Chapter 37

  ? Choices and Prices ?

  Smoke hung low. A single lamp hummed over the room and threw the men’s faces into hard planes. Don Emilio, Don Carlo and Silvano sat close together; Luca filled the corner like a black shadow. Steve stood with rain on his boots and bad news on his face. Claude, notebook closed, watched like a man waiting for instructions.

  Emilio’s voice came first, thin with disbelief. “What is the meaning of this?”

  “You heard me, old man,” Steve said, flat. “You won’t hear of Lorenzo anymore.”

  Emilio’s hands clenched. “You do understand you brought hell on us, right?”

  Steve’s answer clipped the air. “I got rid of the b—”

  Emilio cut him off. “There are witnesses in the restaurant — a waiter, friends of Lorenzo, family who know you were the last to meet him.”

  Steve shrugged, eyes hard. “So what? They have no proof. I did it clean. I just have to find the kid who delivered the gun and sort this mess.”

  Steve looked at Luca, disgust flashing. “Couldn’t you find a better way to smuggle me a gun, Luca? I can’t believe you used a kid for that.”

  Luca’s voice was flat. “I didn’t.”

  Silence fell like a curtain.

  Steve’s brow rose. “Huh?”

  Luca repeated, calm and low.“What kid? What gun? I had a revolver go missing yesterday — it worried me. I didn’t give it to any kid.”

  A small voice answered from the doorway. “It was me.”

  Matteo stood there, wet hair plastered, followed by Dominick and Vince. Matteo laughed, breathless. “Sorry about that, Luca.”

  Steve’s hand struck — a sharp slap that cut the laugh off. Matteo staggered. Emilio did not move to stop it.

  Matteo’s face crumpled. “That’s what I deserve after I helped?” His voice broke, equal parts anger and hurt.

  Emilio’s tone was hard as stone. “I thought I made myself clear, Matteo. You stay out of the family business so you can be clean.”

  Matteo’s anger flared. “Why does Steve get to and not me? I want to be involved! The family’s mine too!”

  Steve, without softening, asked, “Who are those kids?”

  Matteo pointed. “He’s my friend — Dominick. Vince too. I hang out with them in my mother’s neighborhood. I told them about the meeting and sent them.”

  Emilio and Luca’s faces tightened as they recognized Dominick from last year. Emilio said only, “You again…” Dominick didn’t bother to look up.

  Carlo pressed his fingers against his chin, measuring consequences with a professional calm. Silvano spat one word. “Damn it — what a mess.”

  Claude, who had been silent, spoke finally.

  “But Steve… why did you shoot Lorenzo?”

  Steve went quiet for a beat; his jaw worked. “I have had enough of the bastard… I wanted him gone. Setting everything else aside — we have a big obstacle gone, right?” He looked at each man in turn. “The Marcetti snake — gone. They lost the badge. Now they’re like us. I’m ready to face the consequences. Prison or whatever.”

  Claude’s voice was steady, practical. “You won’t, Steve. We can send you away. Out of the continent.”

  Silvano nodded. “I agree. And let us take the heat here. We’ll catch the hell ourselves. I ain't having a son set foot in prison.”

  Steve gave a small, strained nod — pride and guilt warring on his face.

  Carlo rubbed the bridge of his nose.

  “We’ll make arrangements. Damage control. We meet the papers, paint Lorenzo as crooked, corrupt. Portenzo City will cheer. If we spin it right, the public will think he got what he deserved…” His sentence trailed; the plan was forming in the room. "The worst though is yet to come..."

  A soft voice cut through. Dominick.

  “The war with the Marcettis, right?”

  Every eye turned. Matteo blinked, surprised by his friend’s boldness. Vince stayed silent.

  Emilio barked a half-laugh, half-order. “Damn it… we forgot he’s still here. Luca, give the kid some money and send him off.”

  Dominick stepped forward. “I don’t want money. I want favors.” His face was steady. “I helped you get rid of an important enemy. Don’t toss me petty coins and send me home.”

  Silvano’s voice was warning-soft. “Don’t play games you don’t understand, little boy.” He tried to make his eyes into an intimidation.

  Dominick shrugged. “How about you teach me, instead of pretending you’re experienced while the Marcettis keep trashing you?” He didn’t shout; he stated a fact. “They’ve been bullying you for a while— Matteo told me. Now I show up and they lose one of their most important assets: this copper, Lorenza.”

  Vince, quietly, “Lorenzo, Dom, 'O'.”

  "Whatever."

  The room darted puzzled looks at the boy.

  Glances passed among the men. Carlo said, leveled and cold, “You don’t want any part in this, kid. It’s dangerous.”

  Claude walked up to Dominick and crouched, putting a hand on his shoulder.

  "Don Carlo is right. Don't worry. Your families won't know. The police won't either."

  Dominick smiled with a hard edge. “No, I want all of it. And spare me the hypocrisy.”

  A hush; the Dons’ faces hardened — slow, animal shifts. Steve’s mouth thinned. The men felt the disrespect like cold water. threaded annoyance, a flash of anger, and the calculation of danger. Silvano’s jaw tightened; Carlo’s eyes narrowed; Emilio’s hands tightened on the armrests. Steve’s stance drew small and menacing — the look of a man who measures how fast a hand can move. They all understood the insult. a child daring to lecture them about business. That sting sharpened the air.

  Claude kept his hand on Dominick's shoulder, pressing a little tighter, as if he meant to pull the kid from something... or warn him from it.

  But Dominick went on, voice steady.

  “Your business is nothing but filth. Gambling, women, guns. And now you act like you care about me because I’m a kid? In six, seven years I’ll be one of those men ruined by your doing.” His words landed like stones.

  Steve’s face hardened. “You don’t get it. This isn’t just brawn and bullets. It’s politics. Deals. A game that eats grown men alive.” His tone warned the boy of a complexity he could not yet fathom.

  “Then teach me,” Dominick said, rising a fraction, arms spread as if to welcome their doubt. A half-smile played at his mouth, daring.

  Claude, genuinely concerned, asked, “Don’t you go to school?”

  Dominick’s answer was flat. “We do. Top of our classes. Our parents won’t suspect a thing. Let us be part of this.”

  Silvano exhaled and rubbed his chin, worry plain on his face. “I don’t like this. The boy could get caught. The Marcettis might squeeze him, and then he’ll talk.” He stepped forward, the posture of an uncle trying to protect a nephew rather than punish a street punk. “Dom — how about a pact? You go home. We give you protection. Nobody breathes a word. Not you. Not us.”

  Dominick’s voice did not falter; it went quiet and cold. “You’re afraid I’ll snitch.”

  “Yes,” Silvano admitted. “And I’m afraid for you… and your family… if this goes too far.”

  Dominick leaned in. His tone dropped. “Then here’s what we do.” He put his hand palm-down on the table, steady. “I’ll give you my address. If I ever breathe a word—” He paused, eyes burning. “Do whatever you want with everyone in that house.”

  “Everyone.” The single word hung.

  “Except my friends Vince and Gilbert…” His breath caught. “…and my little sister Elena.”

  The room contracted under the silence, as if the air itself had been tightened. No one spoke. No one moved. Dominick’s words lay on their shoulders — a logic as cold and audacious as any man’s threat. Each of them felt the weight. the lives he loved now bargaining chips in his hand.

  Dominick’s fist trembled, and when he spoke again, his voice cut clear. “You need a new way of thinking. One the Marcettis won’t see coming in this upcoming war.” He looked at them, small and dangerous. “You need me.”

  Carlo finally spoke "And... what do you ask in return?"

  Few days later,

  Gilbert walked with a book in his hand, eyes skimming the page even as his feet found the road out of habit. Beside him, Elena matched his pace, her steps light despite the dirt path and the day’s fatigue.

  She was eleven, fair-haired, her braid slipping loose and catching the evening light like threads of pale gold. Her face carried a softness that work at the mills hadn’t managed to strip away, but in her eyes there was something older—steady, watchful, as if she’d grown years in months.

  Gilbert tilted the book down, glancing at her. “How was it today?”

  Elena responded. “The usual. I just got paid for last week.”

  He smiled, nodded, and lowered his gaze back to the lines of print.

  After a moment, Elena said quietly, “The landlord… is still missing.”

  Gilbert flicked a glance at her. “Maybe he’s out of town.”

  But Elena shook her head, her voice low. “I have a bad feeling, Gilbert. I think this is Dominick’s doing.”

  He gave a short laugh, as if brushing it off. “As if. I know he’s different lately, yeah—his grades dipped a little, he skips classes—but he’s still top. Mostly because Vince is slipping even more.”

  Elena stopped, her hands tightening around the thin bundle of her wages. “He’s changed. The way he talks. The way he looks at people. He hit a teacher back last week—. Almost got himself expelled if it wasn't for you and Vince. I… I don’t like it.”

  Gilbert slowed too, closing the book softly. He looked at her, earnest and steady. “Then I’ll stay close. I’ll look out for him… and for you.”

  She gave a small, uncertain smile, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.

  “I promise,” Gilbert said, a little more firmly now. “One day… I’ll be someone you can rely on. Someone strong enough to help my family—and you—no matter what comes.”

  Elena blinked, her lips twitching with the start of a smile, the blush deepening.

  “You always say that,” she murmured, looking down for a moment. Then, after a small pause, her voice steadied, soft but certain.

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “For a whole year, you’ve kept walking me home after work, even when you were tired from school. You always check if I’ve eaten, even when you barely have yourself…

  "You don’t just say things, Gilbert. You do them. That’s why I feel safe with you.”

  "That's why I..."

  Her cheeks warmed, but she lifted her eyes just enough to meet his, as if daring him to dismiss what she’d confessed.

  “I want you to see… I’ll grow up to be a man who can keep his promises." Gilbert said softly, "A man you can count on.”

  Elena laughed quietly, her cheeks still tinged pink. She clutched at the hem of her sleeve, twisting the fabric between her fingers as if to hide the warmth rising in her chest. “I don’t know what I’d do without you”

  And as they walked on, shoulder to shoulder, Elena tilted her head toward him—quietly grateful, quietly fond. The road stretched before them, long and uncertain, but in that small moment, it felt like neither of them would have to walk it alone.

  As they reached the neighborhood, laughter erupted abruptly, bouncing off the narrow cobblestone streets. Whispers carried through the air like dry leaves skittering in the wind. Gilbert’s eyes caught a figure stumbling down the street — a man in his early twenties, wearing only ragged boxers, the rest of his clothes nowhere in sight. He moved with frantic, jerky steps, glancing over his shoulder at every shadow, panic written across his pale, gaunt face.

  Gilbert froze. "Wait... That’s… the same one that mugged Dominick years ago… the one that... took his clothes and pants."

  Elena shivered beside him, and Gilbert instinctively shielded her from the sight, though she looked away herself, closing her eyes.

  “Hell, look at him!” one voice hissed from a shadowed doorway, chuckling.

  “He’s been like this for days… poor sod won’t even speak to anyone,” another muttered, eyes glinting with cruel amusement.

  “Was fine just last week… until some lads dressed in black knocked on his door,” a third added, shaking his head and smirking. "Bet it's a debt or something."

  Gilbert and Elena continued walking, a flicker of unease tugging at them hearing that. They walked up the stairs to the building. At the landing, Gilbert’s pulse skipped as his gaze landed on two familiar figures. Luca, the massive brute from a year ago, loomed at the door with unmovable calm. And Carlo, standing just outside his apartment, caught Gilbert’s eye.

  “Hello, children. Are your parents home? I’ve been knocking for a while.”

  “They… will be late tonight,” Elena murmured, ducking just a little behind Gilbert.

  “What is it?” Gilbert asked, voice tight, nervous.

  “I’m your new landlord,” Carlo said smoothly. “Call me Uncle Carlo. I thought about putting up a sign, but that would be disrespectful to your families. I wanted to meet them in person.”

  He leaned closer, lowering his voice with deliberate calm. “Could you pass a message to them for me?”

  Gilbert nodded, still uneasy.

  “Rent has been dropped to a quarter.”

  Both Gilbert and Elena gasped.

  Carlo’s smile widened, casual yet commanding. “I ought to do some good here, in the poor neighborhoods. Mr. Richard and I reached an agreement to buy this apartment. And if any matter holds them from paying in time, that’s perfectly fine.”

  Without another word, Carlo and Luca began to descend the stairs.

  “Good night,” Carlo called over his shoulder, the words carrying an almost imperceptible weight.

  "Domi," the boy thought. "What... are you doing?"

  Back to the present, Vince sprawled on the couch, half-drunk on the day’s exhaustion, while Alex sat upright in a chair, posture stiff, deadpan. Dante, having no horse in this story and utterly worn out, was half asleep, but listening, resting on Vince's arm.

  “As expected of the boss,” Dante murmured, stretching

  “Dominick did a number on those Marcetti idiots,” Vince began. “I was amazed myself. I thought I’m the lazy genius—if I tried hard, I’d surpass him—but he really terrified me. The Dons gradually grew fond of him. He showed tremendous loyalty, especially with him getting along with one of their sons, Matteo."

  "See, that’s the thing people miss." he added, rubbing his eyes, tired. "Dominick went lower than logistics, intimidation or violence for violence sake. He plays with the real roots: minds and hearts. Half of the the time, the victims didn't even know it. Remember your first mission?"

  Alex shifted in his chair but said nothing.

  “Now he is the only son of the Dons,” Vince continued, “after all them died in the war of the Marcettis that is still going till this day. Despite coming out on top, they still paid a heavy price.”

  Vince’s eyes flicked toward the sleeping Dante, then back to Alex. “The teacher that hit Dominick—the one he hit back—was a bastard who struck kids for answering wrong. He never did that again.”

  Alex’s deadpan tone finally broke. “Why? Did the Dons threaten him?”

  Vince chuckled, a low, tired sound. “Not personally. One henchman was enough, maybe. Every time Dominick uncovered a scheme, ran a trick, helped in the war, he asked for a favor.”

  “What is it you’re trying to say?” Alex prompted, leaning forward slightly, nervous.

  “He cleaned up, Alex.”

  Vince’s voice softened. “The school we went to… kids got hit less, smiled more, laughed more. Abusive teachers got the message. Our families weren’t sweating whenever a knock came at the first of the month or the week. And your mom, Elena… she stopped working at the mills. Still wanting to help and support, even though she didn't need to, she started selling flowers to passers-by — less stressful and dangerous, but a sad sight. Poor thing barely earned a coin. Who would stop and buy that?”

  Alex’s chest tightened. He saw his mother, young and proud, standing on cold cobblestones, calling out to men who barely glanced at her flowers. The thought twisted in his gut—how small she must have felt, pouring hope into each hesitant sale, only to be ignored. Just like him when he looked for work. His hands clenched at his sides. He wanted to reach through time, to shield her from the harsh city.

  Vince continued, pulling him out of his imagination. “Except Gilbert and I, everyone thought Don Carlo was some kind noble who took pity on them. But all of it was done by Dominick at the age of fourteen. And he stayed quiet for the following two years.”

  Vince shook his head slightly, a shadow of a smile on his lips. "Until his parents found out and disowned him."

  Alex's eyes widened.

  "Top of the class. Taking care of them. It didn't matter when they found out he is a 'criminal'" Vince's came out, a flicker of sadness behind it.

  "Even... my mother?"

  “No. She still loved him, believed he was lost.” Vince paused, letting the weight land. “Even your father. He never judged Dominick."

  "After becoming a doctor, Gilbert supported both his parents and Elena’s family, who refused any help from Dominick. That’s why they couldn't have you until later. Despite marrying early—they wanted to be fully prepared to provide for you when you were born."

  "He is... telling the truth," Alex thought. "I did notice my parents are older than parents of kids my age back in the village..."

  The boy's voice finally returned. “I am proud of my father. But... I don't know what to think of Dominick. My father stayed on the right path all along. Dominick... could have tried more.”

  Vince’s lips tightened. “Hmm... 'right path all along', I wonder about that."

  "What?" Alex froze.

  "Do you know how expensive medical universities are?”

  Alex’s eyes widened slightly. A gasp, low, almost caught in his throat.

  “You know where I’m getting at, right?” Vince said, voice quiet, almost intimate. “Your father’s education… was paid by Dominick. By blood money.”

  Alex froze. The chair felt suddenly heavier under him. He stared at the floor, at Vince, at the ceiling. His hands tightened around the arms of the chair. He had always kept away from blood money, refused to steal, believed his parents were saints. And yet here it was—his father’s future, bought with the shadow of others’ suffering.

  "That's not all."

  Fifteen years ago

  The bar was nearly empty, oil lamps guttering against the wood-paneled walls. Behind the counter, the barkeep polished glasses half-asleep.

  Dominick, thirty years old now, sat at a corner table, beard shaved clean but his eyes carrying the same cold weight as ever. The new wire-framed glasses caught a dim glint as he sipped plain water. Beside him, Vince lounged with a glass of brandy, gaze half-lidded but always watchful.

  The door creaked open. Gilbert stepped inside—coat buttoned neat, collar pressed, but there were dark rings under his eyes, the lines of an overworked man who forced discipline to mask exhaustion.

  Dominick’s gaze softened instantly, the frost melting from his expression as he rose, arms open. “Gilbert.”

  Gilbert smiled, relief flickering across his worn face as he embraced him. “Hello, Dom.”

  Vince didn’t stand, only raised his glass. “Hey, Gilbert.”

  Gilbert crossed over and gave him a quick, earnest hug. “I missed you, Vince.”

  “Same here,” Vince said with a rare smile.

  Dominick sat back down, but his tone was measured. “I can’t meet you in public often. Don’t want anyone thinking you’re tied to me.”

  “I know,” Gilbert nodded, settling next to him. “Thank you… for your time.”

  “How is Elena?”

  Gilbert hesitated for a moment, then. “She says hi. Says she misses you, a lot. Please—drop by one of these days... If things are more calm.”

  Dominick’s eyes flickered. “I will."

  He leaned back, his glass of water untouched, eyes narrowing as he studied Gilbert. The pale skin under his friend’s eyes, the tightness in his jaw, the way his shoulders sagged despite his polished coat—every detail told a story. A long silence stretched, and then, softly but edged with steel. “What is it? Need more money?”

  Gilbert went still. The warmth drained from his features.

  Dominick leaned in. “It’s about time you had a child. A beautiful girl like Elena—or a sharp boy like me. I can support.”

  Gilbert shook his head quickly. “No. Please. I’m ashamed enough. I promise I’ll pay you back.”

  “Don't worry about it. What is it, then?”

  Vince stirred, sensing a shift.

  Gilbert inhaled, steadying himself.

  “Can you… put in a word about me to the Dons?”

  The air froze. Vince’s eyes went wide, like he’d just heard a shot fired. Dominick didn’t blink. He didn’t look shocked. He looked… hollow, as if something inside him had gone cold all over again.

  “What word?” his voice was flat.

  “They… they pay well, right? I was thinking of becoming their private doctor.”

  “No.”

  “Please, Dom. I—” Gilbert ran a trembling hand through his hair. “That small clinic I share in the lower ring is killing me. The tools are outdated, I’m drowning in bills. Every day I’m up before dawn, treating ten men, twenty men, and... they still look at me like the boy from the slums. Even the the other doctors think less of me. Do you know what that does?”

  “I’ll get you your own private clinic,” Dominick said, voice low but edged like steel. “Just give me time.”

  "No.” Gilbert shook his head, eyes bright with a desperate shine. “Not another debt, Dominick. I can’t keep living like I’m leeching from you.”

  Gilbert’s hand tightened around his glass, knuckles whitening as though he could crush it. He leaned forward, then back again, restless, his chest rising and falling too fast for the stillness of the room. His lips parted once, closed, then parted again—no words coming, only the dry click of his tongue against his teeth. Finally, with a shuddering breath, he forced himself to meet Dominick’s eyes.

  His lips trembled into a fragile smile, though his whole body seemed to shake with the effort of holding it.

  “I want to raise a child, Dom. And Elena and me, we agreed to not have one until we are fully ready. You, her and me all know what happens if you bring a child into poverty. I have watched mothers, fathers and children die because they rushed. I want mine to grow up happy, in a clean apartment, with enough food on the table. Not the way we did, scraping. I want him to look at me and see a man who provides, not a boy still clutching at debts he can never repay.”

  Dominick’s gaze didn’t break. He let the words hang, dared Gilbert to keep talking. At last, he pressed his lips thin.

  “You done?”

  Gilbert’s voice faltered. “Y-yeah.”

  The glass slammed against his skull before the word even finished. Water splashed, the cup cracked, and Gilbert fell from his chair, soaked and blinking in disbelief.

  “Elena? In this world?” Dominick snarled, standing over him. “I kept you clear. Gave you clean ground. And you choose this? To fix animals?”

  "She refused too at first ... But now, she... understood." Gilbert coughed, straightening, voice breaking. "A doctor… a doctor helps anyone, Dominick. No matter who."

  He swallowed hard, eyes fixed on his friend. The man shook his head, guilt etched into his face. "I’m not a judge. I didn’t judge you. You are not an animal. Neither are the people you work for.”

  Dominick’s boot drove into Gilbert’s ribs, then again into his chest. Gilbert folded with a strangled gasp, the sound raw and human against the quiet of the bar.

  At the table, Vince’s fingers clenched around his glass. He didn’t rise, didn’t speak—just sat there, eyes shadowed with sorrow. It felt like mourning, though no one had died, mourning the two boys he once knew, boys he had laughed with, schemed with, run wild through the streets alongside. Mourning himself, too— for the way he sat still while one friend brutalized the other.

  Dominick finally stopped, taking a good look at the man he trusted to keep his sister safe, grunting in pain.

  Gilbert’s tears broke loose, hot and raw.

  “Dom… please. Elena’s wanted this for years. And yet... not once she complained. It... It crushes me... Not after the first one died in her belly... We’ve sacrificed so much. I just want… to give her a child. To raise him. To laugh with her, to—” His voice cracked into a sob. “I’d do anything for her. But I can’t keep taking your money, pretending I’m spotless while you’re the devil.”

  Dominick loomed above him, glasses glinting in the dim light. He finally spoke, voice low, almost a whisper. “Have it your way."

  "But—"

  "If harm ever touches her, I won’t bury you. I’ll make sure you live long enough to wish I had.”

  The words hung like smoke. Vince looked away. Gilbert sat trembling on the floor, tears mingling with the spilled water, the weight of both his dreams and his friend’s curse pressing down on him.

  Vince’s eyes locked on Alex, dragging him out of his daze and into the dim room.

  “That’s right. Not only you were supposed to have a big brother or sister, but your father pulled himself into the Dons’ circle.”

  He let the words hang, slow and deliberate.

  “Against Dominick’s warning. Against his refusal.”

  His jaw tightened. “And Dominick was right.”

  “Gilbert earned well for two years, close to the Dons and their men. But when the Marcettis carved up Matteo, the last Don’s son, your father was nearly butchered in the crossfire. Elena, carrying you, was nearly killed that same day.”

  Vince leaned forward, voice lowering. “Do you know who pulled them out alive that day?”

  The pause was cruel, stretching.

  “Dominick.”

  “Your father saw then what blood and bullets meant. He realized he’d dragged Elena—and you—into a world he couldn’t protect you from. And when he begged for a way out…” Vince’s tone cut like a blade, “who helped him disappear? Who risked being branded a traitor to save the Dons’ own doctor?”

  He didn’t blink.

  “Dominick. Again. All for your mother.”

  The silence was a weight pressing down. Vince’s voice dropped to a rasp.

  “Now tell me…”

  His gaze bore into Alex.

  “Whose fault is it you’re here now?”

  “And whose back carried the cost of your life?”