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Damon is a mafia boss strangled between conquering the mafia world, fetching his cracked soul and family together, the sudden death of his uncle and of course, his deteriorating health when one more adds to his catalog, Beatrice. The woman who he falls for, at first sight, unknown to the fact that she has a mysterious masked psychopathic stalker to haggle with along with the links of his past that he is trying to run from. Damon determines to uncover him at any expense as he gets on his nerves challenging him to grab him, every gamble directing to his defeat. Who was he? Where was he? Why was it so difficult to clutch an ordinary psychopath's claws for the biggest and the most dangerous mafia gang in the world? His delirium of being defeated continuously fires rage in him as his ego is hiked out, he pits into the final plan where hidden faces and long-lost truths come out that henceforth result in becoming Damon's biggest mistake of his life.

Mystery / Romance
Age Rating:


~๐“๐ก๐ž ๐๐ข๐œ๐ž ๐จ๐Ÿ ๐™๐ž๐ฎ๐ฌ ๐š๐ฅ๐ฐ๐š๐ฒ๐ฌ ๐Ÿ๐š๐ฅ๐ฅ๐ฌ ๐ฅ๐ฎ๐œ๐ค๐ข๐ฅ๐ฒ.


"๐˜‹๐˜ฆ๐˜ข๐˜ต๐˜ฉ ๐˜ช๐˜ด ๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ญ๐˜ช๐˜ท๐˜ช๐˜ฏ๐˜จ ๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ๐˜ข๐˜ญ๐˜ช๐˜ต๐˜บ ๐˜ธ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ข๐˜ญ๐˜ญ ๐˜ต๐˜ฆ๐˜ฏ๐˜ฅ ๐˜ต๐˜ฐ ๐˜ง๐˜ฐ๐˜ณ๐˜จ๐˜ฆ๐˜ต"

The atmosphere was favorable, with no sun, and it began drizzling, again. I could hear the pats of rain on the rooftop of the cathedral, the bucket that was positioned near the patio was bursting the water etching the already wet and dirty floor dirtier as people walked in with their muddy shoes leaving their footprints everywhere. I sat in the first row staring at the open casket with the corpse of my dad inside. My palms kept closing and unclosing as anger and affliction were evident in my blue orifices. My vigilance was attracted away from him by the murmurs and cacophony behind me going silent. There wasn't a solitary trace of sound except for the water drops dripping into the bucket from the edge of the roof, all the camera flashes and clamors shut, as a sudden cool breeze passed through the expanse, delivering chills, propelling my hair on the nape stand, in anxiety? No, Because they are coming.

All the other mob unions and their offshoots who were here to disburse their reverence to my father now had their skulls bowed in front of the Dexters as they passed through the aisle, fear taking shelter in the breathing bodies around as their countenances turned stiff. I did not stand up and rather decided to ignore it, turning back towards the statue of Jesus where my father lay in front of him. I could feel them pass beside me up to the coliseum where Father Azriel was reciting and the corpse was sleeping, everyone except Damon.

"Death has arrived for him,
As it shall leave none,
Simmering in a sepulcher,
For a Satan, must be fun."

It was precisely after three hours, that the burial ceremony began. I smirked standing in the center, memorizing my Dad's favorite phrases as he lay, lifeless in front of me, in front of us. As always decked in a black tuxedo, hands resting on his chest with band-aided fingers, eyes locked, and lips unhurriedly turning blue from pale, his wooden hard bed filling with water beneath him. The priest continued the burial prayers as if they might operate on him to condone his sins, depravities, I assume he is already crouching on hellfire.

"Please pray for his forgiveness before we finally lay him to rest". Father Azriel pleaded, closing the Bible and brandishing the cross he wore.

" Nobody greets death as you do,
Cause that's all the blood I sew,
Making you a soaking monster,
Baby boy, they ain't like you any Lucifer."

I felt it, as there wasn't a single ounce of water in my eyes. Dad described me as the quintessence of barren land. Always. I jerked the hair strand that kept hacking on my eye, water running down our bodies, gladly not even scrimping on the dead. Nature isn't prejudiced. He always preached. I stood quiet all the time like a showering mannequin until our special guest of the evening arrived, disturbing my self-talks.

Today is Friday the 13th, Dad's birthday, and surprisingly not surprising, his day of death too. So mathematically he has a minimum of one day of birth and death celebration and a maximum of three days once a year.

Four days ago, he had sent invitations for his dramatic birthday party to all the mafia families across the world, including his favorite Dexters and Valentinos, to unearth a mystery. A covert he said that would conceivably fetch the demise of our rule on the Italian Mafia. If this would happen, the whole Italian Cartel would be single-handedly conquered by Dexters which in my fetish ever nightmares I would never let happen. All the media flashes that were on us, on me to be precise, abruptly swapped over to them, meanwhile, they shunned the absurd questions and strolled directly towards Father Azriel, as their guards strived to drag the cameramen out of the cemetery. The unwelcomed mourners were all outfitted in black, black clothes, black watches, black shoes, black hats, black umbrellas, "black" perfume, and also black money. The exhibition of fortune and diverse fragrances all from the similar brand Black stung my eyes and nose. Valentinos were rich. We were richer. Dexters were Richest. They didn't live for money, money lived for them.

I could hear the stumbling of heels as they elegantly dug themselves into the soggy gravel walking towards me. For the first time in these many minutes, I raised my head. A lady in a loose black high collared shirt and formal pants stood in front of me. Her face was faint, eyes were swollen. She hugged me, tightly. She is Lisa Dexter, my aunt by blood. I could feel her moist cheek on mine. Unexpectedly the sense of being left alone or orphaned moderately decompressed. I felt a bit relaxed. I guess that's what blood perhaps does- Always binds you together.

"Stay strong. My baby" she mumbled which was awkward. The whole mafia world knew who is the murderer of Leandro Valentino-his own son. Yet, here she was...consoling her brother's assassin. I didn't realize when Alden came toward us. He moved forward raising his arms but I flinched.

"Paparazzi ain't my thing!!", I blurted as the fora flashes were on our faces. I knew he was here fake condoling for news, Two enemies, now friends?. Four phrases are enough to wildly soar his stock value in the American Business markets.

"It ain't...", He replied dryly raising his brow.

"Then why are you here?"

"To attend a dead man's birthday party". A voice came from behind me, making me irate."We did not want Sir Leandro's cash to be wasted, not even a single penny." Sirius grinned nodding his head, with his blue gazes shooting daggers at me.

I gripped my fist and was about to strike him- with words but our conflict of animosity was short-lived as Father Azriel proceeded with the funeral process. The coffin was sealed and my father was lowered. I heard loud sobs from people around, with the majority of them -pretending.

I don't like Father Azriel. He is a weirdo. Almost half of the time he kept gawking at Dexters. I know I shouldn't tell this but he always smells of makeup. I bent down and opened my fist of mud that I held as per his orders, and the other fellows replenished the square-shaped mud cavity.

"I hope Satan lends you one copy of Eminem as you dance in scorching hell". I said my last words, to whoever could listen maybe he could, maybe he could not, maybe the angels around, maybe Satan himself.

"When Rome Rains", I chuckled hearing his voice, "The dice of Zeus fall luckily". Damon completed as I turned to confront him. He stood in front of me under his "black" umbrella, with not an inch of water on his body. "I wonder if even the doors of inferno would want him or not" He inclined the umbrella a slight making his face visible.

"Well, let us say that you never spoke the latter part, cause as far as I recollect I am discerning the devil incarnation right in front of my eyes, at present, still alive, standing under an umbrella," I answered him.

"Poor eyesight". He mumbled. I sighed and began walking towards the exit.

" Who is it?" His suspicion made my feet stop. Our posteriors were facing each other.

"What do you mean?" I gritted my teeth.

"Chill...Don't frown". He smirked as we faced each other.

"Just curious, what if I am gifting the bottle of "celebratory wine" to the wrong person. You understand how valuable they are to me. If you know..., you know". He winked at me and made his way toward the gates. I know skepticism was creeping in him on my Dad's sudden murder.

"What's with him?", I heeded Veronica questioning Damon as I followed dabbing the moistures on my face.

"Just my conversation with the dead and his kin". He side-eyed me. His deep blue eyes could run shivers down the spine if it was somebody else.

"And what was it?". Veronica was ridiculously impossible.

"The banknotes required to contract the most dangerous assassin to execute the first daughter-in-law of the Dexter family", he replied.

"Avel". She called now, fretting. I was a bit aggrieved with her brother for not attending the funeral.

I slowly raised my arm and she knew what was to happen next, she softly rubbed my shoulder, murmuring a " Take care", and hiked away, as my baby Tacora trudged out of my sleeve.

Avel. This is me. Avel Leandro Valentino.



Everyday somebody loses somebody, it's sometimes so strange in how, one whom we spoke with an hour ago can never be conversed again in certain amount of uncertainties. Truly, Death is inevitable.

Coming up to the prologue<>

How is the edited version? I know i haven't made any special changes but I tried making it a bit more appropriate, as those who know me know my sub consciousness that doesn't let me agree on anything.

Also the poem "Funeral Blues by W.H. Auden is a heart wrenching and saddening one where the poet is spilling truths. I wonder how these classical writers feel after writing such masterpieces.

Moving on to why i have used it here, then i believe that the lyrics of these grieving melody highlights the inner thoughts running in the minds of my plot characters although they might act too arrogant and "i don't care" . The fact is everyone does coz we are all born with hearts, and i believe tha no human lives without feelings.
The poem highlights grief/trauma of losing/sadness/mourning and death.

Last but not the least,
Anything about the chapter? How was it boring/intriguing?
Wanna rant on fictional characters, discuss on our non-valid yet most valid lives, need anybody to talk to? I am just a message away.

Until the next update.
Take care,

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