Written in Ink

Fourteen | Alonzo

"La cena è pronta maestro Napolitanis." Our chef states.

I step out of my bedroom, Reagan does as well, looking at me with a confused look. I forget she doesn't know Italian. But that's one of the rules. She isn't allowed to know it. She signed the rules stating that she cannot learn the language. My mother tried to study it and she got into trouble. She got the consequences handed to her. I don't understand why that document is in Italian. It's like she was set up to be punished.

"What did it say?" She asks me. Buchanon comes up behind her and stands at her side.

"It said that dinner is ready." I translate. "No one on this boat knows English other than you and I." I explain to her.

"Great." She rolls her eyes and starts to walk to the stairs to the dining room. I follow behind her along with Buchanon and Lorenzo. We get to the room where our plates are already set up. My chair is at the head of the table while Reagan's is at my side. She takes a seat where she is supposed to and the two dogs try to follow her and sit behind her but that isn't going to work.

"Fuori dalla sala da pranzo." I ordered them. They look at me and leave the room.
[Translation: Go outside of the dinning room.]

"Why do they have to leave?" Reagan questions with a judgmental tone in her voice.

"They can't sit in the dining room while we eat." I explain.

"But why?"

"Because." I snap.

She laughs. "Is that how you shut down every conversation?"

I scoff, beginning to get angry. "I do not have to explain myself." I inform her, clutching my fork.

"Okay." She laughs, looking at her food, starting to eat her meal. She seems hungry. Back home she hasn't eaten anything since before the wedding. I had noticed all the full plates the maids would bring back from her room. I'm happy she is eating. It means she is getting more comfortable here which will be easier in the long run. She is stuck here.

My mother absolutely hates my father. I do too. He is a rotten bastard that does nothing but torchure and torment my mother and I. And it's only a matter of time until he begins to harass Reagan as well. Not that I care about having a relationship personally, I know that it's better for my image. But I don't want her to live a miserable life like my mother does.

I eat my food in silence. I don't even know what to do with my day. Usually I am working until midnight before waking up at dawn to do it all again. Being a Don is exhausting but I have no other choice. This is how it'll be for as long as I live. Then my son will carry it on. It's just a never ending cycle.

When both of our plates are empty, we both stand up but instead of her walking down to her room, she picks up her plate and goes to walk to the kitchen. "That is their job." I state.

"Doesn't mean that I can't help." She counters, not even looking in my direction as she continues to pick up dishes.

I ignore her, walking away. It's past eight o'clock, so I just walk to the large lounge area, flipping on the television. I call out to the dogs and I hear them on their way. Soon after they are sitting in front of me relaxing.

I relax on the sofa, looking at random television channels. After about an hour, Reagan passed me with her wet hair done in two french braids, wearing sweats and fuzzy socks. She doesn't even acknowledge me. She does get Buchanon's attention. He followed her out onto the back deck. Through the glass doors I watch her take a seat on the circle sun bed. To my shock, I watch her tap the mattress and Buchanon jumps up, laying next to her. Reagan puts her arm around him, petting him gently.

Lorenzo looks at me with jealousy and I laugh. I'd rather them not be up on the furniture, but I tap the cushion beside me and he hops up, and lays down. I draped my arm over top his abdomen.

A couple hours go by and it's well past ten at night. Reagan still hasn't come back inside, but I'm sure she will be soon. I leave my spot on the couch, Lorenzo follows me into my room. Lorenzo hops onto his dog bed while I lay down onto mine. I look out the window to the outside back deck and see that Reagan is still laying outside. I can't tell if she is sleeping or not. But she is still out there. The temperature drops pretty low at night.

Reagan is all curled up and is big-spooning Buchanon, with her head leaning on a pillow. Beginning to get bored watching her, I turn on the other side and look at Lorenzo who is looking at me and just looks like he is judging me.

"Cos'è quello che cerchi?" I counter, asking what that look is for.

He dismisses my question, laying back down.

I sigh, laying on my back. My neck involuntarily turns to the right. My eyes subconsciously fall onto Reagan. She has to be cold. I'm chilled and I'm under blankets. I can't have a frozen wife. I grunt as I sit up and make my way to the back deck.

"It's getting cold. You should probably come inside." I inform her, poking my head through the door. She doesn't answer. "Reagan." I say louder. No answer. Panicked that she is unconscious from the cold, I rush to her bedside seeing that she is just sleeping. It's only eleven. That isn't that late.

Even Buchanon passed out. I put my hand on his head, shaking it lightly. He stirs awake. I motion for him to get off the bed and he does. I scoop Reagan up into my arms. Her head falls against my chest as I carry her into the inside of the boat. I bring her to her bedroom, setting her gently onto her bed. I pull the blankets over top of her chilled body before leaving. Buchanon looks between my bedroom door and hers.

"Va avanti." I motioned to Reagan's room, knowing he'd want to go there. He trots in happily. He jumps onto her bed, laying close to her.

I leave, shutting the door behind me, muttering a good night. 

Thoughts?