Potere | Book II ✓

xxxii | heaven and hell

xxxii | heaven and hell

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

This is not a night Federico De Santis will ever remember once he grows up.

The sound of thunder rumbling the wooden floors of the De Santis estate will be replaced by the pain of every fist that will meet his rib cage. The vibration, eerily similar. The sound of lightening striking the grounds outside will be replaced by every gunshot he ever heard. The blanket that trails behind him will become his robe. And the burger king crown that sits tilted on his head, will be replaced with a real one.

Federico, at only ten years old, turns the corner into the office. "Dad?"

This is not a night Vincenzo De Santis will ever forget.

Because one day he, too, will be replaced by the father Federico deserves – and the one he knows he can never be.

Vincenzo glances up from his work. He smiles when his eyes land on Federico. The boy will never be able to understand, and Vincenzo is okay with that, because he will never be able to find the words to express just how the ten-year-old standing in his doorway saved his life. And his empire.

Thunder vibrates the walls of the estate. Federico flinches. Lightning strikes, momentarily lighting up the dim room. Vincenzo smiles.

Vincenzo and Federico. Thunder and Lightning. The history books will one day compare one duo with the other. There is no preparation that you can do for the destruction that thunder and lightning can bring. There is nothing you can do to stop them from coming. All you can do is watch them leave.

"I'm scared of thunderstorms," Federico blurts out before Vince can question why he's not in bed. The boy has lost count of how many days it had been since Vincenzo plucked him from the street and gave him a real home. The wrinkled calendar in the corner of his bedroom where he had been keeping track stopped at 365 days. But even at a year, and a little bit more—a timeframe he may never remember—the two didn't know much of each other.

Federico can't remember the exact moment he started calling Vincenzo "dad," but it had stuck with him ever since. Sure, the two engaged in nerf-gun wars with other soldiers that always left Rico with pain in his lungs and his cheeks, both from laughing way too hard. But Federico didn't open up about his past, and Vincenzo was the same.

The boy feels his heart sink at the look Vincenzo shares with him from across the room. He will never admit to how much Vincenzo used to scare him. His voice is deep, his words laced with an accent that makes him even more intimidating. His hair is long, draping just far enough over his forehead to block the browns of his eyes.

Rico will never know that Vincenzo began wearing bandanas again, using the material to push his curls out of his eyes, for him.

"I'm..." Federico shifts in his stance, wanting nothing more than to turn and bolt out the room. He doesn't say it as confidently the second time, "...really scared of thunderstorms."

"Then good thing thunderstorms are terrified of me," Vincenzo smiles, offering Federico a seat beside him on the plush sofa.

Vincenzo fights a low chuckle as the boy rushes to his side, doing everything he can to keep the paper crown atop his head while avoiding getting his feet tangled with the long blanket draped across the back of his shoulders. Federico leaps to the sofa and melts into its warm embrace with a faint smile.