REGRETS

Dawn was just a few hours away. Noises drifted in the corridors just beyond those heavy oak doors. Greetings and shuffling of feet hurrying along to their different posts and duties. All oblivious to one man.

Signore Leonardo Ruffo or Il Capo (The Chief) as he was known by members of his faction, The Shadow Collective aka The Greys, sat gloomy in his gray leather armchair, flickering the folded note between his aging fingers.

He was a man in his late sixties known for his distinguished air and commanding presence with a height of 5'10". A set of piercing brown eyes, with a sharp, intelligent glint and gray hair, flecked with white, worn long and styled elegantly.

His face was a frame of strong jawline, prominent nose, and a scattering of wrinkles around the eyes and mouth. Despite his age, he boosted of a lean athletic build, with broad shoulders and quiet confidence.

At least that was how he appeared before others. Now, he was nothing like that description. His broad shoulders sagged with the weight of the words he held between his fingers. His piercing brown eyes dulled to black as he bored absently at the crackling fire. His usually styled hair was disheveled from a habit he had grown accustomed to, especially when distressed; running his hands on it.

He knew that ever since he got the note, more wrinkles had appeared on his face, and they kept appearing. For his faction which he had formed initially as a ruse, he had to maintain appearances whereas in truth, he really couldn't care less.

He sniffed and immediately wiped his face as hot streaks ran down his cheeks. His moment of reflection was almost over, and he couldn't allow anyone to see him in such a state. For his late wife, family and faction, he had to try to remain strong. Even though the note between his fingers argued otherwise.

He knew the words by memory now. It haunted him. It wrecked him. It was slowly killing him. Because of it, sleep was a mirage and, like every other night since he got the note, he had stayed awake from his last meeting till the breaking of dawn. His mind, a chaos of thoughts and overwhelming regrets.

"Caro Padre,

If you are reading this, then it means I'm dead. Sì, your son is dead. It's been so long, and I'm ashamed papa, ashamed that it took this long and that I only summoned the courage to contact you because… I need you and I really have no one else to help me… even though it's a bit late now.

I write to you from the depths of my despair. La mia anima è perduta, padre (my soul is lost, father). I've made so many mistakes, and now I'm paying the price. In my quest to make a name for myself without being under your shadows, I got myself entangled with a very dangerous man whose cruelty knows no bounds, and I fear for the lives of mia moglie e mio figlio (my wife and son), sì papa, you are now a grandfather. Mio figlio (my son) is eight now, and it pains me that I won't be there to introduce you to him.

Please, pa, ti prego (I beg of you), use your influence and power to proteggerli (protect them). Don't let this man destroy my… your famiglia (family).

Forgive me for my past errors, Padre. I know I have deluso (disappointed) you, but I hope you can find it in your heart to salvare (save) my… sorry, your family, because I won't be here for them anymore, and I hope you will be.

There are so many things I want to tell you, pa. So many things I wish I had done and said differently to you and ma; riposi la sua anima in pace (may her soul rest in peace). Maybe now I can tell mamma since I will be joining her soon, but per favore papa, help my son, your grandson and my wife, your daughter-in-law.

Your son,

Alessandro.

P.S. Sii cauto, Padre (Be cautious, Father). This man has occhi e orecchie ovunque (eyes and ears everywhere). Trust no one. And I might've left you something, "il segno della more apre il sentiero e rivela tutta la verita" (the mark of death opens the path and reveals all the truth).

The shock of it all always struck anew each time he read the note. Alessandro, his only son, was dead, and he had left behind a wife and a son and something else. But what did he mean by 'the mark of death' and what did it have to do with anything? And who ends a note of such significance with a cryptic statement? In a way, he was glad his son used that tactic just in case the note fell into the wrong hands, even though he, himself, had no clue what those words meant.

That wasn't even the number one item on his list of priorities. He had to find his grandson and daughter-in-law first before he could focus on the other thing.

But how did he tell his son that he also had a lot he wanted to tell him? So much he said that he wished to take back. So many wrongs he wished he could right. He had been a terrible father and his son begging for his forgiveness reflected him being a better man than he, himself, could ever hope to be. At least he was grateful that he had taken after his mamma, Emilia.

For fifteen years he never set his eyes on Andro, as he had fondly called him, those rare moments they saw eye to eye and when he had been growing up. And in that lapse he became established, got married and sired a son. All without his knowledge. 

The day he received the note had been a rainy day. He had been on a meeting with his council of advisors when a boy servant ran in with the note. As a man of certain values and tenets, he waved away the note and ordered the boy to be lashed for disrupting a meeting in session.

It was when the boy had insisted over and over that the sender of the message deemed it urgent in spite of knowing he was to be lashed, did he read the note.

Appearance and decorum be damned, he had gone mad after he read the note. He didn't remember exactly what he did, but he had a vague recollection of scaring his advisors to the point that one of them pissed himself and the rest had avoided him for weeks. His study had undergone repairs for weeks before it was deemed worthy of hosting a meeting again.

And yet he didn't host any meetings for months, he just sat in his room as he sat in this study now, wishing his wealth could afford him to turn back the hand of time so he would never have let Andro run away from home. What he wouldn't give to see his face again and call him 'figlio' (son) one more time.

The holes in the note depressed him the most, it still hinted that Andro didn't trust him, that his own son, even after all these years, still didn't trust him. He doubted he would have written the note if he hadn't seen him as his last hope, the last resort.

And maybe that was what was draining his lifeforce day by day. That if it hadn't been the urgency of the issue, he still wouldn't know that his son was dead. And the fact that he had found out a month after it happened did nothing to alleviate his pain. 

It took another month before the letter was traced back to Castelbianco, a town in the Northern part of Italy in the region of Piedmont (near Turin) where Andro had sent the note from and where he must've taken residence. His son had chosen a different geographical part just to be away from him. That was how much they had grown apart. And he knew the reason why he still hadn't found the family Andro mentioned in his note was because he had taken a new name and an entirely different personality.

It was after five months was he able to stomach the gathering and counsel of his advisors, though this time he had imposed the decision to leave immediately to Castelbianco on them without giving them the chance to argue or dissuade him.

After Emilia's death, he struggled to raise Andro and still maintain his position as a Conte. Maybe part of why he had been hard on Andro was because he blamed him for the death of his darling sposa, Emilia. After giving birth to Andro, Emilia was never the same. It had been from one complication to another until she finally threw the towel eight years later.

Her death had shattered him beyond repair, and now he had lost his son because he had not kept the promise he made to her on her dying bed. She had made him swear to love and take care of Andro, but instead, he had kept pushing him away until he ran away and died in a foreign land.

He owed it to them both to find this grandson and daughter-in-law of his and because, as it is, they were the only family he had left.

It won't excuse his failure as a father and husband, but maybe with his grandson and daughter-in-law, he could make amends even though it seems he was already failing again.

The boy would be 20 already, since it had been 12 years since he received the note and had been searching for him. "That's if he's still alive, of course" the thought caressed his mind.

"No, he is. He has to be" he firmly assured himself.

And then there's the case of the mother, his daughter, but one thing was certain, as long as he lived and breathed, he would not rest until he had found them, even if it was the last thing he got to do.