Chapter 1 - Allow me to decide

The bar was alive with noise — laughter, clinking glasses, and the haze of cigarette smoke curling under dim yellow lights. Drunk men shouted over each other, women chatted quietly in corners, and dice clattered against a back table. Behind the bar, Frank wiped glasses with a practiced smile, his bald head gleaming under the low light as he kept an eye on the chaos.

Then the door swung open, and a cold gust rushed inside.

Whispers cut through the crowd.
“Let’s leave...”
“That’s him...”

Dominick Marviano stepped in first, tall and imposing. His black hat cast a shadow over his cold, unreadable eyes behind tinted glasses. A neat blond beard framed his expressionless face. Beside him was Vince — equally tall, dark-haired, pale face and eyes sharp as broken glass.

The laughter faltered. The music seemed to stutter, as if the bar itself held its breath. Everyone knew who they were.

Vince’s voice rang out, loud and commanding. “Everyone out.”

There was a beat of hesitation, then chairs scraped and bottles were abandoned. Men grabbed their coats, and a few women hurried out without finishing their drinks.

One drunk man, built like a sack of potatoes and barely able to stand, stumbled toward them. “Hey! Who the hell do you think you—”

Before he could finish, Vince’s hand shot out, grabbing the man by the collar and slamming his face down onto a table. The wood cracked beneath the impact. The man groaned, collapsing to the floor.

Frank, the bartender, remained surprisingly composed. “Vince... Dominick. You didn’t have to clear the whole place. I got good customers tonight.”

Vince ignored him. “Frank, we need to talk.”

Dominick lit a thick cigar and moved slowly, like a shadow wrapped in skin. The two men took seats at the bar, facing Frank.

Frank poured them each a drink, his hands steady but his eyes calculating every move.

Vince’s voice was low, almost casual. “Funny week. You know that cargo shipment down by the canal? The crew got ambushed. Half the men barely made it.”

Frank said nothing.

Vince continued, “Now, it’d be one thing if that was a fluke. But then it happened again. New spot. Different time. Nobody knew.”

Dominick exhaled a slow plume of smoke.

“Except you.”

Frank’s smile twitched, trying to stay unbothered. “Come on, Dom. I pour drinks, not rumors.”

“Right,” Vince said, leaning in. “Except this time we were testing a theory.”

He paused, eyes locked on Frank’s. “We gave out false drops. Each version to someone different. And wouldn’t you know it — yours ended up with the Marcettis.”

Frank’s face tightened.

Dominick’s voice grew colder. “First time might’ve been a coincidence. Second time — bad luck. Third time?”

He let the silence hang.

“That’s betrayal.”

Frank’s calm started to slip. His mouth opened but no words came out.

Dominick leaned forward, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You remember that notebook you keep under the bar? Didn’t you notice it was different ?”

“After yours ran away of pages, Dante, the kid that picked shifts here, got you a new one. One we could recognize. Tiny stamp on each page, random traces of ink.”

Frank froze for a second — just long enough.

“We found a torn page,” Dominick continued, “folded, used, tossed to one of the Marcettis. Same stamp, same paper, same ink.”

Frank’s breath came faster now, his confident mask cracking.

“Dom... Vince... come on,” he stammered, voice trembling. “We’ve known each other for five years.”

Vince didn’t say a word. Frank glanced toward the back door, too obviously.

Vince shifted his leg, subtly blocking the view.

Dominick stayed still, finishing his cigar and flicking ashes into a tray.

Frank swallowed hard. “You know me. I wouldn’t... I swear, I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt. I just passed along some... harmless stuff. Names. Places. Nobody died, right?”

Vince leaned in, his stare cold and unblinking.

Frank went silent.

“I’ve got a kid on the way,” he whispered. “Mary’s six months pregnant. I needed the money. You know the cost of everything’s gone to hell. I — I messed up. But we can work this out.”

He turned to Dominick, desperate.

“Dom, please. You know I’m not your enemy. We’re friends.”

Dominick finally looked up. His gaze was heavy, final.

“We are friends,” he said quietly.

Frank flinched.

“It’s not personal,” Dominick added. “I think you, of all people, would understand.”

Dominick didn’t raise his voice or speak again.

A gunshot cracked through the silence.

Frank collapsed behind the bar.

The distant rumble of thunder filled the void.

Vince straightened his coat. Dominick holstered the gun, cold and calm.

“As agreed, I will be early in the docks tomorrow morning” Vince said.

“Or they’ll board the boat.”

Dominick nodded.

____________________

Next morning,

The damp cobblestones gleamed under a slate-gray sky as two men hurried toward the dock. The salty breeze tugged at their coats, carrying the distant cries of seagulls and the faint creak of a waiting boat rocking gently on the water.

The younger henchman shook his head, his voice low but edged with worry. “This is crazy... the Dons have lost their minds.”

Beside him, the grizzled one, weathered by years in the underworld, chuckled softly. “Paranoid, maybe, but not stupid. That’s how they’ve stayed on top all this time.”

The younger man glanced around, shadows stretching long as dusk settled. “Thirteen years gone, and they’re still chasing this ‘Gilbert’ runaway doctor?”

The older man’s eyes narrowed. “That doctor married into the family and ran away. Betrayal like that never fades. Also almost all competition now is removed and they have all the time and resources they need.”

The younger shook his head, disbelief mixing with exhaustion. “Crossing the sea, the cliffs, the mountains, searching in the towns there — just to find him? Sounds like a waste of time to me.”

The grizzled one’s voice turned firm. “Don’t ask why. Just do your job. It’ll take time, maybe weeks, maybe months, but we’ll find a lead.”

Heavy footsteps interrupted them. A third figure emerged from the shadows—Vince. Sharp-eyed and calm, with an air that made even the dock’s chill seem colder.

“You two. Halt,” Vince ordered, his voice slicing through the fog.

The grizzled henchman straightened. “Vince. We got orders—the Dons are restarting the search for Gilbert. ”

Vince sighed, a long breath that seemed to carry the weight of the world. He motioned them to follow down a narrow side path, away from the noise of the harbor.

Dominick joined Vince and the two henchmen… who saw him coming from a distance.

The grizzled henchman whispered, “The Undertaker... Dominick Marviano.”

The younger henchman swallowed hard.

“Boss,” he managed.

The older one added, barely above a whisper, “He’s the best enforcer in the whole underworld... gets things done with almost nothing.”

Dominick’s voice was quiet but firm. “You two—go home. There’s no search.”

“But the Dons—” the younger one started.

The grizzled cut him off, voice low and steady. “Understood.” and he turned to his partner whispering “Everything goes through him… he is directly under the Dons. Don’t argue…”

Vince’s smile vanished, replaced by something hard and final. “We’ll handle it. Do as you’re told.”

The two men retreated into the mist, pale and silent. Vince’s eyes never left them.

“So,” Vince said quietly, turning to Dominick, “what now?”

Dominick’s gaze hardened. “I’m going to meet with the old men.”

“To convince them to stop the search? That won’t work.”

“No,” Dominick said, pausing. “I have another idea. They want punishment, right?”

“They won’t stop until they get one.”

Dominick smiled thinly. “They’ll get it. Doesn’t have to be an execution.”

He watched the shadows stretch across the empty streets, knowing the next day would bring new moves. But elsewhere, where the air was thin and the earth still smelled of spring, another family prepared for a quiet morning.

________

A soft breeze drifted through the tall pines, stirring the fresh scent of pine needles and wildflowers. In the distance, rugged cliffs towered over the valley like silent guardians. The village lay quiet, nestled among patchwork fields where sheep grazed lazily beneath the warming spring sun.

A small farmhouse, worn but sturdy, stood surrounded by tilled earth and blossoming apple trees. The scent of damp soil mixed with the faint aroma of fresh bread baking inside.

Gilbert stepped out onto the porch, stretching as he took in the peaceful morning.

“Morning, Elena,” he called softly.

Elena appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron, her face serene under the pale sunlight. “Morning, dear.”

Gilbert smiled, eyes scanning the blue sky. “Beautiful weather today, huh?”

She nodded. “Indeed. Perfect for a hike, or something with Alex.”

He glanced around, brow furrowed. “Where’s that boy? Haven’t seen him yet.”

“He’s already out. Probably fetching water from the spring.”

Gilbert shook his head with a soft chuckle. “Tch... That boy needs to stop acting like an adult. Let me handle some of the chores for once.”

Elena’s smile was gentle but firm. “He’s helping. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Gilbert sighed. “I told him we’d take turns, but he always wakes before me and does it anyway. I want him to sleep in, or play — just be a kid for once.”

Elena’s eyes softened. “He’s a good boy. Just like you were, when you were his age.”

Gilbert paused, a distant look crossing his face. “Yeah. He is.”

At that moment, the farmhouse door creaked open, and Alex stepped in, swinging a small wooden bucket. His cheeks were flushed from the early morning chill.

“Good mo—”

“ALEX! You BRAT. What did I tell you!” Gilbert barked, mock scolding.

Alex grinned, undeterred, already bracing for the familiar reprimand. “I beat you again. That’s your problem, Father. You should wake up earlier.”

“Lecturing me now ?” Gilbert shook his head, but the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement.

Elena laughed softly and raised her hand to high-five Alex, who eagerly returned the gesture.

Gilbert looked to the horizon. “Alright. The weather’s nice. Let’s do something before the day grows too hot — just the two of us.”

Alex nodded, but the spark in his eyes dimmed slightly. “Good idea.”

Gilbert noticed the hesitation. “What’s wrong? You’re not smiling.”

Alex shifted his weight, looking toward the fields. “It’s just... the usual, right? Another hike, another picnic. We’ve done it all before.”

Elena asked gently, “Don’t you still play with the other kids?”

Alex’s smile was small, almost wistful. “Some don’t want to play with me anymore. I win too easily. Tag. Tug of war. All games.”

Elena chuckled, teasing lightly. “I don’t blame them. Not only you’re smart but you’re built like a bear, even if you don’t look like it.

“The girls like you though.” she added while patting him

Alex nodded slowly. “I know. I’m not complaining. I understand.”

He sighed again, a deeper sound this time, and adjusted the bucket in his hand. “I’ll go check the fields. Uncle Ruth’s kids might be causing trouble again.”

With that, Alex turned and strode out the door, the bucket swinging in rhythm with his steps.

Gilbert let out a long, heavy breath, watching the boy disappear between rows of wildflowers.

Elena’s voice was quiet, almost breaking. “What breaks my heart is how he never rebels. Always helps. Always... a good boy.”

Gilbert’s gaze was distant, fixed on the fields beyond the porch.

“I wish I could get him to visit the city or other places, but you know we can’t go back. Safest places are these nearby towns in the mountains too. Any big city can get us into trouble.”

Elena nodded slowly, then spoke softly, almost a whisper. “You know... one week from now, it’s his thirteenth birthday.”

Gilbert’s eyes met hers. “Of course I remember.”

“We should make it special. Something simple, something that will make him smile.”

Gilbert said nothing. He only watched the sun creep higher, the light touching the earth like a warning.

___

“Gentlemen.” Dominick stepped inside, removing his hat with a practiced, respectful motion as he approached the table.

Don Carlo, leaned back with one arm slung lazily over the chair’s edge. His silver hair was slicked with meticulous care. His expression rarely changed—calm, half-amused, and unreadable—but his fingers tapped slowly against his cane, as though each motion weighed a life.

Beside him, Don Silvano sat like a coiled spring dressed in expensive wool. Slightly more rigid than Carlo, his eyes still carried a soldier’s vigilance. Thinner than the others but just as dangerous, he kept his coat on, as if always ready to leave—or draw. The grey in his beard was neatly trimmed, but the old war in his shoulders hadn’t dulled. He was the type who’d rather slit your throat himself than sign the order.

At the far end, Don Emilio, the eldest, held court in silence. His skin was like parchment, his voice used sparingly, but when he did speak, the room listened. Deep-set eyes under a heavy brow gave him the look of a man who had not blinked in decades. A gold signet ring—unchanged since the sixties—clung to his wrinkled knuckle like an heirloom of judgment. Emilio was old power, unshaken, unfriendly, and perhaps already halfway into legend.

“Dominick,” Don Carlo greeted him with a nod.

“Have a seat.” Don Silvano gestured toward the chairs.

White linen napkins were neatly folded beside gleaming silverware, and crystal glasses caught the light just so—the kind of place where deals were made quietly, amid muted conversation and the subtle clink of fine china.

Silvano smirked, breaking the silence. “Hey, hear this one—taxes got jacked again.”

Dominick raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that the fifth time in three years?”

Don Emilio shook his head. “Yep. And then they wonder why the city’s drowning in poverty.”

Carlo scoffed. “Strays everywhere. Orphans. Suicides. You name it. The lower class can’t breathe, the middle class is bleeding out.”

Emilio spat quietly. “And the same fools cheer the king during festival season—from the back alleys—while the nobles polish their palaces and sprinkle gold flakes on their desserts.”

“Sad city,” Silvano muttered. “And somehow we’re the bad guys.”

He waved his hand, mocking the usual headlines.

Silvano chuckled, “What do they call you again, Dominick? The ‘undertaker’?”

Laughter bubbled around the table—rich, sharp, the kind of laugh that could slice through steel. Dominick smirked but said nothing.

“I don’t call myself that,” Dominick replied evenly. “I’m a man.”

Carlo grinned. “One crazy man. Give yourself credit. You get things done with what? A couple of men? Sometimes alone. And that kid, Dante? No bullets, no noise. You’re a miracle worker.”

They chuckled again, but then…

The air shifted.

A silence slipped in like a cold draft.

“Dominick,” Carlo said, voice softer, more serious.

“We know why you’re here.”

Dominick didn’t flinch. Calm, collected. He knew the weight behind those words.

Silvano leaned forward. “Did you stop them from boarding?”

“Yes.”

“We kept you out of this because we know it’s hard for you,” Emilio said quietly.

His gaze didn’t waver. “It’s your sister, and her husband is your friend.”

“But you know how this works,” Emilio continued. “We promised safety for your sister. That still stands. But Gilbert has to go. That hasn’t changed.”

Silvano nodded slowly. “You’ve earned this much. Earned our honesty.”

“If it had been anyone else,” Silvano said low and heavy, “if anyone else helped them disappear—we would’ve buried them.”

“But you?” He let the question hang.

“We raised you. Mentored you since what—fourteen? Fifteen? You’re our son. Not by blood maybe, but by everything else.”

“And so your sister’s our daughter.”

“But not Gilbert.”

“He patched us up, our wives, our sons and daughters. Knew who coughed blood, who shot dope, who couldn’t pull a trigger anymore. And then he ran.”

“That’s not just betrayal — that’s risk. And in this family, risk doesn’t walk free.” Don Emilio explained, coldly.

“Even though it was years ago, he walked — and kept breathing. If we let that slide, every man we own thinks he can do the same. We have to do this. This is a rule not to be ignored in our book.” Don Carlo added,

The room held its breath. Dominick’s face didn’t betray a flicker of emotion, but a cold fire burned behind his eyes.

“Then let me suggest something else.”

“The betrayal hurt me more than anyone,” he said quietly.

“Allow me to decide what they deserve.”

“Something that will make Gilbert suffer, like you want, and will guarantee he won’t talk.”

The room fell silent, all eyes on him.

Finally, a slow nod from Don Emilio: “Let’s hear it.”