Golden early morning sun light made its descent upon the white tiles, and further onto the brick wall that stood high in front of me.
The silver butter knife in my tattooed palm was warm since I had been holding it for a long while now.
The house was quiet, except for the clock ticking away on the dining room wall. I counted the ticks, the seconds that passed that I spent staring at the ajar door in front of me and only when Eveline, my housekeeper entered, I blinked.
"Good morning, Mr Rossi," she said, her voice quiet and friendly. I inhaled deeply and leaned back as she stood at the corner of the table, her hands folded in front of her lap.
"Good morning, Eveline," I cleared my throat as she gave me a blank stare, and I knew what she was going to say even before she said it.
"Mr Rossi... the doctor said you needn't smoke anymore,"
I flickered my eyes to her as I tipped the cigarette, put it in the corner of my mouth and stood, "Well, Eveline. Fuck the doctor, yeah?"
She almost smiled, and bowed her head, "I'll be out late today, eh? Don't bother with dinner,"
"You must eat, Mr Rossi,"
"Ah," I droaned as I slipped into my blazer, "I'll get something on the way."
I walked out of my home and tossed the done cigarette onto the driveway. I drove out onto the cold, wet streets of London.
The ringing from my phone caught my attention after a while and I picked it up, and answered.
"Lucifer, where the fuck are you?"
I inhaled, and sighed, "Who the fuck do you think you're talking to, eh? I'm on my way, Vitterio,"
"No, you should've already been here, brother,"
"Oh, fuck off. Get off my ass,"
I heard him laugh deeply, "All right, well. Everyone's here already, just waiting for your sorry ass,"
"Sure. All right, I'm turning the corner now. Tell Freddie to wait outside," I ended the call and tossed the phone away, and ran a frustrated hand over my face.
Lord help me.
Today's the seventh of March and my mother's birthday. She's merely fifty three today, and I know for sure that she's somewhere in her humble kitchen, probably already wine drunk and complaining about her age.
I almost smiled at the thought.
Only now turning the corner, I parked the car in front of the small cottage and saw my brother and and cousin standing on the grass, smoking.
"Fucking finally," Vitterio mumbled, and I gave him a glare that he looked away from.
"Frederico," I said, and the short, dark haired man turned to me, and smiled. "How are you, then? You look well, cousin,"
YOU ARE READING
CAPITANO | BOOK ONE.General Fiction
A black, heavy cloud hung low above the man's bowed head, the skin between his eyebrows tight with concentration, and frustration. His large hand gripped the pen gently yet he wrote on the white lined paper aggressively, as if he was mad at it. On...