DEATH AND LOVERS
It is a funny thing you know, to be alive with the knowledge that a relative or something (animal) close to you has died. Attachment happens to us all, as with bad luck and on any given day, it could be us in a body bag riding to the morgue.
There were mornings of mourning like this one for everyone and for Don Vicente, it only made sense that a man like him suffered loss too. For a reputation as hard as his, the people must have expected the devil to chin up or maybe just be unaffected, and that was it for him, the role he played to keep that reputation up, to stand in line not acting pressed or stressed, not being soft in the fore, before everyone else, before the men who looked up to him. it was the weight of the crown, it was a crown he wore well, despite the how heavy it was.
You could tell though, that he grieved, nights were spent alone next to a pool naked, shirtless, drunk, drowning sometimes and needing Titi who seemed to be everywhere nowadays to pull him out of his grieving backside inside the pool. There were nights in the garden, nights of assault on random women as he avoided Gabriella who was locked in all the time. Nights and days seeking comfort and getting it in the presence of a young Irishman of whom he wanted to keep as a friend. Nights alone hoping he could cry, wishing he found solace in something, in anything. For a man who had his heart set against the brokenness of his heart and mind, he must have felt like he had done himself in again being so attached to the now late Rodrigo Sampha. His heart was broken again, and he hoped not to face it alone.
Gabriella on those nights, watched him die over and over again, and on the nights that he drowned, it was her call that brought Titi to his rescue. It can be one thing to hate a person for kidnapping you and another to feel a deep pity for their suffering. It was as if she saw everything happen as it did in the brightest of ways, on a realistic television running in real time twenty-four hours and seven days for two months.
In that time, she had gone from worrying about herself and brother to hating her captor and eventually feeling sorry for him.
On her side, was a lonesomeness that she might have wanted, but wished it was her will that made it so and she knew nothing about his side, other than she came up against him. She thought he must have been the most insecure man she had had to meet because of her brother. Her brother (Caputo) though young, had worked for nearly everyone worth working for involved with the Venice and Italian mafia and lived with the highest of steads for a name, Capitano. Some might have said that he was the next Ace Vicente, the prince in all fores and a trusted man both in the camps of enemies and friends alike. His enemies knew of bis capabilities, and his friends knew that he would always deliver, no matter the task that was given to him. She got to wondering though, that at what point will these men and perhaps her Caputo realize that he is just a man with flesh and blood flowing through his veins. She wondered if he had called or if Don Vicente had reached out to him, did he know about Rodrigo Sampha's passing, and if he did, was he grieving? "Poor Capu" she muttered to herself as she watched Ace Vicente walk alone into the open pushes of the villa. "Such a poor man" she said as she laid down to rest.
Ace Vicente walked into a maze-like bush. It was a place of solitude for him. He had multiple places like this one positioned all over the villa. As a man, he understood the joys that came from being alone, and not just because he was in pain, or for the pain, he loved to be there, to think and plan alone, sometimes with Rodrigo Sampha.
A man was already there by the time he got to the bench, he had spotted him from afar and would have turned away but for his curiosity. It was nearly dark, which meant that all he saw was a mere figure sitting in serenity, taking in the quiet, grooming his thoughts.
As he got closer, the man stood up and his voice was that of Connelly the Irishman. Both men had found a way to grow fund of each other and so as much as they would have preferred to be alone, they did not mind sharing that space with each other. "I did not know that you were here Connelly." Said Don Vicente, "I will leave you to it." He continued as he turned to leave. "Don Vicente, there is more than enough space for two here you are willing to share. And if you are not, I could walk." Said the Irishman. They both sit and embraced the silence firmly. It was a careful encounter this, as both men paid mind to the environment around them. The insects that crawled and those that flew, the now retiring birds that must have travelled a short distance there and maybe those that even lived there. The sounds and chirps came on in unison like a branded orchestra trying to finish a limited-edition piece like it was the last time. It was a carefree evening clothed in pain for the Italian mafia lord and caution for Connelly. "You must think that I am a terrible host," said Ace Vicente. He sat erect waiting for a response but not getting any. "I suppose a man must know his shape as well as his shame and own them both. my apologies for my neglect of you and your brothers." Don Vicente arose to take his leave, "Don Vicente, you have a bottle and glass. Where I am from, apologies come with drinks." He said rising as well.
Both men sat down together for the second time. Ace Vicente passed the bottle after he had taken the first gulp. They must have past the bottle at least five times between themselves, silently before either of them said a word.