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Dante eyed the meal set before him with trepidation.
As did Nicola.
But there was nothing neither of them could do about it. Dante's father was watching them, as Dante's father's underboss, the caporegime and other important mafia brass.
After all, all those in the upper echelon of the Falzone Family must go through the ritual of building immunity to several different poisons in case it happened to them, to prepare them for the worst.
The youngest heir of the Falzone Family was no exception.
And yet, here was Dante who was younger than he was when he went through this earlier, much to Nicola's silent disapproval.
What Nicola knew – and Dante did not – was that there was one more hidden purpose within this test.
To see how long one could last under pain before they broke down.
After all, torture was a common practice among the mafia and there were many methods a rival group could gain information.
Dante glanced at Nicola, a flicker of apprehension in his blue eyes, even if he was informed just enough about the test.
Nicola did not know why Dante's father called him to partake in this test. He was as surprised as Dante when he had arrived. Dante's father simply told Nicola to sit and not say a word and to only watch as things proceeded.
Was this part of the test? To see how Dante would react if someone close to him was nearby? Were they going to use him to see how Dante caved under pressure?
The questions swirled in his mind and he was no closer to any conclusion.
He knew there was a doctor and nurse standing outside the room but it brought no comfort to Nicola.
Instead, Nicola chose to smile at Dante, to hopefully alleviate any anxiety. He was ordered not to speak but he hoped this little gesture was more than enough.
The corner's of Dante's mouth turned, upwards just slightly, and Nicola counted it as a victory.
Dante's father cleared his throat and from the slight twitch of his eyebrow, he was beginning to grow impatient.
Dante finally and tentatively took a small bite of the ciabatta bread and the boiled bream and a spoonful of the minestra maritata soup. Nicola idly wondered which one contained the poison. For him, it had been the bream.
He never liked the taste of bream afterwards.
Then, Dante's father began.
He asked several things to Dante, severe and rapid-fire, questions about the Falzone Family and their long history, analysis of the lessons Dante had earlier over the last year and his thoughts of the reports and meetings that had occurred earlier this week.
His underboss and caporegime did the same.
And Dante answered them all without any flaw.
It took fifteen minutes for Nicola to begin feeling the effects of the poison.
It was no different for Dante.
In the middle of his impeccable oration, Dante suddenly grimaced, squeezing his eyes shut.
Nicola still vividly remembered what it felt like. It started as a dull blade slowly dragging across his stomach, before several knives began prodding, jabbing and stabbing. The feeling had rolled and coiled painfully inside his stomach and he almost wanted to throw up, just to feel some sort of relief.
“ Finish your statement, Dante.”
Dante's father sternly said, as if he could care less that his son was wincing in pain.
Dante let out a slow exhale of breath, opened his eyes and continued.
Their questions soon dissolved into an interrogation, harsh, demanding and relentless. Nicola thought they resembled hungry wolves circling and closing in on an injured prey, waiting for weakness and a moment of hesitation to sink their teeth into.
What kind of orders would Dante give if he were the boss in this situation? What if this person betrayed the family? What would he do if the government became involved with their business? What orders would he give if an ambush from the Visconti occurred at the casino?
They wanted to see how the young boss would react under pressure, under distress. Would he fail to act? Would he make a mistake? Would he be too distracted and overwhelmed by his own needs than for the family?
The poison was one well-chosen. It was not the kind that would kill quickly. Nicola had been told later that the poison alone was not enough to kill its victim.
He was thankful that the ordeal would not last that long. For him, he had endured roughly two hours of it, answers that he could not recall afterwards in the days to come as he recovered from the poison. Whatever it was he had said, it must have pleased Dante's father and the rest of the Falzone executives because they soon promoted him to a high position that belied his youth.
At first, he had expected something similar for Dante.
But two hours came and went.
And yet, Dante's resolve did not waver. His posture remained straight and unruffled. If not for the growing paleness to Dante's face and the way his fingers clenched at his lap, unseen by all except for Nicola, nails digging into soft flesh, he appeared as he always did, level-headed and infallible. His responses were reasonable and well thought out, creative even.
Dante really was meant to be the Falzone boss.
Just when Nicola hoped it was all over –
“ Follow me, Dante,” his father said brusquely, suddenly standing up and sweeping past Dante without any further explanation.
Nicola held his breath.
Dante's father was indeed a harsh man to do this.
By now, the poison must be burning deep inside Dante. He was managing to hold onto some semblance of composure when sitting down. Standing up and walking would be a different matter. Nicola had needed someone to carry him back to his room afterwards.
This was another test. Would Dante obey? Or would he refuse? Would he force his debilitated body to do so? Would he collapse now and show weakness?
The others were silent, watching and waiting to see.
Then, slowly Dante stood.
His eyes unconsciously closed again as he let out a sharp intake of breath at the very movement.
Dante managed to stand still for a few seconds before he stumbled.
Instinctively, Nicola reached forward to help him.
But Dante managed to regain his footing quickly enough, one hand pressed against the table to steady himself. He shot a look at Nicola, giving him the tiniest shake of his head.
You will get in trouble
Nicola could see how Dante's eyes were gleaming with pain, but Dante would continue to see this test through without fail as his duty dictates.
Anger boiled in his stomach, not at Dante, but the way the Falzone family treated Dante as no more than a pawn to their whims.
In reply, Nicola shrugged his shoulders with a seemingly careless manner.
Trouble always follows me regardless
Dante's eyes softened slightly, but they hardened quickly enough. With a grim set to his mouth, he straightened and followed after his father.
“ You heard the boss's orders, Francesca,” the underboss reminded him, eyes fixed intently on Nicola after Dante had left. “ This is your last and only warning.”
Nicola forced himself to smile politely.
And then, as he always did, he followed after Dante.
~.~.~
They all wordlessly walked down the hallway.
Dante's father at least had the kindness to not walk his usual pace. It was just enough for the shuffling Dante to keep up with.
Nicola could see that Dante could no longer disguise the tremble that shook through his shoulders and the way he was forcing his unsteady legs to move.
Nicola could only hope wherever Dante's father led to them was not far.
Dante's father ended up bringing them to the shooting grounds.
By then, Dante's ragged breathing could be heard. Spasms flitted across his pallid face. One hand was wrapped around his abdomen. Dante's entire body had been shivering for some time despite the warm weather outside.
Nicola frowned, wondering why Dante's father brought them here. Did he want Dante to demonstrate his skills while poisoned?
His answer came in the form of Dante's father selected one of the guns on the tables before them.
“ First to miss a target loses,” he curtly said.
Dante's father was the best shot in the Family and the one who taught Dante and Nicola how to shoot. They spent countless days under his strict guidance, drilling them to do better long after their limbs were exhausted and sweat trickled down their faces. Even on a good day, they could not rival against him.
And in Dante's current state, it was a non-winnable situation and they all knew it.
What would this prove? What did Dante's father hoped to glean from this?
Without a word, Dante went to pick up a gun.
By the time he did so, Dante's father already fired off five shots and hit all five targets in the middle.
There was only silence as everyone watched Dante hoisted his gun and glared at the targets. His arm barely quivered.
Just like his father, Dante unloaded his gun in rapid succession.
To Nicola's surprise and relief, Dante also managed to hit all the targets.
The underboss was beaming. The other Falzone brass were murmuring with satisfaction and appreciation of the young Falzone heir.
The unreadable expression across Dante's father's face did not change.
Another set of rounds was fired but this time, Dante's aim was off and he missed one target.
Dante lowered his gun, averting his gaze from his father.
Regardless, it was still impressive that Dante was even able to shoot straight in his condition.
Nicola inwardly sighed. At least this ordeal was over with.
But Dante's father was not done.
“ Again,” he sternly said to both Dante and Nicola's shock.
He had already won. There was no need to continue.
Dread filled Nicola. What exactly was Dante's father looking for?
Gritting his teeth and silently refusing to concede – or perhaps he no longer had enough strength to talk back – Dante went to reload his gun with trembling fingers.
Round after round continued, Dante's father never missing, while Dante's mark grew worse. He missed two targets one time, four the next time, then all five targets afterwards and again after that as well.
It would almost be easier if Dante simply forfeited.
Nicola could only stand there, quietly seething, just wanting this to be all over, when –
Dante, who had been squinting at the targets and rubbing his eyes more and more as he tried to level his next shot, began to sway.
Heart lurching, Nicola abandoned all reason and sprinted towards Dante, ignoring the underboss calling his name.
He managed to reach Dante in time, catching him before he crumpled to the ground in a boneless heap.
Dante felt oddly small in his arms.
His breathing remained erratic. His eyes were squeezed shut, fluttering in agony even as he was unconscious. Tremors continued to rack through the body that Nicola held like a lifeline.
“ I think it would be difficult for someone to shoot like this.” Nicola turned to Dante's father with a light smile, even as his eyes burned cold.
“ Indeed.”
It was then that Dante's father started smiling.
Before Nicola could even begin wondering what that meant, the underboss spoke.
“ Dante Falzone has exceeded our expectations. He passed the test.”
Nicola blinked, slowly taking in his words. “ You were waiting for him to faint?”
“ He has proven his resolve in the event of adversity. He continued and followed through with his mission to the best of his abilities in spite of his incapacitated condition and in spite of knowing he had little chance to succeed,” Dante's father said with a hint of pride in his voice, as he waved over the doctor and nurse to tend to his son.
How cruel it was, for a father to be so pleased to see his son fall unconscious under his orders.
So what Dante's father and the others had wanted to see was how far Dante would push himself. To see how long until he finally broke down and bled for the sake of a mission.
The cursed, thankless mission that all those who carried Falzone blood in their veins would have to uphold until they gave up every living fibre of their being towards it until they died.
“ Francesca.”
Nicola automatically straightened to attention, even as he kept watch from the corner of his eyes on Dante.
“ You also passed your test.”
He blinked. He had not been anticipating those words. In his concern over Dante, Nicola had not conceived the thought that Dante's father and the Family were also testing him at the same time for an unknown reason.
He managed to school his face into a neutral expression. “ I hoped I passed with flying colors,” Nicola nonchalantly said.
Dante's father allowed a small smile. “ Twice, you reached for Dante when he faltered, in spite of my orders not to. Such loyalty would serve him well in the future.”
True loyalty would have been to stop Dante the moment he tried to follow after his father and the footsteps of his ancestors.
“ You now have seen how Dante would respond in a situation such as this,” Dante's father continued, oblivious to Nicola's thoughts. His azure eyes, so similar to Dante's and yet not similar at all, bore down upon Nicola. “ Your job is to make sure things never escalate to this extent to my son.”
“ You have my word,” Nicola said, bowing low.
(“ How angry was Father?”
Nicola was reading a book and sipping on a cappuccino, hoping it would calm his raw nerves when Dante finally woke up, well into the evening.
Dante's eyes were bright and glazed over with fever and pain. There were exhausted lines across his brow, something he should never have in his young age.
“ He wasn't.”
Dante turned his head, facing away from him.“ Sure.”
" It's the truth. He was proud of you."
" Sure," came the same listless answer.
Knowing anything else said would fall on deaf ears, Nicola sighed. “ I'll tell the staff to bring up some broth. You haven't eaten since earlier.”
Dante looked faintly green as he shook his head.“ I'm not hungry.”
The antidote might have been administered and Dante was no longer in any eminent danger but Nicola vividly remembered the way his stomach continued to twist painfully for hours after.
Or perhaps he and Dante were both feeling slightly anxious and paranoid about touching any food after that sort of test.
“ Giula would be upset if you lost weight.”
Almost petulantly, Dante buried his face into his pillow. His answer was muffled but Nicola got the gist of it.
The action made Dante almost appear the age that he was meant to be.
Nicola fought not to chuckle.
Instead, he placed a hand over Dante's forehead. The heat was sharp against his skin but he held on. “ All right. I'll tell Giula to bring something later. Go back to sleep.”
“ I'm not a child anymore,” Dante mumbled even as he slowly leaned into Nicola's palm, as he once did when he was younger. His eyes blinked at Nicola, looking simultaneously fond and annoyed.
“ Of course. Of course.”)
The beginnings of a plan began to form and if Nicola were to have his way, Dante would never be in a situation like this ever again.