Ercole couldn't ignore the blossoming feeling in his chest as the airplane touched down in Doha, Qatar. He was an array of muddled emotions, but he couldn't deny that he had dearly missed this country. He made his way through the bustling crowds in the airport, picking up the strings of conversations in Arabic from here and there before he remembered that he could also speak the beautiful language and better yet understand it. Ercole smiled to himself, excited just by the prospect of being back here, the place he had called home for many years. It was more of a home to him than Italy. He must have forgotten just how breathtaking the land truly was, most definitely on his taxi ride to his father's house, they passed by Katara mosque, standing as grand as he last laid eyes on it. Its historical lines and arches were striking, even through the test of time it remained poised and graceful.
Although the eye - catching wonders of Doha seemed to have slightly lulled the violent tremor in his chest, he still couldn't help but heed the foreboding feeling, for he would be seeing his father after a long time. The stony man with a rough - hewn face, not the slightest bit approachable even to his own children. Ercole silently prayed as he emerged from the taxi, praying his arrival would not turn out to be futile, and that Warsame's worries were only a tender gesture for his well-being.
His sweaty palmed anxiousness grew as he approached the doorman, lazily holding guard at the doorway. The man straightened before him then expertly swung open the heavy gold rimmed door with a curt nod and a clipped 'welcome Sir'. Ercole. returned a small grin with a Salam then made his way in.
The first floor looked to be a reception, extravagant and docked up with the most finest pieces of the world and a receptionist perched at the front desk. The vixen like woman had a wide grin spread across her rouge painted lips, ogling coquettishly at her employer's son, clearly giving him the keen eye as Ercole strode past her to the elevator.
"Uh- Sir, you must state your business," She called out to him, raising her manicured hand in the air in a little wave.
Captive to thoughts as much as the sea's foam, Ercole turned back to eye her cautiously. He recognised her, she'd been working here for the past two years or so, she must've known exactly who he was - and yet Ercole couldn't quite tell whether she was jesting or not.
"Ercole Rossi." He clarified before her cheeks pinked in embarrassment. Perhaps she didn't recognise him, Ercole hasn't lived here since before he began working with Warsame.
"My apologies Mr Ercole Rossi, please continue."She squeaked.
Ercole nodded in acknowledgement before entering the elevator. Every step closer he took to the door of his father's penthouse, sounded heavy, like drums thumping the ground so loudly they resounded in his ears and shook the walls of his within his head. It wasn't just about seeing his father anymore, he would be seeing his step siblings also. The ones he hadn't seen since he left their home city of Turin as soon as he entered his twenties. His estranged step siblings, who harboured a deep distaste towards him for reasons he couldn't fathom. To them Ercole was always the tolerated and never loved, their father's 'love child' as they liked to call him, even though he was born through the holy matrimony of his parents.
Ercole shakily raised his finger to ring the suburban doorbell. The twine of the bell remained in his ears, the ringing stretching out into a jarring beep every inch the door opened and when it finally did open his eldest step sister quietly scrutinised him from the other side. She stared at him, then stared some more before raising a singular eyebrow. "Entra allora." She instructed, stepping aside to let him in.
Ercole slowly registered where he was, why he came and what he needed to do with an awkward lopsided grin before he entered the abode. He gave his step sister an airy kiss on both cheek out of formality and received a stiff hug from her end.
"Lisa." He acknowledged, taking his shoes off in the cloak area behind a wall next to the front door.
"Papa is resting in his room, the others are in the drawing room." She stiffly informed, rubbing her nails on her palms, a habit she had been accustomed to ever since she was just a girl. Lisa was the eldest, the smartest when it came to academics, the one who her younger siblings conveyed all their worries to, and the most coldest when it came to accepting her step brother into their close knit family. She was the spitting image of her mother, from the stark brown hair, to the straight bridged nose that slightly flared at the tip, down to the coffee brown eyes and the heart shaped lips that refused to form anything but a frown. Even her supposed smiles were downturned and brief, and to think his other two step brother and sister went to her for solace.
Perhaps it was because she never spoke more than three sentences, rather she was always a keen and exceptional listener.
Since this place was once his home, Ercole found his way to the washroom. He quickly washed his hands and face, the icy water feeling like a refreshing balm on his skin and ironically only one person could come to mind to what it reminded him of. Those thoughts were quickly shaken off with the droplets of water that still cling to his fingers and cheeks. Ercole dried off, and with one last look at his disheveled state in the mirror, he walked out of the bathroom to greet the rest of his siblings and their boisterous children.
Lisa, Sofia and Francesco, had all greeted him rigidly, though it came to no surprise to Ercole. The only ones who would bring a genuine smile to his stoic face was their children, the most ridiculously hilarious and the most sweetest little kids on earth. It's as if they seemed to have sensed the thick tension in the air and sliced it solely with their purity and smiles and laughter. The only ones who held no ill prejudice or ask questions about their alienated uncle who they only saw scarcely throughout the years. He adored each and every one of them. The four joys of the world. With two teethed Elizabeta the youngest out of her cousins, attached to his hip, Ercole strode into his father's bedroom with a little comfort on his side. She was as calm as a flowing stream, and didn't stir at the thundering sound of his nervous heartbeats, instead she soothed him with her quiet coos and peaceful sighs against his shoulder.
"Padre?" Ercole called out, standing exactly five feet away from the bed post and looking lost in the vast bedroom. His father laid flat on his bed, tucked in and sickly. The olive tone to his skin had faded into a sickly grey, and as Ercole inched closer he noticed the warm pink undertone that had always been present in his cheeks and nose had completely disappeared. A small gasp tore his lips open. Ercole was ripped by guilt, worry and fear simply looking upon his father for all this time he had thought the great Marco Rossi had come up with some absurd excuse to bring his 'delinquent' son home and settled.
His heart ached when paled fingers reached out to grab the sheets tucked into his sides and pulled them free with little to no strength. Ercole quickly placed the baby in Lisa, her mother's arms, as he helped his father sit up on his elevated pillows, hacking violently into the nook of his arm.
"You came." Marco Rossi stated as if he couldn't believe his eyes, a barely noticeable grin touched his cracked lips as he gestured Ercole to sit by him with a pat on the bed. "Sit, we have many things to discuss." He added before the air thickened to wrap around Ercole's neck and choke him breathless.
"You need rest Papa-" Ercole started only to be cut off by a sharp glare and a weak tut from the old man.
"The rest can leave the room." He directed to his other offspring that lounged by his bed in chairs or on the plush carpet, the three of them watching in silence before exchanging perplexed looks and showed themselves out of the room with no argument. Once they left, Mr Rossi turned to his son in wonder, gazing at him with what felt like adore, or rather that's what Ercole tried to convince himself of, but it just wouldn't register in his brain. For someone who had been searching for that exact type of recognition from his father, he had quite the hard time believing the look in those steely grey eyes.
Nevertheless, Mr Rossi raked his eyes over the lengthy brown tresses on Ercole's head and simply stated, "You grew out your hair." That brought Ercole's hands wandering to the nape of his neck where the soft tresses ended. Then his eyes swept over Ercole's exposed biceps and let out a weak chuckle, "And you've tanned." Ercole followed the tired eyes, and in fact his skin went from a dull beige to a striking cool bronze "The Somali sun, I see." He remarked, bringing a small grin to his son's lips for it did bring him more than justice, it gave him happiness and everything his heart craved. It brought him long awaited peace, freedom and best of all, it gave him love. "You've gained some weight too." Mr Rossi continued to observe.
"I was fed well." Said Ercole with a nod. It'd been only a few hours since he left and his stomach already grumbled terribly for those hearty dinners.
"I see." His father grumbled with an pending cough building up in his chest, and shortly after he painfully released it into a square cloth. Ercole, afraid he would cough up his lungs, offered the cup of water that sat forgotten on his night top.
"I think you should rest now papa, it's late." Ercole eased up, but a small tut caused him to ease back down, uncertain of what exactly his father wished to tell him. All he did until now, was awkwardly stare and give a few curt replies. "A flu in the summer." Ercole didn't question, he stated, and yet the fear continued to spread throughout his body. This was no flu or cold, it was something much more dire, something heart - wrenching. He braced himself against the possibility.
At that statement, Mr Rossi laughed loudly. "Try lung cancer," He casually told him, laying back down on his fluffed pillows.
Ercole shot out of his position, his eyes wide and wild. "W-what...How?" He stammered, grabbing a fistful of his hair from the front before he hastily smoothed it over.
"It's at its last stage. I remember when the doctor informed me a couple of years back, told me to quit smoking and maybe I'd have a shot at long life. It was small then, barely even the size of my fist, but I let it fester, I nurtured it because I was too stubborn to listen. I've been smoking since before adolescence, son," Mr Rossi explained, sighing as he eased further down. Sleep began to drag his eyelids south from the view of his distressed son. "I want to talk some more, I have so much to tell you, so much you need to know," His thick voice drawled, but his vision was blurry, his head cloudy and his voice carried an unusual twang. His evening medication was taking effect at the worst possible time.
Ercole stared at his father bewildered, watching him sigh out another deep breath. How could he be so calm in his speech, in his demeanour, as if he wasn't staring death in the face, as if God wasn't waiting for his timely return.
Ercole now standing, turned to leave so his father could sleep in peace, trudging closer to the door with a heavier heart than before until a slower and out of pace murmur stopped him in his tracks.
"You look well, my son."
...
Okay so to avoid confusion this is set a month prior from the last chapter. So in this chapter it's still June and for the next like two chapters the story will mostly follow Ercole.
"Entra allora"- Come in then