~~

Rayver POV

"Hey, hey, hey! Look who it is."

Here we go again.

"It's our wittle orphan. Where'd you get those glasses, freak? The dumpster?" The whole group of them laughed like it was the best joke ever.

I can't even see how that is funny. At all.

But if course, I don't say that out loud. Or else bully number twenty-four might choose this day to beat me up.

I don't even bother knowing their names.

Anyway, I wouldn't want bruises now, explaining to the kids at the orphanage is pretty hard.

I keep silent and continue walking with the groceries in hand.

Unlike most ㅡ by most, I mean normalㅡ kids, or people in general, I hate summers.

If by school days they can bully me in a few hours a day, at summer break, they have the whole week to torture me.

So now, I'm thankful that school is starting in two days!

Still ignoring their hollers of supposedly hurting words, I walked to the orphanage with a slight skip on my step.

Mrs. Pepper's Orphanage, the sign read at the top of the porch. I've been here since I was a few months old.

Ever since then, I've been waiting for someone to adopt me. The kids who were my age already got adopted, and those who didn't succumbed to the dark side.

They were the ones who ran out of the orphanage and joined some gangs and stuff, or so I've heard.

But not me, I am just here, waiting for my eighteenth birthday so I can legally get out of the orphanage, and into college.

I have also decided that after college, I would help out Gramma Pepper with the orphanage.

That's my dream; to make sure all of the kids get nice, loving families. I would also make sure that the family they'd get weren't abusive, like other families I've heard of from the kids who got into the orphanage.

As I neared the place I call home, I could see that there were three black SUV's parked outside.

Instantly, I got worried for Gramma Pepper, but what could I do against whoever was in there?

Quickly making sure that no one could see me, I slipped through the back door and into the small building.

I left the groceries that I still had in hand in the kitchen and went up to Gramma's office.

Making sure to look both ways in case there were any unknown people, I found none, so I rushed to her closed door.

Still looking behind me in case, I opened the door and said, "Gramma, I think there are some people outside..." I trailed off once I turned my head to the room.

In there were ten or twelve big, buff guys in suits, their hands behind their backs.

I gulped in fear and searched for Gramma with wide eyes, only sagging in slight relief once I saw that she was sitting on her rocking chair unharmed.

She even looked... Pleased..?

She clasped her hands, "Oh, Ray! Thank heavens you've arrived. I have some wonderful news, my dear."

"Really?" I ask with curiosity.

She motioned me to step closer to her, so I do, but warily looking at the guy who was beside her. He was the one who looked like the leader in here.

I kneeled in front of Gramma Pepper like I've always done ever since I've grow taller to her, grabbed her hands in mine, and asked, "What is it, Gramma?"

What she said next shocked me to the core.

"You are adopted!"

~~

Everything that happened next was a blur.

I froze there in shock as Gramma Pepper began to ramble about this nice Italian man that asked for a piece of my hair for a DNA test —I don't know how she got that though—, and it came back positive.

Long story short, my biological father adopted me.

Can you even adopt someone who's your own child?

Next thing I knew, Gramma Pepper was hugging me, saying goodbye and telling me to call her soon.

Now here I was, sitting in one of the black SUV's, one in front of us, another behind. Like they were bodyguards or such.

I glanced at the guy beside me. He was the one who was beside Gramma earlier.

Mustering up all my nonexistent courage, I said, "Excuse me, me... Sir?" I stuttered.

Great.

He glanced at me, at least I think he did. He was wearing these large black shades.

"Yes?" Wow, even his voice is as scary as he is!

"Are you... Are you the one who adopted... adopted me?" I question with uncertainty and worry.

"No." Was his mere answer to me.

I visibly sagged my shoulders in relief, but then tensed as I realized that I never knew who my so-called father was.

"May I see a fricture-- Picture! Of him, then? Please?" I squeaked out the last part.

He tilted his head to my face skightly, giving me the impression that he was looking at me. He stayed like that for about twelve seconds before pulling out his phone.

A few taps and swipes later, he showed me a tabloid, where he was.

Instantly, my jaw dropped to the floor of the vehicle.

In the tabloid was an article and a picture of him.

{A/N: Well, I tried.)

Wow. I can not believe this.

My father is the Ricardo Luciano?!

I really don't know if I should be happy or what...

I mean, is he even sure that I'm his actual son?

I'm nerdy, quiet, and shy; while he's... He's... Amazingly rich, strong, confident, and according to what I've heard and now saw, handsome.

Come to think of it, he's always been my idol while growing up.

I always wanted to be like him, and now? Now I'm his 'son'.

My confusion level just hit sky high.

But most importantly, is he sure that he'll want me? And boom, the doubts immediately crashed into my head.

What if he doesn't like me? What if I'm too wimpy for him? What if he's abusive? What if he doesn't like the things I do? What if he'll return me?

What if he regrets meeting me....

As I think this over, I make a decision. A very big one, might I add. At least I think it is.

I will do everything I can to please him.

Hopefully it will work.

~~

We arrived at the airport, because according to the guy beside me —I still haven't learned his name—, Mr. Luciano lived at New York City.

I'm still not comfortable at calling him in any fatherly manner.

As we were walking in the airport, I grew confused that we weren't going in the same way other people were.

"Um, hey, Sir? I wanted to ask... Ask why we aren't... we aren't  going there?" I pointed to where the other people were lining.

"Capo has his own private jet."

I choked in my spit. Private jet?! Woah. Of course, how could I forget? He's the Ricardo Luciano. He's the richest guy in the universe.

I looked around in awe as we boarded the jet, amazed at the expense spent on this.

I could even barely afford my own college tuition.

As we sat at the lavish leather seats, I felt the fear crawling in bit by bit.

I'm not scared of planes or heights —I actually haven't made that sure yet—, it's just that... It's my first time on a plane.

Well, when you live as a poor orphaned boy in a run-down orphanage, you don't get to go on plane rides.

I gripped the handles beside the chair so tight as the plane ascended, my knuckles were turning white. Thankfully, no one noticed this embarrassing moment.

As the plane eased into the sky for a who-knows-long flight, I felt the exhaustion of the stress hit full force.

As my eyes drooped, I had one last thought before falling asleep.

What does 'capo' mean?

~~

Regina POV

Punch.

Kick.

Duck.

Repeat.

I continued on assaulting the poor punching bag until suddenly, with a strong kick, it flew out of its chains and into the pile that was currently getting higher and higher.

I nodded my head to the empty spot, and not two seconds later, someone replaced the punching bag.

And there I went again, now on a different pattern.

Jab.

Jab.

Roundhouse.

Duck.

Repeat.

Forty-two minutes, twenty-five seconds, and seven punching bags later, I decided that I've had enough.

I heard someone sigh in relief, probably because they don't need to replace any more merda. {shit}

Without missing a beat, I took out the gun that was in the holster which was strapped to my waist, and fired blindly at where I heard the irritating noise.

"Figlio de cagna." I muttered, staring lowly at the blood that was quickly spilling from the guy's forehead. {Son of a bitch.}

I jutted my chin to his direction, and as quick and silent as they can, two men took his carcass and prepared to clean up the scene.

In a few minutes there will be nothing that would even make someone think that a person died in here.

Even the metallic scent of blood will be gone.

Well, too bad, so sad.

Jogging up to my room, I unrolled the covering tape that was on my knuckles. This merda did little to stop my knuckles from bruising, though.

Not that I'm complaining, of course.

I did a quick bath to get the sweat out of my body, dressed up in my pajamas and opened the doors to my balcony.

There, in the small compartment at the corner of the balcony, were few packets of cigarettes and a couple of lighters.

I took one and lighted it, watching the flame for a bit, then I put it under the bud of the cigar, conveniently lighting it up.

I put the stick in my mouth and took a long drag, exhaling briefly.

As much as others say that these merda give comfort and such, I feel no such thing. {shits}

Comfort is something that is not in my vocabulary.

Let's face it, there is no comfort in having a life like mine. Especially when you know that school starts in two days.

Ugh. School.

I don't even know what I'm doing in that place. I'm already so smart, I can skip college all the way into graduation.

Oh right, I so know why I'm in that hellhole.

To make sure those nasty Brits know their place.

Well, at least my father knows to not trust anyone else but me to do the job.

Speaking of Padre, where the fuck is he?! He's been missing a lot for the past two months, I barely see him. {Father}

Oh well, at least he doesn't mess with me, I'm cool.

Same rules apply for everyone else.

You can bomb the whole country, but just make sure to miss out my territory.

As the night falls, I notice that the cigarette is slowly losing its life. I press down the bud on the banister of the balcony and throw it at the trash can which was just beside the compartment.

I didn't mind eating any dinner. Not that I ever.

I climb onto my bed, put my head on the pillow, sighed to myself as my eyes close and flutter into a dreamless slumber.

~~

[1917]