Heta-Collection: The Immortals Through Time

The Unaging Founder

In all the years that he had lived on this world, this had been the most repetitive. Every few years or so he would be in this position. An arrogant asshole blowing cigarette smoke to his face, him coughing but still giving the man a bored look, then another asshole kicking him on his side for coughing. Well if the first asshole didn't stuff his lungs with second hand cigar then he wouldn't be coughing now would he?

"Are you really not going to talk?" asshole number one said, "This is going to be much more painful if you don't."

They've already kicked and punched him all they want that he knew that he's not going to be impressing the ladies with how he looked. They had his arms bound behind a chair they pushed him in. His legs are in a similar situation, tied to the chair's legs. His prided hazel hair was sticking to his face due to blood, obviously and his mouth tasted like iron. Seriously, he was getting tired of this and he really needed to go home. His brother would nag at him if he doesn't go soon.

The metal door opened and in came a man holding a bag. He knew what were in there. He had a similar set in his car back in Rome. He should've just drove here. That way he would've gotten away from this bratty assholes.

Asshole uno grabbed a large pair of pliers from the bag and waved it around. He wasn't fond of those. Never had, never will be.

"I'll ask again," the ass positioned the pliers to his left index finger, "Who are you?"

He already told them that but they didn't listen. He is Lovino Vargas, an informant for The Commission. The three families rely heavily on him and had given him access to all territories in Italy. Not that he needed their permission. He goes wherever he wanted and does whatever he pleased. And what he wanted now was to rip this shit-face's balls and feed it to him.

"Pain it is then."

Before the pliers even got close to his nail, Lovino had the man holding the tool writhing in pain on the floor. They did an awful job with his restraints that a little force from him could untie it. Lovino ripped the ropes around his ankles and stood up, hoisting the heavy pliers to his shoulder. He used it to hit the guy's face earlier and it felt morbidly satisfying.

A shot rang out and Lovino blinked. His shirt was soaked with his blood and he turned to look at the brat that shot him. Trembling hands, wide eyes, and obviously had never killed a man. Lovino's jaw fell in disbelief. How could this idiot even shoot him right through the heart? This was unbelievable. He shook his head before he fell to the floor. His vision went black, his fingertips went cold, and his last thought was that his brother was going to kill him.

-----

He could taste the blood, could smell it even. He opened his eyes and saw that he hasn't moved. He was still in the warehouse, lying in his own blood. It was disgusting. He stood up quickly, and jumped away from the red puddle. Grimacing at how grimy he felt, he searched around for something to clean himself. He saw a water faucet by the corner, and splashed himself with cold water, rinsing out the blood off of his skin, hair, and mouth. But of course, it wasn't coming off of his shirt and jeans. He'll have to burn them.

"Brats these days," he mumbled.

The least they could have done with him was to dispose of him somewhere. The trash, the sea, the sewers. Alright, maybe not the sewers. He's been there and it wasn't fun.

Lovino looked down at his shirt and saw the bullet hole. There was no way he'd be walking in these clothes. He looked around and found a duffel bag. He opened them and found what he was expecting to find. Some knives, guns, drugs, cigar, and luckily some clothes: a black shirt and black pants. The pants looked a bit tight but they'll have to do.

As soon as he was dressed and was currently relaxing with a cigar in between his lips, the metal doors screeched open followed by voices.

"He told us that he was an informant but like hell that was true! We've never seen his face around here!" that was asshole number one's voice, "And so, we killed him for you, capo!"

"Really now?"

Now that was a voice he recognized. Rossetti Cristiano, the current boss of the Cristiano family. This was going to be fun. Lovino took a long drag from his cigar and sat on the chair. The same chair where he was bound several hours ago.

There was a terrified scream as Lovino casually puffed smoke. There were excuses, more terrified stuttering, and the sound of a gun being loaded and cocked in his direction.

"Rossetti," Lovino started, "You should teach your children how to act properly." He looked at Rossetti straight in the eye, his own eyes glowing in the dark. "Or do you want me to do it for you?"

The last time he had to do that was a few years ago. It was to another family but all heads were there to witness it. It was a cruel and brutal way to teach the young Mafioso about manners and etiquette. Long story short, that child never shot another gun again. The memories of Lovino's 'discipline' dug deep into his mind that he turns into a quivering mess at the sight if a gun. He was soon transferred to the civilian network so he would never see a single gun again.

Rossetti gulped and paled as he restrained his young Mafioso from disrespecting Lovino any further. The brat just looked between them, confused but stood back when Rossetti glared at him.

"Mi spiace, signore." Rossetti bowed in apology, dragging his young down with him, "It won't happen again."

Lovino took a long drag at his cigar and exhaled the smoke, "It better not.

He walked towards the pair, took another drag, and expelled the smoke straight to the younger Mafioso's face. The child started coughing almost immediately and Lovino smirked.

"Makes you cough, doesn't it?" Lovino said.

The child immediately paled as his eyes widened. Lovino just chuckled at him. He slid away the pair of Mafiosi and headed towards the door, clapping Rossetti's shoulder on his way out. He walked towards the nearest bus stop, and as he did, he listened to the argument ensuing behind him.

"He was dead!" the child said, "He wasn't breathing! He had no pulse! We shot his heart out!"

That was true and it hurt. A lot.

"Just shut up, Giolo!" Rossetti warned.

"Who is that guy?!"

"He's our founder, idiota!"Rossetti replied, "We showed you his picture during the initiation! Do you not remember?"

There was silence before the child stuttered a reply.

"F-founder? Then why is he still alive?!"

"That's a long story."

Indeed, it is but right now Lovino had to focus. Lovino Vargas, informant of The Commission and Unaging Founder of the Sicilian Mafia, needed to concentrate. This was a matter of life or death and it needed his full attention. How was he going to explain to his brother that he was going to be late for dinner?