Vittorio

He hadn’t always been a killer.

He had started life as an adorable, chubby babe.

From outward appearances, his early life had been quite idyllic and indeed, even privileged. His family was descended from a minor Italian noble house; more wealth than importance really.

His mother had encouraged him to join the clergy, and he had been in his first year of seminary school when the Great War erupted.

His experiences over his several years at War definitely changed him. In particular it was his time in the chalky trenches during what would become one of the deadliest battles in all of human history, that really impacted who and what he was.

Before the War he was by no means; normal. For as long as he could remember; he did not “feel” as others did. He learned at an early age to keep this hidden. He knew that people had feelings and could emulate a wide range of them so that he could live within society and not be discovered.

He did take pleasure in pleasurable things. He enjoyed good food and drink: he enjoyed the sensations of physical intimacy, and he could pretend to “love.”

He knew that his parents “loved” him: he could see it in their actions and words, but he never actually had “feelings” for anyone or anything. He lived with his family and used them to further his own ends.

For as long as he could recall; he was looking towards the future. Whether that future was a day, a week, or even years away; he was constantly considering how to get what he wanted and needed.

This meant that he was always thinking on how to get the best results for himself; but sometimes others would benefit from his selfish motives. When he was younger; and still reliant on his parents, he had found occasion to take action on various things so that his parents would benefit, because they then could continue to provide for him. He did not do these things for love of his family; but rather for love of himself.

His trend of forward thinking was what brought him to the door of the flower shoppe this evening.

His plan was to one day run the entire city. After his time at war, he had come to the city and started working for his uncle by marriage. His Uncle Tomas had been running the south side of the city for several years before the War. He had worked his way up in his uncle’s organization partly through charm; because even though he didn’t “feel” like others did, he could be exceedingly charming. Of course, it helped that he was a nephew to the Boss: he didn’t care if others felt the only reason he had his position was because he was related to Il Signore. He had proven his worth many times over the last few years by doing the “dirty work” for Signore De Luca.

There had been a major change a little more than a year prior to this snowy day. His uncle had passed on: not done in by a rival enterprise; rather it had likely been his fondness for good food and wine that sent the Signore to an early grave.

Tomas De Luca had been a short, stout man with a clever head for business; whether it was legitimate, like his butcher shop, or illicit – like numbers or prostitution.

He had not been in the right position to take advantage of the power vacuum that his uncle’s passing had left. Instead it was his aunt who had stepped up to run the south side in her husband’s stead.

His Aunt Sofia was his own mother’s younger sister; and she had known him all his life. In fact, she had been there for his birth. Since the passing of his mother; his aunt was the only person who called him Vito. He tolerated this because she was family; and had turned out to be even more astute at business than her late husband. The members of her organization were frankly surprised at how much she had expanded operations. Her management of the prostitution side of business in truth, was near genius and had raised profits quite a bit.

Another thing that surprised the members of her organization was her ruthlessness. He had done more “dirty work” for his aunt in the last year, than he had done for his uncle for several prior years.

This was to his advantage because it meant that there was more money in the organization and as he was near the top of things; it meant there was more profit for him as well.

He had been making promises and consolidating his personal power for almost two years. His uncle’s passing had put an obstacle in his plans, because he had not prepared for it. His original plans had called for taking him out; and now he had to modify those plans because his aunt had proven to be even more clever than her late husband.

Her ruthlessness left him no doubt that if she discovered his plans: family or no; she would have him dealt with.

While he was confident that he could prevail over almost any man; especially if he had the upper hand via concealment or treachery, he knew that his aunt would not send one man to handle him.

As he strolled past one of the two large windows to either side of the door to Flowry’s, he could see the proprietor working near the front of the shoppe. He could see from a small sign on the milky glass of the door to the floral boutique, that he was arriving at ten minutes past their normal closing time.

He knocked anyways: “rap,rap,rap”, three short taps with the knuckles of his left hand. He waited half a minute till the door was opened partway and the Mrs. poked her head out.

“Good evening to you;”she offered, “I’m afraid we’re closed for the day.”

He looked the shoppe owner over: she was a handsome woman in her late middle years. She was tall for a woman; maybe 7 or 8 centimeters shorter than himself. She carried herself well; with confidence, and he could tell that she had been quite a striking girl in her youth.

“Good evening to you;” he said. He continued with a question. “Do you know who I am?”

He watched her as she eyed him up and down. He noticed that she shifted her hold on the door as she did so. When she first poked her head out, she had two hands on the door frame, with her right being positioned above her head and the left one beneath, around her waist. Her right hand disappeared and she answered; “I believe I do.”

“Good,” he said, “that should save us some time.” He looked beyond her into the shoppe and gestured with his right hand to the interior of the boutique.

“Of course;” she said as she slowly opened the door to admit her handsome visitor. He stepped in and stopped a moment to scan the spacious interior of Flowry’s. The Mrs. had made sure to be slow about granting him access because she wanted to be sure that her niece had time to find a hiding place. She did not think it would be wise if her visitor knew that Nellie was here as well as herself. Because she was fairly certain of her intruder’s identity. She was surprised at how handsome he was; but he still gave her a chill, that she hid well, because of his reputation.

After he came past the entryway, her visitor linked arms with her; almost in a courtly manner.

He led her slowly down the main aisle; and spoke as they walked.

“Are you alone this evening?” as they walked, she saw that he slowly looked about the shoppe. She had the feeling that not much escaped his notice.

She lied to him; “only one here is myself,” she continued as they made their way down the aisle. “My niece is at a church function this eve, and my son Teague is out doing who knows what for his employer.”

He nodded his head slowly as she spoke; and they made their way to the end of the aromatic main aisle.

She couldn’t help but notice how graceful he was as they rounded the end of the main aisle; still arm in arm. Something about the man’s movements brought to mind, the way her son moved. Maybe even a little about the way that Penrose carried himself. She instinctively knew that this man was dangerous.

Near the end of the main aisle they stopped for a moment as the Mrs. plucked a single black chrysanthemum and deftly placed it in the man’s lapel. As she did, the shoppe keeper told him, “a handsome lad like yourself needs a flower in his lapel.” He smiled; and in a silky voice said, “thank you Mrs.”

As they made their way up another aisle, he stopped near a bundle of Cornish Heath. He leaned over to inhale deeply above the bell shaped lilac flowers.

“These are lovely,”he said as he straightened up. “My aunt keeps some in her office.”

“That’s Cornish Heath;” she told him, and continued, “some call it Wandering Heath because it grows all over.” He nodded slowly in appreciation. As he straightened, she noticed something and took the opportunity to point it out.

She pointed to his feet and said, “there seems to be something on your shoe.”

He looked down and noticed several spots of blood on his left shoe. His face darkened when he saw this, and he felt her stiffen after she saw the look on him.

His shoes were beautiful things. They cost as much as the common man earned in a month. His footwear was Italian, hand-made, and gleamed like little mirrors on his feet. Once a week he made a point to find a particular young bootblack who was a magician with polish and a rag.

He had acquired the offending spots earlier in the evening. He had been at Ottimo Cibo, and been surprised when he had seen a trio of Penrose enterprise men being seated across the restaurant from him.

He knew the men mostly by reputation. They were all three large men, but one was exceedingly so. The biggest of the three was easily two meters tall and had hair nearly as dark as himself. The shortest of the three big men was the only one that gave him any concern, and was in fact the shoppe keepers son Teague.

He watched them order and shortly after the bread and wine arrived at their table, he saw Teague get up and head toward the rear of the restaurant, after speaking with one of the servers.

He had taken a few moments to think about the implication of the three enterprise men and felt that their presence must have something to do with his plot involving the fairy and the pixie.

He knew the pixie was involved with the Cornish over on the west side; and these three worked for Penrose, who ran that part of the city. He obviously could not allow them to interfere with his plans. So after Teague left the dining room through one of the side doors; he followed.

The enterprise troubleshooter was one man that he instinctually felt he should not take head on: but there were a lot of dark hallways and rooms on this first floor that housed Ottimo Cibo. He thought that he could certainly use the darkness and his native stealth to handle the troubleshooter before he became “troublesome.”

He had been ready to make this happen in one of the dark hallways: he had the razor out, when he was tackled by one of Teague’s companions.

He had made short work of the bruiser and left him lying on the floor in a spreading pool of his life’s blood. That’s where the blood came from. It hadn't been necessary to kick the prone man in the belly, but it had been gratifying.

Since he did not want to face Teague in a “fair” fight; he had left the restaurant and made his way here to the flower shoppe because he felt that he might need some leverage in his near future dealings with that enterprise troubleshooter.

As he recalled this; he drew the razor out of his pocket. It was ivory handled and really a thing of beauty. He noticed that she recoiled slightly when he held It out. This was a common reaction to It, he had experienced over the years It had been in his care.

“Found It in an antique shoppe on Fleet Street;” he told her, as he slowly turned It over in his deft hand. She made no move; either to grasp the proffered “tool”, or to escape. As he slowly opened the thing, he recalled finding It at the end of the War.

He had been wandering the shoppes with no clear goal or destination; and had found himself in a small, cluttered, antique emporium. He roamed about the shoppe and was near the rear of it when he distinctly heard a whisper; or he felt it maybe. “Vito,” It called: and he turned towards a display case. It was glittering there on a middle shelf. It was open and he could see that the shelf was dusty, but It was not. When he called the proprietor over to remove It from the case, he noticed a clear outline in the shape of the razor; in midst of the dust. When the shoppe keeper took It out; It had been cool to the touch. It was always cool to the touch. He recalled one time leaving It on a windowsill in his apartment. That side of the apartment was always sunny; and yet when he had picked It up after several hours, It was cool to the touch.

“I’m afraid that I am going to need you to come with me Mrs.;” he told her. She looked distressed for a moment and said; “of course; I have to lock up.”

They made their way to the rear of the store where the Mrs. smoothly locked the back door. The handsome man then took her arm in his and they walked towards the front of the store. As they passed an aisle over from the bin where they tossed the detritus of their profession; she made sure to point out several colorful flowering plants away from the bin.

As they walked; she told him “I’m worried.” He nodded his head slowly as they continued their way to the front of the shoppe. “As well you should be Mrs.” he continued; “if your son cooperates, then nothing will have to happen to you.” She looked at him as they neared the front of the store and said; “I think you misunderstand me;” to which he replied, “Oh?” She continued “I’m not worried for myself; I’ve lived a good life, and have made my peace with the lord.” He looked confused for a moment before she told him: “I’m worried for you.”

“Really?” he asked as she opened the front door to exit with him.

She turned out the lights and looked to the rear of the store: her gaze resting momentarily on the bin where she knew her niece was hiding.

She looked at him and said “you know who my son is?” He nodded in the affirmative at this question. “Well;” she said, “I can’t see how this is going to turn out well for you.” He told her; “you let me worry about that Mrs.” Her reply to him was: “as you will.”

She knew that her niece would hear the tinkle of the little bell as she closed the door and left with the killer.