(Taylor ----->)

I silently watch the uniformed policemen keep the curious crowd at bay, sirens wailing in the background. People dressed in white overalls zip several black body bags shut and carry them off to awaiting black cars. I can't really believe it's over, that they are really gone and never coming back. When that sense finally kicks in, my knees buckle and I crash to the ground. I don't even feel the impact, I watch in horror as a guy in a white overall zip up the body bag containing several body parts of my beloved grandfather and father. I am just glad my little four year old brother Sylvester isn't here to witness this horrible event.       

My uncle Gordo squeezes my shoulders in an attempt to comfort me. I just don't see how that can comfort me since I lost everything to that freaking traitor Julian. This wasn't supposed to happen, the war with the rival family was over, so why do this now? "That antipatico Julian is responsible for this isn't he?" I growl out as I work myself back up, intent on following the black cars with the remains. Gordo sighed "You don't know that ragazzo. Why are you so intent on blaming him anyway?" I gritted my teeth as I turned back to dace him near my car "Who else would blow the house to pieces on my last week here? The war with the rival family is over and I don't think they have anything more to gain now the families are merged together as one." Gordo just sighed shaking his head as he slipped into the passenger seat of my Fiat 500.

The drive to the morgue was a silent one, the both of us stewing on our own thoughts. Mine were focused on taking care of the funeral, contacting the family, making funeral arrangements, the church priest, and so on. We were shown through immediately on arrival, following some guy down white halls, through double doors until we reached the place where they were laid on a gurney still in the body bag. Papà was first; he had a frightened expression on his face, like he couldn't believe it. He was more intact than my grandfather, who apparently was standing closer to the place where the bomb went off than my dad. As they opened the second bag, I barely managed to keep the bile rising in my throat. They only managed to recover some body parts like his head, torso, arms and one leg.  I checked his hands for his rings, grandfather had only one ring since he stepped down and my father rose up to lead. But it wasn't there; my grandfather's hands were bare. 

"THAT piccolo cagna stole amato nonno's wedding ring!" Gordo was at my side within a second, staring at grandfather's bare hands. "Quell'idiota!" That was the first time I heard my laid back uncle Gordo curse Julian to hell and back. The on duty medical examiner looked at me with sympathy "They are your grandfather and father?" I nodded as he scribbled something on his clipboard. The rest was all a blur to me; I only remember standing there at the church as I stared at the two closed caskets at the front. I could hear family members and friends wail on the background, right there I promised myself to find the one responsible and make them pay in blood. Nobody gets away scot-free with messing with my family. 

That's a promise, a promise I will honour even if it kills me.

Returning back to the US was a little less happily than I originally planned. Sylvester was glad to see me of course, he was always happy to see me. He should, he is my little brother after al. I am just glad that dad agreed to send him back a week before, and not on the same time as me, something Sylvester protested against. He was a big boy now; he could go home with his older brother. He was a little depressed as the news about dad not coming home ever again. He didn't really get it, so he was smiling and happily doing things little four year old boys did not much later. 

Since my father's death a mere week ago, my mother Cecilia decided to run off with her current boy toy and leave me and my brother in uncle Gordo and aunt Meredith's care.  I didn't mind, they were good for us, and took very good care of little Syl. "What's wrong piccolo uomo?" I asked as Syl entered my room clutching his favourite blanket and stuffed toy. "Can't sleep fratello, there's a big bad monster in my closet." I put away the book I was reading and made space on my king sized bed for him "Come here piccolo uomo, you can stay here." I was puzzled why he was still hovering in the door way. What is wrong with him? He usually jumps at the chance to sleep in my bed. "I-I- we-wet t-the b-bed t-too fra-fratello." He looked down to the floor in shame.

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