Enzo's Dynasty

Through the clean glass of a set of French style doors, a boy runs across in church clothes, chasing his sister through the garden in the backyard of their home. Enzo Lazzarini watches through the French doors with his hands held behind his back, wearing a pinstripe suit, colored midnight black. His countenance is thoughtful and pensive, unshakable.

Enzo observes his children’s playtime like an overseer, studying the routine of the lives he guards. The doors behind him are opened by Fredric; a tall, box shaped man in his sixties. Frederic lets in Enzo’s father, Valentino; tanned like leather and well groomed. He boasts a flower on his lapel.

Enzo waves for Frederic to depart; Frederic exits without a word, except for a respectful nod he gives to Valentino. The door clicks shut. Valentino drags his right heel across the floor, limping from age, and finds the liquor shelf in Enzo’s office. He finds a cabinet full of brandy and casually pulls the closest bottle off the shelf and sticks two glasses between his fingers. He pulls a metal ice bucket towards him and picks out two ice cubes for each glass. Valentino uncorks the bottle and pours Enzo and himself each brandy.

“What’s troubling you?” Valentino speaks in a slow, soft voice; though the way he stresses his vowel, he still reins authority.

Enzo approaches his father, who extends the brandy kindly. Enzo grips it from the bottom and twirls it thoughtfully.

“Pietro is growing big,” Enzo smirks fondly.

“Hmm,” Valentino agrees weakly though proud.

“He’s becoming a man. Scarlett… she’s smarter than me.” Enzo faces the window to see his children play. His expression does not change upon seeing them.

“I remember you and your brother running like that,” Valentino reminisces. “Doesn’t feel so long ago.”

“They grow up too quickly.”

“Especially you,” Valentino sips the brandy and glances at Enzo. “You fought all the boys in school that your mother and I had to beat you. Get you to act right. Grow up. And then you did. Too quickly.”

For a moment Enzo watches Pietro and Scarlett laugh at each other, pulling grass out of the ground and making pretend-play noises. He falls into a trance while he admires the two people he loves the most.

Enzo lowers his head. “When will they know, Pa?”

Valentino places his hand on the small of Enzo’s back and escorts him in front of the window. It’s too close for Enzo’s comfort, but he trusts his father’s guidance and bears the discomfort.

Valentino takes another sip of his brandy when he realizes Enzo hasn’t touched his drink yet. He gestures with a nod for Enzo to drink.

“Good, good. You’re tense.”

Enzo thinks to himself his father is right. He drinks the brandy and breathes slower.

Valentino brushes his hair back, combing the bottom curls of his balding hair. He notices Pietro is kicking a red and white striped ball. He points happily at it.

“That belonged to you,” Valentino realizes.

“That’s right, Pa,” Enzo confirms proudly. “I used to kick it in the house, even though you and Ma – God rest her – told me a hundred times not to.”

Valentino smiles, now that time has passed long enough to enjoy the memory.

“I used to kick it into this office on purpose,” Enzo informs. “Do you remember that?”

“Yes,” Valentino whispers. “I remember.”

“There was once, I don’t know if you’ll remember, when I kicked it through the crack in the door and it rolled by Fredric’s feet. He stopped it with the tip of his shoe. This big, scary guy was holding my ball. Do you remember this?” Valentino nods as Enzo continues his nostalgia. “You walked over and grabbed it from under his shoe and gave it back. I didn’t leave without your warning to stop kicking it in the house, but I’ll never forget that.”

“Why is that?” Valentino asks curiously.

Enzo turns from the window and looks at his father. “Because you made me feel important enough to interrupt whatever you were doing.”

Valentino takes another sip of his brandy before he motions outside the French windows at Enzo’s children playing.

“Make them feel that way, Enzo,” Valentino guides. “They’re your children.”

Enzo fiddles with his glass. He glances down at the brandy and hesitates to speak. “What did you do, Pa, when I found out?” Enzo asks gingerly.

Valentino cups Enzo’s shoulder firmly. “They already know, Enzo.”

They look outside together at the innocence of youth. Pietro and Scarlett are without a care in the world.

“You knew early, too,” Valentino confirms. “I decided if I kept it a secret, you would never respect me. If I made you feel as if you weren’t allowed in the same room as me, if you didn’t feel you had the family right to be wherever I was, I needed to change.”

“What we’re doing, Pa, isn’t for children.”

“Children don’t understand. They see their father and they see has business to tend to. And when he’s done, he will play with them. You do play with them?”

“Yes, I play with them.”

“Then they feel important.” Valentino sips the last of his brandy and walks the empty glass back to the ice bucket, where he places it on the countertop. “The family business will be their choice, and if they decide to go a different way, if Pietro decides to leave, you must let him. But you have to offer him that choice, Enzo, or you will do more damage than you may know.”

Valentino opens the door and looks back at Enzo. “I remember that story when the ball hit Frederic’s shoe.”

“Is that so?” Enzo says surprised.

“We had just agreed to kill Alejandro Sedona.”

Enzo stares at his father in disbelief. “Why did you let me in the room?”

“Because you’re my son.” Valentino turns and shuts the door.