Tale In The Red Sand

Chapter Thirty

Ercole couldn't ignore the blossoming feeling in his chest as the airplane touched down in Doha, Qatar. He was an array of muddled emotions, but he couldn't deny that he had dearly missed this country. He made his way through the bustling crowds in the airport, picking up the strings of conversations in Arabic from here and there before he remembered that he could also speak the beautiful language and better yet understand it. Ercole smiled to himself, excited just by the prospect of being back here, the place he had called home for many years. It was more of a home to him than Italy. He must have forgotten just how breathtaking the land truly was, most definitely on his taxi ride to his father's house, they passed by Katara mosque, standing as grand as he last laid eyes on it. Its historical lines and arches were striking, even through the test of time it remained poised and graceful.

Although the eye - catching wonders of Doha seemed to have slightly lulled the violent tremor in his chest, he still couldn't help but heed the foreboding feeling, for he would be seeing his father after a long time. The stony man with a rough - hewn face, not the slightest bit approachable even to his own children. Ercole silently prayed as he emerged from the taxi, praying his arrival would not turn out to be futile, and that Warsame's worries were only a tender gesture for his well-being.

His sweaty palmed anxiousness grew as he approached the doorman, lazily holding guard at the doorway. The man straightened before him then expertly swung open the heavy gold rimmed door with a curt nod and a clipped 'welcome Sir'. Ercole. returned a small grin with a Salam then made his way in.

The first floor looked to be a reception, extravagant and docked up with the most finest pieces of the world and a receptionist perched at the front desk. The vixen like woman had a wide grin spread across her rouge painted lips, ogling coquettishly at her employer's son, clearly giving him the keen eye as Ercole strode past her to the elevator.

"Uh- Sir, you must state your business," She called out to him, raising her manicured hand in the air in a little wave.

Captive to thoughts as much as the sea's foam, Ercole turned back to eye her cautiously. He recognised her, she'd been working here for the past two years or so, she must've known exactly who he was - and yet Ercole couldn't quite tell whether she was jesting or not.

"Ercole Rossi." He clarified before her cheeks pinked in embarrassment. Perhaps she didn't recognise him, Ercole hasn't lived here since before he began working with Warsame.

"My apologies Mr Ercole Rossi, please continue."She squeaked.

Ercole nodded in acknowledgement before entering the elevator. Every step closer he took to the door of his father's penthouse, sounded heavy, like drums thumping the ground so loudly they resounded in his ears and shook the walls of his within his head. It wasn't just about seeing his father anymore, he would be seeing his step siblings also. The ones he hadn't seen since he left their home city of Turin as soon as he entered his twenties. His estranged step siblings, who harboured a deep distaste towards him for reasons he couldn't fathom. To them Ercole was always the tolerated and never loved, their father's 'love child' as they liked to call him, even though he was born through the holy matrimony of his parents.

Ercole shakily raised his finger to ring the suburban doorbell. The twine of the bell remained in his ears, the ringing stretching out into a jarring beep every inch the door opened and when it finally did open his eldest step sister quietly scrutinised him from the other side. She stared at him, then stared some more before raising a singular eyebrow. "Entra allora." She instructed, stepping aside to let him in.

Ercole slowly registered where he was, why he came and what he needed to do with an awkward lopsided grin before he entered the abode. He gave his step sister an airy kiss on both cheek out of formality and received a stiff hug from her end.