Chapter I: Death wish

Soft moans infiltrated the dim interior of the room, followed by muffled grunts as a gasp resonated against the four walls.

“Shh…” The person above her silenced with a hand over her mouth, sweat beading their foreheads. “We don’t want people finding out we’re here, now do we?” He asked with his lips trailing down her jaw and her neck, feeling her shake her head at the words.

“No, we don’t,” He smirked, trailing his lips lower before a soft knock sounded on the door, the man instantly stilling and clamping his hand over the girl’s mouth to keep her silenced.

“Marco?” Tazio’s voice spoke softly from the other side. “Boss is back and wants us all.”

Instantly, Marco pulled away, silencing her protests with a finger to his lips.

“Tell him, I’m coming,” He spoke, waiting for a response, but was greeted by the sound of retreating footsteps.

Turned back to the girl sprawled over the couch he gave her a devious smirk as he began to fix his appearance. “Sorry, baby doll, but our little escapade ends here,” The youngest Regnante winked, running a hand through his dark brown hair before straightening his cuff, stepping out of the room without a second glance.

The light overhead blinded him for a second as he stood in the hallway of his brother’s estate.

Inhaling deeply, Marco ensured that he looked presentable to the boss, because Salvatore could see right through him, and the youngest had promised not to have his rendezvous in the Mafia headquarters. Now that he had stopped thinking with his dick and his mind had cleared, that promise came resurfacing, and he paled at the realization that he broke it.

Turning on his heel, he made his way down the flight of stairs, met by the second-in-command, who wouldn’t meet his gaze as he leaned against the wall.

“Please don’t tell Salvatore,” Marco spoke quietly from the steps, watching Tazio shrug before standing straight.

“It’s not my place, sir,” He stated coldly, the younger man wincing. “If Boss asks, I won’t lie,” The second in command began to make his way to the east wing, expecting the heir to follow him as Marco swallowed before stepping down the remainder of the way. 

Marco’s eyebrows furrowed to see them walk past the office, but then appeased himself with the thought that they were meeting in the study. But the moment they entered into the main foyer, he was surprised to find Piero, Francisco, and Russo around the stairs where his brother sat on the steps, rubbing his forehead and looking down at the marble of the staircase.

“Luca Giovanni was attacked and mugged by Jayson’s men,” He spoke without looking up to see if Marco and Tazio had joined. “Suffered multiple wounds, severe internal bleeding, and beaten to the point where his face can’t be recognized.” Salvatore straightened and looked back at the faces before him.

“They called Nicole since she was on speed dial, and we were the first to get there and learned all this,”

“How do you know it was Jayson,” Marco spoke up first, having processed the information, but furrowed his eyebrows when his brother handed him a folded sheet of paper.

He had expected a letter of sorts, but when he opened the page, he couldn’t help but clench his teeth to see the Black Hand imprinted on the surface. Straightening, he handed the page to Piero and watched his brother get up and make his way upstairs without another word.

“I guess we wait till morning for further instructions,” Russo sighed as he handed the page to Tazio, the second-in-command nodded, all well aware of Salvatore’s work habits.

“Till then, get some sleep guys,” Marco took up the role of the heir. “Because there are no promises of you getting to doze off once it’s all in full swing.”

The men nodded in understanding and dispersed, leaving the youngest to stand at the foot of the stairs and look up as he contemplated going to his brother to see how he was doing.

“This is Salvatore,” He sighed to himself with a shake of his head. “That machine doesn’t feel anything,” Marco found himself chuckling before he made his way towards the large double doors.

Stepping out into the chilly night and unlocked his Maserati, getting in behind the wheel before driving off to his apartment in the middle of town.

Making his way up the flight of stairs, he found himself thinking about this Vendetta and wondered what his brother would do to retaliate.

It was evident that Luca meant nothing to Salvatore, but he meant something to Nicole, would the Mafia Boss retaliated in a disproportionate way because it was his wife’s best friend? Marco found that unlikely given how Salvatore had cut himself off from feeling any affection.

Marco was actually surprised that Nicole was still with Salvatore, he had thought she’d have left him three months into the wedding.

Or maybe his brother had grown fond of her?

Marco didn’t know what went on in that man’s head.

Sighing to himself, he unlocked his apartment door, stepping into the foyer as he took off his shoes and suit jacket. Making his way through the archway, he stood facing his low-lying king-sized bed, the walls above it housing two shelves stacked with books and a few pictures he had brought back from his trips abroad with two shelves at his right housing more pictures.

Making his way towards the archway at his left, he entered to find the washroom door to his right and his closet to his left. Opening the wardrobe, he hung up his jacket before going to freshen up.

He had a small studio apartment which was perfect for him. The only qualms he had was the fact that it couldn’t accommodate more books.

The first time he had bought this apartment, his brother had asked him why not something bigger, and Marco just grinned and shrugged. Saying he preferred small cozy spaces over large ones where he couldn’t fill them no matter how many things he brought in.

Afterward, he just lay in bed, unable to sleep and blankly staring up at his ceiling. He had no idea when he actually managed to close his eyes, but the moment that he had drifted off, his alarm blared to life, startling him awake as he turned away from the sound and covering his ears with his pillow.

Turning it off, he got ready for the day, bouncing his keys in his hand and made his way out of the apartment.

“Ciao, Diego,” He greeted the man living across from him, the forty-something turning back in surprise and looked at the younger from over the rim of his glasses.

“Marco!” He smiled. “Stai andando al lavoro? (Are you going to work?)”

“Si,” He chuckled. “Grosso giornata oggi (Big day today),”

“Buona giornata! (Have a good day),” His neighbor smiled at him as Marco nodded and headed towards the stairs.

On the ground floor, he greeted the old lady who was getting her mail, helping her with the early morning grocery as she awarded him with a cookie. Marco had to laugh but thanked her none the less when she insisted. Greeting the landlord, he gave the retired Marine a salute with a good morning, asking about his health before handing the cookie to the landlord’s grandson.

“Marco,” The six-year-old called through a mouth full of cookies.

“Filippo!” His grandfather admonished for talking with a mouth full. “Condursi! (Behave!)”

“Quando mi insegnerai gli origami? (When will you teach me origami?)” The boy asked once he swallowed.

“Presto,” Marco ruffled his hair. “Soon,”

The boy grinned before allowing him to leave, the youngest Regnante greeting the guard with a smile and a firm handshake, asking about his sister’s health, and told him to let him know if he ever needed anything.

“Sei troppo gentile (You are too kind),” The guard grinned at the younger boy who just waved away the compliment before getting into his car across the street.

He greeted the men on duty at the estate, and hadn’t even stepped in through the main doors when Salvatore was stepping out.

“Yo,” He greeted, moving back to get out of his space.

“You’re late,” His brother spoke and sidestepped him, heading towards the Jaguar standing in wait.

“Good morning to you too, sunshine,” Marco rolled his eyes and followed. “Seems like someone hasn’t had their coffee.” The youngest took a step back and held up his hands in surrender when his brother shot him a cold glare over his shoulder.

“Such a machine,” He muttered to his brother’s guard, who – despite his training – couldn’t keep from his lip tilting into a smile.

Settling in the back with him, he watched his brother type away on his phone, dressed in a royal blue two-piece suit with a light blue button-up, his black hair styled back, and his eyes covered by opaque sunglasses.

“Where are we going?” Marco finally asked his brother once the car had begun to move.

“Mrs. Giordano wants to meet with us,” Salvatore informed. “She has a proposition for us, something about it being worth our time,”

“Didn’t we dislike the Giordano’s?”

“We do,” The Mafia Boss nodded, not taking his gaze away from the phone. “But when have we ever let the opportunity for beneficial business pass us by?”

“Who convinced you?” Marco chuckled at his words, knowing his brother well enough to know that wasn’t the case.

“Mrs. Giordano did,” Salvatore looked up at his brother. “It’s her dying wish to meet with me,”

“A tad bit dramatic, that one,”

“No, she’s dying of lymphoma,”

The youngest tensed at the words, squirming in his seat before looking out to keep his discomfort from being noticed by his brother.

“You don’t have to go in,” Salvatore sighed and patted his hand, Marco taking hold of his palm and squeezing it like he used to when they had been younger. “I won’t ask you to go in,”

Marco let out a shuddered breath, swallowing the lump in his throat and nodded.

“I have to move past that fear eventually, right?” He let out a strained chuckle, feeling his brother squeeze his hand in reassurance.

“It doesn’t have to be now,”

The youngest nodded before leaning back in his seat, his brother’s hand still in his own as he stared out the window.

He watched as they pulled up into the parking of the hospital, looking up at the looming structure. Marco marveled at the architecture of the building. Unaware of how much time he’d be spending inside these four walls in the months to come, and walked in through the sliding door.

The brothers made their way through the halls with their entourage of four men, finding the hallway deserted save for two guards at the door. Stopping short, Salvatore turned towards his brother, silently asking him as Marco shook his head to realize that he didn’t have the strength to go in.

Nodding, Salvatore left him outside.

Marco stood with the six men, but grew tired of waiting and head towards the cafeteria for some breakfast. Two men accompanied him down as he got himself a croissant and coffee, getting the two behind him the same.

He couldn’t bring himself to go up to the room again, so he decided to step out into the chilly October atmosphere, standing before the doors and staring out at the parking lot with no thoughts to accompany him as he ate. The sound of the door sliding open had him look back to see his brother coming out with an impassive expression, standing beside the younger who offered him his cup of coffee. Salvatore taking it with a nod as he sipped the hot beverage, waiting for the car to pull up.

“So how did it go?” Marco finished his croissant, dusting his hands before turning back to take his coffee.

“Do you truly want to take over after me?” Salvatore asked him instead as they settled into the car, his brother taken aback by the words. “Truly? Would you die if you didn’t become the Mafia Boss?”

“No...” Marco trailed uncertainly. “No, I wouldn’t die, why?”

“But you still want to become the Boss?”

“To prove to you that I am worthy of the name,” His brother spoke without thinking, his stomach twisting in discomfort at his brother’s questions. “Yes, I want to become a Mafia Boss to prove that I am worthy of the Regnante name, Salvatore. What happened in there? What’s gotten into you?”

He was taken aback to see the soft smile on his brother’s face, the melancholy shining in his bright blue eyes as Marco’s eyebrows furrowed at the expression.

“I don’t want to put you through the misery of being a Mafia Boss,” Salvatore sighed, affectionately patting his cheek. “You’re too good for the Regnante name, Marco. You don’t have to prove anyone anything, least of all me.”

“You are worthy of the name,” His brother turned back towards the window, staring out at the passing scenery. “But being a Mafia Boss is a fucked up job,”