𝗥𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗿𝗼 𝗚𝗮𝗿𝗰𝗶𝗮
She gave me one look, and I was weak at the knees; my heart, which had been dead for so long, felt like it was being shocked and brought back to life at the mere sight of her. The control she had over me didn't make any sen...
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How is it that my parents didn't have four children but still I have to deal with two younger siblings?
I slouch on my couch, sipping whiskey, as Mateo and Justice dispute about a music artist. I never have time to listen to music, watch TV, or do anything else, so everything passes through one ear and out the other.
"Brent Faiyaz es mejor idiota" She argues, pointing her long acrylic nail at him. [Spanish, T: Brent Faiyaz is better idiot]
Still don't like them shitty things
"Pelea conmigo perra" Mateo say rolling up his sleeves. [Spanish, T: Fight me bitch]
I ignore the two and get from the couch, grab a cigar, and go for the door. I stroll down the massive corridor to Chaos's room and knock before he hums me in.
When I first met Chaos, he was the nerdy kid no one wanted to hang around and kept to himself. He'd play video games in the training hall and eat pizza. Something compelled me to speak with him one day, and I must say that it was the best decision I could have made for an 11-year-old chico. [Spanish, T: Boy]
Chaos joined the Mafia when he was 11, and it wasn't because his family had been brutally murdered or he was an orphan; he simply... the had skills.
He straightens his posture, pivoting towards me, and removes one of his headphone covers. He nods his head in my direction acknowledging my presence. He gazes at the cigar I'm holding before redirecting his attention towards me.
"No," I say swifting.
"What?" He whines, slowly sliding out of his seat.
"The last time I gave you a cigar or anything that required a lighter, you lit Dante's house on fire," I say recalling the incident, Dante accused me for quote-unquote not keeping my arsonist on a leash. I can't fathom how or why, but when his parents named him Chaos, they must have been influenced by a divine presence.
"Dante had it coming... He didn't deserve the blue Ferrari. Moreover, he was well aware that blue was my favorite color. He deliberately took it just to spite me" He says trying to justify his actions.
Dante was going to give the car to his son for his birthday...
I sit down on his bed, shaking my head as I gaze at the guitars he has arranged. In the past, I used to play the guitar, but ever since I assumed the role of the Don, I never seemed to find the time. It feels as if my time has transformed into constant torment.
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