#░▒▬ τʜе ɩɴɴосеɴсе оf ʙоʏʜооԁ сɑɴɴоτ ѕɑνе ʜɩm fʀоm ρʀоνɩԁеɴсе (konstantinos)

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     “  It is mighty bright,  ” pale lids squint, sheltering bright orbs from the blinding light. Poor Konstantinos was not the outdoorsy type. “  You know, my father taught me how to shoot a gun,  ” once when he was twelve and he hated it. “  But I guess I could give it a try ??  ”                                                                            @redbritishsniper  /  konnie  starter  call.

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@two-midnightmercs;

    “ OF COURSE I don’t know where he is     It’s not like he’s MY DAD or anything. ” It looks like this young man hasn’t quite grown out of his teenage ANGST yet. Still he ushers them into his father’s foyer and embraces them warmly. He’s home from university and though it’s no Harvard or Yale or Stanford, he loves it all the same. Konstantinos was going to school for ENGLISH LITERATURE and his father had to stop himself from making endless quips about getting a degree in the language he spoke ( well, he spoke many ).       “ I’m just kidding      woke up and he wasn’t here. Probably working or something... want something to drink?? ”

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“ Daddy, my shoes won’t tie. ”

“ W H A T?? ”

“ MY shoes W O N ’ T  TIE. ”

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          Raphael, a businessman, invites a rival, a Sicilian named Tommasino, to his home. ( ft. @two-midnightmercs‘s muse, Raven )

      A slender, pale finger rested comfortably upon the shelf of the patriarch’s bottom lip, elbow propped up by the mahogany arm of his leather chair. Behind him stood three loyal members of his household: a mute, a nephilim, and a lout. Today he hosted another patriarch. One who brought along two others, ‘ associates ’ as he so fondly called them in his coarse timbre, and placed himself directly across the other, the antique desk the only thing separating them.                                                            C H E C K M A T E. 

     Impeccably dressed, each man observed one another through the cigarette-induced haze. Graciously did the hosting patriarch offer the other a drink, who could not object, and so Raphael lifted his unoccupied hand to signal its retrieval. Panagiotis reluctantly stepped from the shadows and returned with a small glass of pomace brandy, made in the town just five kilometers from where this meeting was held. The stout, soft fingers of the other patriarch meet that of the lackey’s for a gentle moment, and it is hard for the latter to not cringe at the connection. Once the strong liquid is sipped at and the portly man grunts in contentment, Panos makes his way to his previous vantage point, one that loomed over Raphael while watching the movement of the ‘ associates ’.      The two patriarchs spoke in their Italian pleasantries before the host finally mentioned the topic in which brought them to this summit       territory. Tension settled and they spoke their sides passionately, the crescendos and decrescendos of the patriarchs’ voices increasing or decreasing the anxiety of both of those within their services. The raven-haired woman would cast her dark gaze towards her other colleagues, who returned the glance hesitantly. A smile tinged on Panos’ lips, a very unbecoming expression for the climate, as a way of reassuring her. Dark eyes simply rolled before returning themselves to match the gaze of one of the ‘ associates ’. Gaetano was a spritely fellow with a pointy nose and thin lips. When he smiled ( which he often did ), his lips pulled back to reveal a coy, reptile-like grin. It was relatively hard for those who stood behind Raphael to not leap of that ancient desk and smack that foolish grin from his face. Impatiently, the nephilim to the right of Panos drummed her slender fingers against her thigh to resist the urge. It was a relatively mutual feeling held by the three throughout the business negotiation.      Finally, after an hour or so, the room’s aura seemed to lighten up once more, Raphael and Tommasino happily agreeing on sharing their profits on the south-eastern coast of Sicily. The mute, the nephilim, and the lout seemingly all omitted sighs of relief, glad that they did not have to relieve their holsters of their weapons. They also engage in somewhat friendly banter with Tommasino’s ‘ associates ’, Panos poking fun at Gaetano’s petiteness sarcastically. The previous tension had almost dissipated until there is an alarming thud upon the office doors. Hands reached for their respected weapon, their warm, friendly expressions shifting to suspicious glances. That is, until a soft calling is heard behind the door.    “ DADDY      ” The creaking door revealed a child, a small boy no older than four, with glistening blond hair and sun-kissed cheeks. His blond brows were sewn together, frustration and concern contorting his features. Before a word can be spoken or a beckoning uttered, Panos moved, like a blur, towards the boy and scooped him in his arms. He offered no explanation, simply shutting the door behind him to allow business to recommence.      Making his way to the salon, he placed the boy down, kneeling so that his pale gaze matched his son’s. Mind raced with what to say     whether or not to scold him or convey his concerns. But before he can speak, the boy interrupted.      “Daddy,” Konstantinos muttered softly and slowly so that his anxious father could return to the moment. “I CAN’T button M Y shirt. I need help.”      Omitting a sigh, Panos reluctantly straightened the little boy’s gingham shirt before allowing his fingers to thread its plastic buttons through their loops. As he helps his son dress, the bodyguard began to softly correct him on his previous behavior.       “Haven’t I told you that when Nono,” a tender endearment for Raphael, “is in his study that we don’t interrupt?”      The boy nodded.       “And to wait to come out of the music room till all of his guests are gone?”      He nodded again, this time exhaling heavily in annoyance. Panos couldn’t help but hiccup a chuckle.      “So     ” Large, tattooed hands tenderly cupped the little boy’s flushed cheeks. “When you need help with your shirt or your shoes or anything, you have to wait, okay? Promise me you’ll wait.”       “I  P R O M I S E.” The boy bounced impatiently, chin down while he gazed at his father through long, blond lashes. Panagiotis doesn’t need to ask for an embrace or a kiss, for Konnie falls forward into his father, nuzzling his face in the crook of his neck. This moment would be immortalized in the man’s memory till the day he died.      Unwarranted, the boy turned his head and pressed a kiss to his father’s temple, almost causing the man to melt where they stood. Pulling away, Panos offered his son a smile, lifting a hand to caress the boy’s cheek with its knuckles.       “I love you so much, kid.”       “Love you too, daddy     I’m gonna play with the piano.” And with that, the little boy sauntered off to his designated room. Panos watched him as he disappeared down the hallway and remained in that kneeling position till he composed himself once more, returning to the business meeting promptly and with utmost apologies.        The summit lasted another hour, the two patriarchs simply going over the logistics of their agreement. As Tommasino, Gaetano, and his other associate made their swift exit from that mountainside manor, Raphael stood silently next to Panos, watching stoically as his guests disappeared into their car and drove off his property. The Italian rose his hand and firmly placed it at the nape of his bodyguard’s neck. Sensing something, Panos turned to offer his apologies once more.      “Raphael. I’m sorry     ”      “Do not apologize for being a father, Panagiotis,” the older man offered, his slender hand moving to cup the other’s cheek. “Some of us are not so lucky to be gifted with children.” A thoughtful hum fluttered past Panos’s lips. They remained quiet for a moment, allowing themselves to drop their shoulders and relish this anxiety-less moment. Finally, Raphael turned to make his way back into his Lombard manor.      “Come now, my boy. There is no rest for the Wicked.”

[perversiions]

1. A video of Konstantinos getting ready for his Senior pictures 2. Konnie on a Vespa in Rome 3. Konstantinos with a good friend 4. Konnie at a party for Raphael at his Estate 5. Baby Konnie!! 6. Obligatory #tbt picture of Panos with a “friend” after just getting back in contact with him 

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     A brief shrug of slender shoulders. “  It’s okay to be sad sometimes             but sometimes sadness can be so intense it’s the only lens you see through.  ” Italian timbre is muffled, head buried in the book held by lithe fingers.                                                                          @ofbookshelves  /  konnie  starter  call.

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@two-midnightmercs

                                       “No     I’m okay. I was just wondering     ”      With his sorrowful disposition, he looked almost like something from one of those edgy vampires movies they made in the 80′s. It didn’t help his father looked like a crony of a mob boss in some 70′s trilogy and his mother     he couldn’t recall what is mother looked like. He had pictures of her, yes, but he doesn’t remember her. Lacking any available recollection of her gave way to his increased sadness and anxiety. His father leaving for his work only heightened his fear and anxiety. If Konstantinos lost his father, would he soon lose memory of him, just like his mother? The thought always circled his mind in moments like this.      Pressing pale lips together in nervousness, he curled the corners of his mouth, feigning a smile as to reassure Raven.                                         “So     you really haven’t seen my dad?”