ALEKSANDER
Human mind is obtuse. And it is prideful. People often fallaciously believe they have control over their lives and that they are the masters of their own fates. They take steps and move in directions absurdly confident about the destination of the chosen path. And while the life humors them for a little while, it is quite amusing to look in the scintillating eyes slowly draining, going dull, going mute.
My fighting trainings started very early on in my life, well before any conscious thoughts formed. I used to like it at first, used to believe it to be normal. oh, but that was not it. The idea of being powerful, to be able to hold my own, was euphoric. I had seen what years of training could give, and I wanted to exude that air too. But mama was a small and petite woman, and she used to preach the backhanded morals like a goddamned gospel in my ears. Nevertheless, how very ironic! She was also that one to preach about fate, and the fucking thing chasing.
One day mama died, but the morals did not die with her. Now that euphoric air suffocated me, despite that I kept training. I kept returning to that ring, kept getting beaten until my opponent tired and then kept on hitting until I couldn't. It was not about the high anymore, that was my respite now. Be that as it may, the morals did not die. I never let myself be satisfied in that destruction. I induced myself with the thoughts of getting away, and conjured a castle in the air then.
When I was 13 years old, somehow I managed to land myself in an underground fight with the vicious of beasts. I do not remember every sound of the bones cracking, it was all very meteoric. My face was pummeled, eyelids bulging out half-shut, and lungs shrinking I struggled. I was tightening my hold on his hands, digging my nails on his arms while his fingers wrapped my throat, slowly dispelling the life out of me. Time slowed in those few seconds and I wondered if I should succumb, but then that castle. I wanted to see that castle.
And So I did what I did, I poked my finger in his eyes instead and bit his arm as his chokehold faltered, digging my teeth until I tasted blood, causing the man to stumble back, disorientated. The air rushed back in my lungs and I frantically looked for a weapon. While the man composed, I snatched a knife from fuck knows who and jammed it straight to his throat. The tip puncturing him was a weird thing, it was not smooth at all. As the knife punctured his flesh, it did not go all the way, with his wind pipe just a bit punctured. And I had to put all my strength for another push until it almost touched a bone, all the while his blood flowed heavily on my fist enclosed around the knife.
He coughed on my face, his spatters fell all over me and I exhaled heavily, my teeth clenched and focused on his glazing lost eyes. My shoulders slumped and an uncanny lightheadedness took over for a second while my frown settled as I twisted the knife in his throat. I registered an unbelievable calm and that's when my resolve hardened. I had to leave.
My predilection to have control over my life failed me miserably over the years though, rendering all my purposes worthless, palliating my affliction. And so in front of that door, it was time for me to give up; to abandon the castles in the air, the one with invigorating windy foyer, exquisite high ceilings and no gates. This was the time to close the fist around my shackles, swing it and annihilate. It was time for me now, to stop the absconding. It was time to let that demon take over and go downstream. This was the time to strangulate those already dissipating morals.
With my castle uprooted, I knocked on his office doors.
A few moments passed before my father's voice seemingly reverberated, beckoning me inside. I exhaled and pushed past the door walking inside and close it behind me.
He was settled on his chair, the back of the chair facing me as the cigar smoke permeated in the air.
From the time when I walked in this mansion after mama's death, there had been only a few moments I had actually looked up to him while he had his back turned to me. Michelle Vitelli was many things, a family man he was not. He was always a ridiculously ambiguous man. He was secretive, misleading, and rather dexterously exploitative. And as plenty obvious, he was ruthless. But that there, that man was now.... old. He was spent.
Mama used to tell me stories about their love, the light shined on her elated face and her eyes glimmered as she reminisced the man he probably never was. And While I was young, when I would look at him, I would often wonder. Why did she choose him? How could he be her castle?
"Papa", The crackling of the cigar ceased and he turned around a second later. His expressionless face came into my sight, he stayed silent while his eyes remained trained on my bashed face, his cigar still in his left hand, right in front of his mouth. 3.. 4... 5.... My face had been quite a spectacle that day, a harshly grown beard and untamable mane furnished split lips and torn skin.
He averted his gaze to the ash tray and flicked the cigar, "Aleksandar".
His unwavering voice resounded as my name rolled on his tongue. His normally resting face had the slightest hint of aggression. He was boring holes on my form in short time-scapes. His jaw had slightest twitch, and while it was not quite noticeable, I could tell because I had been focusing on all of him while he perpetually neglected all of me. His eyes were slightly widened behind his glasses, he was shocked too. Huh. His mouth fell open just a little as he silently assessed my detrimental state.
Huh, my destroyed body shouldn't have been a shock to him, he'd obviously seen worse. And besides, he would have expected that if he knew. He is not the man who had me rescued. He had no fucking idea.
With how everything had gone until that point, I kind of already knew. Interestingly though, I did not let that sink in earlier. What did it mean, I wondered.
It's funny how he still cannot look at me for much longer. One might start to assume wrongfully that he harbors remorse for how my life turned out, but I do not dwell on such preposterous thoughts anymore. This was not my first rodeo, been there a while, didn't end well.
"Prenderò il posto di te" (I will take over for you), his head snapped in my direction and his eyes narrowed a fraction, seemingly pausing all bodily functions, before he brought the cigar back to his mouth and took a large drag while he tried to comprehend the words that fell out of my mouth. 4... 5.... 6.... 7.
"Che bello! Direttamente al lavoro" (How nice! Straight to business) He grumbled while his eyebrows lifted slightly and he averted his eyes once again to the ash tray. "Capisco" (I see)
I took my steps forward to his desk. His gaze flickered to my limping body, but never stayed long enough. Good old papa.
"Dove eravate?" (Where were you?) That elicited a smile on my lips as I settled on the chair opposite him by his desk.
Dare I believe he cared about me? Fuck no. I knew better than to be delusional.
Unsatiated curiosity is a poison. My father had been overindulging himself in playing god all his life. 'Knowledge is power', he would say. 'Power is power' I once bit back, got thrown in a ring for that. Nevertheless, it is safe to say he looked very unsated with the miniscule information he had on my whereabouts, which is none, far as I gathered.
"Irrilevante" (Irrelevant), I did not give him anything. His head snapped up to me once again and he took in the smile tugging on my lips, his eyebrows raised.
"YOU will answer when I ask, BOY", his jaw ticked and he glared right in my eyes. I wanted to laugh at that. But I kept my eyes on his, smiling still as I kept him waiting. I was enjoying that.
Papa had an absurd belief that I feared him. I did never feel the need to correct him, and he never knew me enough to realize. In my defense, it would be comical for me to be afraid of the single man, who most probably didn't want me dead, at least until he believes I am like him. There were not enough of those.
"The boy might, The Don will not", his jaw visibly clenched, and his nose scrunched. I needed him to see himself in me.
"you are not Don ye..." He started.
"Really?" I cut him. "Deciditi, papà. Ora o mai più" (Make up you mind, Papa. It is now or never), One of his eyebrows jumped at that and his eyes narrowed as he contemplated what I was saying. He was bewildered. Good! 4... 5... 6... 7... 8... 9.
"Why?", he wavered, and he was now slowly believing I really wanted it.
"Again, Irrelevant"
"Cosa vuoi?" (What do you want?) Huh, I always pondered over his Ludacris demand that I take over, albeit his knowledge of my life choices. But fuck that.
"Da questo momento in poi, sarò il tuo Don" (From this moment on, I am your Don)
He hummed at that, frowning deep in thoughts, ridiculed by the idea of actually stepping down the ladder. I guess he never gave it a thought. That's right papa. That's right.
"Now, I have some place I have to be", he kept on glaring, continuing to comprehend what was happening. "Yes or no?", I placed my elbow on his desk, joining my fist and leaned on his desk, "It is now or never, Papa"
He kept thinking for a while and I exhaled taking my elbow back down preparing to get up, "You decided. Remember that"
"Bene" He slowly nodded while still eyeing me up. "Ma non funziona così" (but it doesn't work like that)
"Let me worry about that", I said as I stand from the chair. "and keep it to yourself until I say otherwise"
"And for how long?" His eyebrows raised incredulously, challenging me.
"As long as I need" I stare down to him, he scoffed. He glared in at my form, but refrained from asking any further. Conflict reflected in his eyes before he spoke.
"Are you trying fool me, boy? I am the Don", I smiled as I pressed my palm flat on his desk and leaned down, my face inches from his and I stared into his eyes.
"You are not, I am. Do not forget", I let that sink in as we stared into each other's eyes for the longest time and then I retreated. "As I said, I need somewhere to be, and I want you to keep your mouth shut until I tell you otherwise"
"The others need to accept it. Or this does not hold"
"The others do not have a choice." His face tilted slightly.
"Bene", he leaned back on his chair, resting the cigar in his mouth and taking a big drag before giving me a mock smirk.
My father had a precarious belief in my succession, that much was obvious, but he was nothing if not a patient man. Now it seems his patience has run thin.
And nonetheless, I shall deliver.