Don Salvatori WMBW (NAIVE SEQUEL)

Prologue

HEY MY LOVES,

I HOPE THE WAIT WASN'T TOO LONG.  THANK YOU FOR ALL OF YOU THAT HAVE BEEN PATIENT WITH ME THROUGH THIS PROCESS. I LOVE YOU SOOOOOOOOOOOOOO MUCH. ALRIGHT, I'M DONE TALKING. LE'S GO!

🔔 weeĸ aғтer мιcнele & cнaѕeѕ weddιng 💍

⚠️ START READING THE WORDS AT 0:24 ⚠️

I'm seated on my leather couch with my feet propped up on the coffee table. The only light source is coming from the branches of electricity dancing in the dark clouds outside my office windows. Floods by Lucky Daye is playing from the speakers.

The keys minister to my somber spirit, while the mourning violin bows play on the tattered threads of my aching heart. The base thumping against my ribcage reminding my heart how to beat.

A glass tumbler dangling from the fingers of my left hand. The remnants of Scotch drying at the bottom. The blood drying on my knuckles under the tie bandaging my right hand. I look over at the fist-sized hole in the once pristine Italian wood paneling near the door. The pain in my fist barely registering. I sigh and turn my attention back to the storm outside.

The rolling thunder harmonizes perfectly with every note of the song. Both in perfect sync with my current mood. Every raindrop against the wooden ledge like a hammer chiseling away at the wall I repeatedly build around my heart since I watched her say 'I do' to someone that wasn't me.

I feel Matteo and Cris walk in. Cris takes my glass and walks across the room with it. I hear him spin off the cap of the glass decanter and listen to the numbing liquid fill the glass.

Matteo takes a seat to my right, lights a blunt, and passes it to me. I welcome the pain of my damaged hand as I take a deep drag and pass it back absentmindedly.

I hold the smoke in, close my eyes, and tilt my head back against the seat. Willing myself to fade into emotional paralysis. I feel Cris sit, and slowly release the smoke from my nostrils. The thunder beacons me to open my eyes. The baritone rumble telling me everything will be alright as the sky continues to lament on my behalf.

Lightning strikes somewhere on my property as if trying to awaken something dead inside me. I take the offered blunt and pull. I pass it to Cris while taking my glass from him. I empty the glass while simultaneously replacing the burning liquid with smoke from my nostrils.

Drink, release, swallow.

He takes the smoking glass back and sits it to the side. I watch the smoke in it until it dissipates.

I need head space.

I stand and walk to the window and stare unseeing for a while, before resting my forehead against the cool glass; eyes closed. The sky opens up and the wind kicks up just as the bridge starts.  I'm deeply intrigued by the light show, joined by the rain, the whipping wind, and the baritone thunder.

Like the weather is dancing to the tempo of my sorrow.

I get lost in the choreographed chaos of the storm. My subconscious skipping off each drop of rain. The deep vibrations paired with the electricity in the air lulling me into a fathomless peace. For a moment, I forget my amorous agony. For a moment, I'm not Don Gianni Salvatori. I just am.

No name. No burdens. No physical being. Just free-flowing energy. The thunder cracks and booms violently, bringing me out of my imaginative bliss.

I watch the water paint the other side of the glass before I turn away. Leaving the manifestation of my inner turmoil on the other side of the glass.

"Vado a letto." (I'm going to bed.)

I don't bother looking at them as I tow myself and my dark emotions out of the room. The lightning flashes, illuminating the doorway as I pass the threshold. My silhouette on the wall before me, making me pause at the image. It's exactly what I feel like.

A dark void. A shadow...

It flashes once more as if to call me back into its voltaic embrace. I turn and stare out of the window briefly, before blending into the dark hallway.

Every step ricocheting off the walls in the empty windowless hallway. The remnants of Floods echoing behind me. I finally make it up to my room, slam the door shut, and faceplant on to my bed. The Tempurpedic mattress and Egyptian cotton doing little to comfort me.

Father, take my pain away...