Potere | Book II ✓

xxv | fire on fire

xxv | fire on fire

a/n: sorry for the wait i was sad

pls accept my apology w/ the longest chapter i've ever written.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

There's a lot more to Giovanni Marcello Esposito than I ever would've expected.  He's an excellent conversationalist, able to drift from one topic to another without much thought.  He's well versed in nearly every subject.  He knows when to listen, when to offer advice, and when to carry the conversation on his shoulders.

He wasn't lying when he stated earlier that he preferred books over movies.  He stayed on the topic of books the longest, quoting many of his favorites with surprising ease.  And by the time we pulled up to the location in which Dominic had been trailed to a few nights before, I had conclude that Giovanni was one of the most versatile people I know.

But our conversation comes to an abrupt end when my heart sinks at the sight of the rundown building, located in one of the not-so finer Los Angeles neighborhoods.  The difference between the large, luxurious mansion we just left that resides on the prettiest of acreage and this, dare I say, apartment building is staggering—but it's also a great visual of just how far Dominic James Santiago has fallen.

We make our way up the crooked steps quickly and enter, only to discover that the inside of the building is equally—if not worse—than the outside.  The air inside is thick, laced with the smell of mold and a hint of smoke. 

We meet the eyes of many as we wander down the narrow hall.  I see frail women with a hint of sadness in their eyes as they lean against the doorways leading to their rooms.  I see skinny men, huddled in small groups, staring Giovanni and I down as we pass.  Others sit on the stained carpet below, legs blocking the walkway, watching us carefully.

They're all different.  They all come from different background, different backstories, different races and ethnicities.  But they're all the same, for one reason and one reason alone.

Addiction holds them all hostage.

I feel Gio rest a hand on the small of my back as I rest a foot on the stairwell that leads to the second floor.  I hardly feel it, my attention on the litany of people that line the stairwell we plan to ascend. Gio offers a gentle, but much needed nudge forward and with that we climb the stairwell.  Men and women lean on either side, their conversations falling to a whisper as we near.  A man lies sprawled on a step, unconscious, forcing the two of us to step over him.  Nobody else appears worried. 

"You're quiet," Giovanni notices.

We hit the landing of the second floor, and I turn around.  A sympathetic look crosses his face as our eyes meet.  I drop my gaze from his, only to glance around the second floor.  Doors hang off their hinges, while the wallpaper on the ceiling threatens to fall at any moment due to water damage.  Holes punched through the drywall act like decorations as they line either side of the hallway.  My stomach sinks even further.

"Dominic overdosed the other day," I admit to him what Dominic had told us during our brief run-in at the hospital. "And it hurts, to think about who I remember him as.  The Dom I know would've never..."  My voice fades when I find that I don't have the energy to explain all the things that the Dom of old would never, in a million years, do.

Gio watches me for a short while.  "I don't have any personal experiences with addiction, but I've heard stories.  And if I have any advice for you, it would be to stop comparing.  Stop comparing the Dominic you knew to the Dominic you know.  He will never be the person you first met him as.  The damage is done.  But that doesn't mean he can't be saved."