𝐁𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐭 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐞

1|| Chicago

Dante / January 10
•••

The first twelve years of my life were nothing short of peaceful.

Contrary to other boys growing up in mafia families, my childhood was a happy, joyful time. Even after my mother lost her battle with breast cancer when I was six, my father always made sure to make the best of it.

He'd take me to catch fireflies in open fields at night because the flying insects reminded him of mom. He'd watch my favorite cartoons with me and ordered us pizzas every Saturday, just so he could rub his stomach and joke about getting fat afterwards.

He'd bandage my grazes whenever one of my classmates in the small Italian village I grew up in would tackle me while playing soccer. He taught me how to ride a bike, do algebra and how to process the grief I felt for my mother.

I can still feel the comfort of his hand on my shoulder as I sat by her grave every Sunday. Still remember what his smile looked like whenever I'd show him my nearly perfect grade list. Still hear his laugh as we captured those damn fireflies in our glass jars.

But that man, the one who made me wish to be good enough to become a person like him ones I was grown, he died the day his brother did.

Many tend to forget, but if fate had played out like it was meant to – I'd still be in that small Italian village, surrounded by green mountains and rocky roads. I'd still visit my mother's grave every week and capture fireflies in empty jars.

I'd be walking through life while successfully ignoring the fact that I shared blood with a mafia boss.

But unfortunately for me, fate tends to fuck people over. And double unfortunately for me, fate had it out for me.

One day I came home from school to find my father pacing through the living room. Documents were all over the wooden coffee table, his brown hair messier than usual and there were stains underneath his armpits.

I asked him what was wrong and he ordered me to go to my room.

That had been the first Saturday we didn't eat pizza, and it also had been the first day in my life that he'd ordered me to do something. First, but definitely not the last time.

Turns out, my uncle Federico Alessi, my father's older brother and the Capo of the Italian-American mafia, had been fatally shot at order from Daniel Laurent, the leader of the French-American mafia.

Federico had been 41, yet hadn't taken the time to make an heir of his own. So next in line was my father, Alessandro Alessi, the man who'd been hiding and smiling away in an old village.

Needless to say that he had absolutely no clue how to function in a world of violence, traitors and power-hungry rookies.

And failure added with pressure added with grief – well, he didn't handle it like I'd expected him to.

He became moody and distant, leaving me to be watched by the staff of our new mansion in Chicago. He wasn't home often, too busy with damage control and trying to get things back in order.

And the rare time he did spend home he spend kissing the feet of his new wife, Vittoria who'd found the time to make a baby and make my life a living hell all at ones.

I remember one night I was lying in bed holding the soccer ball that my friends in Italy had given me as a goodbye gift in my arms. I was looking out over the city lights and thinking that things couldn't get any worse.

But like I said – fate had it out for me.

And Celeste Costelle, she was the biggest middle finger fate had ever thrown my way.