salon, I silently promised Carlo that the time would come when I, too, would become a god.