Original subtitles

-Good evening. -Good evening.

-Monterossi and Costa. -Welcome.

-Thank you. -Thanks.

Good evening.

Thank you.

A private party, huh?

So private there's no one here.

We're here, aren't we? Who cares.

Of course. It's better this way, isn't it?

Excuse me.

What can I get for you?

Ghezzi. What are you doing here?

What's this, one of your undercover missions?

Come here.

I'll show you our whiskey collection.

Okay.

Who knows, maybe he'll even let us try some.

Yeah.

I hope so.

Be careful, Monterossi.

You don't know what you're getting into.

What do you mean?

He means you know exactly what he's talking about.

You don't go back into the wolf's den.

Especially if you want to betray it.

Flora.

Can we talk about this tomorrow?

We're at a party now. Let's enjoy ourselves.

I'm here with...

Lucia, where are you?

I'm over here, Carlo.

I'm right behind you.

Excuse me, I must've got the wrong room.

Signor Carlo, if you don't get up, you'll be late for work.

I know. Thanks, Caterina.

That's just what I was hoping.

You don't want to work on your own show? Not again!

Hey, don't bite the hand that feeds you.

That hand isn't giving me the food I ordered, Caterina.

-But you're the boss of the restaurant. -I've never been the boss.

Flora's the head honcho.

I'm just the waiter,

serving up the fried shit to the customers.

Ms. Flora is a wonderful person. She's a saint!

I just opened my eyes.

Don't say or make me say anything blasphemous.

Come on, please.

Oh, Lord. What are you saying, Signor Carlo!

Well, she sure isn't a saint.

MONTEROSSI: THE SERIES

DEAD WRONG: EPISODE 1

We got the call at 23:41.

A woman taking her dog for a walk in Piazza Tommaseo.

She couldn't stop talking.

Soon she'd ask for a medal,

'cause she said she was the only one who called the cops.

Bullshit.

We got seven calls

between 23:41 and 23:46.

Everyone confirmed the gunshot and the time.

Even the janitor at the conservatory heard it but thought...

...it was the gate banging.

It's been banging for ages. I requested to fix it.

You know how it goes. The principal agrees. This always happens.

The principal sends a request to the school board,

who contacts the ministry...

"A loud bang, like gunfire," said the lady with the dog.

-A bang or a gunshot -Yeah, that's right.

-Right? -It sounded just like a shot.

-No, two. -Two.

...said another mother with two kids.

Really, you hear a gunshot and go outside with your kids?

Not a nice thing to see if you've never seen it up close.

I told everyone to clear out

and asked who came immediately, who later,

who was already there on the street.

At first glance, two holes.

Really big ones.

One in his stomach, one in his head.

Wasn't that hard to figure out, 'cause half his head was missing.

The other half belongs to a guy in his sixties

with a jacket and an overcoat. Quality stuff.

An old leather bag lying next to him.

The usual smell of blood and shit murdered people have.

And then...

on his chest,

placed there very carefully,

a stone,

which is already weird for a street in downtown Milan.

But sitting on the dead guy's chest.

What the fuck.

At 2:15 Piazza Tommaseo was deserted again.

Only a few lights on,

because not everyone was ready to go to sleep

after seeing blood spilled outside their door.

But I stayed there till 3:00,

hoping to see something.

But obviously, I didn't see shit.

Hey man, what do you think this is, a slum?

Can I clean up a little? The kids'll be here tomorrow.

-Go ahead. -Great.

Get rid of it. Quick.

That's Milan.

It definitely wasn't a robbery.

He still had his wallet with some cash, his credit card and ID.

Fabrizio Gotti.

Born 6th September 1959.

Businessman.

Resident of Milan, on Via Tamburini.

Which isn't far from where he was killed, right?

Right.

He had a cell phone with two missed calls,

but the guys in tech will handle that.

Then, business cards from restaurants and supermarkets and two sets of keys.

But...

what worries me, the real pain in the ass is this.

I hope it's not what it seems.

-A signature? -Yeah.

Anyway, he was a butcher. A big one.

Six or seven stores in Milan.

No rap sheet, no break-ins, no recent police reports.

A good citizen.

Good citizens don't get killed by gunshot.

-Let's go, Sannucci. -Where, to Gregori's office?

Later.

I woke her up.

We'll fill her in at 8:00.

First, let's find something to bring her.

With that stone, it sure looks like the Mafia.

Yeah, the Mafia you see in the movies.

So look for a guy who saw The Godfather?

That was fucking funny.

And Jesus asked,

"Who is greater,

he who sits at the table

or he who serves?"

Yet...

I am among you as one who serves.

So,

today we mourn a servant in the highest sense.

Our sister Maria, who was an example for our community.

Humble.

Generous.

All by herself and with hardly anything,

she raised a son, Francesco.

Now, as she ascends to heaven, she blesses us from above.

Go see what's going on.

Excuse us.

Francesco.

I'm so sorry, my son. You've been so...

so alone, without a father.

And now your mother.

But now your mother is happy.

Imagine that.

A shitty life, then she's happy and dead.

What fucking luck.

Have a good day, Father.

Hey, Fra.

Where's your phone?

I called a million times.

-I know, sorry. -Sorry my ass. The stuff's in the car.

Where the fuck were you?

Shit, it was today?

-Yeah, it was today. -Fuck.

Sorry, bro.

It'll be okay.

Let's take it upstairs.

Mafuz's guards were all over the place.

You got no idea how they were looking at me.

Who gives a shit.

-They know who you are. -Exactly. They want a monopoly.

Then the cops even drove by, with sirens and everything.

A total shitshow. You got no idea.

I bet you were scared shitless.

Open the fucking door.

Let me go first.

-Hi, Antonia, it's me. -Hello, Francesco.

Go ahead. I'll get the others out of the car.

I'll put the cars keys in their usual place.

Who uses the car anyway?

How are you?

No, how are you?

I'm sorry I didn't come.

-But with these legs... -Don't worry.

You didn't miss a thing.

So...

One of these after lunch and one after dinner.

Instead, just one of these,

before going to sleep.

Don't get them mixed up like always.

-I'll try. -Good girl.

Hey, I'm here with Nadir.

If it's no problem, we need to store some boxes.

It's your room, you can use it whenever you want. You know that.

Thanks.

I'll take this away.

Here, as promised.

Damn, that map of the video cameras was spot on.

-One day you gotta tell me how you do it. -It was easy as hell.

I redid his website and kept the passwords.

You happen to see the ones of the other shop?

-Yeah, I saw them but... -But what?

Don't get in over your head.

Don't fuck up, Nadir.

You make the maps, then we'll see.

Here.

Aren't they the right ones?

Yeah, but I already found some.

What do you need them for?

Nothing, for a friend... from Trieste.

He gets off on shooting trees.

He's a dickhead.

-Like attracts like. -Actually, I wanted you to meet him.

-See you later, man. -Yeah.

Close the door.

-Piero? -Yeah?

Put that phone away or I'll throw it out the window.

-I was reading the news that... -I don't care.

Unless it's Pope Francis praying to be a guest on the show.

Then Catarina would set up an altar in my house.

Carlo? Did you want to tell us something?

Yes, Flora, frankly...

I see no point in making things so tragic.

Criminal Love is at 27 percent and we're three points under.

-There's nothing funny about that. -No.

Something's broken.

-And I'm out of patience. -Yeah, but...

It's this obsession with true crime that I just don't get.

Well, it was your idea.

The bar has been raised.

People have heard and seen it all and our competition knows it.

Who cares about couples cheating.

We need to find something more potent.

At this point, you could even choose a target and go shoot them.

It'd be quicker.

Right, maybe tonight I'll become a member of the gun range.

Let's just hope the target isn't you.

Hi.

Oh, so you're still alive.

I haven't seen you for a while.

Well, I was going back and forth from London.

To see your beau, right?

-My "beau". You're so old-fashioned. -Oh, your boyfriend.

I don't know if I'd call him that.

Anyway, tomorrow I leave for Lagos and he'll be out of mind.

So soon? Just in and out then.

It's an important piece, so they brought everything forward.

Well then...

You need a good send-off.

Remember, we still have to make up that dinner we missed.

I'd love to.

At your place?

Really?

All right.

At 21:00?

21:00 is perfect.

Remember, this investigation is strictly confidential.

Of course. Obviously.

I'll sign the warrants to enter the victim's houses and offices.

-Thanks. -All right.

-Good luck. -Same to you.

-Thanks. -Thanks.

We need to be careful.

The dead guy with the stone is a member of civil society.

Not a big shot,

but his photo is on the web with the head of the business association.

Then, there's that signature, so don't fuck things up.

-And his family? -He has a son who works in London

and a daughter studying in Switzerland.

They're both coming back.

Wife died years ago.

All right, come on.

Same place tonight at 20:00.

Don't come empty-handed.

We'll try.

See you later.

-See you later. -Goodbye.

It's a wonder she didn't say to stay out of it.

She's scared shitless too.

I think it's all a little too cut and dried.

A guy comes and parks in the square.

He starts walking home but doesn't get very far.

First, in the stomach. At least that's my take.

Then in the head.

If they shot the head first,

they wouldn't have needed to shoot him again.

Maybe he was a pro and went for the head first.

But he wasn't shot in the car.

Either he got out or he was standing.

We know that from the stone.

Excuse me.

You leave a signature when you want other people to know.

Know what, though?

It's too early. We don't know shit.

You're right.

Carlo, come back up. Flora wants you.

-Again? -Yeah.

There was a homicide last night that the queen says is "juicy".

-Perfect for us. -Oh, please!

Tell me about it.

They shot a high-class butcher downtown.

Must've been a vegetarian.

Don't even joke about it or she'll invite one on the show.

Anyway, Flora said they found him with a white stone on his chest.

-Oh, really? -Don't ask me how she does it.

She's got her sources.

She only wants you to handle it.

You know, when she's says stuff like, "He's my champ. He's the best."

-You have to drop all the other stories. -What a pity!

Find the dead guy's relatives, his kids, if possible.

Schmooze 'em, confuse 'em and get them ready for the show.

Now that's something I like a bit less.

Hey, Nadir.

I see you ditched me for Francesco.

Yeah, now with all my ladies and cash I'm way too cool.

-How are you? All okay. -Fine.

-Is Francesco here? -He's in his room, but he's working.

So what, I'm working too.

Hey, Fra.

-So, how's that laptop I gave you? -Fine.

Now, I'm superfast at exploiting myself.

Are you always in such a pissy mood?

Show me the map of that place, will you?

-I told you, something doesn't feel right. -You know what doesn't feel right?

Chop shops making money off TVs and computers,

paying 300 euros for two pieces and pocketing the profit.

-That's the market for you. -Weren't we fed up with the market?

Cameras in jewelry stores aren't for selfies.

The night watchman sees them, and he has one of those things that shoot.

Isn't that my fucking problem?

Shut up and make me the fucking map.

Do whatever the fuck you want.

Take the map.

See that? Fuck.

-I won't come and bring you oranges. -No, 'cause I'll be bringing you cash.

Bye, be a good boy.

-Bye, Chiara. -Bye.

-What did he want? -Nothing.

Want some coffee?

-No, thanks. -A quickie?

-Come on, let me get back to work please. -Fine, sorry.

Mafuz asked about you. He said there's a meeting tonight.

They want someone from the collective there.

-I think they want witnesses. -Witnesses for what?

I don't know. Maybe they need to make one of their agreements.

Now the collective's become a mediator for the Mafia?

-You know how it works. -Yeah, I do.

-[in Arabic] Are you having lunch? -I'm not hungry, Mom.

What's the matter? Relax, it's me.

Come on, go eat.

Good girl.

-Yeah? -Nadir...

[in Arabic] Omar said you haven't been to the shop in two months.

[in Arabic] You'll make me look bad. He hired you as a friend.

[in Arabic] What a friend!

For 400 euros a month when he remembers.

[in Arabic] It was the same for me. It's a start.

Yeah, the start of your slavery!

Fuck it.

...and then they had two family butcher shops,

then four.

Gotti's father couldn't keep up with it anymore.

And now?

Now it's a chain, with eight big stores here in Milan.

High-end stores.

Like jewelry shops with meat.

And another ten or so scattered throughout Lombardy.

Then, they began exporting, supplying supermarkets.

I mean...

it's an empire.

-That'll all go straight to his two kids. -Yep.

Signor Carlo?

Sorry to interrupt, but Signor Oscar is on his way up.

-So the dinner tonight isn't for two. -No, no, no.

Nadia and Oscar are leaving.

Because I'm just making a small meal like you told me to.

Otherwise, I need to go get more fish.

No, what you've prepared is fine. Thanks.

Dinner for two, huh?

-Is there something I should know? -Come on, don't start.

-Is it Lucia? -Yes.

Don't panic, it's a farewell dinner. Tomorrow she leaves for Nigeria.

Who knows when she'll be back, so...

Sorry I'm late, but I've been asking around.

Well then, do tell.

First, one question.

Is this for you or for Flora?

-Flora. -Then it's going to cost you more.

Oh, fine.

Fly low and shoot.

His first-born is Edoardo Gotti.

Twenty-eight years old. Lives in London.

Works in commodities.

Futures, stocks.

Really shaken up by his father's murder.

Just can't get his head around it.

How do you know that?

Because I pretended I was a Forbes journalist.

When I asked, "Didn't you think, as just a gut reaction, even if it's odd,

that someone might want him dead?"

But he gave me a flat-out no.

And he seemed like he meant it.

-And his daughter? -She was easier.

She puts her life out there for the whole world to see.

-Confidentiality isn't her strong point. -Meaning?

Greta, aka Gretowsky.

Seventeen and a half.

She's a sort of influencer.

Fifty-four million followers.

Not too many, but not too few.

Her father sent her to a prestigious Swiss boarding school.

There's no need to interview her, because her profile says it all.

And this morning...

Not even 12 hours after her father's death...

she posted this video.

I thought about if I should talk about what's happening to me.

On social media we always show...

the cool part of our lives.

But not this time.

Last night someone killed my dad.

Like a dog.

I don't know who it was or why they did it.

All I know is I won't let myself go.

And I'll try to stay strong.

Even though none of this makes sense to me.

If we put her on Crazy Love, they'll eat her alive.

Jesus Christ.

Speak of the devil.

Hey, where are you going?

-Put it on speakerphone. -Okay.

You're kind of sadistic.

-Flora? -Guess what, Carlo?

The pope called.

The girl, Greta Gotti.

We didn't even have to call her.

Her lawyer called me himself, asking if she can come on the show.

No, Flora, listen.

I mean, why don't we ask her brother?

Frankly, the girl doesn't seem that interesting.

What is it, you losing your touch?

Even marketing says we gotta move with the times.

-And she's young, beautiful... -And a minor, first of all.

It's a legal problem, Flora, I'm telling you.

She'll be 18 the day after tomorrow.

Is that a sign from destiny or what?

Come on, forget about destiny.

When she gets to the studio for hair and makeup, come prep her a little.

-I want you in top form, okay? -All right.

I brought you some coffee.

-With sugar, right? -Oh, thanks, Sarge.

-That's so nice. -So...

We've already covered the kids.

-You got any ideas about the dead guy? -Not one.

He had a pretty good life.

His Milan house was a sort of operations hub

when he wasn't at his house in Brianza.

Wasn't in the office much. The company ran itself.

No evident enemies, no shady affairs.

A model citizen. He was even up-to-date on his taxes.

We need more guys like him.

What can you tell us?

I talked to the bank director, the lawyer and the office workers.

Everyone was shaken up.

They might have expected a heart attack, but not that he'd get shot.

It's so far-fetched some wonder if it's a case of mistaken identity.

And yesterday?

He had lunch with a supermarket director,

then he stayed late at the office.

Then at dinner,

Corso Lodi, a fish place. Obscenely expensive. He was a regular.

His credit cards tell us that.

Then he went home at about 23:30. I mean...

When they killed him.

Carella, what about you?

Two bullets.

Nine millimeter Parabellum.

It could be any number of guns.

They looked everywhere. In garbage cans, sewers, but nothing.

Forensics say it's an old hunk of junk.

There are even marks on the casing.

Basically, they took shitty care of the weapon.

They're checking the archives to see if it's on file, but I doubt it.

I hope we find something before tonight. Otherwise, Gregori'll kill us.

She kept the reporters at bay all day,

-and we sure aren't bringing her a cake. -No.

We're not bringing shit.

Maybe this company doesn't work anymore,

or maybe Enrico's not the right partner.

I say "maybe" because I don't know what you two do.

Relax, the money's coming in, isn't it?

But a lot less!

Your son chose that American university that's 52,000 euros.

-Fifty-two thousand? -A year.

Where's he going, Harvard?

Holy shit! Go!

-Go turn off the water in the bathroom! -Where?

It's there under the shower, the tub!

Holy fucking shit!

Now, what are we going to do without water?

Relax, I'll take care of it.

Where's the mop?

I left it on the terrace.

I'm going out a minute.

Are you going to kidnap a plumber or call your girlfriend?

I'm going to try and rustle up some money.

Greta, I'm just saying that maybe now...

you should take a little time for yourself.

To try and figure out...

what your grief means for you.

It'll be painful.

But don't feel like you need to share it with the world.

That's all.

So...

Let me get this straight.

You're the guys from the show

and you're telling me you don't want me on the show?

I'm no good, even with a murdered dad?

No, Greta, you're just fine.

You're young, beautiful

and very vulnerable right now.

You'd be the ideal prey for Flora.

She'd forge all the paperwork just to have you.

You two are too good, and you're doing this for my own good.

Right.

For your own good and mine, if you don't mind.

He created the show.

He wanted a fun little toy,

and he ended up with this shit.

Now we have to handle murders too.

Sometimes you make mistakes in life,

but you don't immediately see how big they are.

Then over time,

they become regrets.

We want you to have enough time to think about it.

All right.

You're the first to treat me like a grownup.

Going on and making a spectacle of your pain

before even really experiencing that pain.

It only hits you later, you know?

And it hits hard.

-Wait a bit at least. -Sure, wait.

Yeah, right.

Soon, there'll be an even worse murder and everyone will forget about it.

Flora told my lawyer

that next week's episode will even be too late.

Sure, that's true.

But consider that, for a moment of fame today,

you'll carry around that regret for your whole life.

The same words.

-What words? -My father's.

One day, at home, he...

He'd had a bit to drink.

And he told me...

he had a skeleton in the closet.

Like you said.

Something he regretted his whole life.

Later he tried to convince me he was joking.

But I knew him too well.

-He wasn't joking. -No fucking way.

And in the meantime, this secret of his became...

a black hole inside me.

I tried not to think about it.

But instead...

down I went.

Excuse us,

but we have a little red tape to sort out.

Yeah, we're leaving.

Maybe we can talk tomorrow, if you have some time. All right?

Think about what we said about the show.

-Seems like a great opportunity. -Yeah, sure.

Anyway, you think about it.

-For me, his phone is the mystery. -What do you mean?

We know how these things go.

You poke around in their phone and find pissed off lovers,

lovers' husbands making threats,

-co-workers swearing they'll get even. -But?

But forensics say there are just messages and work emails.

The missed calls were from his daughter.

A small circle of friends.

It's as if whoever killed him

is an alien who came out of a black hole.

Instead, I just got back from Piazza Tommaseo.

So...

This is the conservatory.

It has two cameras. One's broken.

I asked for all the footage, but I wouldn't get your hopes up.

There's one rectangle that's out of range of the CCTV.

And that's where they killed Gotti.

-Damn, what fucking luck. -Maybe it's not luck, but skill.

Then we're fucked.

Does it make sense that the killer is so skilled

that he knows where the shadows are,

but he's not skilled enough to fire one shot to the head and leave.

Both a professional and an amateur.

-That's it. -That's it.

-And the stone? -A stone in the mouth for the traitors.

Stuff from literature and archeology.

Then there's the criminal symbolism of the stone.

But we're way off.

-Forget about the stone. -We're not gonna forget a fucking thing.

It means wasting time and effort

on something that, for now, is just a bunch of claptrap.

-"Claptrap" 'cause we don't understand it. -Exactly!

-What do you mean "exactly"? -Calm the fuck down.

You're like rams in a stable, but you can't end up butting heads.

Clear?

Come on, we're all tired and I have to go talk to the deputy prosecutor.

See you in my office tomorrow morning at 8:00.

Go ahead, tell me.

So, two things. Then you can decide.

The first is about the stone. I only said it doesn't make sense "for now".

But something tells me this isn't the last one.

I think there'll be other stones.

Only after that will we begin to figure this out.

It's just an idea, I agree.

-Then... -Do whatever the fuck you want.

Just give me a heads-up and keep me filled in.

We'll share Sannucci and try to move forward.

I want to know what you do and when, not to keep tabs on you,

but so we don't step on each other's feet.

Great.

Thanks.

Thing is, it's tough without a motive.

To kill somebody, you need a reason.

...with a gun that hasn't shot in years.

That remains to be seen.

We need to wait and see what ballistics say.

See you tomorrow.

See you tomorrow.

Well?

What's the rush?

A guy called me.

Who sent him?

Trentin, the lawyer.

Remember the last he sent a guy to us?

-Sure, I do. -And so?

So, for starters, the guy's desperate.

Oh, what are we now, the Red Cross?

-We're desperate too. -Not again.

"Not again"? We haven't had a gig in six months.

Is it my fault there's a recession and people kill each other themselves?

Is it my fault my son wants to study in the US and my...

Yeah, it's your fault. There's this thing called a condom...

-I'm outa here. I got stuff to do. -I made an appointment.

We'll go, listen to what they have to say and decide.

No way.

Everyone knows how things work here.

Less trouble means more business. More trouble means less business.

I want more business.

We have ours.

You got your houses and your lists. I keep my trap shut.

But a kid from your houses has started doing some business of his own.

And that's not okay.

Then, there are too many of you guys from Sudan.

I don't know what you want to do.

We don't want a war here.

The local cops already know what's going on here.

This place is a time bomb.

As long as no one gets hurt,

they stay out of it.

They don't give a shit.

-[in French] What should we do? -Bombs, rebellion!

My name's Muhammad Sefraz.

From Sudan.

I have 12 men.

Yes, we expect more families.

They'll arrive in a month, maybe.

The route is dangerous. It's difficult now.

So, how is it you can always find them empty apartments?

-Because they pay well. -You ever wonder why?

We do business,

but not here.

Mot d'honneur.

"Word of honor."

Word of honor.

You can't let everyone in except us.

Our people'll get pissed off.

We don't want a war among the poor, right?

I don't want war period. I don't give a shit about the poor.

What will the collective get out of it?

All we want is a house. But this week.

This is all getting a little ridiculous.

Our buddies occupy a house, then you come and occupy it.

Enough. Work it out yourself.

Francesco, Paco, come here.

So...

Stairway F, third floor.

It's even bigger than the last one.

But you fix it up yourself.

But kids, I'm telling you,

don't fucking complain if there's no hot water.

Okay?

That okay?

Sure.

Fine.

See you later, son.

Francesco, hold on.

I had the meeting even because of Nadir. That's why I wanted you here.

-Nadir's just a kid. -A kid who's getting a big head,

and who's gonna bring trouble.

Why? What did he do?

Don't fuck with me, Francesco.

We all know about his business,

and that you stash his stuff at the old lady's place.

He won't listen to his dad, much less to me.

Tell him I told you then.

Before he brings the cops in here.

Is that what you want?

-Hi, Carlo. -Hi.

-Sorry I'm late. -No problem. Come in.

You shouldn't have.

What happened to ole' Bob?

It's a long story.

-Signor Carlo, I'll be going then. -Okay.

Oh my Lord!

Ms. Lucia, what a pleasure to see you again!

-Can I give you a hug? -Hi, Catarina.

-How are you? -Good.

-You look good. -I've gotten a little older...

and Signor Carlo doesn't help much.

-What did I do now? -You should've told me dinner was for her.

What would you have made? Roasted, stuffed peacock?

All we have are some fish with vegetables

and a leek casserole.

-That's just fine, Caterina, thanks. -It's not "just fine".

Anyway...

Have a good evening.

-Okay? -Goodbye.

What, are you going after all?

Yes. Listen, honey,

I'm just being cautious.

If I don't, I won't get any sleep.

Oh my. What's this meeting about anyway?

Even the Dubai builder is coming, so you can imagine...

Bye, hon.

Fine.

Mauro, you still in Cadorna?

-Yeah. -Go to the jewelry shop on Via Caradosso.

I saw some movement.

I was just there ten minutes ago.

Then go back. Fast!

You still have my picture.

You know I can't throw anything away.

-You could've at least put it in a drawer. -What do you expect?

I like letting memories get the better of me.

Well, I remember this sideboard really well.

Me too, for that matter.

We didn't even make it to the bedroom.

Let's see if it'll still hold me.

Oh, just like that?

Weren't we supposed to eat?

Who came here to eat?

Caterina's feelings will be hurt.