The Young Sky’s Grief

            A pair of deep blue eyes peeked out from the small opening on the door. His eyes shone with worry and anxiety. He felt something wrong was going to happen. His intuition was kicking in.

            “…Do you really have to go…?”

            He heard his mother ask.

            “I’m sorry, dear, but orders from the boss are final…”

            His father replied with a small chuckle. His breath hitched as he heard the tone of his father’s voice. He immediately knew that even his father knew that something wrong was going to happen.

            “I can’t stop you there. The boss’ words are final… So please… just stay safe… For Giotto, and me. Please promise me to be careful of the Morte Family”

            He could imagine his father cringe inwardly.

            He could feel his own eyes water

 It was only a mere second, but Giotto could sense his father’s guilt. And he immediately knew that his father was never coming back.

            “I will…”

            It was a lie. A damn lie.

            He couldn’t take it anymore. His chest was constricting, and he felt his heart clench. Giotto ran towards his room, and threw himself on his bed. He clutched the white sheets and buried his head on the pillow.

            Why? Why did his father lie? Did he want his mother to not worry? So, why? Why? Why? Why?!

            He pretended to sleep as he felt someone enter the room. He felt a warm calloused hand pat him on the head.

            “I’m sorry Giotto. I’m a bad father…Please take care of your mother, for me”

            No, he wanted to tell him. Don’t go, he wanted to beg him. But he could not move, even as he no longer felt his father’s warm hands.

            How was he supposed to grow up without a father?

            Time seemed to be against him, for as he opened his eyes once again, it was already morning. He looked outside the window and saw the dark sky. He heard the pitter-patter of the rain. He felt the cold wind, entering his room through the open window.

            It was an omen.

            With his hands clenched into fists, Giotto swiftly walked to the living room. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the distressed features of his mother.

            Her hair was in disarray. Her face was pale white. Her eyes were watery, and he could see streak of tears flowing down her cheeks. And she was trembling.

            In front of her were a bunch of men – each of them wearing black suits. Each of them wore the usual poker face that every Mafiosi had mastered.

            Even an idiot could detect the tension in the air.

            “Mamma…?” he called out, barely a whisper.

            His mother wiped away the tears streaming down her cheeks, with her sleeve. “A-ah… Giotto, you’re up already?” she smiled at him, ever-so slightly.

            He managed to smile back, even though it was fake, “Si”, he nodded. He didn’t want to ask what was wrong. He didn’t want to face reality. Please, he begged God even though he wasn’t born as a practicing Catholic. He wished he was wrong. Even though he knew he was right.

            “Giotto, caro, can you please come here for a while…?” his mother asked, motioning him to seat beside her.

            “Si, Mamma”, he muttered under his breath before proceeding to his mother’s side in an instant.

            “These men, have something to tell you”, she whispered.

            “A-ah, Si, Grazie signora”, Giotto felt the uneasiness in the man’s tone of voice. “You are Giotto, correct?” he inquired as if delaying the real conversation.

            “Si, sono io”, he nodded.

            “I’m sorry to bring this down to you but –“

            Giotto’s mind was screaming. No, don’t say it! Please! Padre onnipotente, please don’t let them say it! He was still in denial.

            “—your father… I’m sorry to say… is dead”

            Outside the house, the sky was enveloped in darkness. Rain fell down on the earth. And it seemed as if the sky was crying.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            A pair of cerulean eyes snapped wide open.

            Giotto, now eighteen, sat up straight. He sighed and brushed his spiky blonde hair with his right hand.

            Giotto grew up to be a smart and charming man. Even without the guidance of his father, he grew up to be well-admired by many. But he, too, became involved in the mafia like his father.

He started out as an underground informant, using his skills to gain access to the resources of other families, for a fair price, that is.

            Of course the road he had gone to had its fair share traps.

            He could count a million moments, he nearly died. He could name a thousand people who died because of him. He could remember hundreds of times he had to dirty his hands.  He could remember the faces of dozens of traitors he had faced.

            He knew that he was already corrupted. That he had signed a contract with the devil. That he could no longer turn his back on the path he had chosen.

            I’m sorry, dad. He thought, as he watched the fleeting clouds, painted on the blue sky. I grew up to be a filthy murderer.  

            He looked at his watch. It was already noon, and he had to finish one of his paintings by tomorrow noon. Giotto nearly groaned. Being a painter and mafia-informant was indeed tiring.

            He had deadlines to keep. Both in the normal world, and the underground world, sometimes he wondered what the hell possessed him to become a painter.

            Someday, I’ll die because of fatigue, he thought with a chuckle, If not, due to the Mafia fiasco.

            “Signore Giotto! Signore Giotto!” a voice cried, interrupting his train of thoughts.

            “Is something wrong, Alejandro?” Giotto asked, staring at the young Spanish-Italian man that rushed in front of him. He could sense the anxiousness at the young man’s tone. “Did something wrong happen?” he inquired.

            “An odd man, with dozens of men with him, wants to see you”, Alejandro said furrowing his brows worriedly. “He said to tell you that he wanted to buy a special painting from you. Something that involved –erm, what did he say again…”

            Giotto stood up, and picked up his utensils. “Is it about: ‘Il cielo ha bisogno di aiuto’, right?”   

            “R-right”, Alejandro bobbed his head up and down. “H-he’s down in the town inn”

            “Grazie, Alejandro”, he chuckled as he saw the worried look from the young man. With a devious smirk planted on his lips, he flicked a finger on Alejandro’s forehead. “If you keep making that face, you’ll grow wrinkles”, he teased.

            “I-I’m just worried Signore!” Alejandro exclaimed. “T-they look like they’re involved with – pardon me, if I may seem rude – the Mafia”.

            Giotto nearly froze in shock. The young man was near the truth, and he probably didn’t know it. “Don’t worry, Alejandro. I’m not involved in anything… dangerous”, he chose his words carefully, not wanting to give the young man a hint of what his real job was.

            “You swear?” Alejandro asked.

            Giotto had already mastered how to lie smoothly. “I swear with all my life”, he said deviously mocking a bow.

            “Fine. I believe you, signore”, Alejandro sighed, shaking his head at Giotto’s childish antics. Even though he was already eighteen, Giotto still behaved like a child. “Just be wary of them”.

            “I will”, Giotto called out, halfway through the road.

            Alejandro blinked twice. He didn’t even notice his friend leave.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            “It’s been a while, Giotto”, a twenty-three year old Sicilian with smooth light brown hair, and emerald eyes, greeted the young painter with a smile, offering his hand for a handshake.

            “Indeed, it has, Aldo”, Giotto smiled at his old friend, accepting the hand and shaking Aldo’s.

            “Did you get my message?” Aldo asked, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

            “Yes”, Giotto turned serious all of a sudden. “But I think this is not the place to talk about it”.

            “I agree”, Aldo nodded, also turning serious. “I think it will be better if you come with us”, he stated before he stood up from his seat. “Antonio is waiting with the carriage, just outside the inn”.

            The pair left the inn. Both entered the carriage where they sat opposite of each other.

            “On to business, shall we?” Aldo offered, leaning back on his seat.

            “What information do you need, Aldo?” Giotto asked.

            “No, no”, Aldo shook his head. “I already have enough information on my target. I already gained the information that I need”.

            “Then, pray tell, why you called me here”, the cerulean eyed man said in an irked tone. “I doubt that this is only a reunion”.

            “I could never hide anything from you, can I, dear friend?” Aldo managed to smile. He waited a few seconds, before continuing. “We need you to befriend a young Mafioso with a great potential. He has hidden his name quite clearly, but most people call him ‘General’ because of his great tactics”.

            “And what makes you think I can do that?” Giotto asked.

            Aldo chuckled, “You, my friend, are the only person that I know, could defy odds. I know you can succeed in acts where many have failed. My dear friend, you are a miracle-worker. Sometimes I wonder why you haven’t even started your own cosca…”

            “I’m unfit for a boss, Aldo, stop joking”, Giotto shook his head.

            That, my friend, is where you are wrong, Aldo thought with a knowing smile on his lips. You only need to gain the loyalty of others.  

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Next Chapter: The Storm’s Loyalty

Preview:

The General blinked twice. Did this man address him as…G?! He was not a single letter from the alphabet. He was the General – the General.

Word Count: 1,587

A Matter of Trust

            You can never escape the Mafia.

Some even say that even in death you would continue to suffer from the Mafia. Your corrupted soul would burn and rot in hell.

For once you are plunged in the underground world you could never get out, since you have already ‘signed’ a contract with the devil himself. This is one of the unwritten laws in the Mafia World.

            The story I am about to tell you is about a man who defied all odds. A man great enough for people to like him, and at the same time, hate him. A man who escaped the Mafia World. A man shrouded with a lot of mysteries, yet unlocked.

A man named Giotto, the founder of the most powerful family in the underground world. The founder of the Vongola Family.

To be continued....

Non fanfic related:
I'm looking for the translation of this Russian [spiritual] song entitled "Kol Slaven" or "How Glorious" I just want the meaning of the lyrics ^_^ even though I know it's a spiritual song...

 

COMPLETE VONGOLA RINGS

• Vongola Rain Ring
• Vongola Sun Ring
• Vongola Mist Ring

• Vongola Storm Ring
• Vongola Lightning Ring
• Vongola Cloud Ring

• Vongola Sky Ring