The Family Secret

by Daniele Botti

  The first time he had to use his gun, Gianluca went a whole week without speaking to anyone. Leonardo told him that the only thing he should feel when firing was recoil, no sympathy for the enemy.

  “Sometimes, all you can do with a fool is to oblige him,” said Leonardo.

  “When will it stop?” Gianluca asked.

  “Who knows. All we know is we have to carry on.”

  Over time, he grew good at killing as well. Between his own life or someone else’s, he picked his own every time. All he felt when firing was recoil, no remorse for the enemy.

  Gianluca invested in stocks, and after he was successful, he paid back the black money he had borrowed from Leonardo to set himself up, putting the first step in his place to become independent of his stressful, dark life.

  While he was not sent out to kill, vengeance and clean-ups on the part of others was a daily routine.

  Had he known he would be getting into such a life when he accepted to come back with Leonardo all those years ago? Gianluca thought so. Leonardo treated him like a son, grooming him to become the next head of the Bianchi family.

  Gianluca had connections in more places than the old man due to his flexibility when it came to carrying out his objectives, rather than getting stuck in some antiquated notion of honor.

  He was getting tired, but every time he would bring the topic up, Leonardo would divert it.

  “The Bianchi family’s next head needs to be you. With the power you have accumulated, you can take charge of the whole city,” said Leonardo one day when they were sitting his study.

  “What if I don’t want to?” Gianluca resisted. He was getting sucked into becoming of them; he knew.

  “Please. There is no one else, son.” He was getting on in age, past his prime, but still had a lot of fights to fight. Fights he was leaving to Gianluca, but at the moment the youth forgot about them all.

  His heart had felt incredibly warm at being referred to as a son. Gianluca changed his objectives, planning to take over Rome as the next head of the Bianchi family.

  “There doesn’t need to be anyone else when I am here,” he said, not knowing how much he would regret those words. Caught up in Leonardo’s smile, tasting his fine wine collection, which he brought out for Gianluca’s decision to be the next head, the young man foolishly forgot why he had always been wary of happiness.

  7.

  Hoping for Sunshine

  Paula looked at the man before her like he was specter on the deathly-silent street. She was black and white herself, yet this man, seeing her, talking to her, was in monochrome as well. His suit and overcoat were all in shades of black and grey. How was this possible?

  Paula’s dreams never involved people seeing her, talking to her, or being aware of her existence even if she was right next to them. How many times had she screamed her head off at a person as they were about to be run over a car, stabbed from behind, or ignoring a health problem of theirs? She had never been able to get through to people.

  And here was this man, a man whose face she had just seen for the first time before going to sleep, a man she had been admiring when reading about him just a while ago, walking up to her, speaking in the same voice as she feared.

  “Who are you?” she blurted out. “And how can you see me?”

  “Again, what makes you think I will answer anything for you?” Now that Paula was looking for it, she could detect a trace of an Italian accent in his voice. “Paula Lindsay,” he stated her name, smiling sadistically, lording over the fact that he knew things about her while offering nothing about himself.

  Paula had met many men like him, drunk off their power and intellect, believing themselves to be capable of getting anything they wished. Arrogant and spoiled. She had to face the facts, to rid herself of the initial image she had made about Gianluca if this man was him. Paula decided to test it out.

  “Gianluca,” she replied back as if they were introducing each other.

  For a moment, his mask slipped, lips curling downwards and eyes narrowing before he smirked again. “So, you do know about me. But I know for a fact that the old man,” his face turned dark for a split-second, “never got to see you. So, where did you get your information from, hmm?”

  Gianluca began to pace slowly, one step at a time, punctuating each thought with a step. Suddenly he stopped, hitting upon a conclusion. “I got it, it was Aleando, wasn’t it? I bet it was. That bastard is interfering with my plans again. I should send him a reminder soon.”

  Paula kept her face straight and chin leveled, keeping a cool head. Judging by his reaction and his knowledge of Aleando, he really was the Gianluca raised by Leonardo. So, why was Paula dreaming of him? Were the two of them fated to meet in the future? How, when she was going to go back to New York soon?

  “Why should I tell you anything?” Paula reversed the situation, while her mind was in overdrive. The dream where she and Jose met their demise had an intruder that was in black and white and had the same voice as Gianluca. Exactly like the person in front of her as of now.

  Was he planning to come here in the future, in this nondescript village? Paula glanced at her own, black and white self. She was dressed in a crimson hoodie over a black tank top, blue denim with Caterpillar hiking shoes, equipped with a shoulder bag. Was she here to explore something?

  “Oh, you don’t actually need to tell me something I will find it out anyway, Gianluca said, cocking his head to the side, his blond bangs falling off his forehead. His hair was longer than the image Paula had seen, bangs cascading down his entire forehead. “I always do, Paula Bianchi.” This time he used her grandfathers’ name, further solidifying her deduction that he was, in fact, the heir to the Bianchi family once.

  “Cocky, aren’t you?” Paula relaxed her shoulders. “Where does all that arrogance come from?”

  “Is it really arrogance when what I say is the truth?” he threw out his hands, shaking his head. “No, everything I commit to, I achieve. And I have told you, I will have my revenge. With you and your aunt gone, it will be complete.”

  Paula bit back the anger that arose when he mentioned her aunt. Lashing out was precisely what he wanted, and she would not give him that pleasure. Instead, she asked, “What revenge, exactly? You’ve been blabbering about it since my first dream of you. There’s a long list of people offended by me, jealous of me, so why don’t you tell me what’s got your jammies in a twist? I may even allow you to cut the line for people after me.” She smirked.

  Gianluca was silent, his lips forming a tight line. “It amazes me how self-centered you are. Must be that American mindset.” He reached inside his coat and pulled out a distinctive white box, flicking the lid open. “Spare me your pathetic attempts, will you? It’s all so cringy. Is this some B-rated action flick? What next, you’re going to joke about, how I’m adopted?”

  In Paula’s stunned silence at the casual admission, structured to be a joke, thus making that point a moot psychological front to attack him from, the blond took out a zippo and lit up his cigarette. She wrinkled her nose at the cancerous stick he lighted, but Gianluca merely puffed once to keep it going, and let the cigarette hang carelessly from his fingers, an orange tip at the end of a chalk-white stick glowing against the darkness.

  That can’t be good for health, Paula thought, before mentally smacking herself. This was a dream. What damage would even a whole pack of the damn things do?

  “Would you like a smoke?” he turned to her, holding out the packet.

  Paula usually abhorred the things, but considering this was a dream, what was the harm in trying one? “Don’t mind if I do.” She walked up to him, well aware of the way his eyes ran over her features, and took one out. He held out the zippo in his other hand and put it away just as Paula lit her cigarette with a puff as well, not inhaling anything.

  Her mouth felt dry and bitter, and the taste reminded
of her of the strong coffee she drank, and yet not. There wasn’t anything to like, or perhaps Paula refused to find anything to like knowing the harm of nicotine addiction. “Nothing special at all,” she muttered to herself.

  “Just like us human beings,” Gianluca heard her, and replied without any invitation. “Nothing is quite so special in this world unless you make it. Tell me, what sort of life have you lived? How does it feel to be an orphan to you?” he took another puff to keep the cigarette aflame but was more than content to watch it crumble by itself, treating it as an accessory.

  Paula felt the change of attitude weird but did not comment on it. “It feels like a hole in your heart that can never be filled. Every day is a chore to wake up to, but there are people counting on you, so you grit your teeth and go through your day anyway. Like everyone else, same old loneliness.”

  “Loneliness, huh? Everyone is afraid of being lonely.” Gianluca offered, looking morose.

  “What about you?” Paula asked him. “What was your life like?”

  “How do I tell it to someone who has never lived through the things I have?” He gave a soft sigh. “There is a small consolation if the hole in your heart has always been there. Its absence is not that painful. Still, it’s easier to be more about your existence in a mansion than it is in a rented apartment, don’t you think?” His voice turned cheery again towards the end, his smirk returning.

  Paula, for all her problems, knew she lived a very privileged life. Her father had driven that crucial lesson into her head since she was young. Most of the millionaires’ children she knew would end up blowing through the fortunes gathered by their ancestors within their lifetimes. Andrew Lindsay had made sure his daughter earned her standing as she grew up and stood on her own two feet.

  She knew what the man standing three feet away from her was trying to get at. It was an age-old argument, about money not being able to buy happiness. Paula had always felt it was a bit shallow and applied to a minority of the people. Money was power. It was respect and dignity. It wasn’t money that was the root of all evil, as the famous misquoted saying went, but the lack of money.

  All of Paula’s wealth was generated from legitimate sources and earned through her sheer hard work and ethic. “Are you saying that the rich deserve no sympathy?”

  “What do you think allows them to live such lifestyles in the first place? The only way to have more is to leave less for everyone else, to say nothing of the excessive wastes.”

  There was truth in his words, but Paula clenched her teeth. Lindsay Corporation was investing in sustainability and made many philanthropic efforts, but it wasn’t up to them to bear the burdens on the world, only that which she could handle.

  “I don’t have the answers you are looking for, I’m afraid,” Paula said. “At the end of the day, we can only do what we can with our limited abilities. I’m just one human being.”

  “Interesting. I’ve looked into your company, you know.” He shook his hand, the ash crumbling from his cigarette and drifting away in the breeze. “I wouldn’t just call you one human being. But I digress. This has been a pointless discussion. Nothing is going to change my mind about killing you.”

  The admission of intent to murder did not faze Paula on the surface, although she did feel unsettled inside. Here they were, chatting like mundane strangers, neither of them truly smoking as the conversation went to all sorts of places. Paula exhaled through her nose, laughing on the inside before she asked an offhand question, “Whatever happened to Leonardo Bianchi?”

  “Oh, to the old man?” Gianluca paused as if considering his words. It was strange to see him so thoughtful when his default persona was so mocking. “He died. Do you consider him to be your grandfather, seeing as you two never actually met?”

  “I would like to think so. Isn’t it enough that I know about him?”

  “Do you even know what he looks like?”

  “No, I don’t.” Paula did not have the presence of mind to ask such a thing from Aleando, considering how they had met. Would Megan have some kind of photograph of him? “If you happen to have a photo, I would like to see it.”

  Gianluca laughed, and Paula could just tell he was laughing at her. “Sorry, he didn’t like cameras much. He didn’t like anything much, come to think of it. Always complaining about fixing this thing and that, from the broken cupboards to society. A poor bastard came very close to getting away with a snapshot of him once. Had to throw him in the ocean with a cinderblock.”

  Reality came crashing down, and Paula was freshly greeted with the realization that this man wanted to kill her.

  The callous way he referred to ending a human life cemented Paula’s opinion about Gianluca. He was precisely the type of person she had thought her parents to be, an actual criminal with no regard for human life. How ironic was it, that the ones she had been doubting were better people than the one she had read about with an open mind and given a chance from the start?

  “You’re sick,” she bit out.

  “Hey, I was following orders. Funny how I am the sick one and not the old man.”

  “I am sure he would not have laughed as he talked about ending a human life. He had honor.”

  Gianluca stopped short, his humor vanishing. “Honor,” he spat out. “Do you have honor?”

  Paula rose her chin defiantly, looking at her dark brown eyes boring into his apathetic blue. “More than you.”

  Something changed in the air around Gianluca, and his angry eyes glistened like broken glass.

  “Then prove it.” He pulled out a pistol from his coat, a Glock 17. “Prove you will stand up for your family’s honor and have your vengeance.”

  “What vengeance?” Paula hid her shudders at the sight of the weapon. He was carrying this whole time, and she had never even noticed it. “Look, buddy, I don’t have anything against you. It’s you who’s got a stick where the sun doesn’t shine when it comes to my family and me.”

  “Oh, but I think you will have something against me too. See, old man Bianchi didn’t just die.” Gianluca continued to speak, “I was there when he died, watching him bleed out.”

  “Then you could have helped him!” Paula blinked away, angry tears. “You bastard, you were there, and you watched him die? What happened? Why didn’t you call a god damn ambulance?”

  “Well, it would have wasted the effort it took to kill him in the first place.” Gianluca shrugged, and time stopped for Paula.

  “You did what?” she whispered.

  “Oh, I killed him,” Gianluca matched her volume, his voice dripping with venom. “Him, and his previous heir. The one whose burden I was made to carry, while he lived in a dream.”

  “His previous heir? Did you mean my father?!” Paula shrieked, her nostrils flaring as he clenched her fists, overcome by rage. The killer in front of her merely waved the gun he was holding in her face.

  “Here, have your revenge.” With a quick move, he flipped the Glock 180 degrees, so that the chamber was facing him, and the handle towards her. “Shoot me, go on.”

  Reason cut through anger and impulse, honed by years of stressful work management and decision making and before Paula’s reaching hand could grab the handle of the pistol, she stopped her; her other hand clamping down on her wrist, forcing her arm down. “No. No, I will not be like you.”

  “Honor demands satisfaction!” In an instant he flipped the pistol, now holding it correctly, his hand on the trigger. Paula stood still, refusing to show any fear. “That’s what your twisted ideals say. And this is my dream, so have at it. Shoot if you wish.”

  That’s right, Paula told herself, it was just a dream. She couldn’t die in a dream. Gianluca snorted, holding his arms level, his aim belying years of experience with a gun. “You are one cocky, self-centered woman. Look around you,” he gestured with his hands to their surroundings, “Why would you be dreaming of where
I grew up?”

  Paula stepped back inadvertently, her mind quickly reaching a shocking conclusion. Could it be?...

  “This is my dream, Paula Bianchi.” With that, Gianluca fired.

  8.

  Under The Same Sky

  Paula felt like a brick had smashed into her sternum after being launched from a cannon. She lay in her bed, feeling her nightshirt growing wet and clinging to her chest.

  Her mouth was open, larynx unbearably tight as some sort of sound tried to escape it. She felt her blood throbbing in her ears, breathing in small movements, in and out, to not move her chest.

  It hurt like hell, but she wasn’t dead. Paula reached out towards the TV remote on her bedside table, slowly, gingerly, trying not to upset her injuries. The slightest movement hurt as she extended her arm, but she gritted her teeth and pulled through, her finger pushing the black controller off the edge and clattered to the floor.

  “Mmmphmm?” Megan began to stir, her eyelids heavy, “What was that?” When she received no response, the woman begrudgingly pushed herself to investigate, assuming her niece to be asleep. The moment she switched on the lamp, throwing yellow light on her niece’s form, all thoughts of getting back to sleep left her head. “Paula!” Megan shrieked, jumping out of bed.

  Her niece said nothing verbally, her face tense and covered in perspiration. The white tee she had gone to sleep in was stained in the center, the wet spot on it growing by the minute. It was right where her heart should have been. Megan immediately reached for the telephone, hurriedly relaying orders for a nurse and a doctor. Then, gently taking Paula’s hand in hers, Megan said, “It will be alright love. Hang in there, help will come soon.”

  Her aunt looked more worried than she had ever seen before. Paula wished she could have said something to console her as well, instead of merely grunting to acknowledge that she understood Megan’s words.