Stefano Vanzetti
October 20, 2007
Resting my chin on my fist, my lips tightened as I slid the Bishop piece across the squares, knocking down the white horse. Playing chess against myself wasn't fun anymore. "How long until father gets here?" I asked the soldier father left to watch my mother and I while he was away.
"He'll be here in just a few minutes. I've just gotten word from him. He says he's sorry, you know your father hates to keep others waiting." Marquis said making me almost scoff. My father was notorious for keeping others waiting.
He'd just gotten back from his meeting with the Brooklyn band in New York and I was informed that there was business he wanted to discuss with me. I knew what he wanted to discuss would be different from the other conversations we've had previous. He hadn't even given me a clue.
I heard commotion coming from down the hall. The sound of my father's voice along with Alfano and Berto, made my eyebrow raise up. I raised from my seat in the livingroom and made a small cough as I adjusted my tie and slipped my hands in my pockets.
With a raised chin, I greeted my father. He stood around 6'4, a real stout and intimidating man. I was the only one who could stand against his cold gaze. Maybe it was because I was his son and I had the same dark and bone chilling look in my eyes. He took the cigar out of his mouth and I could see the corner of his mouth lift.
I stood firm, proving myself as bold in my father's eyes.
He walked towards me, slow and relaxed steps until he was standing in front of me. I raised my chin up at him. "Everyone, excuse us." He said. The soldiers and maids dispersed into their positions and duties.
He chuckled. "How's your mother? You took good care of her?" He asked pinching the material of his slacks before taking a seat on the L-shaped couch. He continued to smoke his cigar as he eyed me. "Yes, father. She's fair." I said tightening my jaw.
I didn't know whether he was teasing me for my attachment with mother, or if he was genuinely curious as to how she was. Mother could get very in her head when father was away on his trips too long. Sometimes I wonder what she saw in him. Maybe there was a gentle and tender loving side to him I never saw that was just reserved for her.
Then again, that was more than likely the case because he couldn't show a loving side to me or any other male even if I was his son. He could be seen as weak. If there was anything a made man hated, it was weakness.
"Just fair? Hm. Anyway, sit down my son." I sat on the couch across from him with a smirk.
"As I said to you days ago, there is something I must speak with you about." He started, his tone sinking deeper. I knew he was serious now. I furrowed my eyebrows and tightened my jaw, letting him know that I was now being attentive.
"I want to let you know that I've finished writing my will." He said.
My eyes slightly widened, my lips now drawn into an even thinner line. Father...
"I've bestowed unto you all my responsibilities and property. All things I have acquired, you will be given." He added.
I nodded my head. "But, there are strings attached." He said, eyeing me carefully.
"I'm listening."
"Why so tense? What I'm about to tell you has nothing to do with missions or traitors." He teased.
"A made man must be prepared at all times." I said back, a smirk dancing on my lips. My father low chuckle erupted from his throat. He then coughed and returned back to his previous countenance.
