Aleksander bounced his leg up and down, his left forearm bound to his midriff to stop any movement in an effort to allow his shoulder wound to heal, an endeavor that proved rather difficult for the young heir to adhere by.Grimacing at the sharp stab of pain rippling through his shoulder at his movement, he looked out the window at the snow covered infrastructure outside before returning his gaze ahead of him, shuffling in his seat and bouncing the other leg, tapping the fingers of his right hand against his thigh.“So?” He finally demanded, sitting upright and leaning forward in his seat. “What do you think?” His question directed to the Italian Don who sat across from him, a stack of folders laid out while he was flipping through the contents of another.“Hmm,” The Italian hummed in thought, not providing any more.“I think

Cars whizzed by on the roads, pedestrians going about their day with high rise infrastructures leering down at their rushing figures. There was one such infrastructure, one of the tallest in the area, whose top floor encased in glass. The sunlight pouring in through the glass illuminated a large and spacious office where two men stood on either side of a mahogany table, peering over a blueprint laid out between them, discussing and making notes about the plans.One of them stood with his back to the window, sunlight streaming in and casting his figure in a shadow with another standing across from him, scribbling onto a notebook in his hand.Both of them had been so engrossed in their discussion that they gave a jump when the office doors suddenly burst open, a third man staggering inside. Both men reached for their guns on instinct but relaxed to recognize Tazio’s figure hunched in the doorway, breathless and

The usually opened rich cream curtains were drawn shut, bathing the room in a blinding darkness and a chill with all other sources of light turned off. In the midst of the darkness sat the Regnante Mafia Boss, his suit jacket and waistcoat discarded, his tie hanging loosely from his neck and the first two buttons popped open.A decanter stood on the table before him with a glass housing its contents grasped loosely in his hands, the man reclined in his large office chair and pinching the bridge of his nose.Salvatore opened his eyes to hear the office door creak open, watching a silhouette step inside and fumble against the wall before the lights overhead turned on. The sudden sharpness had him hiss and clamp his eyes shut.“There you are,” His wife exclaimed in exasperation. “I’ve been searching all over for you,”“Nicole…&

Aleksander stared at the ceiling of his bedroom. He knew every last-minute crack by heart. He made minute cracks on its clean surface. He even made maps out of the ceiling, gone exploring their terrains and mountains and rivers, having staggered across a wild lion here and a boar there. He even found faces in it, faces, and animals, and mathematical equations. He had exhausted every possibility of keeping his mind occupied without the need to move from his current position.Winter had hit harder in Russia. One of the worst times to be outside – or so he was told – not that he had any plans of venturing into that blizzard. He couldn’t bring himself to move. Couldn’t bring himself to feel anything other than that nauseating guilt for having killed his nephew and niece.The thought of them sending a sharp pain shooting through his side where Salvator

The snow scrunched under foot, the white blanket a glaring contrast to the black of the shoes worn by the person. A person made their way across the path with a fur ushanka covering their head and their body hidden by the thick fur coat that was draped over their shoulder, fluttering behind him.Their destination was an obvious one: the bench a top the hill.Making his way up the path, they halted to find a feeble old man huddled in the corner of the bench, their coat weighing heavy on his weak shoulders as tremors passed through his already thin figure. A walking cane grasped between his legs.“Thought I’d find you here,” Aleksander spoke with his hands in his coats pockets, and settled on the other side of the bench. “Papa,”Nikolai’s skin was ashen with his thick mop of hair reduced