by K. L Mann
I try not to laugh, it’s a tiny cut from a scrappy hit. Well fucking worth it, and hardly uncomfortable at this point. I’m riding the highest high I’ve ever fucking experienced. And that’s saying a lot because with my new brothers I’ve experienced a lot.
I mean, wildest dreams type shit.
Living with Lorenzo and Gio is like living in a sophisticated frat house. Of course, we have serious time and responsibilities but I’ve never fucked, partied or laughed more than with them.
The fucking is the craziest part because until I met these bastards, I had no idea I liked group shit. And I really like group shit. Fucking women with them is like recreating the hottest, filthiest porn in existence, and we recreate it often.
Shrugging away my dirty thoughts, I try to focus on dinner. There'll be plenty of time for a different type of celebration later on.
“It’s a tiny scratch, I’m all good mamma. I’m just grateful to have showered first or you would smell like my sweat.”
Her face shrews up in disgust. “I would not have hugged you, silly boy,” she lies, smiling up at me. She most definitely would have hugged me, just regretted it afterwards.
Marco strolls by, giving me a passing glance and a nod. “Congrats.” He’s only 8 now, but he knows essentially everything about his family's affairs. He’s expected to do a Challenge Night too, preferably when he’s 16-18 like Lorenzo and papa.
Something tugs at my pants from my side and a smile forms on mamma’s lips before she disappears.
Arianna, 11 now, looks up at me with her big brown doe eyes. Wearing a pink frilly skirt and white fluffy sweater as always. She doesn’t give me the smug glare she normally does. Instead, she sticks out her hand with a tiny black box in it. She shakes it a little bit, implying I should take it from her. Cautiously, I accept the box and stare at it, then look back at her like an animal that’s never seen a gift before.
“Well, are you gonna open it or what?”
The sass in this child is outrageous these days but I think she’s trying to be nice, so I oblige. The velvet box opens slowly, and I’m caught completely off guard. It’s a ring, like a really fucking old fancy one. Red rubies form a skull in the center of the silver band.
I’m very fucking confused.
“I don’t understand,” I admit, looking at the ring and back at her.
She huffs. “Boys are so dumb. It’s a ring, Luca. You know, jewelry that goes on your finger,” she sasses, holding up her hands and wiggling her fingers as a demonstration. “It’s a family ring, like an old one I guess.”
“Yeah, I know it’s a ring. But why are you giving it to me?”
Again, she huffs and rolls her eyes. “Grandpapa Vitale said I have to give it to someone who deserves to be a part of our family someday. He said it’s real old, and used to be his grandpapas too. He went on and on about how the blood rubies are precious but I couldn’t keep it because it’s not meant to be kept, you’re supposed to pass it on. I told him that makes no sense at all, and I don’t know who to pass it on to. But he said when I know, I’ll know. Mamma loves you, papa loves you and Lorenzo calls you his brother. So, it’s yours now.”
“Arianna, I think he meant to give it to the man you marry someday,” I start to speak before she glares even harder.
“No, that’s stupid. Girls don’t give boys rings, Luca, it’s the other way around. Besides, I’m not getting married someday, that’s repulsive. And mamma said grandpapa would have liked my choice. Plus, he says what he means, if I was supposed to save it for some guy I like, he would have just said that. Are you gonna take the ring or keep making me feel weird about it?”
Sighing, I take the ring out and examine it further, and what do you know, it fits. Perfectly. “Thanks, princess.”
“Sheesh, you couldn’t have said that to begin with? Giving you a gift is like pulling teeth, I’ll remember that for Christmas,” she complains before she fails to scowl and accidentally smiles. “You’re welcome, dork.”
Gio Colombo
21 years Old
“To our newest generation of warriors,” my father finishes his toast. We all sip our collective drinks slowly, absorbing the celebratory energy in the air.
Luca did it. He fucking smashed it too. First non-blood heir to beat Challenge Night. An honor only he will ever have the ability to claim. My newest little brother. I thought that I’d only ever feel protective of Lorenzo in the fierce way that I do, but now I’d just as quickly die for Luca. We’ve only known him for a year, but he’s our family, and he’s wearing grandpapa Vitale’s ring to prove it.
I was pleasantly surprised when Arianna gave it to him. She hasn’t exactly been welcoming to him this entire time, and I’m hoping this is a step in the right direction for her.
Her and Marco and whispering amongst themselves at the end of the table like they always do, trying to avoid being put on the spot. As outgoing as she appears, Arianna hates being put in the spotlight. Don’t get me wrong, she enjoys love and attention but she needs time to prepare and practice so that she feels comfortable and confident when she talks. She hides it well though, usually doing great under the pressure she hates.
Speaking of…
“Arianna, did you tell your father about school today?” Mamma Vitale prompts, smiling across the table at her.
Her breath hitches in her chest, yet no one notices. “It’s Luca’s dinner mamma, it’s not important,” Arianna argues politely, but it’s too late now.
“Go ahead, angel. What happened at school?”
“It’s really no big deal papa,” Arianna starts to downplay it before her mother cuts in.
“She got a perfect score on a senior level history exam. The teacher wanted to gage her comprehension skills and gave her it just to see. The headmaster said that not a single senior even aced it. Only Arianna.”
Arianna’s cheeks go red and she inwardly cringes to her seat. “Mamma, really it’s not–”
“Angel, that’s outstanding,” her father praises with a bright smile.
She hates the eyes on her, I can feel it but it’s like no one else can. She wants to run away, but she tucks away her discomfort and paints on a smile. “Thank you, papa.”
Lorenzo and Arianna have always been damn near polar opposites. He revels in success, thrives on being recognized and has a wickedness that could challenge even mine. Arianna, though, wishes she could hide. She’s gotten good at hiding her discomfort, but not from me. I read people, and I read her like a simple picture book. She’s sweet and understanding but above all, she’s a secret keeper. This girl is 11 and would guard a stranger's deepest confession with her life because she values privacy more than anyone I’ve ever met. She admires having things for herself. Sharing is her kryptonite and in a family like hers, she’s always at risk of exposure.
“Why don’t you and Marco go watch a movie?” I suggest, seeing as how they’ve both been finished eating for twenty minutes.
Arianna thanks me with her eyes whether she knows it or not, then she looks to her mother for permission. Arianna is a lot like me. Like the nice and innocent version of me. Of course, she has her little mean streak but I like that part about her. It’s the most honest she ever is. No hiding behind smiles or fake laughs or insincere pleasantries. No, she's at her best when she’s insulting us or rolling her eyes. Sure, it’s annoying as fuck for an 11-year-old to be quick as a whip with witty comebacks like she is, but it’s also refreshingly real.
“Great idea,” Lorenzo adds, clearly just trying to get rid of them in order to talk business. He loves them like crazy of course, but he’s also the eldest sibling and has to act like he doesn’t.
“Go on,” mamma Vitale insists, smiling at both her youngest children. Once they scamper out of the dining room, she prepares to make herself scarce as well. “I have some work to attend to, but congratulations again, Luca dear.”
He stands and thanks her with a hug, knowing that’s exactly what she wants. She’s an affectionate
woman that’s for sure.
She’s also a sweet woman, but a semi clueless one. Though, I suppose if she wanted to know, she’d ask. I’m sure she gets the rough idea of what this family is all about, but her husband has never invoked his right to tell her. Wives of the inner circle are privy to the information we give them, if we see fit. It’s an outdated way of life, but it keeps them safe.
She simply thinks Luca did some physical testing today, including sparing. She knows we carry guns and have connections that make us untouchable. But the fact that we’re hired killers for the wealthiest men alive? She has no idea about any of that. How far our reach goes, how deep the history runs, how many lives we’ve taken. I don’t think she even knows how much money we have. Granted, she has access to millions so I doubt she needs any more than she’s getting.
“That’s pretty impressive,” my father breaks the silence. “Arianna, I mean, senior level history at the age of 11.”
“She’s too smart for her own good,” Lorenzo argues, but smiles.
“Her teachers asked if we wanted to put her ahead a year, but it just seemed like she wouldn’t like it. She would have to make new friends and she’d always be the youngest.”
“A lot of gifted kids burn out when they are pushed a year ahead or put into advanced classes. It’s smart to keep her where she is,” I agree.
“You’re raising a genius, who would have thought?” my father teases.
Papa Vitale snickers at the playful banter.
“Not just Arianna,” Luca adds. “Marcos like fuckin’ Hawkeye with a bow and arrow nowadays, have you seen him?” he queries, taking a sip of his scotch.
“He’s a very precise kid,” my father adds. “Likes everything to be perfect like his ma, I’m not surprised the bow is his favorite so far.”
“He’s got a killer knack for throwing spears too,” Lorenzo adds. “Gotta say, it’s surprised me a bit when he showed me. The spears are practically as big as he is. Of course, he can shoot too, but he likes the old stuff.”
“He likes the quiet stuff,” his father corrects. “There’s a reconnaissance edge to that boy. He’s lean, already getting tall and fast on his feet. He’ll be very deadly someday.”
We all hum and nod in agreement.
Arianna Vitale
11 years old
Stupid history exam. Stupid headmaster bragging on my behalf. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Who cares about some dumb evaluation? So what if I’m smart? I already knew that. Why does everything have to be an announcement? Why can’t anything just be for me? Why did mamma have to say anything? The dinner was for Luca, no one wanted to hear about my school work.
Dumb. Dumb. Dumb.
No one mentioned Marco’s solving Rubik’s Cubes in under thirty seconds now, or how he can kick nearly anyone’s ass at chess or even poker. He’s only 8 and already better than me but no one brags about him. It’s so frustrating. The attention would be good for him, and he doesn’t mind being put on the spot. But no, everyone looks at Arianna and makes her want to cry on cue nightly.
Stupid flippin’ dinner party. Stupid fake smile. Stupid biting my inner cheek until it bleeds.
Walking into the living room upstairs with Marco, I try to fend off the voice in my head that hates me. Sometimes it’s just too much.
I don’t like overthinking. I don’t like being bombarded with embarrassment for stuff that shouldn’t be embarrassing. I’m 11 so why do I feel like I’m drowning in life? Why does it feel like I’m holding on, trying not to let go?
Why isn’t it easy?
“What movie do you wanna watch?” Marco asks, jumping onto the big fluffy recliner and grabbing the remote.
He always sits in that chair, and says it’s because he likes having an assigned seat. I think it’s dumb to constantly do the same thing over and over again, but I let him get away with it anyways.
I’d let Marco get away with anything because I adore him. More than anyone, I'll protect my baby brother. The things I would do to keep him safe would frighten most people.
Good.
Be afraid, be very afraid. Never cross my Marco without intending to reap the consequences.
“It’s your turn to pick,” I remind him, throwing myself down on the couch in a huff.
“If I pick, it’s going to be scary and you won’t like it. Just pick out one of your sappy movies. They always make you feel better,” he retorts, his voice filled with sincerity.
My baby brother looks out for me too.
He’s right, he has terrible taste in movies. Some of them are okay, but the gory gross stuff can hardly be considered a movie if you ask me. I always watch them with him, he just has to deal with my complaining. He always does though, rolling his eyes and saying it’s just a different form of art that my girly brain can’t comprehend. We only ever agree on one thing regarding movies; they should have humor, at least a little bit.
“We’ll meet in the middle then. What’s that one you like with all the goofy American comics on vacation?”
He snorts. “Grown Ups?”
“Yeah, that one, we can watch that. Deal?”
“Deal,” he agrees and pulls it up.
The movie starts to play but my anxiousness and self-torture doesn’t end. My mind dips back into those embarrassing nervous thoughts, hurting my soul as I let them flourish.
Giving Luca the ring wasn't hard, though being nice to him isn’t easy for me. He’s easy to talk to. I don’t really care what he thinks about me all that much, so there’s never any pressure. I can be a little rude without facing consequences too. He doesn’t care if I stutter or mess up a sentence. He doesn’t care if I don’t perfectly execute the point I’m trying to convey. He’s just Luca and he sails through, never getting stuck because of bumps in the road.
It’s the most normal thing I experience when we talk, and that’s why he’s not all that bad. That’s why I gave him the ring. Talking to him doesn’t hurt, so he deserves to be recognized for that.
Gio’s a different story. Deep down I know he doesn’t care if I mess up around him, but I care. I care because I love him.
Yeah, yeah, I get it.
He’s 21, I’m 11 but I don’t care. I’ll love him until I die. He’s made for me, I know it. I’ll have him one day, no matter how long I have to wait.
“You gonna go to America with me one day, A?” Marco asks, pulling me out of my lost thoughts.
He’s been obsessed with the states since he was five and heard rock and roll for the first time. He loves it. The music, the food, the celebrities.
I’ll go with him though, because he’s my best friend. “If mamma ever lets me leave Italy, we’ll go to New York. I want to see the city lights from the most expensive penthouse money can buy.”
“We’ll go without permission. See how long we can escape before Lorenzo tracks us down,” he jokes, smirking wide. “I say we can make it for at least three days.”
“We plan it right, I bet we can make it five,” I tease, smiling back.
“You’d make it for 24 hours, no more,” Lorenzo retorts, emerging from the shadows near the door like a creep.
“Wanna bet on 25 hours then, big brother?” I sass, crossing my arms.
His eyes roll as joins me on the couch. “You didn’t want to talk about your history exam,” he accuses. “Why?”
Huffing, I narrow my eyes at him. He’s always been perceptive, my big brother. Mamma says he even knew what I wanted as a baby. He was the Arianna whisperer. Though, as I got older, he got colder. He keeps people at arm’s length, always has. Of course, Luca and Gio aren’t subject to his hot and cold fits. They’re always in his good graces, privy to the knowledge of what’s going on in his mind.
“The dinner wasn’t supposed to be about a stupid test. I didn’t want to talk about it. Why does it even matter?”
“Because you’re 11, and outscored 18-year-olds, baby sis. That’s a good thing, you shouldn’t feel weird about your success.”
“It doesn’t matter, it’s just a grade.”
“Arianna, it matters,” he presses again, his voice firm.
“Whatever,” I mutter, brushing him off.
“You gave Luca, grandpapa’s ring,” he states, watching me carefully for a reaction like papa would.
Here we go.
“You’re a regular Sherlock Holmes,” I taunt, sarcasm dripping from my voice.
He studies me, watching for any nonverbal cues like he’s a spy. I study him back, keeping my poker face dead of emotion. He should be proud of it, he taught me how to do it.
“So… you like him or something?”
I gag, actually gag.
Like Luca? As if!
Marco snickers in his seat and he earns a glare as well. What is it with boys and nagging girls about crushes? I swear the male species is so dramatic that I can’t even keep up.
“Your 17-year-old smelly blonde friend? No, I don’t like him. I did exactly what grandpapa asked me to do. I gave it to someone who deserves to be a Vitale.”
His lips purse in amusement. “You didn’t want to save it for a husband one day?”
“Oh my God, no! Why does everyone keep asking that? Girls don’t give boys rings, it’s the other way around. And I’m not getting married, boys are stupid and loud and smelly.”
Except for Gio.
“You could have a wife instead,” he offers, attempting a serious tone to let me know he’s not joking.
If I thought I couldn’t think of anything worse than a husband, I was wrong. Worse would be a wife. I shivered at the horrifying idea.
“I am NOT sharing my stuff with another girl. What if she gets a stain on one of my sweaters? Surely, I couldn’t love her after that,” I argue, scoffing at the thought.
“So, don’t share with her,” he retorts, again with a serious tone. Does he think I’m gay? I mean, girls are pretty and all, but I have my sights set.
“Do you think I’m gay? Or are you just attempting to tell me it’s okay if I am in order to cover your big brother bases?”