? The Measure of a Boy ?
Outside the hotel, the Marcettis men hunched lower in the carriage, the leather seat creaking under a dozen restless shifts. Revolvers glinted against the sun, shotguns lay across knees like surrendered bones. The white envelope rested on the floor between boots, a small, insolent thing that had already rearranged the men’s courage.
“What should we do?” the new recruit murmured, voice so small it might have been wind in the eaves.
No answer came. The recruits exchanged frightened looks; the veterans stared at hands that had steadied pistols and steadied men before, and for once those hands found no answer either.
“Let us think this through first.” the eldest henchman finally spoke. He kept his voice low, not to alarm, but because low voices sounded like strategy. “This is the Undertaker's way of doing things… he pulls off theatre and likes to mess with people's heads. He prefers the mind to the bullet.”
“So you think he’s bluffing? Trying to scare us?” the younger shot back, too eager to be brave.
“The Dons wouldn’t want blood spilled in front of the hotel on such an occasion,” another seasoned one said. “If they wanted us gone, they’d have done it already.”
The argument did what talk often does. It filled the hollow left by sudden doubt. Courage seeped back in folds and whispers; it was brittle, but it was something.
“Let us do it this way,” the eldest decided. “We leave. We make them think we caved. We switch carriages somewhere quiet, then we come back closer.”
“Won’t we miss the signal if we leave now?” someone asked, the thought lodged like a splinter. "What if it goes off while we are away?"
“Doesn’t matter. We go in as soon as we return.” He tapped the barrel of a shotgun for emphasis. “We came prepared. No half measures.”
Silence settled again, then agreement like a coalition of hardened men. They wore grudges like talismans; the names of the three Dons and the Undertaker were a shared litany that meant, between them, a reckoning. Nods passed in place of the bar-room roars they would have given another day.
One of them slipped from under the blanket, careful to keep the heavy gun wrapped. He swung down to the step and spoke to the driver in a low, practiced cadence — the words the driver needed to hear. The driver tipped his hat, took the reins, and snapped the leather with an expert hand.
The carriage moved.
Beyond the glass, the distant jazz music still lingered, softened by the walls of the hotel. The laughter and applause of the crowd bled dimly through, like echoes from another world entirely.
Inside, the air was quieter, heavier.
Don Carlo finally leaned back, permitting himself a rare moment of respite after the interminable meetings. A henchman approached, careful to keep his words low, so that no other ear might catch them.
“We have dealt with one. Upper suites. He was about to strike at Don Silvano.”
Don Carlo’s gaze sharpened. “Only one?”
“We are still endeavouring to trace the others discreetly. This one… he was cleanly removed. The body disposed of.”
“And the inspection of the servants and porters?”
“They have been searched. Lockers, rooms… nothing found. We narrowed our suspicions by recent sick leaves and new hires, yet the hotel teems with workers; it is difficult to mark each one.”
Carlo rubbed his chin, considering. “Then… they must be relying upon knives from the kitchen, or concealing their firearms elsewhere, to seize them only when the hour is proper.”
The enforcer hesitated, but Carlo spoke again, his voice slow, deliberate:
“A gun does naught of itself. It is but a tool; the hand that wields it is the danger. Mark the men, shadow the movement… to stay the strike is of greater import than discovering the instrument it would employ.”
The henchman inclined his head, understanding, and withdrew quietly, leaving Don Carlo alone once more, his mind tracing the invisible paths of menace threading the hotel.
Carlo exhaled, gaze flicking toward the upper floors where the suites overlooked the square.
“I thought Emilio and I could manage the inside, let Silvano rest and enjoy his daughter’s birthday…”
He leaned back, murmuring to himself,
“I thought wrong. The Marcettis are surprisingly well prepared for this..."
"Where could those guns be hidden?”
Silvano returned to the first floor, pushing Olivia’s wheelchair after finishing their hotel tour, the girl blissfully unaware of what had just happened upstairs in the upper suites. Katie, still seated with Alex and Dante, rose from her chair as she spotted them approaching. Silvano’s presence drew glances from every direction, yet he ignored the men who tried to intercept him, keeping his focus on Olivia as he spoke animatedly, telling her some joke that made her laugh out loud.
“Did you enjoy the tour, sweetheart?” Katie asked, smiling despite herself.
“Ma! We’re staying in the best room of the hotel!” Olivia beamed.
Silvano grinned. “Oh, yes you are. Now, time to greet your guests. Looks like we have quite the crowd tonight.” His eyes swept across the room.
“Now I’ll leave you in your mother’s care,” Silvano said, straightening. “I'll take care of some business and get back to you, my little girl.”
Olivia made a pouty face, but Silvano dispelled it with a gentle pinch of her nose, earning another round of giggles before he stepped away toward the crowd that awaited him.
From their table, Alex leaned closer to Dante.
“It’s strange,” he murmured.
“What is?”
“Madam Katie’s the mother of the girl whose birthday this is. But everyone’s greeting the Dons. Not as much people are coming to her.”
Dante followed his gaze, then snorted softly. “Olivia’s friends— if she even has any— probably live near where she and her mom stay now. Far from here.” He leaned back, smirking. “I don't believe they would come all the way here. Maybe just a few.”
Alex said nothing, watching Olivia’s chair starting to get surrounded by guests too tall to notice her.
Dante’s tone softened a little. “Those people? They’re not here for her. They’re here for the Dons. Sucking up, cutting deals, chasing favors. Business partners, politicians, leeches, all of them.”
Alex lowered his eyes. “So… no one’s really here for Olivia.”
Dante shrugged, a hint of something weary in his voice. “Pretty much.”
And as Dante finished that sentence, Alex didn’t need to ask. If he waited a minute, he would have seen it for himself.
Parents began approaching Olivia one after another, children in tow, smiles practiced and eyes darting. Katie greeted each warmly, but Alex could tell. The laughter never reached their eyes, the hands that rested on Olivia’s shoulder stayed too briefly, the compliments fell too easily. Every gesture was polite, not personal.
One woman, however, lingered. She crouched to Olivia’s level, complimented her dress, and chatted with Katie about life outside the city. The weather by the coast, the long train rides, the new school Olivia might attend. She even introduced her son, a nervous boy with slicked hair who bowed awkwardly before being nudged away.
When the woman finally excused herself, she joined another lady near the buffet. Both within earshot from Alex.
“She seems lovely,” one woman said, glancing back toward Katie. “Miss Katie, I mean.”
“Don’t get attached,” the other replied lightly. “You won’t see her for another year or so.”
“Of course I’m not,” the first woman said with a soft laugh. “Just a good excuse to visit such a beautiful hotel, you know?”
To Alex, the words stung. He looked back toward Olivia. She was smiling, a proud, self-assured smile, one that carried just enough arrogance to remind the world she mattered, yet her eyes lingered on the departing children, hoping one might turn back, stay a little longer, and grant her the attention she craved on her birthday.
The boy, with a determined look, remembered his promise to Katie that Dante and Olivia would get along. He turned toward his friend.
“Dante.”
“No.”
“Let me finish.” Alex laughed.
“Let me guess,” Dante said lazily, eyes still on the crowd. “Let’s play with Olivia. Let’s make her enjoy her birthday. Let’s do this for Miss Katie. Which one of those?”
“Um… all of them? And you did promise Miss Katie to try harder.”
“I did, when you were chatting with the Dons,” Dante muttered. “And since then, the world didn’t magically turn us into a couple.”
Alex sighed, but Dante spoke again before he could say more. “I can read you like a book now.”
Alex froze, realizing the same could be said about him too.
“If you go and befriend her enough today, I’ll do your laundry for the next two weeks,” Alex said.
Dante turned, tempted for a moment. “Mm. Not worth it.”
“I’ll take your turn cleaning the bathroom and our room.” Alex tried again.
Dante pressed his lips, his face twisting in mock agony. “Stop tempting me! There’s no use. I’ll just walk over there and have my pride shot dead on arrival.”
Alex’s face went blank, then he smirked.
“Ah. Never mind. I thought you were good at charming girls. Guess I was wrong.”
Silence.
The jazz filled the room, soft and low, and somewhere between the chatter and laughter, the world seemed to pause.
“You think that will work on me?”
Alex looked down, disappointed—
Until he realized Dante was already walking away as he said that.
Katie noticed him approaching but Alex caught her eye and gestured for her to stay put, smiling, finger to lips.
Olivia turned at the sound of his steps, frowning. “What do you want?”
Dante asked quietly, “Do you want to take your seat back?”
“What do you care? Trying to look useful for once?”
“They are serving tea now,” he said, gesturing toward the waiters moving carefully between tables. “I thought you might want to take your seat back.”
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Katie raised an eyebrow, surprised. Dante hadn’t snapped at her like usual. Olivia blinked too, caught off guard.
“Are you mocking me or something?” Olivia demanded.
“No,” Dante replied calmly. “Just making sure you’re close to your cup when it comes.”
Olivia glared, then steered her wheelchair back toward her seat, Dante following silently, surprisingly unbothered by her jabs. Prideful as ever, she absurdly tried to stand on her own, teeth clenched and lip caught between her teeth, shifting her weight and wobbling slightly. For a brief, stubborn second, it looked like she might manage—but her legs trembled, refusing to cooperate.
Katie rushed forward to help—but Dante, already next to her, slid one arm carefully under her legs, the other behind her back, lifting her smoothly and securely, catching her mid-wobble and startling her.
“W-What do you think you’re doing? Ma is supposed to do that!” she cried, cheeks burning.
He lowered her gently onto the chair. “I’m here too. Let me know if you want to go somewhere. I’ll drive the wheelchair.”
Alex blinked, cheeks heating as he watched Dante handle Olivia with such calm, precise ease. It wasn’t just the lifting—it was how he suddenly seemed completely unbothered by her protests.
Katie covered her mouth, smiling as she noticed the subtle flicker in Olivia’s eyes—uncomfortable, but… moved, something only a mother could detect.
Olivia’s glare stayed in place, lips pressed tight, fingers clutching the edge of her chair, pride battling the tiny warmth rising inside her.
Don Emilio had been watching from across the room. He couldn’t hear the words, but he didn’t need to. The shift in Olivia’s expression, the way Dante stood beside her like a stone-faced soldier — it told him enough. Whatever Alex had whispered to the boy had worked.
Excusing himself from the circle of nobles, Emilio made his way toward their table.
“Would you look at this miracle?” he murmured, crouching behind Alex’s chair. The boy startled slightly.
“Oh—hi,” Alex said quickly. “Sorry, I… I didn’t get your names yet. And you all kind of look the same.”
Emilio chuckled. “Name’s Emilio.”
And in that moment, Alex remembered Vince’s story. This was the man Dominick had met as a child. The one who’d handed him the golden coin. The one who’d set the wheel turning all those years ago.
“You carry yourself well for a boy who grew up in a village his entire life,” Emilio said, straightening. “You learn and adapt fast, it seems.”
“It’s nothing,” Alex replied. “I’m still getting used to things here. For example, I saw the floor move up and down earlier and was… confused.”
Emilio blinked, then stifled a laugh, though his eyes gleamed with genuine amusement. “That’s the elevator, kid. They have been around for quite a while now actually, but I'm not surprised you have never seen one. It still needs an operator though... but later, they will be fully automated too.”
He took a seat beside them, his attention split neatly, one ear for Alex, one eye on the room. Olivia was accepting her tea from a waiter being quietly shadowed by one of Emilio’s men. Katie helped steady the cup. Dante stood beside the wheelchair, posture crisp, unreadable.
“In the last three decades,” he continued smoothly, voice settling into that effortless mix of charm and precision, “they’ve begun calling it the Industrial Age… Steam engines that carry goods faster than ever, spinning machines that replaced hands in textile mills, the electric light that now brightens streets through the night, and even the telephone, a way to speak to someone miles away as if they were in the same room. Automobiles are just starting to appear, too, though few can afford them. All these things… changing the world, and not always for the better... Factories rise like cathedrals, but what the owners worship is profit. The poor once had hands that crafted; now they have hands that starve. Machines stole their bread, and the streets filled with the same men who built them. Entire neighborhoods left hollow, jobs vanished, lives discarded. All in the name of advancement."
Alex nodded slowly. “I heard about the telephone… we don’t have any in the village, but nearby bigger towns had a few. I never used one though… to me it looked like a myth.”
Emilio’s eyes glinted. “I will show you one later. If your parents had a phone, we could have called them.”
Alex stayed quiet, unsure whether that was a jest, a reproach, or something in between.
“And the automobile?” Emilio prompted.
“The… thing with four wheels that moves without horses? I’ve seen a few in the nobles’ sector on my way here. And one in front of the hotel,” Alex replied.
“That is mine,” Emilio said with a faint smile. “We all have the same model—Carlo, Silvano, and I. Your uncle, surprisingly, doesn’t care for them. He prefers horses... black ones in specific.”
Alex nodded stiffly. “Sounds like him. He always dresses in black.”
Emilio’s mouth curved slightly. “It’s the perfect color to describe your uncle. He doesn’t want to be seen and doesn’t trust anyone... and at the same time, he hides it well... but he enjoys being feared.”
Alex stayed quiet, unsure what to say, whether to carry the conversation, but he didn’t have anything to add. Emilio, being an old man without a grandson, couldn’t help but want to talk more, drawn by the boy’s quiet intelligence and calm perception.
“Seems that you get along with Dante.”
Alex nodded. “I’m happy to have him by my side in all of this.”
Emilio’s gaze softened. “Seeing you two reminded me of myself, Carlo, and Silvano when we were your ages. We were immigrants, as our parents came to Portenzo City looking for opportunities and a better life and all three of us had each others backs till this day.”
Alex leaned forward a little. “And how was it? When you were kids?”
“Normally I wouldn’t talk about this to a boy your age." the old man admitted. "But you’re already part of the real business…"
"We were seen as outsiders." he carried on, "People mocked our names, our food, our accents. We worked longer hours for half the pay. Some of us learned to fight, not because we liked it, but because it was the only way to be left alone. The city teaches you quickly what you’re worth… or what you have to pretend you’re worth.”
Emilio leaned back slightly, his tone turning reflective, though the sharpness never left his eyes.
“One particular family made it here about a decade before ours. Immigrants from the same country, just like us. They started calling themselves locals—pure, untouchable. The rest of us were dirt to them. The Marcettis.”
He didn’t need to look at Alex to know the boy recognized the name. “They spat at our fathers, mocked our mothers, barred us from their streets. But our parents stopped bowing. They answered back. Then they began to organize. My father, Carlo’s, Silvano’s—they gathered under one name: the Marviano family. They stopped taking blows and started sending them back.”
He gave a faint, humorless smile. “Men started smuggling weapons to defend their blocks. Fights turned to wars. And before we knew it, we had built an empire out of survival and spite. It wasn’t glorious—it was survival that learned how to shoot back.”
Alex was quiet, taking it in. Then he asked, not confrontationally, just honestly,
“So you became like them?”
The question cut through the air. Emilio’s eyes flicked to him, then away.
“That stings, Alex,” he said quietly. “But yes. In the end, we did. We told ourselves our reasons were better—but it all leads to the same road... Though our goal was different from theirs.”
Alex frowned. “Goal?”
“To become legitimate,” Emilio said, sitting straighter, pride slipping back into his tone. “That was always the dream. To turn what we built into something clean. This hotel, for example—it’s a step in that direction. Not guns, not gambling dens. Real business, something clean. Dominick and Vince will take over once we’re gone. But they’ve both chosen the darker road. Dominick can’t stand under chandeliers, be on the newspapers or trade smiles with nobles—his name lives too deep in the alleys, in debts and whispers. Vince could... he’s clever, charming even. But he’s too loyal to Dominick… and too detached to care about anything. I knew him as long as Dominick and still can't figure out what goes on his mind sometimes.”
Emilio’s gaze drifted toward Katie and Olivia.
“The legal side might end up with one of Carlo’s daughters, if they ever return.” he said quietly. “Carlo built that branch for appearances—for contracts, shipping papers, politicians. A front that keeps the rest of us breathing while the darker side keeps the money flowing.”
“It’s the same city, but two different suns." he carried on, "The nobles deal with the ‘Marviano Trading Company’ in daylight, while at night the same men run guns through the docks under Dominick’s shadow. That’s how we survived. The clean half depends on the dirty half to stay alive. Slowly, we intend to get rid of the filth... and become fully legitimate.”
Alex’s mind was overwhelmed. He was smart for his age, but this business talk, the duality of power and crime was new. Yet his attention clung to one phrase, repeated in his head: dirty half.
Emilio caught the flicker of unease in Alex’s expression. “Oh, good God, what’s wrong with me? Not even Dominick at your age would have understood such talk.”
Alex looked up, frowning slightly. “I don’t get it. Why does a dirty half have to exist?”
Emilio’s eyes narrowed, his voice low and measured. “Because even if we build everything clean, follow the rules, do right by the community… there will always be men who will remember our sins. Enemies who take what isn’t theirs, who will strike without thought or mercy. Someone has to stand in the shadows to make sure the light stays safe... Not to mention that neither we nor our fathers wanted all of this. The dirty business was necessary."
“But…” Alex hesitated, biting his lip, then looked down again. “Never mind.”
“No. Say it.” Emilio’s voice was cold, the warmth from moments ago gone, replaced by that edge of authority that reminded the boy just how small he truly was in the room.
Alex drew a steadying breath. “You could have… done things differently.”
Emilio tilted his head, studying him. The boy was young—too young to be weighing this kind of morality—but Alex pressed on. “I hear your sons passed away in this long, ongoing war… I’m sorry, but… how can you say that it was the only way after losing them?”
The boy took a small breath, eyes fixed on his hands for a moment. “I… I guess you could ignore it, or stay out of it… try a different way. If nothing works… you just… make your own way.”
Emilio’s eyes narrowed. “You mean… like running away, for example?”
Alex nodded slightly.
Emilio’s gaze darkened. “That’s a coward’s move, son. Your father sets the standard for failure in such matters.”
Alex didn’t flinch. If anything, his shy voice grew steadier, more confident. “The decision to run away… it may have resulted in me being here, but… it gave me twelve beautiful years back home. The mountains, the farm work, the chores I miss so much. It was a boring routine, but if I were smarter, I would have enjoyed every bit of it.” He smiled faintly, hands resting on his lap.
Emilio’s gaze sharpened. “And what if bandits came for your village? What then—wouldn’t you fight?”
Alex didn’t hesitate. “Yes. Because it’s my home... But it stops there. We’d chase them off, we’d bury what’s lost, and then we’d live. No empire would come of it. No spreading of the hurt.”
Emilio watched him, the question drifting between them like a test. Alex’s answer was not bravado, it was a limit, a moral border drawn in honest dirt. That line, simple as it was, had weight.
“And it’s not just my father.” he added, eyes drifting for a moment to the memories he carried elsewhere.
Alex thought of two peers who had shaped him more than he let on.
He met Emilio’s eyes directly. “I recently sparred with maybe the strongest kid in the city. Back home, I rarely lost a fight—but against him, I couldn’t even touch him. When it was over, he told me how to get better… and then he said I should fight only when absolutely cornered and walk away whenever I can.”
The second peer... was Noor, the girl whose composure and intellect had left him in awe. She handled bullies with grace, answered back only when pushed, and yet held herself with the quiet power of someone older. Alex didn’t mention her aloud—he doubted Emilio would find it relevant—but her influence lingered in his mind.
He couldn't help but also remember the rest of the Wolves. The way they had each other’s backs, joking and bickering, made him smile even now. Pinch, the little menace; the big Tonno and the crafty Lino—the trio that made him laugh every time. And Mira—the girl who despised cowardice and unfair fights—loomed large in his thoughts, a reminder of courage, honor and dignity.
“I don’t know if… your parents tried hard enough to... approach the issue with the Marcettis differently,” he said carefully, “and I wasn’t there to judge. But… I wish I had been, maybe to help them. I had parents to guide me, friends showing me that there is always hope, always a different way to do things.”
Alex said that, remembering the night Vince had shattered his ideals when the latter heard him say out loud that he didn’t care about Dominick’s past, ignorant of their struggles. Now, he chose to listen to Don Emilio and at least try to understand and sympathize. To Alex, everything was a lesson, even his own past mistakes... especially his own past mistakes.
He glanced at Dante, who was drinking his cup of tea while standing tall beside Olivia’s wheelchair, a silent pillar of support, remembering how the kid was when Alex first met him... and how much he changed.
“Dante himself showed me… it’s not always too late.”
Emilio’s eyes remained fixed on Alex. Awe flickered for a heartbeat—admiration for the boy’s principles, for the way he grasped morality without cynicism. But the moment passed. Cold calculation returned, as it always did. In that single instant, Emilio recognized something far more dangerous than cleverness: unshakable principle in the hands of someone still innocent.
“So… are you planning to run away, Alex? From us?” His voice was soft, deadly, the kind that made the air in the room feel heavier.
Alex met his gaze squarely. The weight of Emilio’s words, the danger behind them, did not sway him.
“No. My parents will get hurt, right?"
"So I won’t.”
The boy smiled as he said that.
Genuinely, purely, a boy’s smile untouched by the shadows around him. So far.
Alex's hair and eyes were all his father's... but his face features were all Elena's... and there was a bit of his uncle there.
For a fraction of a heartbeat, Emilio saw Dominick there instead—the thirteen-year-old—same age as Alex now—who had first appeared in his mansion, eager for guidance, drawn to the shadows, hungry to learn the dark business.
They looked nothing alike.
Dominick was blonde. Alex was brown-haired.
Their faces maybe? Though Alex was a copy of a young Gilbert, his face features shared similarities with Elena's and his uncle.
Dominick's eyes back then were hungry, desperate. Alex's are tired, innocent, yet carried a strange resolve—one that is very different from Dominick's.
Yes. That was it.
Each's resolve was strong. Very strong.
Only in the most different ways possible.
Dominick wanted to be part of this world. And his blood family was the price. Disowned by his parents, hated by his sister, lost his future and wasted his childhood in the Dons' mansions plotting.
Alex was dragged into it. But he is fighting it quietly, without shouting or screaming. It was more dangerous—a silent rebellion, one that said 'I will do what you want. But I will never accept you.'
“If only Dominick had the same principles as you, the poor man could have been saved...” Don Emilio thought, a faint warmth tugging at him.
"Maybe even us too..."
"Curse you… and the way you make me feel."
After a long pause, he stood, looking at the other side of the table. “Soon, there will be a play outside the hotel. For you, Olivia. Let’s go by the window and watch.”
Olivia brightened. “Can’t we go outside? The view would be better.”
Emilio’s tone softened. “It’s colder by the minute. Your grandpa will join us any minute now to watch it too.”
She nodded reluctantly. Dante stepped forward with a faint smile and extended a hand. “May I?”
Olivia hesitated, then took it, unable to meet his eyes. Dante helped her into the wheelchair with quiet care. She wiped her hand against her dress as if she is afraid she caught germs, but Dante didn’t mind, guiding her toward the window, following Don Emilio.
He glanced back at Alex with a teasing grin that said, "Did you see her reactions? How do you like that?"
Alex laughed nervously. “Guess I’ve got a pile of housework waiting for me,” remembering his promise to cover Dante’s chores.
Trying to ease Olivia’s shyness, Alex spoke gently, “So, Olivia... how’s school back home?”
She looked up, unsure. “It’s… the usual.”
“Are you a good student?” he asked.
“Of course I am. Ranked second in my class.”
Alex smiled. “Second? That’s really good. You must have very good teachers.”
"Or I'm just smart." she replied dryly.
"Yes, that too."
Olivia blinked, then gave a small, reluctant laugh.
Katie, watching nearby, knelt beside Alex and kissed him gently on the cheek, a small, warm gesture of thanks. Then, with a playful glint in her eyes, she glanced toward Dante and gave him a quick wink—a silent acknowledgment that her daughter was starting to trust both of them.
The other guests approached the windows, some shrugging on their coats and stepping outside to watch.
The spectacle... is about to begin.
I thought you were good at charming girls. Guess I was wrong.
-
Boyz N The Hood (1991)
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Vinland Saga (manga/anime)
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The Godfather films
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Equalizer 2 (2014)
"The successful warrior is the average man, with laser-like focus. But the ultimate aim is not to defeat others but to avoid conflict whenever possible."
“Maybe even us could have been saved,” remember that Dominick intervened as a child in Lorenzo Marcetti’s assassination (Chapters 36–37). While the world wasn’t perfect back then, his actions still escalated the conflict, showing how complicated the path to survival can be.
Thank you for reading :)
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