This is a story inspired by one of my characters in my 1x1 writing - "Stories of Little Italy"
Those were the very last words of Gianluigi Corleone, the esteemed and respected Don of the Corleone Family, before the old and sick man closed his eyes. Forever. Leaving his long lost grandson Lorenzo sitting by his bed, still holding the old mans hand, having revealed a truth that had been kept from him all his life.
Lorenzo closed his eyes, lifting the dead mans hand to his lips, kissing the golden ring as last sign of respect, crossing himself while murmuring a prayer, fighting the tears that threatened to well up. But were it tears of sorrow, drawn forth by a deep, innate
fidelity - or tears of sheer rage and disgust?
Sorrow for having lost the beloved man too soon. The man that taught him so much the past year, who offered his wisdom, his insight.
Fidelity because in a word of betrayal it was the only thing left of value. Rage because of a secret that was almost taken to the grave, lost forever. But now it was all on the table. No more secrets. No more lies.
This was almost a year ago.But - could a mere year wash away the lust for vengeance, the desire to see blood? The shame and the degradation? Hardly. Passion was as much a part of Lorenzo as was his determination, this deeply rooted desire to bring honour and pride to the only thing that mattered: Family.
'Do not hate them, Lorenzo. Never hate your enemies. It will make you blind to your true goal. Do not hate, Lorenzo. Make them fear you, show them who you are. Show them what a true Corleone is capable of. Little is more dangerous than the wrath of a Sicilian. Never forget that.'And he never forgot his grandfathers words. Quite the contrary. It was those words echoing in his mind which brought him to the point where everything
culminated.
The time would come when they would see what their treachery will earn them.
'They sow the wind and reap the whirlwind.' - that was written in the Holy Bible already. Eye for an eye, and all this. He will make them pay. And if it would be the last thing he would do.
Time turned his anger into a burning desire for revenge. Revenge for what his own father -the man he had trusted with his life- kept from him all those years. The very same man who watched when Lorenzo gave his loyalty to the wrong people, when he offered to protect them with his life, his blood. And the very same man who watched when Lorenzo married the Don's only daughter.
He was a Corleone. A direct descendant of the honourable Gianlugi Corleone, no less. His family was right up with the other great names in Sicily. And his own father denied Lorenzo what was his. What should have been his from the moment he was born. His blood. His birthright. And, most of all, his father denied him his honour. And there was nothing more important than honor for Lorenzo. Right now, he was without it, devoting his skills, his life and his blood to a family that did not deserve it. He shared his bed with a woman that did not deserve it to give birth to his children. Bastards they would be, nothing else. Others would be tempted to fall into
tristful notions - but Lorenzo was all but.
Over two decades Lorenzo had spent - no, wasted on those Milan bastards. He had killed for them for gods sake, and there was hardly any other Hitman that was more skilled than Lorenzo, even if he never quite liked that name. Hitman. Killing was art for him, because he made it art. Not just a damn job. Not once he had failed on a mission, not once a target got away with their lives.
'Never take another mans life for no cause, do not sin against your firm beliefs, my son. Take it because it has to be done, because you give it a cause. Eye for an eye, Lorenzo.'Rain was pouring outside, distorting the skyline of Manhattan into an almost Dystopian beauty. Heavy drops hitting the window while Lorenzo looked out into the darkness, standing by the huge, almost Victorian styled window in the living room of this no doubt exquisite home. Too bad its owner wouldn't ever see it again, the damn rat. The gun in his hand, still, the body behind him still warm, hunched over the dinner table, lifeless eyes staring at him, almost as if to accuse him 'What have you done?'. The exquisite cutlery and porcelain plates sprinkled with dark crimson stains. It almost had something... poetic. Droplets of blood falling down -almost in slow motion- from the edge of the oaken table, down on the expensive, handmade carpet. Another life he had taken - for the wrong man. While the cause itself was honourable, the source wasn't. He had turned his head, looking over a shoulder to the dead man still sitting in his chair, and he smirked, ever so slowly. Oh yes, this was fucking art. The whole scenery looked like a painting.
"One day, Angelo. It will be you, with a bullet in your fucking skull. My bullet. I swear, by God, by the Madonna, by the name of my family."And while the rush of adrenaline was still bumping through his veins, giving him a high that was almost better than fucking, he felt cheap. He shouldn't, and he knew it. Lorenzo was a lot, but he certainly was not cheap. His remarkable skill, his passion for the hunt and the kill was legendary in town, and it earned him quite the reputation. People feared him, but, lately, Lorenzo was afraid of himself. Of what became of him. Of what he allowed those bastards to turn him into. A fucking lapdog for Angelo, his father-in-law. That's what he was.
He should put the gun against his own head and pull the trigger, end the shame, once and for all. But, no - he was not the one who brought shame to his name. Instead, he should be the one correcting it. All it took was a plan.
'There are just two things that cannot be influenced: Fate and Heritage. But you have a bearing on the outcome. Do what has to be done.'As of late, Lorenzo had to think about this one man, close like a brother. He loved him, with all his heart. They had been friends. No, they had been like brothers, long ago. They grew up together, laughed, fought and cried together. All the things that forge a strong bond between young, aspiring men, believing the world to be theirs for the taking. Time and fate were cruel, though. Things changed, and now nothing of that was left. Hostility where it shouldn't be, reproaches and resentments. Now, this very man was a worthy opponent. One of the few. But it was just this man Lorenzo had to reach, if he wanted his plan to work. It had to work, because he only would have this one chance. They will call him a traitor, a shame for the famigila. But there was nothing Lorenzo could do. He had to heed the call of his blood, he had to set things right, to bring honour to himself, to his only true family.
Just. One. More. Job.
One more. Then it had to end, before he couldn't look at himself in a mirror anymore. It had gotten harder, as of late, to look at himself without feeling ashamed. He knew that it wouldn't take long for his father-in-law having a new assignment for him. Assignment. Nice, hm? Had something. Considered the current threats, the Sicilian family in town taking over one block after the other? No, it was merely a matter of days. Either way, Lorenzo knew that this time it had to be a message. Not one for Angelo, not one for those considered enemy. Oh no. This time it had to be personal. A message they would understand. Unmistakably so. It was the only way. His only chance.
All cards were on the table. There was no turning back. And the assignment came. Lorenzo knew that the time had come to turn his back to what had been his life. To the woman he had married. To everything he thought was family. But it had to be done. And this time it will be bloody. Dirty. If he would go, then with a fucking firework.
God may have mercy on the soul of the man who's life was taken. Left behind for all to see, in this Pizzeria in Little Italy. One that belonged to the Sicilian mob, no less. The Sicilian Lord would reel, and, with some luck (and luck was something Lorenzo needed right now in abundance), his lost brother as well. If anyone, than he would understand that message. Loud and clear because it was not Lorenzo's style, to leave such a mess behind. What he had done - was overkill. On purpose. Killing was art, for gods sake, but this... this had not been art. A mess, that's what it was. But, killing also was a message, sometimes. This time, for sure.
'Be faithful, devout and strong in your beliefs, Lorenzo. A true Corleone, and God the Allmighty will guide you on your way, always.'All he could do now was pray. For guidance, for fate to be on his side, for God's mercy, or his message to be heard. Or else, it would be his head with a gun to it sooner or later and he will not die from a Sicilian bullet. Not he. Not a Corleone. There would be war, soon.
And praying he did. The whole night, with all the fierce passion and devotion his heart held.
And when the night turned into day, Lorenzo waited in the only place he knew his old friend would find him. Still praying, begging God for guidance. And sometimes, just sometimes, prayers will be heard. And answered. There were only two ways this could go from here. He either would get a bullet in his head -either by his father-in-law for even thinking of turning his back to him, or by the Sicilians- or end up on the side he should be. Lorenzo was in this business for too long, to not know the consequences, and the only punishment for treachery.
A man has to do what he felt was right. Lorenzo did the only right thing, with the help of his oldest, best friend.
He pledged to the Sicilian Lord, offering him the only things that were of worth to a man like that: His loyalty, his blood and his life. Not selling himself, because a Corleone never would do such a thing. Just - giving himself to those considered family. And sometimes, family was a lot more than blood-relation. It was a question of heritage, of disposition. He knew that he would be at home. Finally.
Taking revenge on those having lied to him, those that turned his life into a farce. Making his father pay for the treachery, the lies.
Correcting mistakes. Taking new vows.
And the only thing left when he would be done - will be blood on the ground.
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