In Bari, no one really asked where Greco’s workshop was. Everyone knew the way.
The place belonged to Matteo’s uncle. They repaired engines, household pumps, old appliances that certified services declared irreparable, and on some days, machines whose origins were better left unasked. The workshop didn’t make much. Its owner, however, lacked almost nothing.
A market gardener brought him food. A municipal employee made a late penalty disappear. A delivery driver dropped off a part without asking questions. Matteo’s uncle did favors for the whole city and kept track of every one of them in a memory more reliable than LifePaths Corp’s records.
He had no money. He had something better: people who owed him.
Matteo grew up in that workshop. He learned to diagnose a breakdown by the sound of an engine, to work with used parts, and never to let a neighbor walk away on foot. His family barely scraped by. When an urgent bill arrived, his uncle found a way. When an appliance stopped working, Matteo took it apart on a kitchen table.
At 18, he didn’t hesitate for a second before officially joining the workshop.
He could have looked for a certified job, with declared hours and a few Civic Index points as reward. Instead, he chose to work with his uncle. The pay was irregular, the days long, and social protections nonexistent. But no one asked him to smile at a rating terminal after every job.
For years, Matteo juggled odd jobs on the fringes of the system. He repaired a municipal vehicle before its inspection, got a family’s almost-Off-Grid air conditioner running again, or salvaged components corporations had earmarked for recycling. Some clients paid in Kairos. Others with a meal, information, or a promise.
Matteo understood early what his uncle already knew: society would never properly thank him for his work. But he could make sure the people of Bari remembered him.
He was helpful without being selfless. He didn’t always charge for a repair, but he never forgot who he’d done it for.
As he approached 30, Matteo met Alessandra. She’d come for an appliance that kept cutting out whenever the temperature rose. He told her it would take two days, fixed it that afternoon, and still waited until the next day to call her back.
Alessandra quickly realized the workshop always came before dinner time, and that Matteo would promise to come home in ten minutes when he hadn’t even closed the hood in front of him. She also understood he’d never let someone he loved face a problem alone if he could fix it.
Matteo fell head over heels for her. They started a family. At home, he was as present as he knew how to be: sometimes late, often covered in grease, but there when trouble arose. His children grew up knowing their father had someone who could sort things out.
Most of the time, it was true.
At 33, Matteo’s uncle died and left him the workshop. He left almost no savings. His real inheritance wasn’t on paper: dozens of numbers, names, and favors owed across Bari.
Matteo took over the tools, the clients, and the invisible debts.
Under his leadership, the workshop became the city hall’s go-to for urgent repairs. When a public kiosk stopped working or a municipal vehicle wouldn’t start, they called Matteo before filing an official report. He worked fast, charged fairly, and knew which parts could wait for the next budget cycle.
He even befriended the local corporation representative. She appreciated his knack for solving problems without generating incident reports. Matteo liked that a call from her could speed up a delivery or delay an inspection.
For a long time, none of this seemed concerning. Matteo remained the mechanic people invited to neighborhood parties. He repaired association equipment for free and rarely turned down a neighbor in need. His family lacked for nothing. His clients defended him with a sincerity money couldn’t buy.
At 40, Matteo realized power wasn’t just about account balances. It belonged to those who could get things from others.
He started calling in some of the favors accumulated over the years. An administrative check was postponed. A municipal request jumped the queue. A minor infraction vanished from a record. A supplier reserved its best parts for Greco’s workshop.
No one made a fuss. Matteo had helped each of them before. He didn’t threaten anyone. He simply reminded them of a repair, a forgotten debt, or a morning when he’d shown up to work without asking how he’d be paid.
At first, his demands stayed modest. Then they grew more frequent.
His uncle’s network of favors had become a network of influence.
At 50, Matteo decided it was time to enter politics. He ran for city council, convinced the people would support the man who’d fixed their machines, sorted their problems, and answered the phone when official services wouldn’t.
The public loved him. They didn’t vote for him.
To Bari, Matteo was still the nice mechanic. People trusted him with a breakdown, a secret, or an errand. They couldn’t picture him behind the mayor’s desk. His opponents congratulated him on his campaign and assured him his voice mattered in the city.
He knew that kind of line. It meant they wouldn’t give him anything.
That defeat stung more than he admitted to Alessandra. Matteo had believed thirty years of favors would naturally turn into votes. He discovered recognition had limits.
That day, he decided that if the law wouldn’t give him a place, he’d bend it another way.
His project took years. The first men who joined him didn’t think they were joining a militia. They guarded a warehouse, recovered stolen goods, or protected a business the municipal police ignored. Matteo recruited people he’d helped, or relatives of those still indebted to him.
He didn’t wear a uniform. He still opened the workshop every morning.
Gradually, his group armed itself. He controlled certain rackets, imposed his presence in several neighborhoods, and offered his own protection when institutions dragged their feet. The people knew Matteo’s men existed. Many preferred not to ask for details.
He remained popular.
He attended local festivals, helped struggling families, and played the role of the model family man. He could get a school’s heating fixed for free in the morning and authorize a clandestine operation that night. In his mind, there wasn’t necessarily a contradiction. Both decisions served his neighborhood, his influence, and his idea of loyalty.
For nearly thirty years, Matteo led his group in the shadows. His reputation kept growing. As he aged, some residents even mentioned his name again for the mayor’s office. The mechanic of Bari had become a respected local figure.
But his operations grew larger.
His militia ended up robbing a crypto-bank. The plan was carefully prepared, and nothing directly linked Matteo to the heist. No signed orders, no transfers in his name, no messages saved.
The investigators didn’t need to prove the robbery right away. They just had to trace the men, the weapons, and the favors owed.
The network that had protected Matteo his whole life tightened around him.
At 85, he was convicted of running an armed group. The court sentenced him to four years in prison and a fine of 16,000 ₭.
Many in Bari refused to believe the charges. To them, Matteo was still the man who’d fixed their vehicle for free, found a job for their son, or called the right person when the administration abandoned them. Others had long known the true cost of his services.
From his cell, Matteo didn’t abandon his political ambitions.
At 86, he paid a contact dearly to rig the next municipal elections. He’d spent his life believing a well-placed favor could open any door. This time, the contact failed. The operation was exposed and added another charge to his record.
At 88, Matteo stood trial again. He was convicted of electoral corruption and sentenced to eight more years in prison and another fine of 16,000 ₭. He died of old age in custody that same year.
Alessandra and their children held his funeral in Bari. Shopkeepers closed their doors as the procession passed. Municipal employees, former clients, and whole families came to pay their respects to the man they still called the mechanic. Some still owed him a favor. Others were finally free of their debt.
The justice system remembered Matteo Greco as a militia leader and a corrupter who’d tried to take over a city through guns, favors, and rigged ballots.
Bari remembered a man harder to sum up.
Matteo had spent his life making people dependent on his generosity. He’d helped them so they’d love him, then used that love to demand more. He’d believed being indispensable gave him the right to command.
For a long time, almost the whole city had let him.