The Cinders Fell Like Snow [18+]
“Should I betray my family, may I, Dominic Ghiberti, burn as this saint in my hand.”
He felt the thousands of eyes follow his every move as he shifted the burning photograph of Saint Dominic from hand to hand, the red and gold flames
marring the skin of his hands as a reminder of his promise. But rather than returning the stares, his own gaze remained focused on the flames
consuming the paper, charring the face it contained almost beyond recognition. He couldn’t bear to look at the people around him, but he didn’t need
any visual confirmation to know that they could see straight through him. And it wasn’t as though he had anything in particular to hide from them—not
his peers, his mentors, his superiors who, for the most part, had committed travesties far worse than his. Especially his grandfather.
No. What the eighteen-year-old couldn’t bear was their expectations. He knew that if he looked into any of their eyes, he would see it. His
grandfather, the feared Lorenzo Ghiberti, had headed the Ghiberti family for years, and it was expected that his eldest grandson, in time, would be
brought into the family and elevated through the ranks until that glorious day when he would take control of his family. And perhaps that was the pair
of eyes he could feel the most, penetrating him, examining his soul and all of the doubts that it harbored. He could feel that stare more than he
could feel the flames as they licked at his hands.
The room around him was filled with men and several women to witness this ritual, the lights dimmed so that the flames cast an eerie shadow over the
youth’s face as they watched him. This was his moment, his initiation into the family, and perhaps more importantly, manhood. Today Dominic Ghiberti
would become a man. To some, it might have seemed like some strange voodoo ritual that belonged in a back alley or a Satanic cult, especially
considering that they burned a holy saint’s picture, but that was so far from the case that it was laughable. The burning image of one of the Roman
Catholic Church’s most revered saints was not an act of sacrilege, but a symbol of his bond to his family, his promise to sacrifice even his own life
if it meant saving the Ghiberti clan.
Like any respectable Sicilian man, he was entering into his family’s business. No one doubted his loyalty simply because he was the Boss’s grandson,
and his eldest grandson no less. He was the first of his generation to enter into the family business, and as such, was predestined to follow in his
grandfather’s footsteps.
Most would be amazed at how far he had already followed those footsteps.
The gun that was strapped to his ribs by the shoulder holster concealed beneath his suit jacket had been used to threaten, to murder. He’d been
trained to handle himself in violent situations so that he could accomplish any goals that Lorenzo or his other superiors set out for him. He had
already conducted multiple, though small-time, hits. But after the ceremony that was taking place tonight, his responsibilities would grow tenfold.
After what seemed to be forever, the photo in his hand had been completely consumed, leaving behind shiny, cherry red marks on his fingers and palms.
Finally, he dropped what little remained to the floor, and looked up at his grandfather.
The normally steely eyes had softened. Had Dominic been a more wishful person, he could have imagined that he saw a tear of pride in Lorenzo’s eye,
but he knew that any such notion was completely absurd for a man of his grandfather’s power, especially when he was surrounded by so many people who
respected him more than their own fathers.
That was what this business was about. Power. Muscle. Money. But most of all, loyalty to your family. Organized crime had been targeted by politicians
nationwide for the last few years, but as of yet, the government had not so much as touched the Ghiberti family. Business flourished; the family’s
existence and successful future were all but guaranteed. That is, as long as its leaders remained strong, powerful.
And that was the reason that Dominic didn’t quite understand the importance of this centuries-old ceremony; he didn’t understand why they would put so
much stock in one eighteen year old whose future was completely uncertain. But to these people, his doubts didn’t matter.
His grandfather pushed himself from the chair that he had been sitting at and approached him. Dominic obviously felt uneasy, but remained where he
stood. The room was suddenly struck with an eerie silence, a violent contrast to the awed quiet that had hushed the room when the flames had burned
him. Lorenzo stopped in front of him, eyes locking in with his grandson, though the gesture was returned somewhat hesitantly.
A smile broke the old man’s composure, wrinkling the corners of his eyes as the tension in the room seemed to melt away. He held his hand out to
Dominic.
“Welcome to the family, Dominic.”
As Dominic shook his hand, he knew that his fate had been sealed. These people around him, with their rap sheets and weapons and the felonies that
they committed, were his future. He was one of them. Whatever uncertainties he faced, he could turn to them for assistance.
That was the fate of Dominic Ghiberti.
Should I betray my family, may I, Dominic Ghiberti, burn as this saint in my hand.
>>present day, seven years later.
“Jesus Christ, James, way to botch that one.”
“I wouldn’t have done it if you two hadn’t fucking wasted our time.”
“That’s not our fault. If you had just done as you were told, none of that would have happened.”
“Will you two just shut up?”
As the three young men made their way through the heavy foot traffic that characterized the city’s rush hour, it was obvious that tensions were high.
Well, at least among two of them. The younger two bickered back and forth about messing something up. And considering the time—just when all of the
businessmen and women were crawling out of their offices to drag themselves home—it could have been about a business deal gone awry, a night out with
their friends that had gone to hell and back.
But no. Not these men.
“If you two had just pulled the trigger and gotten it over with, we wouldn’t have had all of his guys dropping in and adding to the body count. In
case you two bozos forgot how to count, there was supposed to be one. One!” The youngest of the three, a kid who looked to be only nineteen or so with
a mass of curly brown hair and perpetual shadows beneath his chocolate eyes, held up a finger in each of his friends’ faces, and the looks he received
in return meant that if he did it again, they would snap it in half.
“That doesn’t change the fact that you went against orders, you moron,” shot the next one, a man by the name of Petro, who rolled his eyes in a
superior way. “How many times do I have to tell you? You’re not made yet, you can’t just go around and do whatever the hell you want. Lorenzo’s going
to kill you, if he kills anyone. Right, Dom?”
The oldest, a man of about six-three and twenty six years, cast an unconcerned sideward glance to his two companions. His cousins. “You two need to
get over it. Lorenzo’s not going to kill either of you, unless you go to him complaining about each other and waste his time. We did what we were
supposed to do, so quit your whining.” This was why he hated breaking in the new ones rather than working with those who were older, more experienced.
“You’ll get paid tomorrow. Right now, you two need to go home and calm down.”
“No thanks,” Petro said, his glance wandering to the neon sign of a bar that had caught his eye. “Come on, James, I’ll get you a drink.” Never mind
that the youngest of them wasn’t of legal age; the two brothers always seemed to find a way around that one. “See you tomorrow, Dom.”
And with that, they left him.
Dominic Ghiberti continued his stroll through the endless sea of bodies—some more intoxicated than others in their anticipation of the city’s
nightlife—with an air of resignation. Normally, a job would take him all night, but today he found himself severely lacking for any particular place
to be. Mostly because James had, indeed, messed the whole thing up and forced him to wrap the job up quickly and haphazardly. And if he did happen to
finish work early, he usually went to a bar or a club. But tonight, that didn’t seem very interesting. Flashing lights, girls, alcohol. It was always
the same.
So he walked.
He found himself, after many blocks, walking through an old neighborhood that he had spent a lot of time in as a kid, when the world had seemed like a
much smaller place; only consisting of these buildings and these streets and these people. It hadn’t changed much after all these years; old Mrs.
Baldizzi’s front window was still missing its left shutter, the ice cream parlor’s front window had the same chipped lettering on the door announcing
that it had been established in 1975. In the windows of the old townhouses that lined the chaotic street, he could see that families were gathered
around dinner tables or televisions. This was the place where he had become the kind of man he was today.
In the midst of the petty crime, family values and smiling faces, this old Italian neighborhood had spit out a Mafioso. The Underworld, as his
grandfather affectionately referred to it, had this place in the palm of its hand. This place was only one of the many that the Ghiberti family ran,
but this one was the one he enjoyed the most.
He’d come a long way since then; the little boy with an Italian accent and wild black curls had grown up into the handsome grandson of the
Lorenzo Ghiberti. Deviant in his way, restless, a drinker, a hired killer, and perhaps adventurous to a fault, Dominic had gained quite a reputation
for himself out in the streets. The nights he spent without a job from Lorenzo usually consisted of going to clubs or upper class bars, ended in
taking a pretty woman back to his place for the night. That seemed to be happening more and more often these days; business was slow, or just plain
boring. That was always a problem for Dom; finding things to do.
Not that he could complain.
There was a sort of comfort in the midst of the killing, the shady deals in back rooms that he made all the time. There was respect from those he
worked with and for, a respect for the Ghiberti name that ran deep in this city, accompanied by the warranted fear. After all, he and his family
hadn’t gained the power that they had by asking for it. In fact, at the moment the family was locked in a raging street war with a rival
family—the Manici. No one knew the origins of that war except perhaps the people who had waged it (namely, Lorenzo and the head of the Manici clan),
but it didn’t really matter. Dominic did what he was told. Kill, steal, deal. Laundering cash, blackmailing. It was all in a night’s work; he did it
without questioning. He was raised to operate like that.
Several hours passed by and it had reached into the early hours of the evening when Dominic returned to himself. His hands were still buried deep in
the pockets of his jeans and his dark eyes had fixed on the street before him. As his head lifted, he realized that he had found himself in a part of
the city that he had never seen before, but was still relatively busy with the escalating nightlife.
A little café sat beside him, one that seemed to positively crawl with customers as they dropped in for that nourishment that would give them enough
fuel to stay awake the entire night in a club somewhere. He stepped in, eyes wandering about the establishment in a somewhat suspicious manner. A
habit that he had picked up over the years. He took a seat at a little booth and ordered coffee. He glanced around the place, leaning back in his seat
and ignoring the other customers. He could take his time tonight—he knew. No one would be looking for him; no one needed him tonight.
He was free until tomorrow morning, when he was due to show up at Lorenzo’s place and learn what he was supposed to do for the day.
He was never missed until someone needed to use him.
That was the way of a Mafioso.
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posted on 5-6-2007 at 12:54 AM
