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ISAAK

As I stepped off the jet, the warm Italian sun bathed me in its glow. The air was thick with the scent of freshly baked bread, and the sound of the waves crashing against the nearby shore filled my ears.

The smell of fresh flowers lingered in the air, and I could almost taste the rich espresso and gelato that were sure to be found in the nearby cafes. The city was bustling with energy, and I could feel the excitement in the air.

As I walked through the front door of my family home, I was greeted by the sound of small feet scampering towards me. "Uncle, uncle!" Sebas, my young nephew, called out with glee."You're back!" she exclaimed, running up to hug my legs.

It was moments like these that made all the violence and bloodshed worth it. My family was my reason for living, and their happiness mattered to me.

"Where's mama?" Luciano asked and you know what they say, speak of the devil and they shall appear.

"Mama!" Luciano exclaimed, as our mother entered the room. She looked radiant, her smile bright and her dress a dazzling yellow, but I knew something was amiss. It was like she was trying to put on a brave face, even though she'd just been through a traumatic experience.

"I'm so glad to see you guys, my dear," she said, her voice trembling ever so slightly. "I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused. "

"Ma how many times have we told you-"

"Oh my boy, please. I don't need my own boys to lecture me,"

"Mom he's right." Luciano says. "How could you let the men go free?"

"I was just tired of having them around," I exhaled through my nose upon hearing this.

"Mom, I understand that you were tired of dealing with them," I said, trying to be as diplomatic as possible. "But we hired them for your own protection."

"I know, my dear, I know," she said, her voice cracking. "But I just couldn't bear it anymore. They're men, not animals."

"Enough of this heavy talk," she said, trying to lighten the mood. "I think it's time for a change of topic. Where's Teresa? I'm sure she'd love to chat with us."

I groaned inwardly. My aunt was notorious for being a chatterbox, and I was in no mood to listen to her ramble on about her latest gossip. But I knew there was no escaping it now.

"She's probably in the kitchen, making something."

I heard a small voice from the kitchen, "Uncle, Uncle!" It was my niece, Amara, running out to greet us. Her face was aglow with excitement, her puffy hair in pigtails as she ran toward us. She launched herself at us, wrapping her arms around my legs.

Luciano bent down and scooped her up, holding her close and planting a kiss on her cheek. She giggled, with the biggest smile plastered on her face.

"How's my favorite niece?" Luciano said, tickling her under her arms. She squealed with delight, her laughter infectious.

"Aww, how sweet," my aunt cooed. "Just wait until you boys have kids of your own. Then you'll know what it's like to have little ones running around the house."

I looked at Luciano and he quickly furrowed his brows. "Why are you looking at me like that?" He asked me

"Because you're the one who's going to have kids, not me," I said with a smirk. "Hold your horses brother,"

As we followed Aunt Teresa into the kitchen, I couldn't help but reminisce about my childhood in Italy.

I was only 12 when my father moved us here, and I left as soon as he died, leaving behind the memories of my youth. Now, looking around the house, I was surprised to see that little had changed. My mother still had photos of my father on the walls, and the house still smelled like my childhood.

I couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia, and a sense of sadness that things had changed so much since then.

I remembered how my brother and I had never wanted the life we now had.

Whether it was an excuse or not, we had been raised in a way that gave us no other choice. Our father had prepared us for this life from a young age, and we had never really had the chance to choose our own path. It was either take over the family business or be killed by our enemies. There was no in-between. It was a bleak and lonely existence.

I still remember my mother's quiet sobs echoed through the night, and I knew my brother could hear them too. She had never wanted this life for us, and I think she still blamed herself for marrying our father. But we had done what we had to do, and there was no going back.

Sometimes, she would come to visit us, but I always thought she was happier in Italy. She could be safe there, away from the dangers of our life. But now, after what she had done, I knew she was no longer safe. She had put herself in danger by coming to us.

That's the reason why my brother and I didn't want her living with us because.

We followed Aunt Teresa into the kitchen, where the delicious aroma of home-cooked food filled the air. It was like a scene out of a movie, with the pots bubbling on the stove and the smell of fresh-baked bread wafting through the air.

It was like a little slice of heaven, and I couldn't help but smile. This woman could have been a professional chef if she wanted to.

"Lucia dear, would you be a sweetheart and help mommy set the table?" my aunt asked, her voice gentle and patient. Lucia nodded eagerly, jumping up from her seat to assist. Sebas, always the mischievous one, stuck his tongue out at his twin sister. In response, Lucia shot him a middle finger, her eyes narrowing. "Sebas, that's not very nice," my mother scolded him, a hint of amusement in her voice.

"Lucia dear, where did you learn to do that? That's bad,"

And like the little snitch she is, she said, "Uncle Isaak taught me,"