[Side Story - Group 8] Castle of Glass

[Levi DAmico]

Now that it was over, now that enough blood had been spilt to appease the Gods of War, a deathly silence built upon the bones of the dead, the dying, and those who didn’t know which state was theirs. There was no way to turn back or lament the losses, because now that it was over, Levi felt all of his power and rage leave him at once. An inky cold feeling took the place of fire and purpose, and yet he was standing; a miracle enough that he was even conscious. The Italian blinked steadily, immobilised by this unremitting weariness and incarcerated within its stony walls. This all felt foreign somehow, like he’d blinked and woken to a whole other world. His mind relapsed, offering memories that were years old like silent seconds past. Levi couldn’t recognise the place he was in, couldn’t understand why black walls boxed him in, or why the floor was thick with corpses. Two dozen men and charred office equipment, walls and ceilings made up an indistinguishable carpet before him – flesh melted into plastic chairs, blood soaked in the ravines of cardboard canyons, limbs laid amongst limbs like a nest full of snakes, and splinters of wood and glass and brick sat in the space of busy workmen. Even a Mafiosi like Levi – one who’d exercised and exploited death and agony as an everyday pursuit of building an empire – couldn’t attribute this devastation to any known experience. This wasn’t some beating in an abandoned building, a drive-by shooting, a torched establishment to threaten your enemies – this was a real war. And this was what it must have felt like to lose.

The hazy, gloomy sentiment persisted and Levi didn’t know what to do with himself; his arms and legs were weighted to his side and he could barely clench his fists. The sword in his hand was heavy and under the weak light, the liquid shone deep red on the steel. Levi didn’t need much convincing to drop the sword, in fact his fingers were already well ahead of his brain on that one, shocking his ears when it clattered like thunder on the hardwood. With thunder came the rain because Levi felt the damp air clinging to him like he’d been caught in a downpour. The air stunk of sweat and blood, grease and dirt, hot metal and gun powder. It was a smell that bullied its way into the nostrils and coated the back of the throat like the after-burn of a hard night spent drinking. Even the perfume of his woman – sweet and delectable like honeysuckle and orange blossoms – made him feel sick to his stomach. If there was anything left in him to give he might have started retching in the corner like an old dog. Levi felt like his body was malfunctioning, maybe the switch had been thrown in the wrong direction or something because instead of succumbing to fatigue and falling flat on his face like he expected to after a hard battle, the Vampiro was agonisingly aware of everything.

With the loss of his adrenaline, the loss of his focus, the Vampiro was unable to stop the whole world from charging at him. He felt as raw as a nerve; the air grinding like sandpaper over his skin and, where he was injured, pressed against his insides too. Even the light, as sallow and mild as it might have appeared, now tore like searing pokers through the pupils. Worst of all was the questions spinning inside his skull, making the nausea worse. If there was no longer a battle to be fought, if there were no more dickheads to put in down, then why the hell was he still standing? Why was he still awake when he should very well have deserved a few forty winks by now? And then he remembered, realisation coming to sit on all those thoughts, crushing them as imposingly as an elephant: this wasn’t over. Just because the battle was done, didn’t mean the capo’s part had been played. He still had to clean up, make a report, and of course delivering excuses to the authorities would have to take precedence now. The heat was no doubt burning rubber on their way over to the building after the report of a bomb going off, but Levi was a little more concerned with how the Family might respond.

Nicoletti would be one among a dozen pecking hens worrying over what the **** had taken place today, not to mention the nature of Levi’s operation in the first place when it seemed that only half of Levi’s workforce had made it through the attack – namely the night crew because it was like a ******* graveyard up here. It was going to be a colossal test of the Italian’s patience to maintain an excuse that would pacify the masses. Some people were going to be more difficult to manipulate than others of course too, and that stray thought let a sting of paranoia enter his gut. Levi couldn’t recall what day it was and whether this was one of those times when Shiro was supposed to be visiting. Hearing Lorelai voice her apology in that same instance made the fine hairs on the back of Levi’s neck stand on end. His imagination had him in a headlock, and he twisted around just barely enough to give her an angry stare. The Italian didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want to acknowledge it or even entertain the smallest fraction of a possibility of a chance that it could be true. Shiro couldn’t be dead. He just couldn’t be. Like Levi, he was too God damn stubborn to die, and would wrestle the Grim Reaper himself before he’d ever give up and lay down his life.

“It’s fine,” the Italian answered back, convincing no one, and keeping his back to her. His tone was heavy with desperation; in fact his whole body was pulsing with a new influx of heat and resolve. “You should get out of here. Go back home or stay with Prudence. I’ve got a lot of cleaning up to do and I need you somewhere safe. Somewhere away from all of… this.”

That was a lot of words to spare for the laconic Italian, even more so when all he wanted to do was scream, draw claws and tear the world apart. Thoughts and rationalisations were silent witnesses in his head because all he felt was the need for action. Levi charged ahead whether Lorelai would follow his order or not; he just couldn’t stand not knowing any longer and he wasn’t about to waste time debating his injuries. As far as he was concerned, he was still standing and he still had a job to do – the world wouldn’t wait for him to heal or be ready before the next wave came. Levi needed to secure Shiro’s position, knock-back the authorities, and start rebuilding and restocking immediately. Of course this was just a minor set-back, nothing else but a bump in the road, and he would be back to his position of notoriety and power in no time. It didn’t matter to Levi how many lives were lost provided he kept hold of the few he deemed worthy. He didn’t care how much he’d lost as it was all replaceable; like scales on his dragon hide. God had created a monster that no man could sunder, he’d said it himself; any hope of overcoming him is false. The horrors of today would amount to nothing but a crack in his castle of glass.

[Lorelai]

Levi was either blind to her pain, or he was focused intently on the task at hand. Lorelai couldn't imagine what he was seeing, as the sight weighed all too heavily n her own heart and she had no connection to this place or it's people besides the man before her.

She hesitated when he told her to leave. Leaving would free him to grieve and cope on his own but she desperately wanted to be there for him. She wanted to help him tend to his wounds but he was already walking away from her. He didn't need her and that fact stung. She knew Levi wasn't the type to ask for help, that he was used to taking the weight of the world on his shoulders and as much as she wanted to shoulder some of that burden, he likely wouldn't allow it; he wasn't allowing it.

"I'll... I'll be at home," she said weakly. "Please... come home soon and... be safe."

That said, and against her own desire, she tomed out of the wrecked office and returned to their home. The moment she arrived, she ran to the bathroom, climbing into the shower fully clothed, where upon she switched on the water and cried under the warm and comforting stream she hoped would cleanse her soul. The events of the evening, though short in duration had left its impression upon her. She needed to wash it all away; the fear, the guilt, the deaths. The images weren't easily forgotten, nor was the state that she'd left the man she loved in. Soon, he was the only thing on her mind, which lead to her sending him one last message before she tried to brush away the events of the evening and dry herself off.

If you need me Levi. I'm here. Please remember that. I love you.