mozzafiato ➝ peaky blinders

cinque

changretta residence, new york city

-

Luca's armchair had been empty for close to two years. 

In his absence, no-one had so much as touched the cracked leather seat. Nico had stuck to his own, and Gia and Audrey had remained on the squashed corduroy couch.

(Angel and Vicente's respective chairs, of course, had also been left alone.)

It was the most bizarre feeling to see an area of their home that had been empty for so long to suddenly be filled - especially the lanky, fearsome frame of Luca Changretta.

Gianna sat aside Audrey, who was gazing lovingly across at her son, eyes still damp. It had taken what felt like hours to calm her grandmother down; the moment she had seen Luca in the foyer, she had burst into tears and thrown herself at him, sobbing.

Gianna, however, had not cried when her father had returned. When her eyes met his, she instantly had felt ill, a feeling that had still not gone away.

She feared that if she spoke, she would show some of the array of emotion she was feeling. So, she merely sat quietly, staring at her father with contempt, listening as the rest of her family talked.

"It's insane, what imprisonment does to a man," Luca was saying, his thick accent drawling and lazy, and his face pinched with disgust. "The things I saw in there... they didn't care what means they had to go to to satisfy their desires. So fuckin' uncouth. No sense of dignity whatsoever."

Nico scoffed. "But of course, they left you alone, fratello."

Luca shuddered. "One yank... tried something on me," he grunted grimly. "I cut off his manhood right there and then, and slashed his ankles for good measure. He didn't walk for a week, and I doubt he'll be able to get a lay anytime soon."

Audrey shivered, as Nico pulled a face, slapping his brother on the shoulder approvingly. "Luca, my poor baby - " she said shakily.

"With respect, mama, it's over now," he grunted, his face drawn. "I don't wish to speak of it any longer, alright?"

Nico and Audrey both agreed quietly. Gianna remained quite silent, something that Luca missed.

"Bene," Luca muttered, and rubbed a long-fingered hand across his face.

Nico had taken his brother to a barber before bringing him home, as well as a fitting for a new suit. Gianna could only imagine what her father would have looked like as a haggard inmate. The last she had seen him, he had had a slight bristle on his jaw. God only knew if he had been sporting a full beard and shoulder length locks as she had seen on so many other male prisoners, both in moving pictures and in reality.

It was only because of Luca's resilient pride that he had refused to let anyone but Nico see him in such as state. He sat before them as if he had never left, his hair cropped and gelled back, his suit all sharp lines and elegance.

It was a shame. She would have liked to see her father run down, for once.

There was a beat where conversation died down. Gia took a moment to glance around the room.

It was such a typical scene. A fire was burning in the furnace, a gramophone playing soft Sicilian opera music, the gas lighting burning while candles flickered in every corner merely for the aesthetic. Each member of her family (the ones that were left, at least) were sat in their chairs, glasses of wine or whiskey in hand, talking - smiling even.