The Don's Doctor

The Don of Dons

Vincent's POV

Incessant arguing had been the background noise in my office for the past hour. Silence is only nurtured by myself and Luca. Luca is my consigliere, my father’s friend, and an uncle to me, my sister, and Renzo, my second and my general. Luca is too old and wise to be flustered by the current situation- a steady owl surveying the rushing of others. His observant eyes were watching the commotion, and looking down at the panic of younger men. Although I have said nothing, I have heard everything. Tuned into the pitch of their voices that betray their fear, I sometimes imagine that I can hear their heartbeats, the way they speed up when Renzo suggests riskier approaches. Their cowardice makes me want to roar my frustrations at them, but silence is my constant companion. There is a snake in my infrastructure, and I don’t want to be caught on an audio wire before I have had the chance to skin it alive.

Recently, I have had my doubts about everyone. Paranoia pricks my ears and agitates my anger. My capos: Marco, Dario and Alessio are young. Many of the more experienced leaders had died on the same night as my parents. My capos are my hyena pack. Each is responsible for the running of their own area, the profits of which feed back into the hierarchy: to me. Despite my gut telling me I can trust these men, reason cautions doubt. They are sons of my father’s former capos, and we have all been dealt a cruel hand in life’s luck. Cruel enough to make any man want to turn away from this life, by spilling some secrets.

“We don’t want to start a war we are not prepared for. Can we survive another culling? If it weren’t for Vincent we would all be at the bottom of the Hudson already.” Alessio shouts at Dario, while gesturing to me.

Snarling at each other is their daily discourse now. Men like us can’t be calm when we have been bloodied, and a scent has been shared. Marco rolls his eyes, he is an experienced enough capo to know that war doesn’t wait until the enemy is prepared. We have been in a battle for eighteen months. It just happened to be at a precarious peace fire, for now.

Somehow, all the men in this room still retain a sliver of their humanity, enough to keep the streets calm with bloodshed being contained to the soldiers and associates. I know they didn’t want to make the brutal decisions I have to make, for that responsibility you had to shred your soul into blood-sodden confetti. Lifting my finger, the men all stop speaking, instantaneously. It pleases me to see them respond this way. If my own men are afraid of me, then my enemies will tremble. I raise my eyes and all movements stop: this is power. Words are unnecessary, they know from my expression that a decision has been made, and it wasn’t one for peace. Discretely, I nod to my underboss, Renzo, who leads them outside to prepare for war. Luca stares at Alessio, St Alessio we would call him when we were younger because he hated violence, but we aren’t children anymore. Luca’s umbrage would be that, until the very end, Alessio’s argument was to maintain a truce. It is concerning, and no doubt Luca will view it as disloyalty.

Coughing and spluttering, I hand Luca a glass of water, admiring his tenacity to not seem ill in front of the other men. In his youth, he had been my father’s stoic soldier from his teenage years, then his second, and later in life he was my father’s and my aging advisor.

“If we start this war we need to know our limitations as well as our enemy’s hold-ups. The families will say that we should try softer approaches, their businesses will suffer as well.” Luca cautions, with words that have been spoken many times in the past.

I shrug. “The families answer to me, they don’t have to like it. They just have to follow my orders.”

Simply by opening a business on my territory without my agreement, the Barone family had made a provocation for war. Usually, it was handled with all the families coming together and demanding a fine to be paid, but I didn’t want money off the Barone family. I would only accept blood as p*****t from them.

“Marco didn’t seem to agree either, he was quiet, but not supportive. It is vital that you have your capos on board for this if you are to destroy the Barone family.” Luca reminds me, and I only nod.

“We don’t know that they killed your parents, Vincent.” Luca softly speaks about a topic that very few are allowed to remind me of.

“We know that they knew about it, and that is enough. They could have sent word, they could have told us in time, they didn’t have to leave it to the last second. It is too convenient that a strange note was placed in their care on that night from an anonymous tip off who knew everything, minutes before our world imploded! Their family got out in time.” I reply, abruptly.

Red is starting to squeeze into my pupils, and I know I will lose control if we stay on this topic. I pour the whiskey into the glass, the habitual process distracting me from the need to purge my rage. Although it isn’t Luca’s place to contradict me, the disappointment on his face would have given me pause eighteen months ago, but too much had happened since then, and I wasn’t the same man I used to be. Pulling himself upright using the corner of my table as support, Luca looks back at me before he leaves to see me pour the golden liquid down my throat.

Renzo soon returns. It seems he has to squeeze himself through the door frame, his size is exaggerated further on the street, but in real life it is still staggering. His face is impervious to expression, but his eyes are like mirrors always reflecting my thoughts and actions. When I had to become Don of all the families, he moved into the house to help me establish the businesses and secure the income lines. He is family both literally and figuratively. A distant cousin, but a brother by thought, word and deed.

“It’s been arranged, we will strike tomorrow. Should I call Doctor Federico?” Renzo asks, anticipating the violence.

I shake my head, we shouldn’t expect trouble, they don’t know we are coming, and the hunting party doesn’t plan for the gazelle to fight back.

“I’m not planning for failure. Rest now, tomorrow we will be busy.” I tell Renzo, who leaves me in the glow of the lamp and whiskey.

Hours tick by, my mind calculating the best plan, measuring the impact of the sins I haven’t committed yet. No-body ever knows the full extent of my plans, no-one ever will until I find out what happened leading up to my parent’s death. Someone in this city, in our world of codes and c*****e, has blood on their hands. The skyline is comforting. It is the only thing I can predict will never change. There is comfort to be found in the wild conurbation, the needy city that calls for attention. New York has its own underworld of crime, and I know I am the king that it answers to.

Cries disturb my dark musings, the full-bodied woes of a newborn brings me both joy and incredible sorrow. Heading to the kitchen, I pull the bread knife from the block, and slice into the Pane-Toscano- my sister’s favourite bread. Being more liberal with the mozzarella than the prosciutto, I cut it into quarters, and grab a soda and straw to finish the meal.

Of all the things my father would criticise me for if we were here, not keeping a closer eye on my sister would be at the top of the list. While I was taking over the business, suppressing the need to mourn our parents, Viviana asked if she could return to living in her dorm and continue her university studies. She was studying to be an art historian- a passion she shared with our father. Three months into her second year, she told me she was coming home. Two months later, she told me that she was pregnant. Despite getting my capos to look into it, no-one knows who the father is, and my sister’s silence is the sinister force that is affecting our relationship. She doesn’t trust me. She’s probably right not to. If I ever find the man responsible for her child, I would only make my nephew fatherless.

Knocking on the nursery door, I find my sister feeding her son in the rocking chair. She looks exhausted, her eyes are swollen, and her pride is the only thing stopping her tears falling.

“I brought you a sandwich.” I whisper, noticing how she clutches her baby closer to her chest so she can try to free her hand.

“Thank-you. He’s only just settled, he’s been screaming all day and all last night. It’s so hard, I think I’m doing everything wrong. I wish mama was here.” She confesses, a rare moment of honesty between us.

Torn between sharing in her grief, and keeping all my anguish deep inside, I panic and distract her with a more practical solution to a more immediate problem. Holding the quarter of the sandwich to her mouth, because the baby fusses when she moves, she leans forward a little and stuffs it down her gullet like a type of pelican. Chewing appreciatively, she leans back in the rocking chair, enjoying her food. I know I should be looking after her better than I have been. If there’s any kindness left in me, I must direct it towards my sister and nephew. Tonight, I find no kindness. Wishing I could ignore my anger, and continue this peaceful conversation, I am regretting the words before they leave my mouth.

“Who is the father, Viviana? I ask holding the straw to her lips.

She ignores the straw and kisses her son’s head instead.

“The doctor says that Valentino has colic, and it will pass eventually. He’s crying so hard that his skin has a little rash on it from the burst blood vessels. My whole universe is on the outside of me now, and I would suffocate this entire world to keep him safe. If you were the brother I once had, you would promise to do the same, you would ask how he is, and you would hold him. Instead, you ask me the same question about his father. The answer is the same as it ever has been: he’s gone.”

Appraising my sister, I see something that I have never noticed in her before: our father. The same steal and strength runs through us both. We have both lost our mother’s compassion through her death.

“We will always protect him, Viviana. He is a Benedetti, but that doesn’t mean that the man who left you unsupported, who abandoned his responsibilities and treated you like anything other than a queen, shouldn’t answer to me. The longer you protect him, the weaker you make our family look.”

“He’s gone, Vincent.” She repeats.

Knowing the conversation is over, I leave the nursery. Guilt instantly stills me, she hasn’t finished her sandwich, and her obstinate pride would quash her appetite. My bed looks inviting, but I don’t sleep anymore. Sleep is for people with less burdened minds.