The Italian Heir-CASTELLANO SERIES: MARTIN’S STORY

“You should by now I hold no value to titles and positions but authority and exceptional intellect, however, I hold in high regard.” *** The bleary, dusty corridors of Wagner Middle School were illuminated by the rays of twilight courtesy of the evening skies and pierced their way through the brilliantly polished mullioned windows, casting a silvery outline of an evening shadow. I found myself standing in the middle of the hallway by myself once again (a reoccurring dream), I thought and knew. The silence was so loud, an eerie ringing sound chorused through my ears. Suddenly, I was 7 again. This piece of memory was all too familiar—it was an old, distant clump that took up a small fraction of memory from my brain which I had hoped would keep those nasty memories at bay…until now… As I treaded further down the hallway and passed by a row of lockers with my head hung, the crown of my head collided with something hard. I looked up. There stood my two usual tormentors, Greg Simmons and Matthew Small—if you ask me, that name hardly went well with his stocky physique below an overly inflated pumpkin for a head. “We noticed your final exam grades nerd. Did you really think if you tried hard enough in school, you could be acknowledged as your parents’ real son?” I gave him no answer. The look of satisfaction drained shortly. “Are you dumb? Answer me when I ask you a question!” Matthew's patience grew thin when I kept mum, taking in my nonchalant stare, he howled in psychotic laughter. Noticing the cold, steely look in my eyes, they must’ve realized I was convinced that I actually could. “Just because they drop you off at school every morning and you come strutting in with your expensive ensemble, it doesn’t drown out the fact that you’re just an adopted child and always will be—it’s merely charity work for a couple so famous and loaded like them.” “Your real mom and dad didn’t want to keep you because you’re a disgrace to them, at least that’s what my dad says—born out of wedlock! Ethan and Elizabeth Castellano only took you in because they pitied you. Poor old Martin or he mwight end up in the sweets.” Greg mocked in a baby voice. “That’s not true!” I shouted, letting my anger get the best of me as my fists balled up. “My parents love me!” “Go on, hit us! Hit us because you know we finally touched a sore spot!” “Think about it, Martin. You now have a little brother and little twin sisters and soon many other children of their own will follow and then they’ll just discard you just like how your real parents did—“ Thwack! “You slimy, good for nothing numbskulls. If I hear such nonsense spewing from you two once more, it won’t end with just a smack. Now, leave.” My saviour raised her hand once more and advanced threateningly towards the bullies, who looked much more intimidating and were at a higher grade than both of us—her threat had worked as they took a tentative step back. They each cast wary looks at her then smirked at me. “Martin is such a loser that he needs his little girlfriend to protect him!” “I said get moving!” Erika snapped. “You won’t want to see this hand collide with your stupid ugly face now, do you?” “Sir, you need to get moving.” The slow shake of my arm shattered the dream I was in and I stirred slowly, the sudden warmth of contact brought me back to reality. I looked up, stifled a yawn when I noticed my secretary standing beside me with a change of casual clothes on his right arm. My chair was turned to face the large floor to ceiling windows, overlooking the concrete jungle of New York City, flickering lights dotted across the city, faint sounds of honking coming from below the congested evening traffic on a weekday and the distant voice of people shouting. “Mr. Castellano, you’re going to be late to Mr. Danburke’s party.” “What time is it?” I asked, my voice came out hoarse as I massaged my tired eyelids gently with my thumb and forefinger, my forehead creasing as I forced my mind to get rid of the vivid dream (or memory) I just had. I wouldn’t consider them my nightmares, no. Nightmares didn’t quite cut it either. But yet, every now and then, those words still rang clearly in my head as if telling me to know my place—to remember who I was. An adopted child and always will be. “It’s almost 7:30, the party started half an hour ago.” “Steve’s going to kill me.” I muttered, slamming the lid of my laptop shut. “Quite likely.” John agreed but without much expression on his face. John was my secretary and sometimes occasional driver, although I preferred to drive myself. He started working with me around a year ago when I had risen through the ranks and was appointed Financial Advisor. “I brought you a change of clothes. You ought to rid your traces of working late once again, especially on the day of your best friend’s party.” There was a fine line between working efficiently and being a workaholic. Sure, there were days where I got off work right on time, but there were also days where I stayed behind when I needed more time for a much more crucial task that involved the well-being of the company. And today was the latter. “This is why I prefer birthdays that fall on weekends. Lesser of a hassle on a non-work day.” “Pardon me, but you don’t attend birthdays even though they fall on a weekend, unless they’re of close family.” I raised a brow and loosened the tie around my neck, tugging the silk material off in one go. “I simply feel there are other better things to do than attend events that are unprofitable.” I added curtly. “I see working with me has made you somewhat sharp mouthed as well.” John nodded once in agreement, followed by a miniscule smile that lasted a few seconds. “There’s still aspects I need to think about before I conclude this review before presenting it to my parents. A lot has to be considered, especially for some of our investors who seem to think they’re entitled to more than they signed up for.” “I sure do hope you do not cause any strife between you and the rest of the investors.” “Believe me John, I know what I signed up for. But more importantly, so do my parents.” I sent John home for the night and set a course for Steve’s family home and I let my thoughts drift. When I was just a boy, I was given plenty. Might I add—more than I deserved? I was my parents’ pride and joy and everyone else’s adorable grandson or nephew and godson. It was only a while later I had found out I was, in reality, an adopted child. I’ll spare you the elaborated story of how I found out and what happened after, but nevertheless, I was 6 when all that happened. Fast forward middle school, I had a habit of being reserved as I grew older. However, that became a chore, especially when I had friends like Erika Crawford and Steve Danburke lurking around me all constantly. And in college, I was studying full-time but was also contributing business ideas to my parents on the side—I wanted to be of use to my parents. I wanted to be able to give them back for the kindness and love they’ve shown me over the years, ever since they took me in and made me a part of their little family. They wanted me to stay in school for as long as I could (and I did), to enjoy myself like every other teenager and young adult did, but my abilities and strategies in both financial and management areas were undeniably ingenious and sublime. Hence, my parents discussed and made a mutual decision to bring me on board the company. Anyway, I had requested that I start at the company from ground level zero so that I was able to learn and work my way up like everyone did at Castellano Holdings. I did not want to seem like an entitled, undeserving son who sits in a cushy office, neither do I need anyone placing me on a pedestal, worshipping me just because of my status as the couple’s eldest. Starting with nothing was a good start—the way I see it, at least they’d come to realize that whatever my future was in this company, I would have deserved it through the quality of my work, my insights and intelligence. Because I had more practice than I’ll ever need through watching, reading and learning from both my parents' work growing up. My principles were simple. One of the many was: If I wanted something, I’d work hard and fight for it. I stand by every decision I make and I certainly do not take things that don’t belong to me. ** “You are late.” The birthday boy narrowed his eyes at me, not looking at all pleased. A small firecracker went off somewhere behind him followed by muffled cackling—it definitely belonged to the Westwick twins, Christopher and Cole—my long-time friends from High School. “I’m sorry, but as you know, traffic in New York’s always been a b***h, especially when it knows you’re heading off to some important occasion.” “Do you really want me to call John on the phone and ask him what time you get off work?” Steve Danburke— my best friend of more than a decade, asked sleekly. “Okay fine, there was this investor review I wanted to go over before I made my final decision.” I easily skipped out the part where I had fallen asleep and dreamt about my past again. Steve knew all too well what happened and felt so bad for days after that happened, but he was having a class when it happened, or he’d be sending both boys to the infirmary on my behalf. “And I assume that review is of greater importance than your best friend’s 23rd birthday?” “Are you about to spend your 23rd birthday outside your house interrogating the most important person in your life?” “That’s as cheesy as I'd let you be. But point taken. So to make up for this, I sure do hope you’ve prepared a present to make up for your tardiness.” “Believe me, you’d s**t in your pants if you actually saw it yourself. Tomorrow evening’s a date then.” I nodded and hugged him. “Stop scowling or Rhea would give me s**t as well if she knew why you were scowling in the first place.” I said dryly, pulling back from the hug. Rhea Buchanan, Steve’s girlfriend of 2 years, who was also a part of our friendship group long ago back in middle school. How did the two start dating? It was a funny story, but it certainly wasn’t very funny when I walked in on them once going at it in college. “Who else did your little brother invite? Apart from the twins, that’s making a mess on your lawn.” I pointed my chin towards the pair of boys with IQ’s of 130 but behaved like mere 3-year-olds: Exhibit A, releasing firecrackers behind unsuspecting guests, making them jump, spilling their drink on themselves. “Chris, Cole! Cut it out dammit.” Steve hissed and pointed at them, making a little hand slashing movement at his throat—telling them to stop at whatever they were doing and get over here. “Well, the boys from Vipers are here, my making boys, your siblings, my brother who just left not too long ago for a bike ride with yours and a few cousins—pretty sure you’ve seen half of them being frightened by the twins and well, Erika—whose late again, as always.” Now that’s something we had in common. Vipers was the name of the football team I used to lead in my Varsity days while Steve led Cornell’s basketball team. “I thought she was still stuck in San Francisco for her cousin’s bridal shower?” I asked nonchalantly. “Did she not tell you she was cutting her trip short because there was a group assignment she had forgotten about?” “Why am I not surprised?” I snorted, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. The Erika I grew up with was always a handful. And no, she didn’t tell me.” I said monotonously. “God, have the two of you been arguing again?” Steve groaned, having heard enough times about Erika and me giving each other the silent treatment after some petty argument or disagreement. “I wouldn’t call it an argument, it was just sort of…a misunderstanding.” I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to find the right word to describe our little disagreement. “A misunderstanding that you started?” Steve’s voice hinted a suggestion that that was the case. “I didn’t.” I felt a surge of annoyance erupting in my throat, sound defensive. “This time she started it.” I said tonelessly, not bothering to elaborate. That she-devil, I swear. She said I scared him off her date weeks ago and all I did was just ask him how well he could drive, just so I knew if he could get her home safely. “Because Erika was a horrible driver who couldn’t drive even if her life depended on it.” Steve said part entirely on his own because he too knew what an excellent driver she was. The day when she came home informing us that she had passed her driving test, we really thought she was joking, only that she wasn’t. “Jokes aside, you two have known each other since she was practically a baby! How is it that you two are always arguing about something stupid and then go on days without speaking to each other baffles me.” I followed Steve into his massive back yard with a DJ spinning at the console, there were tables and chairs with caterers manning the food and drink table that seemed to run endlessly, a few random helium balloons dotted around with its string tied to metal rings and the guests chattering away; a few turned around waving, some turned around to say hello. “I just wished she would just tell me why she was mad in the first place, save me a lot of trouble and we could have easily avoided the whole silent-treatment thing.” I said briskly, catching the can that Steve tossed me from the cooler. Steve let out a snort, but before he could say anything else… POP! I turned my head to look over my shoulder to see the pair of twin brothers’ twisted features, ready to laugh, but then frowned when I posed no reaction. “I told you it’s not going to work on him. Martin’s the last person you’d want to prank.” Steve drawled, shifting his weight and leaning against the cement pillar behind him. “Every single movement of yours I can see through that glasshouse up front.” my chin nodded towards the large glass-mirrored panes of Steve’s mom’s plant nursery. “But an A for effort.” I fist bumped them. “Damn it, we need to change our approach. I told you to do it right in front of him.” Chris, the older of the twins, looked less than pleased at his brother. “And risk blowing up his handsome yet cocky face? I would take that risk.” “Did you also get stuck in the New York traffic?” Steve said curtly. I turned myself back around and stood inches away from my childhood friend—Erika Crawford. Ah, now that she stood in front of me, it was much easier to describe the devil reincarnated. She recently cut her chestnut brown hair to a shoulder-length—side swept, messy and wavy; those deep brown orbs shone with confidence, but there was also curiosity and mischief—she always had some sort of smiley eyes (she looked way more approachable than I did), her straight, sharp nose wrinkled when she looked at me, a smirk lifted on the corners of her red coated lips and her sharp chin tilted defiantly at me as her lean shoulders squared. True, she looks much different now than she did in middle school. She was thin but with curves in all the right places (although I wasn’t sure if it was alright to describe a woman as such), she looked older than she did years ago and definitely taller in height, but the crown of her head could only touch the tip of my nose (for a kid like myself who was quite short in middle school, I was afraid she would always be taller than I was—especially being a boy, that’s the last thing you’d want) but when I had shot up a few inches when I turned 12, suddenly I was known as a giraffe to her. That was how I saw her physically. As for personality? Ho, there’s quite a list for her but I shall leave that for another day. “I bet he was also late.” Erika pointed at me. “ Thought we weren’t on talking terms? Go on, and don’t stop now.” I urged, and she posed no desire to retaliate at all. “Always the pettier one between both of us.” She sighed dramatically. I opened and closed my mouth, ready to say it was her who had started this whole no-talking-to-her-when-she’s-mad policy, but Steve sighed, relented at our nonsense. “How was your cousin’s bridal shower?” he changed the topic swiftly. “Second cousin,” Erika corrected. “I wasn’t sure why I was even needed there. The whole time she was trying to set me up with her fiancée’s friend who was way too old for me.” She made a disgusted face as Cole passed her a beer can. “Oh no, enough of that—I think I drank a year’s worth of alcohol in a span of a few days and I find that smell repulsive.” She politely pushed the can back and gagged at the imagined smell and Cole shrugged. “Great, you will be missed by the board of alcoholics.” I muttered under my breath, loud enough for the twins to snort a laugh to which she scowled. While Steve continued his conversation with Erika and Rhea, who showed up a minute later, the twins cased me in between them. “Seems like you’re the only person who doesn’t know she was coming home today.” Chris nudged my hand. “Her silent treatments are still valid even though she’s hundreds of miles away.” I clarified. “Naturally, she wouldn’t tell me.” “What the hell did you do this time?” “Apparently I scared off her date.” I said listlessly as I watched her laughing with Rhea. “And…?” Chris pressed on, he seemed to always know that there was more to the story. “And I said the dress did make her look fat.” I admitted, recalling the red dress she showed me. She always preferred if I was honest with her and I was but apparently in this case, I shouldn’t? Although I didn’t literally mean the dress made her look fat, in fact, it was the total opposite. But as to why I did not want her to wear that dress on that date she was to be on, I don’t know myself… “Dude, that’s like, the most basic mistake—“ “Also the stupidest—” Cole chimed in while eavesdropping on our conversation. “Guys come on, have you seen the kind of stupid guys Erika attracts? Those snooty, arrogant, pompous boys…Have you actually heard the things they talk about? It’s like they got their heads so far up their asses they…never mind.” I cut myself off, watching Steve wring his arm around Erika’s shoulder and Rhea cracked up once again. Chris snorted and mumbled something like ‘You’re just as arrogant.’ “Being her best friend doesn’t give you the right to control who she dates, that’s Erika’s personal life and we ought to support her from the sides.” Cole said calmly. ‘And watch her get hurt although we know at least 100 ways to prevent all that from happening?’ was what I wanted to say, but I kept it to myself once more. I knew Cole was right. But still…I always felt the need to protect her like she did for me before and, although I would never admit it out loud, I cared a great deal about her. While speaking with the twins, Erika made a brief eye contact with me and smiled a small smile. I knew what went on in that tiny brain of hers—she was ready to make up. After a week of not speaking, it did not only drive her crazy, it drove me crazy as well. My twin sisters surprised me by pouncing against my back, greeting me in excitement, while Alex, the second son of the Castellano spawn, trailed along behind them along the lawn with several female cousins of Steve openly gawking at him and Elijah— the youngest of the Castellano siblings whose face was rather a sickly green and was trudging slowly behind the lot. “Alex took us on a ride on Dennis’s new bike!” Victoria, the older twin exclaimed. “He went so fast I literally felt my head flying off.” Lucy, the younger twin, rested her elbow on her sister’s shoulder, exhaling hard as if to relive the ride once more. I narrowed my eyes at Alex, who flapped his hand at me casually, probably sensing an incoming grey cloud over my head, “Now before you start lecturing me fratello, we were on an empty road and I assure you it was perfectly well-lit and safe.” “So why does Elijah look so green?” I pointed at my youngest sibling who held onto the Westwick twins for support, with Rhea grinning at him. “He’s afraid of speed, clearly.” Alex snorted at his brother, at which Steve narrowed his eyes at Dennis. “Just how fast did the two of you go?” he questioned. Dennis made a noncommittal voice in his throat in response. “I’m not afraid! I’m just…” Elijah made a gagging sound against his fist. “I’ll need to use the toilet once more.” “Clearly, I do not appeal to your words alone.” I turned to Alex once more and my brother smiled gingerly. “Dad might lose his head if he knew what his precious girls were up to—wait, where are your helmets?” I looked disconcertedly around the twins in looking for said item; both girls had taken an unlikely interest of the beer can in my hand. Alex, too, was shifting uncomfortably from side to side. “Hey, they’re making a fresh batch of burgers. Why don’t you kids get over there and try them? It’s wagyu.” Steve, as if noticing what was to come, steered the twins out of the way and Erika nudged Alex to follow them as well. “Don’t you worry.” Steve placed a hand against my chest, pushing me back when I was about to question my siblings further. “I’m sure Dennis would have thought about their safety before allowing them on his bike.” Erika said in her usual calm, soothing voice. “I think I worry about their safety more than they do.” I shook my head, watching the younger ones tread away. “Relax Castellano. Aren’t they alright?” she gave me a small smile. “But yes, helmets for the next ride.” Erika patted my arm. ** “I’m not making up just so we can talk about your work, don’t get me wrong, but you can really talk about management planning for at least an hour.” Erika said, putting her fist against her mouth as if she were talking to a walkie-talkie. I did not give a smart-mouthed comment on that but we sat in a rather comfortable silence–something we always did throughout our friendship growing up. Erika and I were playmates and our homes were so close by, we crossed from one house to another regularly. When Erika was old enough for the start of an education, she attended the same elementary school as I did, then middle-school all the way up to the university which we attended at Cornell. We were tight and we did everything together. Threw Steve into the equation a little more years down the line. We became inseparable. But being inseparable didn’t mean that we each didn’t have demons to deal with. There were things I have kept from my friends, emotions and thoughts I bottled even as a kid. “So how was your alcohol-infested trip to San Fran?” I asked, finally breaking the comfortable silence between us. Both of us were watching the Westwick twins now sneaking up on their next victims—my siblings with the firecrackers they had brought along with them. “Awful.” was her answer, tearing her eyes away from the screaming scene. “I mean, I only went there because my cousin Laura called weeks ago and was so excited about my arrival it turns out she was trying to set me up with this guy called James. He’s at least 6 years older than I am and all he ever talks about is himself. So a name was all it took for him to leave me alone for the rest of the trip (after much pestering on his end)—that is until I got a text saying I was needed in person for a group assignment.” For someone who had forgotten something that important, she sure did not look remorseful. “Now I’m more interested as to how you got rid of him.” I folded my arms across my chest, now curious. “Easy peasy, I told him who my boyfriend was.” She half shrugged. “Who’s your poor imaginary victim this time round?” “Oh trust me, he’s no imaginary person.” she shook her head, smiling quite contentedly. “In fact, many might be convinced he’s the devil reincarnate, so convinced that they tremble at the mention of his name.” I raised a brow and felt my forehead crease because I had a strange inkling that I knew who that person might be, but I just had to ask. “Who is this person that you speak so highly of?” “I told him it was Martin Castellano.” “Erika…” I narrowed my eyes at her, my voice low and warning as my arms loosened from crossing them. “I told him if he were to try anything funny, he should know what or rather who’s coming for him.”