Into the Mafia’s Den

Chapter Two ; my hell

Chapter Two

Dante's point of view

My hell

Every brush on my canvas brings fresh memories but I choose to ignore them or suppress them just to focus on my art.

My room was dimly lit with only the lamp supplying light to me, this was exactly how I loved to paint, curtains down just my lamp and me in my little world.

The scent of the oil wafted into my nostrils along with the cigar smoke as I had just finished smoking, this was my escape even though it was just for a few hours.

“Perfection,” I whispered to myself as the brush glided across the canvas, every stroke made my emotions heighten and it felt like I could bring her to life again.

Her blue eyes were shimmering and full of life, the only light in my dark life, and her lips were full and curved slightly as though she was about to burst into laughter, she she always been a happy woman, her blonde hair made her look like a queen, she was pure, not until she met the monster who would change her life forever.

Maria.

My sweet mother who I could hardly remember but I cling to the memories of her pictures before it was destroyed. These are the memories I use as I add the final strokes of light to her golden hair.

If only she could see this, she would be so proud of me.

Sometimes I kept asking myself why she would fall for a man who would destroy every photo of her because she died, claiming it was for our good, that keeping her memory alive would only weaken us.

Why would she fall in love with a man who would want to keep her memory dead and away like a valueless gem? But then the little I remembered her, the way she smelled when she would carry me, she smelled like Jasmine and let me mom, she always loved plucking them from the lemon tree, and the way she hummed the old Italian national item when she thought she was alone. The way she would kiss my forehead reminding me to be a good boy and how she was proud of me.

I can never forget the day I showed her my silly drawings and she clapped for me hugging me so tight saying I was going to be the next big artist after Leonardo Davincii, while my father never ceases to talk down on me whenever he caught me drawing.

It has been years but these memories are still fresh in my mind. That's why I paint because that's the only way I can keep her face fresh in my head.

Then all of a sudden I hear a loud knock jolting me out of my thoughts.

It was sharp and impatient.

I knew who knocked like that, it was none other than my father.

I swallow hard and my body jumps to my feet before my mind does. I pull the sheet over the chair and throw it over the canvas, slightly ruining the wet paint. The brush lips from my fingers roll onto the tiled floor.

“Open up!” a deep baritone voice calls from the other side of the door.

Now I was sure that it was my father.

I felt a lump in my throat as hard, ran a hand through my dark hair before organizing myself. “Come in,” I mutter under my breath, keeping my voice low and steady.

All of a sudden I heard the door swing open and Ricardo walked in supporting himself with a cane hr came along with his trusted bodyguard Luther who lurked behind him closely like a fly attracted to bad meat, movement was precise and his gaze swept across my room studying, but saying nothing his face seemed like he had a lot on his mind.

He had barely been in the room for a minute and the room felt suffocating, almost compressing me. He hated the way he carried himself like a king even in his weak state. He walked to the window throwing open the curtain, I could see his wrinkled face now his eye bag was evident but his eyes still carried that evil. He is wearing a neatly ironed suit, always portraying himself to be a nobleman when he was just a wolf in sheep's clothing, a deceitful and hardened criminal who has messed up so many people's lives.

I can now see his face clearly, he seemed very disappointed to see and I knew he was only here for one reason.

“Luther told me you didn't attend the meeting, why is that?” Riccardo asked, his gaze fixed on me.

“What meeting?”

“Don't act like you don't remember what is happening today!”

Of course, I knew what today was and I chose not to go because I didn't want to Don, I just wanted to live my life the way I wanted it but my beloved father wouldn't let me be.

I looked at the floor then I rolled my eyes leaning my back against the desk. “ I wasn't feeling too well and besides I was busy sorting out some things.”

Riccardo leaned against his cane and I could see his jaw tighten with anger. “Sorting out what things?”

I parted my lips open searching for any excuse but I found nothing, perhaps I should have thought about it before he asked but he was unpredictable like a predator to its prey, he always knew how to take me by surprise. He smiles and moves towards me, his gaze falls to my fingers, they are black with paint.

“Paint…” he mutters under his breath. “ You are painting again!”

I blink twice, and fear surges through my blood.

I could see the anger in his eyes! Like fire was blazing out of them.

“Father, I was —”

“How dare you pick up that palette and paint again? They are a condemnation of your status, you will be a Don soon, you need to act like it!”

I swallow hard before letting out a breath slowly. “I just paint to pass time, it's not —”

“ So you prefer to sit here wasting your time painting instead of attending to things that will benefit your life?”

I want to say something but then I realize he would never consider my words, he only wants me to abide by his rules, that's all, so I say nothing.

“Right. That's what I thought, you are always making the wrong decisions, I expect you as my first son to prepare to take over this family and not sit here painting like a commoner. Do you think this is how you will rule when I am gone? By painting like a loser?”

My fingers curl into fists. “I am sorry Dad but I didn’t choose to be heir.”

Riccardo’s gaze grew dark with rage, if I was ten he would have probably hit me but then I wasn't that little boy anymore yet I still couldn't get free of his shackles. “Dante, you are my son, my first son for that matter and tradition says—-”

“I don't give a f*ck about your traditions, I think Lorenzo is fit for this position, he acts just like you, disciplined and ruthless, I am nothing like your father.”

He goes quiet and a smile plays on his lips. “You know you are right, Lorenzo is fit for Don but then he is not my first son. You are.”

“You don't get to decide my faith.”

“I'm your father, I have every right to do that and you need to start fulfilling your responsibility to be a mafia Don. "His tone felt like a sharp blade slitting my throat.

I could never really be free because he grew up under his control. It's going to be hard to break out of it.

But I can’t.

At least not now.

His gaze sweeps across my room like he was searching for something important.

I feel it before it happens.

His attention shifts toward the curtain.

My heart stops immediately.

“Father, don't do this.” The word barely escapes me before he pulls it back.

“I'll purge you of all your impurities and get rid of the DISTRACTIONS.”

My breath catches in my throat.

He sees my painting and his expression changes when he sees the image.

Maria.

His dead wife was smiling at him.

For a second I swear I saw emotions of grief glimmer in his eyes. Like he missed her and he was grateful to see her face once again.

But then he grabs the canvas and tears it in half.

“No, you can do that—”

“I can do anything I want.”

He continues tearing and my blood boils in anger, I'm tempted to stop him but Luther is standing closely in defence of him.

That wasn't all, he lifted the frame and smashed it to the floor shattering my work like it was nothing.

I lunge forward, rage boiling in my chest, but Luther moves faster, stepping between us, his hand resting on his gun. A warning.

“Don't ever do this again! There is a reason why I burnt all of her pictures, she is dead and if you don't stop painting, you will join her soon.”

Was that a threat?

He smiles evilly and walks away, Luther follows in silence.

As soon as the door closes behind them, I'm left alone standing in the destruction of my mother's beautiful face.

She didn't deserve this!

I don’t belong here.

I need to find a way out.