September 5, 1956
Las Vegas, United States of America

Capriccio Lane, a spindly little backstreet tucked away at the corner of the city. Dainty sidewalks and a well-cared-for road, it was a refuge for Las Vegas' most affluent individuals who for some reason or other wished to seclude themselves from the city's hustle and bustle. It was no exaggeration to say that the unassuming homes that dotted the street were each nothing less than their own manors. All the humble palaces of local "politicians", "businessmen", and "accidental inheritors" with their marble staircases and well-trimmed hedges. One of these such millionaires drove down the lane, or rather his chauffeur did, while he leaned back comfortably in the passenger seat of his Lincoln Continental and appreciated his neighbor's extravagant yards. As his eyes lazily glazed over fences over 20 feet high, bolted shut with titanium that would allow no measly thief or policeman alike inside, he noticed a car parked alongside one such home. Unlike many of the indulgent excesses put on full display by local residents through their vehicles, this car was more unassuming. A tan 1950 Pontiac Catalina. Yes, still worth a pretty penny, but it was just not quite the item any inhabitant of this opulent street would put on full display, meaning that the driver was no local resident. At making this connection the millionaire stiffened and turned his eyes to the road in front of him. If residents of Capriccio Lane had something in common besides their deep pockets, it was that they were here to idle about after their retirement, to lay low and enjoy their wealth while they could still live in peace. Hence an outside stranger roaming between magnates could bring about no good news. At best someone would most likely have some savings snatched away and at worst the police might have to come and clean up some blood before word could get out and bring the area’s market value down. It was, of course, the untold rule of Capriccio Lane to mind one's own business, to stay inside with their private galleries and jewel collections and to write off any strange noises as fireworks.

However the car’s occupant seemed to not follow the regular rules of other visitors of Capriccio Lane. Though a gun was firmly tucked into the pocket of his leather coat, there was no will to kill present in his mind. Rather than be a cold-blooded killer plotting his attack, this man was gripping onto his steering wheel with a pressure building up in his mind of nothing but agonizing anxiety, dread piled up over years and ready to implode in a matter of moments. Over and over again he drummed his fingers on the wheel, trying to pull up some courage from wherever it may be. Yet time went fast, and he had many things he’d rather spend his energy on. If he were to wait until he felt ready then the world would catch alight before he ever removed his seatbelt. Without allowing himself a moment more to think over his predicament, the man thrust open the car’s door and rushed outside. Now rather than immediately being hit by the impending reality he had been avoiding there was instead a calm. That was right… no matter how turbulent a mind can get, the world still spins. A bit sickening to think that one’s worries can’t carry on beyond the body, a sort of silent slap in itself yet in the end for some reason reassuring.

Not allowing himself a second more to think about this he hurried on across the street to his destination. This house was and was meant to be not all so different from the other manors of Capriccio Lane. Its gate high enough to obscure the realities of the home yet with walls of aged stone bricks even including ivy twining in through the cracks, it was nothing but an idyllic little dream come true. At the center of these walls lay the gate, seemingly constructed of simple wood yet if anyone were to take a peek from the other side they’d find metal bolted to the back, a fake and distrusting embrace, with a knife concealed behind the back. Keeping this in mind he knocked on the gate, caution in every tap. Four knocks, a pause, two knocks. No answer. Four knocks, a pause, five knocks. No answer. Four knocks, a pause, four knocks again. No answer. Two knocks, a pause, three knocks. Still no answer. With every knock he had left behind more and more of his patience. Now twenty-eight knocks in, what had once been dread had become impatience. No longer willing to procrastinate he reeled his leg back. Titanium no longer mattered if he could take his frustrations out on this damned gate. Years of suppressed anger couldn’t be dismissed in a moment yet it sure as hell was tempting to try. However fate or rather, the gate’s guards had a different plan in mind for him and swung the gate upon right before he was able to kick it.

“Hey kiddo. Long time no see huh,” one of them called out as he rushed inside in an attempt to preserve whatever fragment of dignity he still might have left.

“Shut it,” he muttered, not quite loud enough to be heard but the manner in which he hurried off managed to still convey his message. Just as with the outside gates, the house was lavish enough to make you watch your step but also homely and comforting, trying to lull you into a false sense of security, whispering sweet nothings into your ear to lower your guard and convince you that everything was safe and alright. From the gate led a cobblestone path that swiveled around a small garden and right to the house’s entrance. The garden itself seemed to be quite well-kept with flowers in bloom and a pair of chairs put out in the midst of it for anyone who wished to spend an evening gazing at lilies of the Nile, blossoming under the sun’s embrace. In fact there was only a small section of the garden upon which no flowers bloomed, a small square gated off to the left of the path filled with weeds rather than more desirable plants. While passing this section he kept his head high, nothing could come from turning back or to the side. Forward was the only clear path so forward he went, reaching the house’s door where another pair of guards stood. Well rather than a house it seemed more like a cabin one might find in some secluded area in the woods. With its logged exterior it truly did seem like a quaint little dream.

“Name and business,” the first guard barked. The man stiffened and dug his nails into his palm.

“There’s no need for that,” he hissed. While the guards tried to put on a firm facade of fake professionalism, their eyes glinted with a sort of mischievousness, finding humor in this man’s frustrations.

“Name and business,” the second one repeated. With this the man clenched his eyes shut as well and turned his head to the ground.

“You know damn well-”

“Name and business.”

“Stop pretending that-”

“Name and business.”

“You know you can’t recognize me then-”

“Name and business.”

“Just open the damn door and-”

“Name and business.”

“Antonio Lovure. I’m here to visit my father,” he finally hissed under his breath. Upon hearing this the guards continued on with their act, staring at him, lacking any reaction or emotion. Yet they weren’t able to hold up this act for long and the corners of their mouths began twitching upwards and upwards until no longer they could contain it and doubled over, bursting into laughter.

“Holy shit, oh… ah kiddo welcome back,” the first guard pushed out between laughs while the second held the door open for Antonio. Without stopping to return a warm greeting Antonio rushed inside.

Once the door was shut behind him there was no need for anyone to tell him what to do or where to go. The route was already ingrained in the back of his head like the most dastardly map. Past a living room with its grand family portrait, past hallways of creaky floorboards, past rooms containing memories best left undisturbed, and up staircases prime to cause a variety of “accidental falls”. Finally at the end of the second floor was the room he’d been looking for. Much greater in size and intricacy than the other doors of the household it was clear this housed the place’s master. Stopping at it, Antonio took a few moments to let himself think and consider, just what horrible choice had he made that he was punished by being brought back here? Too many possibilities came into his mind with that question prompting him to once again simply push forward mindlessly and throw the door open.

“An..ton.io,” someone called out. The voice belonged to an elderly man, lying on a bed in the center of the room, his eyes glazed to the ceiling but his ears carefully listening. Who could it be but none other than the godforsaken Alessio Lovure? With no intention to acknowledge the man just yet Antonio simply walked over to a chair beside the bed and made himself at home, picking up a pack of cigarettes from the bedside counter and lighting one, no concern for the sickly old man. “How ..have you been?...cough..”

“Do you really care,” Antonio asked. At this the man became silent, leaving the two at a standstill, neither quite ready to talk to the other but stuck there until one did choose to do so. Finally the old man coughed while Antonio remained immobile.

“You know, your mother never-”

“Don’t. Don’t even try to bring her into this,” he hissed. Then once more that insufferable silence, and just like always the old man sighed and broke it, though not before taking his sweet time to think his words through.

“I never wanted this to happen,” the old man started. Antonio glanced around the room impatiently, tapping his foot on the floor as he did.

“It's a shame it's too late now,” Antonio grumbled. Again with that miserable silence and again the old man sighed, yet now with resignation. Say whatever he may, nothing would work out to his advantage. It truly was too late now.

“Fine.. It's too late. You come here and say good riddens and leave forever, don’t you,” the old man asked. Antonio nodded yet the old man didn’t need to see him to know that. “If it makes you happy to leave behind everything your father worked for you to have then do it.”

“Ok! Thanks.” Antonio clapped his hands and jumped up in an attempt to get out of the house before the old man could even register his words.

“Not yet,” he ordered. Hesitantly Antonio sat back down, his impatience greater than ever. “I know you believe that I didn’t do as much as I could to provide you with the childhood that you deserved. I know that you can never forgive me for the crimes you think I’ve committed. I know you see yourself as a saint compared to me, but what I know is that I did my part. I did my best to give you what I always wished for. Now you have everything, I’ll die, and you’ll do whatever the hell you want to.
“Then just say what you want to so I can get on with it,” Antonio was practically pleading at this point. Alessio Lovure finally brought his gaze away from the ceiling and faced Antonio, his energy completely drained from dealing with his son’s bullshit.

“Ever since you left this house I have no idea what you’ve done with your life... You could be dying of hunger on some street corner and I would never know… but I’d also like to trust that you know what you’re doing.” As he talked the old man reached for an envelope that had been lying by his side. With hands shaking he held it out for Antonio to take. “18742 Clarmone Avenue, Atlanta, Georgia. I have a contact who lives there. Give him this letter and he’ll get you anything you need... You just need to tell him if you intend to succeed me or leave me behind… he’ll make all the arrangements.”

“And if I don’t give him the letter. If I just go home and mind my own business,” Antonio asked. He didn’t reach for the letter, hoping that he might just be able to leave freely with no responsibilities or strings attached.

“He’ll chase you down to the ends of the Earth and decide for you,” the old man threatened. Finally at his limit Antonio snatched the letter. It was difficult to believe that such a light, fragile thing really held so much weight.

“So I can really just go give him this letter, tell him I don’t want anything to do with you or any of your people, and walk away? Just like that,” Antonio continued to press on. In turn the old man simply nodded, a hard thing for Antonio to believe yet was it not the closest he'd ever gotten to his freedom? Yes, it was best not to play around with issues like this. At that conclusion Antonio jumped back up and hurried to the door, hoping to not be forced back once again.

"Antonio."Antonio clenched both eyes and fists and stopped with his hand centimeters away from the doorknob. “I hope he can convince you to make the right decision.”

“I wish I could share that sentiment, but then again I don’t,” he hissed. With that he finally shoved the door open and hurried down the hallway. There was no need to look back anymore, no one he needed to bid a farewell to.