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DIEGO118Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNegI8Qv4dd
I used to love the library. The grand structure was such a wide expanse that it was easy to let it take me on adventures far from the real world. It was always a place of wonder and fascination for me as a child. But I’ve grown past my love of that room. No more far off adventures. No, now I spend my time doing what my father calls ‘productive things’.
Don Rafael seemed to think stories were too childish for an eight-year-old. When he burned my favorites to prove he was serious, I made sure to wear the impartial expression he taught me. But despite my best efforts, my heart burned with them.
I’ve learned to avoid becoming attached to things by now, but every once in a while I find myself back in the library. No matter how hard I try, it’s the one thing I just can’t seem to let go of. It’s like my feet know where I want to be the most, lost in one of my novels. Although no one uses the library anymore, you wouldn’t be able to tell; the army of maids keep the dust away. Even so, I always find some productive excuse for being there. Just in case he decides to burn the rest of the fiction. Which might just happen if a maid found me reading for pleasure.
The maids serve a double purpose, cleaning and spying. They are everywhere, easily blending into the background in any situation, all extremely eager to report anything useful back to my father, the great Don Rafael. Who knows? What one might find dismissible, he might find worthy of a raise. So they watch everyone, hear every conversation. This might be one of the largest estates in Italy, but you are never truly alone.
My skin tingles with a restless itch. An itch to be outside, and off the estate. The perfectly polished floors and sparkling diamond chandeliers mock me. I crave something new, exciting, and possibly a little risky. Something that just might impress my father, or deeply disappoint him. Although the great Don Raphael is rarely impressed by anything, whether it be rival boldness, or even his own son.
I know at least two people who would love to take me away from this place for a little while. If only to satisfy some of their own needs.
A quick text for them to meet me in the garage is all it takes to let them know we are leaving.
Mario and Luigi are the closest things to friends that I have. Really they would be better described as associates or colleagues. Most friends don’t get paid by the hour. At least I know what my father hired them to do. As if he didn’t already hire the very best assassins and weapons masters to teach me all they knew. As if the great Don Rafael would allow any weakness to blemish his only son. As if I was incapable of making friends on my own.
Come to think of it, there never was anyone my age at any of Papa’s ‘parties’. So perhaps I would be bad at it, if my father ever let me even try.
My footsteps echo an even beat in the long deserted hallway. The garage is actually in the opposite direction. Though I long to turn around and head towards it, I must face my Papa and tell him his only son will not be joining him for dinner today. I can already feel his disapproving look; it makes my skin crawl. No one, not even his son, rejects a dinner invite from the great Don Raphael without consequence. My absence could mean great dishonor to him depending on his guests. I’m sure he will let me skip this one if I’ve got a good enough reason. Perhaps a promising business deal will make him willing to part with me for an evening. I honestly don’t know why he even wants me there, it's not like there will be any conversation. At least not until after dinner. Papa prefers to do business over cigars, rather than dinner. It messes with his palette and he takes his spaghetti very seriously.
Within a few minutes I reach the elaborately carved mahogany doors. One of his assistants stands dutifully outside the door awaiting instruction. I nod at him and he gives a slight but respectful bow.
“How can I help you sir?”
“I wish to speak with Don Raphael.”
It's always best to stick to the point with those hired to serve. Another lesson learned the hard way.
“Wait here, I will inform him.” I nod in acknowledgement as he quietly opens the door and slips inside. He isn’t very long before returning with a reply.
“Your father is very busy right now, can I take a message?”
I’m not surprised at this at all, but something deep in my chest squeezes tighter at the news.
“You may tell him that due to a pressing business matter, I will not be able to join him for dinner tonight.”
The assistant simply nods at the news. Relief floods through me, though I must be careful that my posture does not change. I’m not particularly fond of his withering stare of disappointment.
Heading back down the hall I feel as if a weight has been lifted off of me. Now I must find a ‘pressing business matter’ to occupy my evening. Perhaps I’ll buy a business. Something new but with the promise to be very successful. Don Raphael is often telling me that when he was my age he owned an entire street in the heart of the tourist infested area of Rome.
Luigi is already waiting by the key rack by the time I enter the garage.
“Mario wants to take the red Ferrari,” he says, skipping formalities, “but personally I vote for the green Bugatti. Ultimately the choice is yours though, considering they are all your cars.” He stands up straight as I walk closer, brushing some nonexistent dust from his suit.
“I was actually thinking of taking the 1963 Corvette Stingray. We are going on a business venture, not a joy ride.”
“A business venture?” He raises an eyebrow as he turns and grabs the key from the hook with a flourish. “What kind of business venture?”
“I’m not quite sure yet.” I answer as we stroll towards the furthest corner of the garage where the sleek black Corvette sits proudly.
“Those are my favourite kind! There’s so much potential. Mario and I have been scouting a few places since the last incident. We can do a debrief on the way to grab a bite if you want.”
“Sounds good.” I reach for the passenger door handle. “Also, I need the both of you to stop calling them incidents, he just wants me to succeed.”
“Diego, seriously, your father shaming you for not achieving the impossible isn’t the road to success. We call them ‘incidents’ because that’s what they are. Every time your father disregards everything you have achieved and tells you that you're not good enough is an incident.”
“Watch your next words very carefully Luigi. Someone might think you’re revolting against the methods of the most powerful Don of the century. Talk like that will get your intestines plastered all over a wall. I’ve seen it happen before. Make sure you get that into your brother's head as well. Speaking of whom, when will he be joining us?”
“We’re going to pick him up on the way. Just let me send him a text to tell him we’re in the batmobile instead of the Ferrari.”
“This car is a vintage 1963 Corvette Stingray, a car that demands respect, you cannot defile it with such a ridiculous and childish title.” Luigi just laughs as he puts the car in gear. 118Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ59iRxGeqMK
