A Deal With The Devil | Ben Barnes | Sebastian Stan

Chapter 2

Francesca

Life is not fair and people don't always get what they deserve - I've always known it. But I still tried to believe otherwise. I tried to convince myself that we control our own lives, that fate or luck has nothing to do with the things that happen to us. But now, as I was finding my way back home, I couldn't help but remember what my grandfather used to tell me when I was little.

According to him, at birth, we all receive a different amount of luck that we get to spend during our life. It is like an hourglass, the sand inside of it representing ones luck. With each passing day, we are left without it, grain by grain pouring down the bulb, until there is nothing left. The problem is that there is no guarantee that luck is going to last until the last day of our lives. It could be over before we became teenagers or it could end just as we reach 60. Our luck is, ironically, a game of luck.

I always thought this to be a tale he used to tell me in order to make my imagination grow, to help me fantasize and create a much better world than that in which I was living in, in which I am still a part of.

But in this moment, all I wanted was to believe that it was true, because the alternative was much worse and I refused to think that it could happen.

Filippo's small art studio was gone. There was no trace of him. There was no trace of the studio ever existing. It just disappeared. In its place was now a stupid club that occupied the whole street, club that somehow destroyed all the businesses that were such an important part of Sicily, such an important part of my childhood.

When I was 12 years old my father took me on a walk with the purpose to spend some time together away from the jewelry store. We walked until we got to this hidden street that gathered all these stores that were so unique and seemed magical, so different from the Sicily I knew. There, hidden in a corner, was Filippo's art studio with its big windows and colorful paintings that I just couldn't ignore. Without asking, I entered it and met the man who was soon going to become a mentor to me. I was mesmerized by this old man who was so full of life and had such interesting stories that I didn't realize until later that this was my father's plan all along. He wanted me to meet Filippo and learn from him. And so, I did. I spent almost all my free time with him, applying everything that he taught me in drawing jewelry for my father and working my way up to studying in France. He became one of the most important persons in my life and every single time I came back home I found time to go and visit him.

But today I couldn't because the art studio was not in its usual place. Filippo was nowhere to be found and I had this horrible feeling that something bad happened to him. The only person I found around there to ask questions was an old woman who could only tell me that they bought the entire place to build that club, but she didn't know what happened to any of the previous owners. And by they, she clearly meant the mafia because there isn't a goddamn place in this city that the mobsters don't control or own and there is no one brave enough to fight them. Not when they have been ruling Sicily since forever.

But I don't care about the art studio, I only care about Filippo and I need to know that he is safe. It is one thing for the mafia to strip away his belongings, but it's another thing to hurt him. I don't want to imagine that something bad happened to him, I don't even want to think that he might be - no, he just got out of luck for now, but he's fine, he has to be.

I walked back home as fast as I could, only thinking about asking my father about Filippo and so to learn the truth about what really happened there. A year ago, when I last visited him, everything was as it was supposed to be. Now, a year later, it all changed and not in a good way.

I entered the house using the entrance that was destined only for the family, thinking my parents already closed the jewelry for today. But as I got inside, I realized I was wrong. The jewelry wasn't closed. More than this, it seemed there was someone here, having a conversation with both my parents. Something in their tone made me stop from entering the jewelry and eavesdrop on what they were saying.