by DCS
Every word sparked an image in Marcello’s mind, the same that had nearly driven him to the point of insanity for four hundred days. To explain the depth of his rage was impossible. It was not the child that had pushed him away from his wife; it was this. Because he couldn’t touch her after someone else had done the same. Because he could see the intimate details of it behind his eyes. Deucalion’s hands on her, his mouth on her, his hips bruising and cruel, forcing her body to give in and enjoy the sensation of another man inside of her. It burned in his chest, crushing his heart with its fury. He wanted to tear his fingernails into Deucalion’s flesh and rip him apart. It was enough negative energy to damage his karma for several lifetimes. He didn’t care.
Marcello kicked Deucalion hard in the center of his chest, sending the Illuminati onto his back, and stood over him. “You’re right.” Marcello said, eerily calm. “This won’t change anything.” He leveled the gun at Deucalion and his tone turned to ice. “It just makes me feel better.”
He pulled the trigger. Four times.
When the body stopped twitching Marcello turned around, replacing the gun into the holster underneath his suit jacket. Ciro had gotten out of the Chevy and was leaning casually against the side of it, a cigarette between his lips. He didn’t offer commentary as Marcello reached inside the truck bed and returned with a monstrous blade and small square black case. Instead, Ciro pulled a lighter from his pocket and lit the fuse on the end of the three red sticks taped together in his hand. Nonchalantly he strolled around the vehicle, across the parking lot and over to the restaurant. The faces in the windows quickly retreated as they saw him coming. He didn’t open the door; he took an elbow to the glass and after it broke tossed the dynamite inside. His footsteps were a little quicker as he walked back behind the truck.
The building exploded seconds later. Nothing personal, it just ensured there were no witnesses.
When Marcello came back the last time he was breathing so hard it was as if he had run a mile; the blade was splattered with crimson and the case was no longer empty (police would have a helluva time trying to identify the body). He pulled off his gloves, shoving them into his pocket and muttered a curse when he saw the red stain on his sleeve. The machete was tossed carelessly back into the truck bed and he nodded once at Ciro.
In continued silence both men headed down the still empty streets to the end of the corner, not a glance spared at the burning building. Ciro reached inside his pocket and removed the keys to the 59’ Cadillac convertible. Just as the sirens sounded in the distance, the car was speeding away towards the freeways heading south.
Check. Their move.
§
June 8th, 2012
Undisclosed location
Undisclosed location time unknown
A thoughtful silence had descended upon the siblings again. Going through the box Rosa left for them had offered a rare unseen glimpse of their grandparents. All three of them could at least agree it was definitely a little more than odd to have two sets of emotion about the same person. After all, Marcello had become their grandfather, a son and a nephew.
Deciding to take a break from the Vault, and feeling a bit more than overloaded with information, they’d come upstairs and were now sprawled in the padded chairs around a table out on the veranda closest to the kitchen. Lucien’s stomach had caught up with him and he’d retired to the kitchen to rustle up a late breakfast. He’d always loved to cook, a trait that was uniquely his. He was relieved by that. Lucien was realizing a lot of tendencies he exhibited in this life he’d also shown as Julian. It left him internally panicked in short bursts, balancing two men inside of him and trying to hold on to the memory of which one he was now.
Lucien had already passed out the coffee and Vasco sat with his hands wrapped around an untouched mug, staring sightlessly out at the scenery. He was the first to break the silence. “Do you really think we reincarnated as those three?” As soon as the question left his mouth, he immediately recalled a previous lifetime comparison. Stefano and Lil had been closer than he was with Simone, but Vasco always found it easy to talk to her in the rare moments he opened up. That felt incredibly familiar and with good reason. Stefano and Lil had been the same way.
“The way things are shaping up…” She had her own cup of coffee and had sucked down the caffeine boost like it was a shot. “…I don’t know, V. Is it really so strange? Especially in comparison to the Anunnaki? It’s obviously true. You’ve got memories of it, and grandfather sparked the war against them.”
Vasco lapsed into another silence after hearing her words. She had a valid point. He could think of no clear reason why, in the case they were not reincarnated, those Holons would have downloaded complete b.s. into their brains. More than that, a strong swell of pride bubbled up inside of him at the thought of Marcello and everything he’d accomplished. A sense of arrogant triumph that the risk he’d taken on his unknown son had been correct followed at its heels. Vasco knew those feelings were Stefano’s but the longer time passed the more that kind of thing was getting harder and harder to differentiate from present reality.
Grandfather or son, with the memories in his head, Vasco was confident the move against Them had been a good one. Though, it must have been torturous for Marcello to know an enemy had struck so close to home. Vasco had never been in love, so he couldn’t quite fathom what that sort of news would do to a man. Relationships over the years had not been his strong suit, though Simone and even Lucien had made out just fine. Hell, Lucien had almost gotten married once. Unfortunately his bride-to-be decided on their wedding day she couldn’t handle becoming a Terenzio.
No, the majority of Vasco’s life girlfriends and in-betweens were sparse and it wasn’t because of his reputation of being “heartless.” Too often he felt as if someone was waiting for him. It sat like a small splinter in his conscious mind and made relationships nearly impossible. It was an irrational thought to hold onto for thirty years. It was also making him even more conflicted about their little experience because the one thing that kept pushing him towards the fantastical idea of reincarnation was her. The second wife. There was more than he needed to know in his brain. Intimate sporadic memories that revealed the softer side of two known killers. But more than the thoughts contending for attention were his growing feelings. At random moments, ever since he’d climbed out of that fucking Holon, Vasco found himself missing her. Desperately. The smell of whiskey on her breath. Her husky whisper in his ear, drawing him into her effortlessly. If it continued, he thought it might drive him crazy.
“This could be bad for my marriage,” Simone said, pulling Vasco out of his thoughts with her own similar ones.
He looked over at her, and his mouth curled upwards slightly. “Going to start killing your husbands again?”
Simone laughed. “No.” Liliana Terenzio had killed her first two husbands. Her third had gotten away safely, then Kyle had come along and ended a black widow’s career. Simone grew serious. “I’m suddenly comparing Victor to Lil’s Kyle. He’s not doing so well.”
Vasco paused, searching his mind like he would a filing cabinet. It only took seconds before he said, “Stefano thought he was a pussy. But good for you.” And again he wondered why he would need to know that, unless…
A wistful smile crossed Simone’s lips. “I know.”
“Food is served.” Lucien reappeared carrying three dishes with all the skill of a waiter. He set one down in front of each of his siblings and then dropped into an empty seat. “What are we talking about?” He asked as he picked up his fork and dug in.
Vasco opened his mouth to respond but the words never left. His head cocked to one side, his ears perked, the hairs on the back of his neck tingling.
“V?” Simone looked over at him curiously.
He didn’t hear her. Without conscious thought Vasco pushed back his chair, rising to his feet and walked into the house. And there he waited.
He didn’t wait long.
Sh
e stepped into his line of vision seconds later. Tiny but voluptuous. Dark-skinned and exotic. A voodoo queen from Jamaica that controlled the flow and sale of drugs through Central America and parts of Southern Africa. Subsequently the CIA was one of her biggest clients. But how she was still alive now with barely a sign of aging was an unspoken, and unanswered question. What he knew was that she had been his.
Jesus Christ. He was Stefano Terenzio. He could feel his other personality suddenly consume him, thrusting him back so completely into his self the only difference was the face was the mirror. The sudden swell of emotion came at its heels. It expanded in his chest and for seconds he just couldn’t breathe. The slate of steel shifted, melting back into the gray as he focused with inhuman intensity on his true mate. And he knew. He knew what he had been waiting on his entire life. Her. His wife from a time past. He whispered her name.
She had not met this one before and had no interest in meeting him now. She had lost all interest in the Terenzio spawn the day Stefano died, that is, if she had ever actually had any. She was only here because forty-two hours ago, she had gotten a letter. In his penmanship, seventy-eight years after his death. The request had been postdated, set to arrive when it did. The sentence he’d written was simple, “See you soon.” An address and day had been provided. Curiosity had formed in the place of her more natural apathy which led her to fulfill the request. She expected nothing from it, at most a very foolish and soon to be dead person playing a game with her. What she saw before her however, she was not even capable of expecting.
Emerald eyes fully focused on the one standing in the doorway. She was forced to momentarily brace herself as the heart she had forgotten existed wrenched in her chest.
It was not so much in his physical appearance that a man long dead appeared before her. It was his eyes. The mask of color that could hide nothing from her yet drew her in with its silent mystery. She was unaware of her own actions, but the stilettos were carrying her forward, closer to this apparition that must only exist to torture her further. A sharp whisper came free of her plump mouth, “Stefano.”
§
June 8th, 1925
Murray Hill
New York, NY 11:11 AM
She found little to fear as she slowly circled the den, observing the game under an inhuman scrutiny distinctive to those of her kind. Of course, there were not many of her kind and he knew it. Others found out the hard way. It was an unjust advantage that she never failed to make use of, but she would be just as treacherous stripped down to her primal human self.
“I can sweeten our arrangement. We need a secure holding place between transactions; I’ve just been given a small acquisition that will make that possible.” He broke the silence, assuming she was done with her inspection of his office.
While she did process the remark she didn’t bother to respond just yet, instead watching him prepare a drink. The dim light of the room offered an enticing ambiance as her gaze drew over the strong expanse of his back fighting beneath the starched shirt. His hand wrapped carelessly around the weighty glass as he turned to face her, his eyes questioning. She continued to track the distinctive movements of his form regardless of his knowledge, her chin tipping up just a bit as she swallowed the scent of the air and let loose a reflective moan. There was nothing more primal than the lure of prey.
“It only gets better,” he said simply with that classic smirk.
“We’ll see.” His reputation preceded him all the way into the dark corners where she lurked. She had questioned whether this meeting would turn into a clash of supremacy. Now she was waiting eagerly for it.
However, she finally returned to business, the click of sharp stilettos drumming across the floor as she moved to take a seat in one of the wing chairs, slouching back into the cushion. “Given by whom?” she asked curiously. The details could be handled by someone else; her interest was in the underlying workings.
There was a humidor on the table next to where she sat. It put him beside her, his glass set on the table top as he opened the polished box. The expression on his face was half regretful, half impressed. “Families I can’t kill. It’s more beneficial to me to work with them.” He reached into the box, pulling out a cigar.
“But is it beneficial to me?” Which was really all she was ever concerned with. She reached her sharpened nails down into one of her many hiding places and drew back a sterling Dunhill lighter, offering it up to him between two fingers.
Sharp edges collided as he snipped the end of the Habana. “I wouldn’t be wasting your time if it wasn’t.” The clipper was put into his pocket, harsh eyes catching onto her offered gift. But it was her he was looking at it when he stepped closer to accept it. “Let’s just say I’m going to save you hundreds a month in bribes.”
She laughed outright, the tone of it husky and unconcerned. “What would make you think I give out bribes?” Stretching up slightly from her seat she reached across him to pluck his glass from the surface it was left on, bringing it to her lips for a heavy drink.
Amusement exposed itself in the enigmatic color of his gaze, watching the theft as he struck the flame. “If you don’t, you are better than your reputation gives you credit for.” He stuck the cigar between his lips, bringing the fire to the end and pulled the smoke into his mouth, savoring the flavor on his tongue before it was exhaled in an easy breath. “Do you have a necklace of shrunken heads instead?”
“My reputation was created by fools, most of who have been added to my necklace.” There was laughter at the corners of her plump mouth though her words not completely inaccurate.
A grin slid across his lips. “How much do you charge? I’ve got one or two who need a creative ending.”
“Not even you…” She stood, draining what was left in his glass then heading for a refill as she finished her sentence. “…Stefano Terenzio, could afford me.” She let the glass hit the bar top with a sharp clank, helping herself to her bottle of choice which she steadily poured to a hair or two from the brim.
If there was a remark to be made he kept it hidden. His patience and his arrogance took the same shape in the easy way he leaned his form back against the edge of the table, wisps of smoke concealing the answer in his eyes as she slinked back towards him. Somewhere a set of symbols clashed.
§
June 8th, 2012
Undisclosed location
Undisclosed location time unknown
She still couldn’t hide from him, though he was surprised to find it more difficult to penetrate her layers. From somewhere inside he watched her tremble. It was a miniature crack in concrete, barely breaking through seven decades of fury, pain, rage. It had simply hurt for too long and now, she was tired. Nearly numb.
Nearly. She didn’t reach for him. But she didn’t look away either.
The silence stretched and grew thicker, threatening to combust. For the first time, there was regret. And a perfect understanding of his son’s words. His brow creased with the intensity of emotion. Raw. Pure. To speak of it was to cheapen it. He didn’t know how to melt ice, not Stefano Vasco Terenzio. He didn’t right wrongs, he’d never much cared. But to say he hadn’t loved…
When he could stand it no longer he closed the distance between them. He raised a hand slowly, curving his palm around her cheek. Their gazes broke when her eyes snapped closed. He heard the ragged intake of her breath. Thought briefly, for just a moment, that she might stab him. It wouldn’t have been the first time.
And she probably would have, had he not chosen that moment to cover her plump mouth with his own. Her hands jerked up, sharpened nails digging into the fabric of his shirt, which offered little protection against the bite of those claws into his skin. A low growl rumbled in his throat. She pushed and he didn’t budge. He parted her lips instead, swept his tongue inside. She moaned in furious defeat, in painful triumph and bunched his shirt in her grasp, pulling him closer.
They didn’t need words.
His hands spanned her w
aist, jerked her roughly back against the archway, pinned her there between the wood and the solid surface of his body. He devoured her mouth in those moments as if he could take back every minute that had been lost. He drew his lips away and kissed the silent tears from her cheeks, her closed eyelids, her mouth again until they were both panting.
It was she who finally wrenched her full lips away from him, turning her head to one side. Storm clouds rolled through his eyes, for her the emotion in their depths clear. He brushed his lips across her exposed cheek, trailed back towards her ear and whispered, “I love you.”
Raw, deeply tired emerald eyes snapped sharply up to him. Fingers flexed against his chest, nails digging again, though this time lightly. “Not as much as a son you never knew.” She would not hide the bitterness in her tone. The acid on her tongue.
His face creased at her words, a blow delivered. There had been so much more to it than just that. But he’d never had the moment to tell her. And now he didn’t know if ever would have. “C-“
Her finger suddenly pressed against his lips, eyes once more colliding with the darkened color of his own. Lids hooded slightly as the moment stretched between them. When she dropped her hand, her mouth was quick to smoother his own. He immediately swept her up into his arms and turned, climbing the staircase.
Rarely, were they ever gentle with each other. In their final moment together, which should have been claimed a century ago, it was no different. Nails and teeth left their mark upon soft skin, glistening with sweat. His grip was urgent and bruising; her deep, throaty cries reverberating throughout the room, licking at the flames of his memory and making a new one. He lost himself as he’d done a hundred times before in the slick, wet heat of her, trapped there by the intimate clench of small muscles and the pull of her thighs. It was in those moments, when two became one that Stefano Terenzio truly knew what it felt like to be connected. To be at peace and simply, in love.