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A/N

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• DAMIAN •

There's a myth surrounding the nature of my job. Not the underground work — that's probably true — more of the executive position.

People seem to believe in some ideology that once you're rich, once your business ventures are thriving, you are valid to take a long break, sometimes not even work at all — and everything would be alright.

Honestly, I wish it were true.

But wishes are for those who can afford it.

I can't.

Being in my position means you have to work overtime like an enslaved staff member; drinking coffee till you burn out, slinking a little bit of whiskey or something stronger into your sizzling cup to give it a kick, and having to fight a damned migraine, all in a day's work.

Not to mention the responsibilities waiting at the end of the day from the famiglia. And the worst part: having to relive the cycle every single day. For the rest of my youth — or what's left of it — and do it all with a fixed smile and the gratitude of a golden spoon sucker.

Well, at least there's the money, the luxury, the liquor, and whatever else people say to make it seem okay. It's just so fucking tiring.

Nothing seems exciting anymore. You have access to everything; Women, Money, Cars, Houses, Fame, Executive treatment, and anything your hands can get into — but how long till it just becomes the same circle?

What is there really to fight for? With a wave of a hand or the cock of a gun, people bowed to my every whim and order. No questions asked.

I pinched the bridge of my nose as I tried to shake the overwhelming feeling away. Seated in a conference room, I struggled to keep my focus on the young male intern, who was desperately trying to pitch something to me right at the middle of a routine meeting with the tech team.

The migraine for the day was slowly closing in and I was struggling to even keep my thoughts in check as the voice droned on in the back rooms of my mind.

Take a breath. One, two, three...

"What do you think about that, sir?" The man, Tyler — from what I read in the pitch document before me — asked. The eyes of every man and woman lining each side of the table, honed in on me. They wore their eagerness on their sleeves, all anticipating what I could say to a presentation that they most likely spent sleepless nights making.

One I'd barely even registered in my throbbing head. My eyes flickered to Renzo's beside me, offering a tight smile to the bland look he threw my way. "I think it's an excellent idea. A great concept really. You've all," I made a show to gesture my hand around the table, "put in a lot of work into this and I'm really proud. But I'll need to go through the specifics to give a proper answer, if that's fine."

A unified mumbling of agreements passed every mouth present. My smile broadened, even as I noticed the slump in Tim's shoulder — I meant Tyler. Obviously.

Ugh, I rubbed the middle of my forehead with the tip of my forefinger and thumb, trying to mask the pain from my face. Getting to my feet, I tucked my hands deep in my pockets. "I guess I'll see you all soon, especially you Tyler and the rest of your team. I'll take my leave first."

I let out breath as soon as I walked out of the room, not minding the footsteps of my personal guards flanking behind and struggling to keep up with my brisk steps. Renzo, on the other hand, was accustomed to it.

"Sir," He said, holding onto his tab and swiping through my itinerary. "You have another meeting with the Actor's Guild. They are coming in from LA this afternoon, and then, Mrs. Gianpiero asked that you get her on the phone once you have some spare time."

I scoffed, "Don't tell me she has my schedule."

A beat of silence and Renzo cleared his throat. "She didn't give me much of a choice, sir."

I sighed, walking faster and greeting the never-ending throng of people, who were eager to get even a fraction of my attention. There was only so much I could fake. Today was not a good day and my mood was souring by the minute.

Avoiding my mother had been easier when I lived out of the estate but since my impulsive return, it became harder to avoid her as she appeared at my front step at odd hours or sent one of her men to request my presence — all of which I ignored and cited the load of work I had as my excuse.

But of course she'd gotten a hold of my schedule. She was, after all, the one who taught my siblings the lack of privacy and intrusiveness within the family.

I dreaded speaking with her cause it always ended the same; with an argument or curses hurled from both sides. What a way to make my already frustrating day worse.

"Get her on a call now, let me get it over with," I instructed him. He nodded and typed away at his screen. We reached the vast double doors leading to my office space and I spied the number of people seated at the outer waiting area, all heads turning to me.

I made a show of greeting them and breezing by to the door when a woman stopped right in front of us, light Auburn hair curled and styled to perfection.

"Donna, step aside." Renzo deadpanned, already making a show of gently moving her to the side but she didn't budge.

She turned to me, "I apologize for stepping in your way sir, but would it be okay if I had a talk with Renzo in private, please?"

My gaze settled on Renzo who shook his head subtly my way, his eyes pleading with me to say no. A wry smile drew at my lips and I nodded. "Of course, why not? Just don't keep him too long."

"Sir I—"

"See you inside, Renzo." I waved him off, walking into my office and directing the guards to man the entrance. I was curious about the connection between Makua's manager and Renzo but I guess I'd have to find out later.

Shutting the door to the main office space I resided in, I shrugged off my jacket, pulled at my tie, and poured myself a glass of whiskey, wincing at the sharp taste of the lukewarm liquid. I should've probably added some ice.

I gulped down the whole thing in one swig, preparing myself for the drama that would ensue from the discussion with my mother. Maybe I should have another cup or two, for strength and patience of course.

As I poured the second glass, I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. I pulled it out and checked the screen, a smile making its way to my lips.

Makua: Guess what I'm doing right now?

I typed back quickly, leaning back against my wooden table.

Damian: Dreading work and making your way to my office?

Makua: How tempting — I wish, but Tonia's got me booked 😩😩 which is a good thing BUT It's stressful and I miss you!

Damian: I miss you more! What has she roped you into now?

Makua: I'm filming some ads for a few brands all in one day — it's been fun but I really miss our bed right now

Damian: Just the bed though?

Makua: That's all you got from what I said? You're impossible 🙄🙄❤️ — I'll be done at 6/7, would you be home?

Damian: I'll be there whenever you want me to

Makua: I'm literally swooning, I have to give it to you, you know what you're doing!

Damian: I don't know what you're talking about

Makua: Sure you don't, I'll call you at my next break, Tonia's giving me the side eye! See you later! ❤️❤️

Damian: See you ❤️❤️

I paused once the text sent, wondering why I hadn't added a little something to the end. Most couples ended their texts with 'love you', 'xoxo' or something mushie. I wanted to, trust me, I did. But I didn't want to scare her off. It was weird when your partner of two and a half months, was saying those three words that could make or break things.

I guess I would utter them when I was overwhelmed enough with what I felt for her to say it. But for now, I'll keep it at an acceptable level.

Just as I set my phone down and sipped my second glass of whiskey, my phone buzzed frantically beside me. I didn't have to look at the caller ID to know who it was. I picked it up and brought it to my ear, taken aback by her shrill voice.

"Damian Aldino Gianpiero!" My name rolled off my mother's tongue with as much venom as possible. I rolled my eyes at her theatrics and moved till I was seated behind my desk.

"Madre." Mother. I muttered, leaning in back in my seat.

"Don't start with me," She retorted, "What kind of son waits till his mother calls him every single time? You don't even know how I'm doing or care! You don't call to check on your ailing father for that matter or arrange to see him. Do you hate us that much?"

"I don't hate you, Madre."

"Then you hate your father? Even after all that he's done for you, that he's done for this family?"

"I don't hate him." I deadpanned, the subtle throb in my head getting worse by the minute.

"Then why haven't you come to see him? How do you think he feels knowing that his favorite son doesn't care, hm? I hope you're not following in your step-brother's footsteps, acting all high and mighty and harboring stupid feelings towards him. He doesn't deserve that, not from you especially."

I rubbed the bridge of my nose and relaxed in my seat, "Did you call me to scold me for not calling you often or on behalf of father?"

She scoffed, "Do I need to have a specific reason to call or scold you for acting heartless towards us? I mean why is it that you're willing to give your love to some woman you met recently but struggle to give back to your own?"

"That's not fair."

"Well, am I lying?"

Yes. "Look, I've been really busy with settling a lot of deals and keeping things afloat on my end. I'm sorry for not checking in. I will do so as much as I can." A well-rehearsed lie that I offered in rephrased deliveries at each scolding session.

"And your father? Will you come and see him soon?" She paused, releasing a breath. Her voice lowered by the time she gathered herself. "Damian, please you have to understand, he may not have a lot of time left. The doctor.... I can't say much on the phone but please, do right by him and check up on us from time to time."

My heart tugged at that, and despite myself, I felt a trickle of fear run through my body. "How much time does he have?"

The line went silent for a while and I had to check to be sure the call was still on when she spoke again. "I'm not supposed to tell you this, I haven't told any of your siblings or anyone for that matter. But.... He has less than a year to live."

My heart plummeted and it became harder to take a breath at a time. "It can't be. It's father we're talking about. He always finds a way to overcome his problems." I laughed despite feeling no sense of humor within myself. "He'll find a way around this. You know that, right?"

A beat passed and I waited for her response, my heart beating in spite of myself. I was supposed to be happy...right? I shook the thought away and waited for her reassurance. She knew him more than anyone else. She knew just how capable he was at the impossible. All she needed to say was—

"Not this time, bambino." Her voice was shaky, distant. "In less than a year, he'll be gone. For good."

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