Moonlight Stain | Venice & Rain

03

The pristine white walls were adorned with intricate designs, and there sat a man, his face void of emotion, his siren eyes overlooking the empty yard behind the glass windows.

It wasn't long before a similar-looking man arrived; youth is evident in his face. He bowed down as a sign of respect before sitting down on the opposite end of the enormous couch.

The older man cleared his throat before acknowledging the presence of his son.

"Any progress with the Italian Mafia?" His father asked.

"We managed to secure the deals with the Russians," the young man responded.

"I've heard..." His father clicked his tongue, reaching for the cup of tea that had been sitting at the table.

"But that was not what I had asked you, Venice." Displeased was an understatement; it was evident on the older man's face.

Venice knows he has failed to impress his father again. "The negotiations with the Italians; have you made any significant progress?"

His son shook his head. "Nothing that I can tell you of," Venice muttered. There was a slight grit in his teeth. He loathes that scrutinizing look, and he burns with repressed anger.

He hates being called back to this place; for Venice, this is worse than being tortured. He abhors the feeling of being scrutinized. Nothing in this place makes him feel like he belongs.

Home vanished a long time ago, and this place is a fraction of hell.

"You have been slacking on your duties; I've heard from Pol that you've been indulging in your selfish habits; I thought I already had a word with you about that." Venice rolled his eyes, avoiding contact with his father's eyes.

He felt his anger rising. He clasped his hand to calm himself down, digging nails into his palm. He let out some air before facing his father again. "I don't know; maybe you should have chosen Sai as your heir; I'm pretty sure your perfect son wouldn't dissatisfy you." Venice spoke with clear venom in his words.

"That is no way you should speak to me, Venice Theerapanyakun," Vegas' voice echoed throughout the area.

It is unlikely for his father to lose his temper. Vegas Theerapanyakun is usually calm and composed, but behind that persona lies the people's worst nightmare.

"I'll be taking my leave now," Venice responded, ignoring the outraged man. Vegas couldn't believe his son's behavior.

"Has Venice always been this disrespectful?" Vegas thought.

"Our conversation is not over yet. Try taking another step and I'll lodge this bullet in your skull. Don't try me, Venice; you perfectly know what I'm capable of." Venice stops in his tracks as his father tries to impend him.

The young man swallowed the huge lump forming in his throat. He felt suffocated, distressed, and infuriated. Venice turned his heels, finally facing back at his father, who was aiming a gun in his direction.

No, Venice isn't scared. He's seen this scenario over a hundred times, at least. The bullet never killed him; his father's faith in him did.

"Ah, this brings back old memories," Venice said. He closed his eyes briefly as a surge of memories he had in this place had been relinquished, most of them he wished to never remember.

"Why don't you pull the trigger like you always do? This feels like yesterday; I vividly remember one of those bullets flying towards me," Venice said, his tone mocking his father.

Vegas scoffed, his teeth gritting as his pointer finger moved away from the safety pin. "Don't push my buttons, Venice; you know very well what could happen."