"That was a strange man... I wonder what my father wants with him," Nakamura thought to himself. He didn’t think much of it, since this wasn’t the first errand his father had sent him on. They were never complicated, which was why his success rate remained at a perfect 100%.
Nakamura was glad things were going according to plan, because it was only a matter of ti before his father released him into the world as a free man. He wanted to experience life—sothing fresh. Instead of taking lives, he wanted to create them through his movies. That was one of the things he truly wanted for himself. His father seed supportive, or at least that was how it looked on the surface.
Nakamura didn’t know any better, but he was sure things couldn’t be this easy. He was prepared for a scenario that would put him in an uncomfortable spot, yet his father never gave him more than he could handle.
"I wonder if the wife is still in his life?" Nakamura mused, but that was the extent of how much Marcello occupied his mind. He knew Marcello was his target but he seed too normal for his father to go through the lengths he did to watch over him.
He wasn’t a threat whatsoever or at least, this was what Nakamura surmised.
His job was to keep watch over him. Nakamura knew Marcello was affiliated with the Mafia, even though his role was a minor one. He was the son of a Don, and while that family wasn’t renowned, it didn’t make them any less dangerous. Nakamura searched through the files he had, but he didn’t find anything about Marcello having a family. In fact, there was little to no information about him at all, unlike the others.
The only reason Marcello even made this list was because of his ties to the Don. Otherwise, he wasn’t anyone worth noticing—almost like Nakamura himself was to the Yakuza. In that sense, they were similar. Still, Nakamura could tell Marcello wasn’t really about that life. A killer could always recognize another killer, and there was no way Marcello was such a good actor that he could hide it.
A week passed, and Nakamura still had no word from his father regarding his next—and final—task. He waited and waited, but nothing ca, which made him question if sothing had happened. This was unlike his father, but he stuck to the last directive: befriend Marcello.
Nakamura studied him ticulously, though he didn’t have Marcello’s number. That would have made things easier, but it also would have put him directly on Marcello’s radar—and given who Marcello was, that was risky.
"Papa! Look what I drew!" a child said with a bright smile, showing her father a doodle she had made.
"Wow! That is amazing, Angelica!" Marcello praised the poorly drawn picture. It didn’t matter whether it looked good or not. What mattered was the love behind it.
"You’re lying, Papa!" Angelica accused instantly, her eyes narrowing. Marcello chuckled at her serious little face.
"C’mon, Papa doesn’t lie!" Marcello said with an exaggerated pose.
"You lie all the ti, Papa," Angelica shot back with sass, rolling her eyes. She always heard him on the phone, and she wasn’t wrong—Marcello lied about small things, even sothing as simple as his location. But those were harmless lies.
"But I cross my heart, these are the most beautiful pictures I have ever seen!" Marcello exclaid dramatically.
Angelica squinted, studying him carefully, before finally giving in. "Fine, I believe you!" she said, then hugged him tightly. Marcello chuckled and wrapped his arms around her.
But his thoughts were elsewhere. He had a eting to attend with his father, to discuss the recent infighting within the family. They were on the verge of splitting into two factions. Many had grown tired of the Don’s passive way of doing things.
The Don believed in diplomacy, worn down from years of bloodshed. He had already lost too much—including his wife. Marcello understood, but he knew enemies had to be dealt with firmly. A Don shouldn’t fear loss, as long as the family survived. Peace shouldn’t be offered to a family that had crossed you. Still, the Don believed the Mafia was stronger united than divided.
Marcello, as the next heir, had been taught well by his father. He understood the heavy cost of endless conflict. But he also knew he had to act—for his daughter’s future. He understood the dangers that ca with this life, but he also knew that putting the family in such a fragile position might not be the way forward.
Fear was what kept people in line, and Marcello believed that was what their enemies needed to feel. The splitting faction thought the sa. Neither side was entirely wrong, but Marcello was torn. He had everything to lose. He had his daughter, and she ant more to him than anything else. He couldn’t put her in danger—not because of his father’s choices, or those of the other faction.
When Marcello t up with his father, the resemblance between them was striking. Yet in spirit, they were so different.
"Hello, Father," Marcello greeted him, noticing they were the only two in the room. This was supposed to be a family eting, which could only an one thing—his father was losing the power struggle.
The Don didn’t answer right away. He just stared at his son, and Marcello instantly knew what that look ant.
"We cannot, Father. Angelica would be dragged into it!" Marcello said firmly, opposing his father’s idea.
"We have to, or we will lose this family," the Don replied coldly.
"I don’t care about this family, I only care about Angel—!" Marcello was cut short by a loud bang on the table.
"You dare speak back to your Don!" Mr. Vescari’s voice was stern and unyielding.
"Look around you, Father! There is no one left," Marcello fired back. Just like that, for the first ti, he had openly opposed his father.
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