The sun was soft as it shone over Reiti, Paso, Italy. Just like all the good days inside that villa, the gentle waves hitting the shore could be seen from where the Don sat. The mild breeze was playing with his hair as he silently sipped his wine. Soft white curtains were swaying on every open window too, making them look as if they were dancing peacefully with the mild tune he was humming. Alla mia Amata, of course."Papa?"Alejandro pretended not to see the tiny boy climbing on his lap. Instead, he covered his face harder with the newspaper in his hands, as if he were busy reading it. Nonetheless, his senses were at full alert, and he discreetly lowered one of his legs down to make sure that the child would have something to grab on to and wouldn't fall. Only God could describe how the child's mother turned into a monster whenever the child got hurt."Papa...""I'm reading, Romano," he said, dragging the child's name, copying how the baby dragged his. "Lots of news lately that could
It was the worst battle he had fought. A war where he couldn't tell who was with him and who wasn't. A battle where he had to keep firing his gun while holding his cara and staring death in the face simultaneously.He lost count of the number of bullets his body took for her. His whole body was numbing, but then he just couldn't let go.His mind was empty, unable to recognize who his enemies were. Alejandro's soldiers were fighting like a group of hungry beasts. The group that broke through the gate minutes ago, which he had recognized as Marco's, was just as ferocious.He noticed one of the groups protecting him when he rushed to the parking lot. Some of its soldiers caught bullets for him, willingly giving their lives to assure that he would get where he needed to.He was in so much pain. But it wasn't because of the random bullets digging into his flesh. He knew that pain so well. It wasn't for him, but for Margaux. It was for the child barely holding on inside her.The whole world
"MARGAUX..."Alberta's voice didn't reach her ears when the now-familiar stab crushed her nerves again. Automatically, her hand found the back of her hips, trying to keep them from splitting in two. The drop of sweat that fell on her fist, resting on her lap, looked blurry. Her tummy was in pain—so much pain that she had to burst out of breath to stop herself from groaning."Are you alright?""Are you done talking?" She tightly closed her eyes. She saw double, and it was the last thing she needed."I said, I'm sorry."She didn't reply. She understood what the old woman, kneeling and crying before her, was saying, but then it just wouldn't entirely register with her. More so when everything in her mind was Rome and him alone. All she remembered was that Alberta mentioned something like 'the Don's son and mother.' Or was it mother that she said?Whatever it was, she felt her heart crunch painfully hearing it, but not half as much as the one she was trying to tolerate while sitting there
THE VILLA WAS BUZZING at five in the morning. The scent of food combined with flowers was lingering in the air. The tables—hundreds of them—were carefully wrapped in meticulous white linens. The maids were like bees running back and forth, carrying plates and silverware. Violinists, called out at the most unholy time of the day, were cramming to learn the best and most beautiful music they would ever play: the Alla Mia Amata."You missed the timing; it would mean something different." The Don was in the middle of the crowd, looking down at the poor violinist."S-señor?""It's for my son. Perfect it," he ordered in a cold voice. His amber eyes were piercing, silently warning the musician to get the proper tempo or else it would be the last piece he would play. "You have to perfect it," he gritted, making the musician's knee shake at once with the terror that engulfed him."Y-Yes, señor." The musician barely opened his mouth, reaching for the paper before him to read the complicated n
MICE PLAY IN THE ABSENCE OF CATS. Same as how the envious smaller gods play in the absence of bigger gods. This part happened somewhere between sacred nights and mornings."The Montenegro child has already shown up." A young man gently pushed a pawn across the chessboard. Then, stopping his move right next to the White Queen, he settled the piece and looked up at his competitor."Oh, she did?" His playmate, an older man in his seventies, countered that move by moving the White Queen to eliminate the pawn.That made the young man chuckle. Languidly, he pressed his back against the leather seat he was sitting on. "Yes, Papa. The soldiers found her.""Molto bien..." Satisfaction flooded the old man's voice. He mirrored what his son did. He stretched his back and relaxed, grabbing the wine glass on the table. One sip, and he then asked, "How about God? Did he already show up?""Not yet, papa," the younger man answered, giving his father a brief look before gazing back at the chessboard. "
It was hard to tell if hell was actually a burning place. At three in the morning, hell looked nothing like what the Bible said. It was just pitch black with phone rings and voices.[Hello? She's on her way, God.]"Good."[Should I send the soldiers to meet her?]"Don't. Wait for her to enter our territory."[God?]"He will run after her. Wait for it."...'DRIVING TO THE VILLA. Will talk to Dad. Be back tonight. Love, Margaux'A three-sentence note on the mirror, a little heart smiley, and her name written using her red lipstick were all it took for Rome's mind to melt into broken letters.He was tired, and her arms were warm, so he slept. He should not have.Who would have thought that it would take only a short while for her to slip between his fingers? Like sand seeping down and falling where she shouldn't be?'You lured her...' He blinked his eyes, trying to balance himself as he reached for her name. His fingers were trembling when they touched the cold mirror, hoping that it