#⌇poorly written novel ( 𝙙𝙧𝙖𝙗𝙗𝙡𝙚 )

[distopea]

A Night in Sicily

PS notes: dialogues are in English, but they all chat in Italian ✌️

“No, no, no! Matheo! God dammit how many times have I told you? Fuck you, why did we miss that this idiot had the petit in his sleeve from the first minute!” 

“Oh here we go again… Shut up, Tomaso, you were never good at playing the French Tarot anyway…” 

“You fucking should have played it earlier! Dammit! That’s basically cheating!” 

“What? Hey, who do you call a cheater? Learn to count the trumps! I won, so suck it off! You should have seen it coming the moment I called for the Heart King!” 

Another lively night in Palermo, the distant fading sound of the cicadas still invading the living room. They were all around the same large wooden table, sharing a meal before their departure the next morning. Alba, the matrone and mother of Mario, the head of the local Albertini mafia, was spying from the kitchen, a frown on her features. She was surely too old to be there, standing while they were all sitting, but there was no discussion possible. Whenever Alba would demand their presence around the table, there was no man strong enough in Palermo to refuse her invitation. And no one bold enough to ever forbid her from cooking for them. 

Her wrinkled features came out of the kitchen with two large plates of tiramisu ready to be served, and suddenly, there was a general whimper escaping everyone’s throat, Gabriele’s included. Well, he almost forgot that Gabriele was his real name here; he had been called Lorenzo for years now (his alias for the mission), sitting among them, and sharing the same food. Everything felt a bit blurry for a couple of months now. “No, mama, no!” Mario shook his head and massaged his eyelids, quickly followed by Tomaso and Matheo, who were not interested in their game cards anymore and patted their bellies with nothing but pain written on their features. “We’re stuffed, how do you want us to fit in our suits tomorrow if you keep feeding us like this… I need to see my abs, mama!” 

“No slander under my roof!” Alba answered in her usual rolling accent from the South of Sicily, as she tapped Gabriele’s shoulder and offered her famous manipulative smile; the one who let him know that he wouldn’t be able to bargain. “See how my good boy Lorenzo is treating me. He never says no to me!” There was another general huff, and Mario this time only chuckled. “Always using Lorenzo as your scapegoat whenever you need someone to be kind to you. That poor boy can’t say no, that’s a part of his job!” 

She slammed a generous amount of tiramisu inside of Gabriele’s plate, the young man, barely at the end of his twenties, quite cornered right now. He was her best excuse. She almost shoveled a spoon between his fingers, and she eventually tousled his hair with a profound tenderness. “He’s more educated than any of you! He’s like a grandson to me… A good-mannered boy, who never lets down his mama. I’m proud of him!” There were more protests around them, but the atmosphere was nothing but genuine. A family reunion with people who could trust and respect each other. 

A family… 

A grandson… 

She had never said that before, at least, not out loud. He had always felt it; despite her rude and brutal manners, Alba was nothing but welcoming and soft. Like with her current grandsons, Matheo and Tomaso, she was openly showing affection towards Gabriele. He was a member of this family, and despite his profound need to fight this truth, he knew that he was sinking into this dangerous sea. As they kept arguing against the forced dessert of their grandma, Gabriele looked up, shudders traveling through his entire body. 

Who was he? 

He had vowed to protect citizens from people like Mario, Matheo or Tomaso. He had abandoned his true identity to sneak into the wolf’s den, so certain that none of them could ever be humans. Monsters, assassins, deviants… And yet, he was just like them. They were playing cards in the evening, talking about girls, art, their dreams and fears they might share… They could laugh until tears would bloom at the corners of their eyes, and they could fight like brothers for the slightest thing. He was hugged by Mario whenever he was doing a good job, he was poked by Tomaso all the time, and he would spend his Friday evening fixing Matheo’s bike with a cold beer. He always felt the urge to defend those he mistakenly considered as his brothers, his heart and soul torn apart by his identity fading and changing over the years, the name of Gabriele sometimes surfacing through one phone call or one secret meeting to share the intel he had gathered. 

Who was he? 

There was no monster in front of him, but humans, with a different vision of life, with different codes and manners, but surely a heart and emotions. Because, in the end, who was wrong? Who was the most monstrous among all the protagonists of this story? Were they truly to blame when the police had failed so many times to protect people? Wasn’t he such a fraud, sitting there and sharing their loving atmosphere, as if his intentions and mission weren’t to destroy them? No, no… He had to believe in their cause. He had to believe in his vows. He had seen the blood, he had seen violence and self-justice. It wasn’t fair, and it wasn”t right. 

Was he… wrong about this too? 

“Fratello…” Tomaso shook his arm, and Gabriele understood he had been the head in the clouds for too long. “Care to show Matheo how you play well?” 

“Ugh, we never know what’s in Lorenzo’s head, that’s a bad idea. He’ll beat us if he ever gets to call the King first.” 

“Oh come on, when he plays you whimper and when he doesn’t, you beg for his help… Come on Lorenzo, let’s show him!” 

"Alright, but both of you will clean my bike if you lose, so you better get your sponges and soap ready."

His heart was in the depths of his stomach, his emotions shattered. Yet, he nodded and decided to live this lie for a bit longer. He gripped the card and clipped a brand new cigarette at the corner of his lips, mask on, as he was indeed playing the game so well. He was not a monster… He was not a monster…

He was not… 

A MONSTER.