Bob down, nine-year-old Marcel Ferrari hoped no one passing by the dark backstreet could see his small form resting beside the nightclub's dumpster. The sideway and the club seemed busy tonight, but he risked it anyway. It was the best place to find leftover foods or drinks, even if it was dangerous. He'd heard shouts coming from inside and saw people going in and coming out of the club, even wealthy business men dressed in their suits but he decided to mind his business. He has always done so ever since the tragic death of his parents.
The passage smelled disgusting, like garbage and death. But it was cool, and the roof above provided shelter from the drizzling rain.
Soon, he would turn ten.
He can't believe that it has been a year since his parents died. Today marks the first anniversary of his parents death. It was also his birthday.
This was not how he thought he would spend any birthdays.
He anguished at the outcome of his family. He'd watch a year pass by as an homeless orphan. A year, he thought. It was an awfully long time for a young boy to be on the busy streets of New York City, going from one street to the other to find food, or rather steal food and also struggling to find a safe shelter to sleep. Whether dirty or not, just as long as he had a roof over his head.
Marcel had the suspicion his father was involved in a business with a gangster. He had once overheard him talking on the phone with a man he called 'Boss' several times . But Marcel was too naive to understand what was going on and he thought it was normal for his father to talk to his boss at his place of work not until…
"Are you hungry, child?" The deep voice came from nowhere, disrupting Marcel's thoughts. The man spoke in Italian, not English, though Marcel was very good at speaking Italian and a little bit of Russian language which his father forced him to learn to speak.
Marcel's eyes popped open to darkness, fear consuming him. His hands were already shaking. Instantly he turned, his gaze swept to meet a pair of blue eyes.
Marcel frowned, eyeing the man up and down.
'Why is he smiling at me as if he knows me?' he asked himself.
The man crouched down to Marcel's height and something Woody smelling and spicy wafted the tones of the man's cologne.
In his clean, tailored suit, the man looked wealthy. Even his shoes shined in the dark pathway.
"No." Marcel replied, lying.
"I know you are, Marcel." The man smiled seeing the surprise look on Marcel's face. "If you are hungry, I will feed you."
Marcel frowned. "How do you know my name?" He questioned.
"Your father was my best friend before he died." He said.
Marcel could swear that he saw something like guilt flash in his eyes before disappearing.
The man raised up his hand to touch Mercel on the head.
Like a scared mouse, Marcel moved back quickly, twisting his ankle in the process and fell down to the wet floor.
The man frowned at the obvious fear. "I won't hurt you, child."
Marcel looked at the man unsure of what to do. He knew he should never trust anyone. His father told him before he died. He promised his father not to trust anyone.
Someone had betrayed his father. Someone killed his parents and made the cops close the case and cover the whole truth, making it seem like his father was so drunk and crazy that he killed his wife and when he realised what he had done, his father committed suicide. What a scheme!
In one particular day his family was destroyed.
How could he possibly trust or even love anyone after all this?
This was a trauma he had to live in for a little child like him. He couldn't bear the thought of being taken to an orphanage home so he ran away. All his father's properties were seized by the government, or so he thought.
"Marcel, I am Jacopo Colombo. Your father and I were best friends. Please trust me. Your father will be angry with me wherever he is if I let you continue on like this."
How did this man come to know where he was? He had been hiding for a year from the eyes of the press and cops.
Marcel stood up and forced himself to swallow the bad taste in his mouth. "You don't believe that my father killed himself, right?" He looked at Jacopo with hope in his eyes. He just needed at least one person to believe in his father, to believe that his father could never do that to his family.
"Who knows? I--it might be true he committed such a crime…"
"That's a lie. My father would never do that. He is a good man. I'm sure he is." Marcel defended on the verge of tears.
Jacopo chuckled. "You're naive, child. There are a lot of things you don't know about your father, Emanuele."
"W-what?"
"Your father was a consigliere, I was like your father was, but I'm the Capo now. Do you understand what that means?"
Marcel understood what it meant. He knew his father had something to do with an illegal society but he hoped it wasn't true.
Could it be his father actually killed his mother and committed suicide?
Tears streamed down from Marcel's eyes. "I…I didn't know. I wasn't sure."
"Do not cry, child. Let me take you with me. I will take care of you."
"How am I certain that I can trust you?"
"I have two little boys and a girl of my own." Jacopo continues, "Adriano, Giorgio and Gabriella. Adriana just turned ten. Giorgio seven, going to eight and Gabriella is four. I bet they would all love to meet you."
"I don't think I can live with you." Marcel said quietly, needing Jacopo to understand
"You shouldn't live like this anymore. I will raise you as my son."
My son, Marcel thought.
If he goes with this man, he would have a roof over his head, good food to eat, a bed to sleep in, another family and clean clothes to wear. How could he refuse such an offer?
This man was his father's friend. What harm could he possibly do to a homeless orphan like him?
Marcel slowly nodded his head.
Before he could say a word, he found two hefty men standing before him behind Jacopo.
"He is my son. I will take him with me." Jacopo said to them "From now on, we will call you Marcello Colombo. Do you understand?"
Marcello hesitated. "Yes."
"Let's go to your new home." Jacopo said, giving Marcello a pat on his head.
Marcello held his breath as Jacopo slowly brought his hand down.
He saw something. Familiar.
Marcello's eyes widened.
The same tiger tattoo that his father had and the man who killed his parents.
Jacopo had the same tattoo on his hand.
Marcello was carried into the car.
The realisation caught him completely off guard that he didn't know what to say.
Could it be that Jacopo killed his parents?
He was brought back to reality when Jacopo announced. "This is your new home."
New home? Or rather hell?
Marcello's lip trembled as he watched from the car as the large Golden gate opened to reveal a building standing in all its Glory.
"Welcome to the abyss, Marcello."
