The first time he had the displeasure of seeing blood, he had only been three years old. A tumble down the steps that had left a scrape on his knee that had bled. His mother had strode past him, leaving him in the capable hands of Matteo.
The first time he had the displeasure of seeing blood that had been shed by his own hands, he had been fourteen. He had stood in his parents' bedroom, the moonlight shining in over the dark wooden floors and the bed and the oil paintings that hung after the latter.
A body lay on the floor, in the space between himself and his mother, and blood pooled. It sept between the floorboards. The stain remains there to this day.
An ambush, a Venturi assassin that had gotten close enough. He had heard the fight, he had seen the chaos. He had his father's gun.
It would be the last time he would ever put a gun down.
And today would be no exception.
An ambush, a Venturi assassin that had gotten close enough. He had seen the fight, he had seen the chaos. He had his own gun.
Moonlight shines now too, has it had then. The curtains ripple, the stained glass doors open to look out over the vineyard that the De Luca family is known for. Sprawling for miles, pushing beyond the horizon that he longs to run into.
But he cannot.
"What happened, figlio?!" Vincent snapped, his voice almost close to yelling. "Do you have any idea how this will fall back on us?!"
He didn't know how to respond. There were no words to respond with. Whether this had fallen onto his hands or not didn't matter; he was the one who messed up.
"I know how it will fall back onto us, father," he replied, hands held behind his back. Remaining calm was the only option he had. He could not be afforded the luxury of expressing his temper the same way his father was now. "Do you think I had a choice, father?"
Vincent moved slowly, picking up a crystal glass. The fire that crackled within the fireplace reflected on the liquid, causing a glow that resembles amber. "A choice?" he remarked, swishing the liquid around in the glass. "There's always a choice, figlio."
It grew within him, the rising waters of a flood that would eventually engulf the entire world; the terrible urge to turn into nothing more than a petulant child. To stomp his foot against the polished hardwood floors and beg. He had had no choice. He had had raised the gun. He had taken care of it.
He had ensured that their lineage would continue and he was the one who was being reprimanded.
Their battle with the Venturis had always been a bloody one. They had killed some of the De Luca men and in return, they would retaliate. That was how wars worked.
"What did you want me to do, father?" he requested, his voice remained as even as he could force it. He was better than cries of situations becoming unfair. "They were going to kill â"
"A true De Luca man would not have allowed himself to be in that position," Vincent cut him off. He brought the glass to his lips, taking a long drink before he set it down on the table. "I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do with you."
He wondered, even just briefly, if it would have been better if it had ended the way the Venturis would have wanted it to.
"I'm not entirely sure, capo," he said. "Would it have been better if the Venturis won?"
Vincent's eyes were filled with a rage, an anger. He turned to only son and struck him with the force of every capo before him. Every man who had led the De Lucas in this much too long feud with the Venturis.
It burnt, it always burnt. He found himself on the receiving end on this burn often. He had thought that it would slow the older he grew but that would only have been correct if he had become the son that they wanted.
"You should watch your tongue," Vincent snarled. He pointed one finger at Fjord. "Should I ask if this entire thing was one of your impulsivities?"
The words struck hard and deeper, much harder than the slap ever could. A reminder of inadequacy, a reminder that he would always fail them even if he had become the diligent son they had hoped for their entire lives.
He would never be those things.
He cannot answer such a question. "How do I fix this?" he asked.
"You don't," Vincent stated and turned his back to Fjord. "I will mop up your mess, figlio. Just when I had thought we would get somewhere with the Venturis... You're dismissed."
He did not believe that. The last thing his father would attempt would be peace with the Venturis. Their soiled relationship had become nothing but bitter roots now. Perhaps by get somewhere, his father had simply meant that he would steal a venture from them.
But that was not for him to deal with. Instead, Fjord turned and strode out of the sitting room. The quiet De Luca mansion would always be cold, regardless of how many fires had been set to build it; he listened to his own footsteps tread across the polished floor, echoing against the cold, stone walls.
Sometimes, it would feel more like a museum than a home. Those same walls decorated with art that had never belonged to them in the first place. The hallways had never been ones where he would be allowed to run or laugh or be a child. Instead, he would would walk diligently to his lessons. Sometimes it was combat, sometimes it was weapons, but most of the time, he would sit in his father's office and learn what it was meant to be a true De Luca man.
He supposed that none of those lessons ever stuck.
Walking towards the open foyer, he did not head for the wide steps that would take him to the wing of the mansion that had become known as his own. Instead, Fjord ventured towards the stained glass doors that lead out to the garden.
A trickling fountain sat before him, the marble shape of a maiden pouring the flowing water from a vase stood in the middle. Moonlight flickered in the reflection of the water, disrupted when he stroked his fingers over it.
"He says these things..." Fjord muttered, watching as the water rippled over the surface of the fountain. "But was he not like me once?"
It felt impossible to imagine his father as a young man. He had always been the hail of whisky and tobacco and gunpowder that Fjord knew him as. A man who had never been a boy.
He did not think that his father had ever been like him. He did not think that the man had felt anything but solemn duty for the life that he had been set out on.
He did think that his father had thought he would be the same. A carbon copy of a man who had never raised him, let alone raised him with the adoration that young boys on the streets of Italy tended to have.
"You could leave," he mused to himself. "But what would there be to leave for...?"
The question that had run through his mind would be interrupted by the appearance of a light. It glowed across the fountain's water, causing his eyebrow to slowly lift. Slowly turning, he was able to look up towards the balcony that sat out towards the lush, green maze within the De Luca Estate.
And there she was, stood on the balcony above him.
Elise. Sometimes it felt as though she were a world away, nothing but a routine helper in their home who would leave when she would no longer be of use. He would ache to see her gone but for now, she was there. Above him.
And for just a moment, he felt like that boy he had never been.
"Ah, a fair maiden..." he called up towards her, a smirk played at his mouth. Stepping closer to the balcony, he placed his hand on the the marble head of a statue, stepping onto the base. It brought him closer to her. "What have I done to be graced with your presence on this night...?"
@elise-venturi
The De Lucas were known to be nothing short of lavish â every party, no matter how small or simple, was rumored to be something to behold. Men in Brioni Vanquish II suits wearing Philippe Patek watches that would even put Rolex to shame. Women sauntering about with their jewelry and Chanel bags on full display, as they danced and mingled with the next great thing.
The De Lucas were extravagant by far, and perhaps even she would have been bedazzled by the charm of it all but, alas, she was a Venturi, and the Venturi pride in Elise begged to differ as she watched the crowd mingled and chatter, all wide eyed and excited.
Certainly the Venturis can hold a grander party than this... She mindlessly mused, almost caught in the atmosphere of empty vanities and competition herself. Elise was never a girl fond of luxury and money, much less the fame that followed, but her family's blood still ran through her veins and if she lost even this little dignity she had as a Venturi, no matter how superficial, what would she even have or be anymore? Save for a family name meant for destruction?
With a sigh, she looked at her watch and then her phone, waiting for the long-awaited news from Romilda but... There was nothing. And while nothing was usually a good sign, it was different this time. Their assassin was supposed to be out by 10:30PM.
It was 10:56PM now.
As Elise ventured nearer to the targeted room, lingering around the hallways and pretending to clean, she swiftly sent a message to Romilda, her stomach twisting into knots of anxiousness.
[Â Elise, 10:57PM: Consigliere, what's going on? Why is Gii not out yet??]
An abundance of thoughts ran through her mind as she found herself walking towards one of the large balconies, occasionally glancing at the room Gii was likely in.Â
How badly did she want to go in and check for herself, check on Gii who had been nothing but loyal to the Venturis ever since she'd join their gang. The both of them encountering one another at a tender age of 12, and while they were more than acquaintances but less than friends, Elise always had high regards for the other. She'd accomplished so much more, afterall, despite having so much less.
The balcony's lights turning on due to her presence, she walked closer toward the railing when a voice called out to her from below. A voice she'd come to familiar herself with, one that brought comfort rather than hate, something she could've never have expected.
âFjordâŚâ It was barely a whisper as she said his name - one that tasted so sweet on her lips rather than bitter.
The man standing down there, hand casually placed atop the head of a marble statue, the billion dollar grin etched on his lips⌠For a second, she found him far more stunning than the carved statue. Far more beautiful than the things her eyes had laid upon that evening.
It was moments like these which reminded (reassured her) money couldn't buy everything as the Venturis had been taught. Because she knew, for a fact, no amount in the entire world could buy her a moment of solace as the one she strangely felt whenever he was around.
Fjord... He was truly warmth wrapped in a person.
And yet...
He shouldn't have been standing there.
This warmth should've been extinguished minutes ago.
"My prince, what a surprise! Should I not be asking you that question?" She cheekily replied, a smile naturally appearing. "What have I done to be graced by your presence tonight? Especially withâŚâ Briefly turning to the side, Elise casually pointed behind her where the event was taking place, reality settling in once again. One where Gii was still nowhere to be found, one where there should've been a hit taking place.Â
One where the target was the man standing below her. Â
But I digress. she thought, stopping herself from thinking any further on the subject. No matter what, no matter the compagna still missing, or the darling principe in her sights, she had to stay calm, stay focused.
Digression or deviation was out of the question, she simply couldn't. Not when she needed to stay sane.
"... A royal ball taking place. What is the center of attention doing outside here, all alone? Should you not be with them?"
It was funny really, how she said 'them' as if she wasn't truly one of those people herself. The ones who'd tasted luxury and wealth from a very young age. The one who had friends whose names she couldn't quite remember, and close relatives that could very well throw them under the bus the very same second.
Perhaps if it were someone else, she wouldn't have said it that way. Be more than fine adapting herself with people of her own kind, but Fjord was not just someone else. He was something more, someone she wanted to tell the truth to (and the truth being: I'm not like them. I never was).
It was moments like the day before when everyone was busy bustling about, plotting the murder of someone (and someone who may have meant something to her than the friends or wealth she held. But alas, who would ever take the time to ask dear principessa for her thoughts? They only ever asked for her nod of approval, afterall) as if it was just another task in one's daily schedule, did she think how meaningless their life was despite it seeming so rich. So beautiful to the people watching on the other side of the field.
There were times she wondered if she hadn't been the one standing and watching from the outside, would she have also turned into one of them; vicious, tenacious, and cruel. She wondered if she'd shamelessly paint the town red with no cares in the world just as they did, and if the ones who thought rubbing shoulders with her family and the likes would think shedding blood was worth it all.
But if they'd seen what she'd seen, witness what she'd witnessed... Elise couldn't help but wonder if they would possibly still feel the same. Or would they, like her, yearn for the other side of the field.
One filled with blissful ignorance and peace. Something not even money or fame could possibly hope to give her.
Thus, whenever she smiled kindly at the people who looked at them enchantedly, false naivety painting her expression, Elise couldn't help but be envious. And perhaps, this was an painful reminder that she, in truth, wasn't so different from her famiglia, after all. For they were always longing for more, and more, and more, weren't they?
But... She digressed in thoughts, once again.
"So Fjord, pray tell, what are you doing here? What would the attendees think or say if they saw their prince talking to the help on this lovely night?"
@fjorddeluca












