The winter sunlight filtered in through the open curtains, bathing the lounge in a warmth that had both inhabitants enjoying it on the lounge. Marco sat on the sofa, a file in hand with Sofia’s head in his lap and her focus on the booklet of questions on her thighs and scribbling on the pages.
Soft music swimming through the apartment as the couple enjoyed the soothing Saturday morning.
Marco combed his fingers through her golden tresses as he read the words before him, stopping his gesture of affection when Sofia’s fingers bumped against his when she scratched at her head. Redirecting his gaze at the touch, he watched his wife rest the pages on her thighs and pick up the calculator on her chest, muttering under her breath as she typed on the keys, picking up the booklet again before scribbling at the page. Chuckling under his breath, Marco returned his gaze to the file in his hand and resumed combing hi
Marco stood with tar like blood swimming through his system, ears ringing, and body numb. The words spoken repeating themselves like a broken tape recorder in his head. Salvatore blocking his way to Nikolai.“Your name is Aleksander Romanov, and you are my son,”If he were to believe what this man was saying, then that meant that he was a Romanov. Heir to a disgraced Mafia. His name was Aleksander, and not Marco, and he was Russian-born. Ironic how his heritage came from the place whose history Marco had been obsessed with. Not only that, but he didn’t speak a lick of the language. And if he had just heard was true then that man – that murderer – was his father.“Come with me,” Nikolai urged, beckoning him forward and ignoring all the guns aimed at him. &ldquo
Marco sat on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees and combed his fingers through his hair.The sound of the bedroom door opening elicited no response from his figure, and when light flooded the room behind him, he only gave a dismissible wince at the sudden brightness.“Marco,” Sofia’s voice came up behind him, her soft hands running up and down his hunched back. “You didn’t sleep at all last night,”“How could I?” Her husband scoffed at the words, straightening in his place and looking over his shoulder to where his wife sat kneeling behind him. “The reality of me being the enemy kept me up,”“You don’t know that baby,” She sighed and combed her fingers through his hair. “You don’t know for a fact that you are Aleksander
“This is the fucking Mafia, Mr. Romanov,” Salvatore stated jaw set in determination, eyes hard, and gun barrel aimed at Marco’s forehead.The youngest sitting still in his seat and growing deaf to the startled and panicked cries of those around him. His breathing loud in his ears and sweat beading the back of his neck, eyes zeroed in on the man who held his life in his hand.“Put that gun down!” Arcangelo's voice cracked through the silence, neither Salvatore nor Marco responding to the order. “I said, put it down, Salvatore!”Rosalie stood from her place when Salvatore approached Marco’s figure, being held back by her husband, knowing that intervening at the point, where they weren’t aware of their son’s mental state, could prove to be fatal.“Salvatore, stop it,” Serafina slowly spoke from her
The air was heavy with snow that muffled the sound of the pedestrians and vehicles driving outside the window. Everything chilled and calm, except for the interior of the store where staff members were bustling around showing off fabrics and clothing articles to the couple seated on the leather couch before them. Men in black suits lining the perimeter and watching the people with stern features and focused eyes.“How about this, sir?” One of the staff members brought the man out of his reverie, smiling as he showed off a slate grey pinstriped suit to him. “Cut in Milan and bought in from Paris, hand-tailored for you, sir,”“Yes, fine, it will do,” He waved away dismissively, eyes passing over the rich fabric but smiled at the man nonetheless.After stepping out of the shop, the couple was settled in a luxurious Rolls Royce and driven to their next destina
“I’m his son,” He spoke the words through gritted teeth, the woman nodding and gave him the room number as he went up in the elevator. He was surprised to see that there were other people staying on the floor, and that there were no guards stationed out the door or around the hallway for that matter. Romanov’s security precaution being close to nonexistent. Knocking on the door, he stood waiting a minute, telling himself that if the door isn’t answered in the next thirty seconds, he would walk away, silently counting under his breath. “Fuck,” He hissed to himself when the door unlocked at twenty-eight, a disheveled Nikolai squinted up at him through the brightness of the lobby. S
Stuffing his hands in his coat pocket, he walked up the path to his homely cottage, instant relief flooding him to be back home, but he faltered in his step when he found two men standing beneath the shade of the pine trees, and from where Marco stood, he could recognize his brother’s guards. Swallowing thickly, he exhaled into the air above him, clenching his fingers when they trembled and stepped into the cottage. “Sofia?” Marco called out softly and stepped further into the cottage, finding his wife sitting at the dining table before their French windows leading out to the back yard, nursing a cup of coffee, and rubbing her temples. “Hey,” “He came here,” Sofia murmured softly
Marco couldn’t help but close his eyes shut when he heard the front door open, tightening his hold on Sofia’s hands as he felt her trembling against him, his throat running dry and his heart dropping to hear the footfall against the wooden flooring. Holding his breath as he waited for the inevitable cock of the gun. “Are we disturbing something?” Rosalie’s voice asked curiously as the young couple sprang apart, their eyes flying open to see Marco’s parents standing before them. His father holding his infamous lemon cake while his mom having her arm looped through her husband’s, looking at the two with soft eyes. “Everything alright?” She asked in concern to see the tears streak down Sofia’s cheek, the girl hastily wiping them away as the wide eyed-look n
The Mafia Boss stood glaring at the wooden structure of his office doors. Standing with them shut in his face and the smell of their polish lingering in the air, the sound of muffled chatter reaching him, knowing that his parents were comforting Marco – no, Aleksander – on the other side. Inhaling deeply, he swiveled on his heels and marched out of the east wing, dismissing his guards with a flick of his wrist when they began to follow.Taking the marble stairs two at a time, he could hear his blood rushing through his skull with his lungs tightening in his chest. Heat flooding him as he gritted his teeth against it.Making his way onto the third landing, he walked past the open bedroom door where his children sat playing and made his way directly into the room, slamming the door shut behind him as the sound had both the dogs jump up and yap at the violence of the gesture. The sound forcing Nicole to run
Aleksander cracked his knuckles while his eyes wracked over the three suits laud out before him. His eyes taking in every seam of each one, pairing each with possible shirts and ties. Making nine possible combinations for wear then groaning at the fact that he wouldn’t decide which was best suited.Should he go for a traditional white button down or opt for a different color? Tie? No tie? Two piece? Or maybe three piece? Monochrome or should he mix and match?Grunting at his own indecisiveness he grabbed all three of them and tried on every possible combination, deciding that seeing them would allow him to choose better.When he stepped out dressed in the fourth combination, his wife turned around in the middle of getting dressed and giggled at her husband, shaking her head at his antics.“We’re invited for coffee, babe, I doubt a suit is the decoru
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
Rebuilding the Russian Mafia from square one allowed Aleksander to occupy himself. Create elaborate plans and take care of negotiations, and unofficially become the Pakhan, given how Nikolai was in no state to be taking care of matters. His mind numbed with medication and painkillers and his body deteriorating. The stroke he had from Salvatore’s carnage had left him completely bedridden, and Aleksander could not bring himself to feel sympathy for the man. Instead, the heir set out on making Nikolai’s Bratva completely his.
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 room was stifled by the tension in the air, the men seated on both sides of the table with the head of the table occupied by the Regnante Mafia Boss. The Don sat with his elbows on the mahogany table, his finger stapled before him and his gaze fixated on the wall opposite, completely deaf to the ruckus surrounding him. All of his allies had gathered together and organized this meeting in an effort to understand what to do next. The Romanov’s confirmation for war followed by the retraction of the statement gave them no sense of ease, made them all on edge instead; they had no idea if it were a ploy to get them to lower their guard, or if it was all just some sort of mistake. Then there was the fact that the underworld was now aware of the existence of Salvatore Regnante’s children, both of them hav
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 could not bring himself to notice anything around him. Kneeling on the floor of the Pakhan’s office, sweat beading his forehead, face ashen, and nausea rolling in his stomach to be surrounded by various photos depicting his wife over the course of the past few months.Letting out a shaky breath, his chest ached to see the images in front of him. Sofia sitting at a café, her head thrown back and laughing with Nicole. Her stepping out of the Maserati, dressed in a black pencil skirt dress under a grey blazer. Then another of her sitting at a bench, hugging herself with her hair hanging out of its up do, tears streaming down her face and staring at the ground.It broke his heart to see his wife so torn up, hunched into herself and sobbing. He didn’t know what she was crying. He wanted to know why. What had happened to leave her so vulnerable and distraught? His mind conjured the worst of w
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
Aleksander swiped his hand at the fogged up mirror, staring back at his reflection as he pushed back his wet tresses and scratched at his jaw, realizing he needed to shave at the prickly feel against his palm. A knock sounding on the door outside had him look over his shoulder before stepping out of the washroom, pulling open the door to find Fio in front of him. The guard turned and pulled out a khaki envelope from the fold of his coat, handing it to the man before him once the door closed behind him. Taking it, Aleksander pulled open the flap, pulling out the pages and skimming through the contents while Fio busied himself in dressing the wound on the heir’s shoulder. Quickly getting dressed, Aleksander stepped o