A/N

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• DAMIAN •

The drive to the Windsor Cathedral was observed in silence.

Renzo sat at the driver's seat, eyes ahead as he maneuvered through the dirt road leading to the Cathedral. I sat beside him, taking peeks at the rear view mirror at Dario's tense frame. He leaned his head on Mattia's shoulder, despite his initial reluctance to his presence. In all honesty, I was glad he tagged along, though I wasn't too keen on whatever weird dynamic had developed in their relationship, as long as it didn't harm my brother, I was fine.

The car finally eased into the packed driveway; filled mostly black Cadillacs, Mercedes and Range Rovers — cars that cost more than an average person's yearly earnings. Cars that were personally financed by our family.

I stepped out of the car and stared at the entrance that people walked towards, all solemn and tightly clad in warm clothing. Midnight eased the deadly chills that swirled all around, the cathedral acting as a beacon of warmth. Multiple doors shut and I turned to find Mattia's protective hands idling along Dario's shoulders. Not too close that one would suspect there was anything between them but a brotherly bond between two men grieving over a loved one that had passed.

Tilting my head slightly, Mattia nodded in response. The words I refused to voice out, he understood perfectly: "Be by his side at all times."

Taking a deep breath, I rounded the car till we were walking in the same steps. "Let's get this over with, shall we?"

The inside of the cathedral was filled at every row of the polished pews with people; associates, soldiers, extended family. One would assume that someone just died with the attendance, but unfortunately, it was a man who refused to remain a memory that was being, as Leon had put it, remembered.

For what, you ask? Well, for simply being the first legitimate son of Guiliano Gianpiero. My father despite his cruel nature, was a man of compassion when it came to his blood. Fifteen years since Valerio's death... Fifteen tumultuous years of ridding his memory from our lives, and here we were remembering the cheeky bastard for his unremarkable life, that had been 'cut too short'.

I stopped at the back of the pews, motioning for them to go forward as I stared at the blown up portrait of my slain step-brother. His green eyes, which he inherited from his mother, sparkled as his lips pulled into his signature mischievous smile, dark raven hair styled back to capture every feature of his face.

The face of a devil that been clothed with the skin of a human.

"I'm glad you could finally show up." Leon's voice, barely a whisper, came from beside me. He had his black suit on, hair styled back, almost identical to—

"There's no other place I'd rather be." I deadpanned, folding my hands as I surveyed the people who were shuffling about, settling in their seats and awaiting the service.

He chuckled, startling me as he bumped his shoulder slightly into mine, "God forbid that you lie in a holy place."

I scoffed, "With the kind of people sitting in this room, I can promise you that the holiness in this place drifted elsewhere already."

From the corner of my eye, I watched him shake his head, lips slightly upturned. "Touché." He checked his watch briefly before tucking his hands into his pocket. "Chiara's late. Was she at your girl's party?"

I tried as hard as I could not to roll my eyes. Since the dinner at the family house, Makua had become just 'my girl' to him. He refused to acknowledge her name, and frankly, I stopped caring altogether. "No, actually. She got the invite but canceled last minute."

"Huh." He muttered, "Well, we can't start without her, we've kept this people waiting too long and wait—" His brows creased ever so slightly, "There was an invite?"

"Yeah."

"And I didn't get one." He said.

"You wouldn't have come anyway."

He shrugged, "True. But the thought counts."

I was ready to give him a snarky remark back, a bit thankful to the crack in his usual armor, when our attention was drawn to a sudden commotion at the entrance. We turned together, our smiles—or whatever that was on Leon's face— slipping at the same time as a solemn hush settled over the pews, eyes turned in the same direction.

Taking slow and calculated strides, Don Gianpiero—my alleged dying father—strode down the aisle, a walking stick embedded with a golden snake around the staff, fastened tightly in his hand. Soldiers, associates, family and their company, all rose as he moved to the front of the pews reserved for family. Possibly per his orders, my mother and Chiara stepped in after him, making their way to his side.

Leon and I exchanged subtle looks of worry before taking cautious steps to the front where they sat; my father on the first pew with my mum while we, the children, sat behind them. The air around us was stifled. His presence demanded that at all times. The countenance of a man revered as a god. Despite his walking stick, or labored walking, he held his head with the same pride he'd engraved in us.

I kept my eyes on anything but him. Months had passed since the last time I'd set my eyes on him. Not once did I visit him while he was confined to his bed or when mother told me about his deteriorating health. He was dying and I had not bothered to be by his side. The enormity of it all fell on my shoulders as the priest took the stage and said some prayers. All my thoughts stumbled on themselves. Guilt, shame...longing.

Once the rites were read and he gave a speech, this little farce would be over and the main thing would begin. We'd be forced to sit around a table huddled together and then our eyes would meet and I would find in them, the disappointment that I'd feared all my life.

"You okay?" Chiara whispered beside me, "You look a little pale."

I shook my head, unable to draw a smile. "Yeah, just tired."

She nodded and looked away. Probably storing it in to ask later until I was annoyed enough to tell her.

When Father took his place at the podium, there was a collective intake of breath. Leon's face hardened, Dario's was held down while Chiara kept her well trained poker face on. I didn't know what face I made, but I hoped it didn't convey my unease.

"I know you're all surprised to see me." He began, the deep baritone of his voice bouncing off the walls of the cathedral. "My family especially." He laughed, and people laughed along on cue. "But I'm still here, for those who thought I was dead or close. You can't get rid of me that easy." A collective roar of laughter boomed from the men in his faction mostly. No one dared at this point to show their true feelings on their sleeves. Leon and his men especially.

"I have a few things I'd like to say about my first son... the heir that never was."

I spared a side glance at my brothers as his speech went on. There was a collective intake of breath at the mention of Valerio's supposed status. Eyes found Leon, whether they wanted to or not, as Father reigned praises on--as he stated--the heir that never was.

"...We might have gotten those French bastards that took him away from us, but even after so long, his legacy... what he was already aiming for, can never be undone."

Silence fell over everyone as his speech concluded. The tick in Leon's jaw could be spotted from a mile away. The corner of Father's lips tilted upward in a tight smile, like he could feel the power his words held over him.

By the time he moved from the podium, we were all on our feet, mostly members of the inner counsel of the family, and we followed him through a space in the Cathedral that led to a secluded room with a round table and chairs.

In the past, only men were allowed into these meetings, but father had carved out a spot for Mother and Chiara, despite the grumbling of the men of his faction. So we all sat around the table; mother on his right side and Leon on his left. Renzo and Armando stood behind me as did the other men in different factions.

Father's eyes surveyed everyone when we settled in, landing on me before a shadow of a smile curled on his lips. "Damian." All eyes fell on me, "I hear you have been up to quite a lot in my absence."

What a way to start this, I thought. Clearing my throat, but I got cut off by Marco Sorrentino, my father's capo-regime. "Even killing one of our own." He barked out from behind father.

Father's brows rose a notch, "You killed someone within the famiglia?... on what grounds? Who did you kill?"

Silence enveloped the room as everyone's attention fell on me. I kept my composure despite the accusing glares thrown my way. "Luciano."

"Why?" His voice dropped a notch or two. A warning sign really.

"He assaulted my... woman."

Father scoffed, "Did he know she was your woman? And to what degree was she touched that you thought to take out one of my most trusted soldiers?"

"What does it matter?" Dario cut in, "He touched what wasn't his and got what was coming to him. End of story."

"Dario-"

"What? Why should we have to explain shit to anybody? I was in charge of protecting her during that Piro-infused gala and when she slipped out of my sight, I went after her and saw Luciano rough handling her and I lost it — beat the fucker until he was close to his maker, then Damian ended it. If you want to play the blame game, then blame me and let's get this stupid meeting over with."

I snapped my eyes to Dario's defiant frame and back to father's. He looked as stiff as a board, face reddened with anger I knew was brewing over the edge. But Dario was one of a select few who could address anyone in such manner and not face the consequences. Father was already guilt ridden enough to do much about him.

After a long beat of silence, Father released a deep breath, "Marco, has Luciano's family been compensated?"

"Yes sir."

"Then that's that." He said, drawing a few scowls from the men in his faction. But no one dared to oppose. "We'll discuss the terms of balance, later. Am I clear?" He said this to Dario and I. We nodded and the meeting moved on to other topics.

Then, when it was close to my turn to deliver my reports, My ringtone blared from the side pocket of my suit. I pulled the phone out despite the stares, hoping to catch Makua's name on the line when I found Mirko's name blinking on the screen.

"Excuse me," I said without waiting for approval and rushed out of the room.

"What is it?" I asked in a hushed voice, eyes darting over to the men stationed along the hallway walls.

Heavy labored breathing came across the line, drawn out and slow.

"Mirko, what's-"

A loud coughing fit made me pull the phone from my ear before bringing it back, his voice barely above a whisper. "B...o...m...b"

"Mirko speak up, what the hell is going on?"

"Blood, there's blood everywhere..."

My heart caught at that point, my feet already bounding to the end of the hallway, "What do you mean? Mirko where is she? Where's Makua, what's happening?"

Labored breathing met my ears again and I fought hard to not hurl my phone against the wall. God no... It couldn't be, there was no way-

"The bomb... there was a bomb... I tried to find her after... boss I tried to find her... Oh God, I can't feel my legs, it burns.... Oh God— " the line went dead.

I looked at the blank screen for what felt like an eternity until bounding footsteps closed in on me.

"Jesus... I think he knows." I heard Armando's voice and rose my head to find he and Renzo approaching, stopping at a seemingly safe distance.

"Boss," Renzo said, "I think you might want to sit down for this."

***

AUTHOR'S NOTE

The way I forgot to upload this chapter?
I finished it last night and put it up and just remembered that it wasn't posted yet 😭😭
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