Set Voland--a homeless young man who attacked a child in the midst of hallucinations--has been caught by the police and sent to a psychiatric hospital. There, he's stricken by a meeting with a Shining White Being who will completely overturn his lif...
THE DEMON SAID: "BEHIND THEE, THE HOUND IS DRESSED TO KILL."
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"You are the only one standing in your way
Just take a breath, relax (...)
Stand up, life is too damn short
That clock is ticking."
Why Worry, Set It Off.
Set walked straight into Cafe Palermo, earning dubious glances from some of the customers. He dismissed them with a dirty look, raised his chin and headed to the small corridor next to the counter, then he walked past the toilet entrance on the left side and reached for the back door. Once in the storeroom, he shut the door and sat at the tiny table placed under the stairs that led to Vito's private flat on the first floor. A few minutes later, the man greeted him with a broad smile.
"Ciao tostu!* It's been a while since you last came mooching off of me, I was starting to worry." Vito served him a cup of steaming hot black coffee, some Sicilian cookies called reginelle and a glass of chilled water.
Set peeled his eyes away from the bunch of perfectly baked sweets, covered in sesame seeds. "Ciau, Vito. Comu stai*?" he replied in his butchering of the Sicilian language.
"Please, spare me. Your accent is terrible. Just give it up already!" Vito burst out in a joyous laughter and his hand raised to pat Set's head.
Set recoiled against the backrest, barely managing to avoid his touch. Conscious of his blunder, Vito withdrew his hand and took a step back, but his smile remained in place.
The cafe's owner was a slender man in his fifties, with a wide jaw, a thick nose, and dark, keen eyes. Something about his face reminded people of Robert De Niro. Over the past few months, his hair had gone back to natural shades of gray that matched the stubble on his chin. Apparently, he'd given up the fight to conceal his age, but he was good-looking enough to get a young girlfriend if he wanted to. Set had forgotten the name of Vito's birthplace–somewhere in Sicily–but he did remember how they'd met.
Almost a year before, he'd wandered around Palermo's backdoor, the one that led to the alley. Set was looking for something to eat and Isaac was nowhere to be found. Since he'd just moved to the city, he didn't know anybody else. Set was so desperate that, when Vito had shown up holding bags full of garbage, he'd offered to take care of it, hoping for something in return. Vito had gladly accepted his help. He'd asked Set to do it every day and then had brought him sandwiches and coffee.
Later, the barista told Set he reminded him of his younger self. Back in Italy, Vito's family belonged to Cosa Nostra—the Sicilian mafia—and he just couldn't stand it. By the time he had reached Set's age, he had run off. When he'd arrived in New York, he'd been nobody and had done anything to get out of that misery. If it wasn't for the people who had helped him back then, especially his wife, he might've ended up on the street as well.
