The Beginning
***
The old man moved speedily through the darkened cobblestone streets, his body casting faint shadows against the walls and pavement. A tattered coat stretched across his shoulders and barely held back the cold as he clutched at the lapels with arthritic fingers.
He knew he should've left the tavern for home hours ago, but the talk tonight had been such that gave a man new hope. Something that was rare and hard to come by in this time of uprisings and unrest.
The enemy had done their best to destroy his little piece of heaven in the Sicilian hills. All that was left were burnt-out buildings that didn't hold up under the mortar attacks and a few that had refused to give up but were yet badly shaken.
He'd been one of the lucky few who hadn't lost his home, though it wasn't much these days. And if things kept up this way, he might have to leave the only home he'd ever known soon anyway.
That's why tonight had been so refreshing. The news had warmed his heart, a band of men joining together in secret to take back the power that had been so ruthlessly wrested from their hands by men more crafty than they.
It had been a long time since Koza had been mentioned with such reverence in these parts. The once noble organization had taken a hit with the happenings in other parts of the world. Where men who knew nothing of valor and honor had taken up the mantle, only to tarnish and destroy its good name and what it truly stood for.
Something born out of necessity to combat injustice, a bond forged in steel among men who wanted better than the scraps from their master's table, scraps that had been stolen from them in the first place, whether by theft or other underhanded machinations.
In the beginning, Koza was something to be proud of, something kept in secret known only to those who made the oath in blood, but it had somehow become something else. There were whispers of the evils being done in the name of Koza all around the world.
They were long gone, the elders. Those men who had come together those many years ago. They were nothing more than the poor and needy; the broken and the downtrodden and out of despair had found a way to survive.
Their only aim back then was to right the wrongs done to them and theirs. To put food in their bellies and wipe away the tears from the eyes of their wives and stave off the fear of their children.
But greed can seep through the tiniest of cracks, and it was greed that led to the elimination of the once upstanding organization so that it had become what it is today. An organization of criminals and corruption, carried on by men who had no real association or even had the knowledge of what Koza truly is.
So for a time, the ways of the old guard had been lost, and the men who'd once found pride in what they'd made no longer wanted to be associated with this new Koza or its deeds. They put away old ideas and tried to find a place in this unjust world, where those who have kept their heels in the necks of those who don't.
But now, after this latest disaster had struck and the people were wasted, almost half a century since the first meeting, the sons of the old guard were ready once again to fight for justice and equality.
There was a new light in the old man's eyes tonight, something that had been missing for a very long time. A strange wind blew across his neck, and he looked to the sky. It was an omen that, and he shivered as he hurried his steps towards home.
He saw his door up ahead and hurried his pace. She'd be worried, no doubt, his little Sofia, the child of my old age. He smiled in the dark and shook his head, a man his age with a beautiful young daughter to raise. The village folk had had a mighty fine time at his expense when she was born.
His smile failed at the memory of the mother she'd lost and the wife that had been taken from him. Poor little mite, she never knew a mother's love. But he, because of the great love he'd borne the mother, had cherished the child from the start.
"Sofe, little Sofia, where are you, child?" He didn't see her laboring over the stove keeping his supper warm, as she was wont to do when he stayed out late. He didn't think much of it; maybe she'd grown tired and gone off to bed.
It was then the smell of burnt food reached his nose. "What's this?" He moved to the old wood-burning stove and removed the ruined pot. It wasn't like his daughter to be this careless.
And why was their home in darkness this late at night? It wasn't like the girl to sit in the dark, and he was sure she wouldn't be out of doors this time of night. His heart kicked in his chest when he recalled the strange wind.
Moving swiftly now, he headed for her bedroom, his pulse racing with an unknown fear. His foot slammed into something in the dark, and it was then he heard the rattling sound of someone fighting to breathe. He looked for the candle as there was no light here in this part of the village, but there was none.
Using the sparse moonlight that filtered in through a crack in the window, he got to his knees with his heart frozen in his chest. "Sofia." He could barely get her name past his lips. "Sweetheart, are you ill?" He ran his hands over her small frame, feeling for broken bones or a wound. Anything to explain. It was only as he lifted her that he noticed the torn clothes and the bruising.
His stomach fell to his knees as he rushed to his bed, which was closer, his eyes hardly believing what they saw. The anger was unbearable at that moment as he looked into the dead eyes of his only daughter. Not dead in body, no, but dead in her soul. The little girl he had left only a few short hours ago was no more.
"Who?" He didn't know that he expected her to answer, wasn't even sure that she had heard. Until she turned her head just enough to look at him. "Ricci."