Santino's support

Snippet

Weeks would pass by painfully slowly for Santino. He constantly had things to study. His father, Giovanni, would always pressure him about learning about the Camorra and the High Table. He'd compare him to Gianna all the time, which would just discourage the younger D'Antonio even more. Gianna was older than him, appearing more mature than him as well, he wished father would look at him the same way he would look at her. But all he could do was try to pretend he cared about what he was being taught. Besides, it was getting really intense when he had to watch men getting beaten up by his father's people.

Santino liked art, mythology, history, he wanted to learn about those things. It was obvious he wasn't father's favorite, so why couldn't Giovanni just let him be? He was 23 after all. Then again, the answer was pretty obvious. Santino was still a D'Antonio, he had to know everything about the Camorra and the High Table just to not be a complete disappointment. His father wasn't young anymore either, the lung cancer diagnosis really worsened his behavior, so it was expected that he was going to teach his children everything important.

There was another thing Santino enjoyed. He enjoyed it very much. He actually had a friend who also liked his company as well. John Wick was his name. They met when John was having one of his training as an assassin and Santino was observing the process. John was the best out of his group, out of everyone actually, and that was something Santino admired a lot. The passion and sheer will John was showing was incredible. So he made the first approach, and they started talking. It was a bit awkward at first since John seemed like a quiet guy, but D'Antonio was working well with it. After a few months, they became close friends. And probably the only friends they have. John would often invite Santino over at his place to hang out, or go out somewhere and Santino would gladly accept when he could.

Sometimes it looked more like a date than a hangout, and a part of Santino actually liked that. John was attractive after all, he couldn't lie to himself. And he liked guys after all. It was something he had to hide from his father all his life, Giovanni couldn't know because it wouldn't end up good for him. He had only talked about that with Gianna who was supportive and would jokingly tease him, and eventually he talked about it with John, who was also supportive. Maybe he was worried about how he'd react, but it really didn't change anything about their friendship. John would still smile at him when he'd come over and listen to him.

It had been two weeks since they last saw each other due to Santino's studies being overwhelming and his father being even more pressuring, but finally Giovanni was going on a business trip. Which meant freedom for Santino.

“Hey, I'm free for a whole week, father is leaving for a business trip. Is your offer still up?”

Santino sent the message, hoping that John would reply fast. Sometimes he'd reply a bit later because of training or if he was taking a nap.

“Yeah, I was just about to ask. Of course it still is, I missed our hangouts and you know you're always welcomed here.”

John replied, and Santino couldn't help but to smile at the message. It was nice to be reminded that he was always welcomed at his place.

“You're smiling at your phone again,” Gianna teased playfully, passing by her brother, giving him a little smirk.

“Yes, because I finally get to escape from this place for a day,” Santino muttered, putting his phone into his pocket before Gianna threw more teasing words at him.

“What is his name again? John?” Gianna asked, putting on her lipstick.

“I already told you that so many times,” the younger D'Antonio sighed, rubbing his eyes closed.

“Cassian told me he knows him. He was a quiet guy, didn't talk unless spoken to,” Gianna said, checking her makeup in the mirror. “Sometimes a bit scary because of how good he was at his training. I didn't know you were into those types of guys.” But she still didn't stop with her teasing.

“We are just friends and you know that,” Santino snapped. “I like going to his place because we actually have a lot in common and I can finally relax somewhere.

“Oh, I'm sure you can relax with him,” Gianna chuckled, and Santino instantly regretted saying anything.

“Seriously…” Santino murmured, slightly blushing from embarrassment.

“Have you ever slept over?” She asked.

“No. Why?”

“Tonight you probably will. I have a friend coming over as well.” Of course she did, Santino wanted to just disappear at this point.

“I might never return,” he muttered as he walked away into his room. Now when he was thinking about it, a sleep over at John's place would be nice. It was a calm place, the atmosphere felt a lot better than at his own place. But then again, he felt embarrassed because of the whole situation.

“Is it okay if I stay over tonight? My sister is… annoying.”

He sent the message, feeling awkward but it was better to ask now and at least prepare John.

“Yeah sure. Don't worry about it.”

Said the reply from John.

Santino smiled again, he was excited about seeing his best friend. And maybe the sleep over was a good thing after all. Well, he wouldn't have to see Gianna and her friend Cassian. That always made him feel awkward even if Cassian was friendly with him. He would finally get to spend longer time with John, be near him, talk with him, listen to his voice. John's voice… It was really calming, so pleasant to listen to. It had a good impact on Santino, well, John overall had a good effect on him.

Santino packed a shirt and pants for sleeping into a small bag just for the necessary stuff. It was kinda like a bag for a speaker that he rarely used due to his father's strict orders, but it was useful for things like these. He was curious what they would do today, probably play that video game from last time, or talk about John's new book collection he started. Either way, he couldn't wait. He was wearing one of his favorite dark blue shirts with buttons, the top button unbuttoned on his collar. He really liked to dress that way, and John would often compliment him on his outfits. Santino knew how to dress for any occasion, even if it was just a hangout.

Thankfully, John's place wasn't far away from the D'Antonio mansion. Santino would always drive his cars a bit faster since there was no one on those roads. It was John's suggestion for letting out some steam. Driving around, especially at night, would help him calm his nerves.

“If your dad pisses you off and I'm not around, try going out for a drive. It helps me out, maybe it could help you out too.” Santino remembered the suggestion, and it became a part of his habit.

Finally, Santino arrived at John's place, parking in his yard, in front of the garage. He just got out of the car when John showed up at the door.

“Heard your car,” he greeted with a soft smile, standing by the door. “I'm glad to see you.”

“Glad to see you too.” Santino smiled and gave a nod, walking up to John.

“Not an Italian this time,” the other man commented, checking out Santino's car. He usually came with an Italian brand, but he had a few more that weren't, and John liked cars so he would always comment and check it out.

“You noticed, as usual,” D'Antonio said, feeling proud of the cars he owned. The only reason he was thankful for being born in this family. He loved his Italian cars, the Ferrari, Alfa Romeo, Lamborghini, Lancia, but he also had a lot of love for Mercedes, Porsche, Audi and similar. John, so far, admired any of his cars. This time it was a beautiful black Mercedes, it had the style that John really appreciated.

“You always drive Italian, this is a nice change,” John noted, giving a playful smirk as he glanced at the car a bit more.

“Thought I'd take this one for a drive today.” It had been a while anyway.

John hummed in agreement before he got his attention back to his companion.

“C’mon, let's get inside. The pizzas are still hot, they got here just a few minutes before you,” he said, patting Santino's shoulder to follow him inside.

How could you? More importantly, why would you?

With the center of civilization sprawled under your very feet, with a half-enjoyed glass of wine resting between your fingers - what else could you need to conquer the world from this very position?

Often, you would find yourself looking down from your vantage position to the bustling streets below, even at the ungodly hours, to the dots of people walking, sitting, resting, drinking on a Friday night. It was doubtful that they even had an inkling of an idea that endless money could buy a penthouse right across the Colosseo, and many other equally opulent ones around the world. That money, and the sheer power associated with it, brought along the never-ending ego boost of otherwise challenges just working exactly as you wanted - one way or another, through many deals sealed by more hands and lips. With confidantes all across the country, continent and corner of the world, any need you might have had was addressed to promptly, doors opened for you wherever you stepped foot in. The mention of his family name alone tied to yours bringing an aura of influence across borders that seemed to illicit fear, yet respect.

When everything that the normal, common folk could ever want want had been under your fingertips ever since you became conscious of your inherent privilege - why was something missing from the depths of your soul?

Why, oh, why did you catch yourself wanting just the one thing you could not have?

“It’s always a pleasure to have you here, John.”

Through the gentle hums of background piano, a feather-light touch on the small of your back accompanied with Gianna’s voice echoing through the dining room pulled you back to reality.

“Tutto bene, mia cara?” your fiancé would question with a quiet worry etched onto his tone, his hand resting leisurely over your dress as he stood behind you, neck craned gently to catch your gaze illuminated by the city lights.

The habitual comfort that seeped into your skin as you caught a whiff of his woody cologne in the breeze from the fan above, one stronger than his usual aquatic lean. His light green eyes looked into yours with a desire to discover the unknown, to go into the very depths of your soul.

Why would you want anybody else when you had him?

The heart and the mind never worked in unison, as far as your experience went in this world.

“Si,” you would reply softly, a hint of a smile laced in your tone. “Just admiring our city.”

Words only reserved for him as you reached up to land a  reassuring kiss to his jaw - amidst the chaos in your mind being exacerbated by the other presence in the room, it was admittedly more of a reassurance to yourself.

If only Santino had known that you had been trying to avoid a certain dark-haired assassin with every piece of willpower left in your being, as alcohol slowly mixed itself into your blood.

“I know what you are doing, amore. Lo so.”

And yet, you had previously applauded yourself for concealing your emotions so well, forgetting just how well he could read your face after the years spent together.

Gianna’s laughter emanated through the air, acting as the universe’s answer to your current predicament - a shiver running down your spine, your jaw tightening, body frozen at the fear of the unknown.

“I know it is hard for you to see, to reminisce, to relive.”

Much to your surprise, Santino leaned further towards the drape of your neck, pulling your body closer as his hand found your left hand, his palm a gentle cushion for your fingers to lay on - showcasing the object of interest, the presence of which only supported the silent point he had been making.

“So bene che è difficile, amore,” his breath hot against your neck, deep voice awakening the demons in you, lips brushing the skin. The close proximity of his warmth making the wine glass in your hand tremble ever so slightly.

Did he really know just how much anger your heart housed, even after all these years?

Even when you kept telling yourself, over and over again, that whatever happened in the past did not matter the slightest anymore?

Santino, who preferred actions over words quite often, was seemingly ready to answer your burning questions - as if he had heard your deepest, darkest thoughts. A quick, sly angling of his hand holding yours and the lights caught onto your extravagant, emerald-cut engagement ring, almost blinding specks dancing in front of you. Rays of light that would pave the way to an even brighter future. The shine that reminded you of just who you belonged to, the moment you had given the promise of commitment - that there was no room for confusion on the road that you had began traveling through.

A ring fit for the future wife of the man whose command stretched further than the underground.

“Il mondo gira, amore.”

The world turned, and turned - as it would always do. All those countless turns, he had waited for you far too many nights, days that felt like eternities.

Santino could not afford to wait another lifetime.

After all, even a man as hopelessly, helplessly, recklessly devoted to his lover as him, could run out of patience - and you knew within that you must have been cutting it quite close. 

“We have nothing but happiness ahead of us, but you have to believe in it.”

And at that moment, as he uttered those words, as if to prove himself and his words - he would land a soft kiss to the nape of your neck, inhaling in your scent under the moon and stars of Rome.

“It was about time, no?” Gianna would quip at your arrival, Santino’s guiding hand leading you back to the expansive dining table adorned with crystal glasses, white candles and delicacies - and, most importantly, red wine. Remnants of food that already had been enjoyed throughout the night, told silent stories of surprisingly good conversation that they accompanied.

John’s dark eyes followed you as you took the seat Santino had pulled back for you, right next to Gianna, your almost empty glass placed back on the table in a soft clink.

“Our apologies,” you would offer to John and Gianna sincerely, both acknowledging with a smile. Ever the observant, Gianna would reach over to the bottle, filling your empty vial with the crimson liquid.

“Where were we?”

For this once, there had been no waitstaff this late at night. They had all been instructed to take a restful night, for this was a supposed gathering of old friends reminiscing about the good times. It had been the truth that working relationships had to be maintained within your alliances, as hard as maintaining friendship after betrayal could have been. Burning bridges had been a last resort in the underworld, as many chose to live and let live - no one could know just when help from the distant hand could be needed.

But how could he have betrayed you, if he had not been solely yours in the first place?

And so, there he stood - invited to dinner with the d’Antonio family, mere nights before the task he would undertake. Only nights before he would add to his endless death tally in hopes of never killing again. A neat bourbon resting in his fingers, nimble as you recalled, falling back into a friendly conversation with Santino without much effort.

The honorary sister you never asked for but was grateful to receive, Gianna managed to get your attention back as she raised her own glass to clink yours in a small toast, sending you a wink. She had adorned a dress on the more casual side even for her, an ankle-length black number with sheer long sleeves and a low neckline, hair in her signature loose chignon.

“Look at us, can you believe it?” she would exclaim, taking a long sip and surveying the wide expanse of the room, as well as the men across her. “Never thought father’s death would bring unity.”

“It is a miracle that we are not at each other’s throats yet.”

A short knock cut through the piano melody and the conversation, the door perching open ever so slightly as the family’s trusted Ares showed face - always in one of her impeccable suits, redirecting the attention in the room to herself.

“Mi dispiace,” she would signal with a smile, as Santino perched his body to turn while seated. “It’s about the funeral arrangements, Signore.”

“Ah, bene,” he would respond with a quick nod, standing up to button his pinstripe suit jacket, eyes meeting his sister’s to silently request her attendance - and then yours, Gianna would respond with an understanding hum, getting on her feet as she walked alongside her brother, heels clicking against the chevron hardwood.

“We will not be long.”

And as they shut the door with a click, the light air illuminated by the chandelier and candlelight became increasingly tense - somewhere deep in the silence, the echoes of unspoken history sent pulses across the atmosphere. The soft glow of crystals bounced across John’s angular features, the beard he had sported as of late, lips taking another seemingly unfazed sip from his drink.

The alcohol seeping into your body threatened to betray a crack in your composure, otherwise stoic in his presence.

It’s just you and me, John.

“I never got the chance to congratulate you.”

His words cut through the like a dagger, delivered after clearing his throat slightly, in response to which your eyes would meet his - and the worst part was, you knew that he had meant them. Flickering waves of light accentuated his searching, yet reminiscent stare.

“Thank you,” you would respond in a kind voice, lifting your left hand in a brief moment of vanity to admire the exquisite piece of jewelry, only one out of the extensive collection Santino had gifted her over the years - yet, arguably the most significant. The cold weight of the metal was a constant reminder of Santino’s claim, of his promises and enduring love, resting over your essence.

Another brief pause as you took a sip of the wine. “As I have heard - congratulations were in order with you as well,” you said calmly, a ghost of a smile adorning your features, legs crossed as you leaned further into your chair - an aura of confidence.

“Well,” John would start, mulling over his words, his elbows resting against the table, fingers tracing over the rim of the thin glass. Pensive, less subdued than usual, his dark strands of hair framing his face in unison with his dark suit. “It is not over until the task is done.”

“You are John Wick,” you would exclaim, waving him off politely. “There is no target you cannot take down.”

John would respond with an understanding nod, his gaze moving to the ornate Caravaggio painting behind you.

Yet, your focus was on him. Potentially fueled by the alcohol clouding your thoughts, or rather, overexposing them as your tone took a turn - one of genuine curiosity.

“You know what, John? I have always wanted to ask you - meant to bring it up for a long while now, but every time I felt ready, something always came up.”

A certain mix of emotions in his expression that you had been once good at discerning somehow encouraged you to keep speaking.

“What did she have that I did not?”

The moment you let those words slip from your lips, it did not matter that your eyes became glassier by the minute, nor did it matter that John had never been formally yours. It did not matter if the pain you felt manifested physically, as there had been no use in hiding it anymore.

You had concealed it long enough.

No, this was a question that had been cemented in the cornerstone of your mind, ever since you had caught him in her arms years ago. A part of you sought answers, and another one screamed them, over and over again - yet they had never been enough.

“Was I just a distraction to you? Just a little something to take the edge off whenever you needed between closed doors?”

The candlelight flickered across his features, reflecting the mess of thoughts as he visibly fought for the right words, mouth ever so slightly agape and knuckles turning white.

Emotional and more human, you could swear that he had been a changed man already - another twist of the knife, knowing he had kept himself closed off before. And finally, he would catch your expecting gaze, his low voice vibrating with regret, guilt, yet hope.

“She is my promise to live a normal life,” he confessed in a brief moment of vulnerability. “To build something and not break for once - an ordinary family, a warm home. To leave all of this mayhem behind.”

“Ah,” you would acknowledge, lips tightening as the truth settled in your chest. “So, that was it, then.”

A small chuckle escaped your lips, shaking your head in disbelief at the games fate had played on you, tangling in with dry nostalgia. It was your turn to lean back in your chair, the scarlet silk dress rippling to hug your body as it echoed the dark burgundy swirl in your glass. In the moments that followed, filled with charged silence - you could feel the past and present entangle themselves even further, momentarily clouding the future.

“A life outside this world. A life without killing and contracts. Do you believe yourself when you say that, John?”

“I need to. I have to,” he would quip back unexpectedly after a brief pause, eyes distant, index finger tapping the rim on the crystal.

“I am done running, executing contracts soullessly, shooting before taking names. Living under the orders of one man, no different than a dog.”

Looking up with a more determined gaze, voice steady but threaded with thin strands of quiet apologies.

“You have to understand - I have to do it for her. She… she does not know of this world. Of what we all are capable of. She deserves a world untouched by darkness.”

It was at that moment a single tear began its lazy trail down your cheek, as his words were uttered so easily, so naturally when speaking of the woman he loved the most. How accepting to let go came so naturally. How he was awarded the luxury of even plotting of leaving all he knew behind - the world he had been born into. A world he had waltzed through, exuding fear in anyone who dared step close enough to him. A sacrifice of a dangerous, yet thrilling and luxurious lifestyle, made instantly at the promise of an eternity with her. 

A sacrifice he would have never made for you. Desperate for closure and for answers, you found yourself leaning forward and catching his haunted eyes.

“Tell me.”

John inhaled, his gaze softened with his head tilted, his shoulders tensing visibly under the suit.

“Look me in the eye, and tell me the truth, for old time’s sake. If I have ever meant anything to you. What makes you think this time is going to be different, John? You really believe that you can shed your skin of blood and bullets, out of your identity?”

The assassin’s jaw tightened with every sentence, gaze growing relentlessly unfocused as your remarks had seemed to hit a spot. Even a man as controlled, as disciplined as him could not hide the slight flicker of doubt that passed over him.

“You will never be out, John,” you continued, emphasizing each and every word softly. “Someway, someplace, sometime - it will catch up to you. Just like I am bound by blood to Camorra.”

The weight of the words settling in the air, in sharp contrast to the relaxing piano and the gentle shadow of the city lights.

“And, when the darkness of the past comes calling. When all the blood you spilled become more than checks off a ledger. When you need to draw those guns yet one more time - what happens then?”

His darkened eyes found your glassy ones, his throat hitched, yet no words came out. To those words that held utter worry, John had no answer to give this time, as the echoes of your voice faded into a charged silence - one so complete it felt that the world itself had been holding its breath.

A sigh escaping your lips upon the answers that were revealed to you, you would lift your glass once more - this time, drinking to savor the taste, to let the wine’s warmth settle in your broken memories.

In the motionless silence that engulfed both of you, one immutable truth became more certain than ever before.