On the night his life ended, Giovanni Medina made a bargain with Death.

Although he couldn’t explain it, he felt it coming. Every day it was a little harder to wake up, his breath shorter and more labored. At seventy-three years old, Giovanni had lived a long, full, storied life, but he could’ve lived for another hundred years and it still wouldn’t have been enough.

In the final week, the patriarch of the infamous Medina family wandered the vast family estate, lost in thought. Whenever he’d come across one of his children or grandchildren, he’d study them pensively. On his dying day, he spotted his youngest grandchild Stefania hidden behind a topiary animal and watching her brother and cousins’ fencing lessons.

“Your papa would be angry if he knew you were out here again,” he whispered, making the eight year old jump in place. 

“Nonno! You surprised me,” Stefania hissed. She had the same pure black hair, dark eyes, and olive complexion as her mother and grandmother. Giovanni’s heart swelled upon seeing her features drawn up in a familiar severe, accusatory frown. Only a handful of his grandchildren didn’t fear him, and she was one of his favorites.

“Do you think your papa would be surprised to find you here? Where are you supposed to be right now?” Giovanni stood beside the plant, watching his grandchildren Antonio and Marius trading swift blows with training swords.

Stefania crossed her arms over her chest. “Dancing,” she spat.

“But you like dancing,” Giovanni pointed out.

“Yes, but I don’t need lessons, Nonno. I’m already a good dancer.” She turned from him and peeked out from behind the topiary lynx. Her cousins moved around the sand arena gracefully.

“You know,” he said, bending over to whisper in her ear, “what they’re doing isn’t too far off of dancing. Look at how they move together. Can you hear the music, my little terror?”

Stefania said nothing, and that’s how he knew he had her attention. He put his hand on his knees as his back screamed at him for bending over. Blood rushed in his head, and the world blurred in front of him, but Giovanni took a steadying breath. By the time his granddaughter answered, he was almost back to normal.

“I can, Nonno,” she whispered. She pointed and said, “One, two, three, skip. One, two, three, skip.”

As she spoke, her cousins moved. Together they stepped, then one would strike and get parried, before dodging the next blow. In a real fight it would be double time, but their practice followed a simple rhythm even a child could follow.

Giovanni chuckled, until the rattle in his chest turned it into a hacking cough. His sparring grandchildren faltered and looked up, but he waved them off. “What if I told you that everyone goes through dancing lessons? Even those two idiots.”

“I’d think you’re just trying to convince me to go to those stupid lessons.” Stefania glared at him.

“Ha!” Giovanni put a bony hand on her shoulder and squeezed. Out of all his family, many thought themselves powerful and skilled, but few of them would talk to the patriarch like that. No one was as fierce as his little Stefania. “I have no reason to lie, my little terror. They all learned to dance, and then they learned to fight. We must be as elegant as we are deadly.”

“Like a wildcat,” Stefania said, patting the topiary animal.

“Just so.” Giovanni beamed, straightening back up. His back popped in several places and another wave of lightheadedness washed over him. 

It didn’t matter how powerful he’d once been. It didn’t matter how fine his clothes were, or how perfectly neat and groomed he kept his beard and hair. Giovanni was old, and his body failed him more by the day. His heart skipped a beat as the realization hit him that today was it.

It wasn’t a rational, measured thought. Instead, a chill deeper than any winter settled in his heart, and dread washed over him. After decades of bloodshed, of clawing and fighting his way to the top among the noble houses, the end was in sight. 

Little Stefania had her entire life ahead of her, years and years to become the fierce wildcat Giovanni saw in her now. He had hours. Behind him, he saw years and years of glory, conquest, and winning. Ahead of him, he saw darkness.

“Nonno, are you okay?” he heard from a mile away. Small hands cupped his cheeks as his breath came in shorter and shorter hitches. An invisible hand crushed his chest in its grip.

Giovanni struggled to breathe, panic tearing into him like a wolf descending upon a lamb. He dropped to his knees. The impact jolted his weary bones, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “Stefania, I…”

A yell from the practice yard sounded the alarm. It didn’t take long for servants, guards, and family to swarm the fallen Medina patriarch. Giovanni was dimly aware of the trip back to his bedroom, but all he could see or care about was trying to breathe and not cry. Medinas were brave, but he didn’t want to go.

Word passed through the estate quickly. His four children and fifteen grandchildren surrounded him. 

Gianna, his youngest at forty four, feigned tears and held her three children tight. Those grandchildren stared stonily at him, either too young or too distant to care that he was dying. He’d never had much time for the useless girl or her brats. Did he regret it? Even Giovanni wasn’t sure.

Benicio, forty seven, had five boys and one girl. Half of them were strong men, while the others would grow to be strong. There were maybe two brains between them. They were excellent thugs, and would lead small teams of soldiers to victory some day. All for the glory of the family, but they were worth no more than that.

Dario, fifty two, was technically his heir, but was an indulgent fool who spoiled his four children. They had sharp minds, but no iron to them. All four would be nightmares in the business world, but they lacked the teeth it took to stay on top. The patriarch had always been a demanding man, so Dario spoiled his kids until they were weak.

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Luccia, fifty, was his favorite child, and mother to his favorite grandchild. Her two children had sharp minds and sharp eyes. Stefania looked at him with true grief, an anger at the injustice of the world taking her grandfather from her. Giovanni met her gaze and tears trailed down his cheeks.

“Father?” Dario asked, speaking slowly, as if Giovanni was deaf or simple. “Is there anything you want to say…before?”

“Before I die?” Giovanni said haltingly between gasps for air. “I didn’t raise cowards, did I?”

Here he was on his deathbed, and most of them looked relieved. Did he have anything to say? There wasn’t enough time left to say it all. Speaking was difficult, and the more he talked, the less air he felt he had. Still, Dario was right. It was time.

“None of you are the heirs I deserve,” he said. Gianna wept louder, but his other children stared muted, and most of his grandchildren just looked uncomfortable. “I brought this house from mere servants to having the favor of the king. I accomplished this through boldness, cunning, and strength.

“Out of all my family, there is only one who shares the same spark that brought this family to greatness. When I die, Luccia is to inherit, on one condition.”

Dario’s eyes blazed, but he remained silent. Traitorous mutters did nothing to hide their anger and hunger. All of them wanted what they thought they’d earned. Disappointments, all.

“What is it, father?” Luccia asked, coming forward to take his hand. Out of all of his children, she had been almost invisible. Not weak, just not interested in fighting for his attention. Ironically, it made her matter more to the patriarch. Her dark curls looked so much like her mother’s, and she had the same steel in her eyes.

“Stefania,” he said. “Give her a sword. Give her the best education and let her fight. Were she a grown woman, I’d choose her.”

“You can’t be serious!” Benicio snarled, pushing past his children. “After all we’ve done for you, you’d choose a little girl over us? Over my dead body.”

Giovanni shook his head. “None of you are worthy. You are a bullheaded fool, Gianna is an irresponsible child, and Dario raised degenerates. Only Luccia has my love, my trust. But I will give you all one more chance.”

“How kind,” Dario sneered.

Gianna whimpered and squeezed her children to her breast. “You wouldn’t leave us with nothing, would you?”

“That’s up to Luccia. She’ll manage the estate during the trial. During that time, she is to take care of the family and keep you all together.”

“Trial?” Luccia looked at her siblings, wary but not scared. She knew the danger Giovanni was putting her in. She was the only one he’d trust to survive her siblings’ wrath.

Pain wracked Giovanni, the pressure on his chest tightening. The world dimmed before he gasped for air. “You will…divide the estate…among you all. Give each what…what they need…to thrive. The grand…grandchildren…will…”

He was fading now. His heart lurched and terror consumed him. He hacked and took as big a breath as he could. He met Stefania’s eyes. The girl had tears in her eyes now, but she was strong. “Keep our family strong forever.”

The world froze. Giovanni took one last look over the faces of his family, most of them twisted in rage or disgust. Only Luccia and Stefania looked sad to see him go. On the walls were portraits of his father and grandfather, taken before their deaths. The earliest they could trace their lineage. At least his family would go on. He took some solace in knowing his bloodline was secure.

Do you think so? A voice as endless and cold as winter caught his attention.

Death stood clad in black and red silks, resembling the emperors of old. He was powerful and pale, with a skull instead of a face. Still, the teeth seemed to be smiling at Giovanni.

“I’m not ready yet!” Giovanni barked, suddenly without fear. No fear, no aches and pains, no trouble breathing. A part of him knew the truth, even if he rejected it.

Few people are, and yet your time is up.

“No! Give me more time, I demand it!” Giovanni stood up. To his surprise, he was no longer a frail old man, but in the prime of his life, powerful and wiry. He was dressed for a night at court, rapier at his side, with a jaunty hat on his head.

Death cocked his head to the side and laughed. The sound was the worst thing Giovanni had ever heard, short and final. You are in no position to demand anything, Giovanni Medina. You were a mighty man once, but everything ends. That is the one constant in life.

“I deserve better!” Giovanni pounded his chest, pointing a finger at Death. “Give me another chance and I’ll prove it. I’ll do anything for more time. The Medina bloodline will stand forever if I can just have a little more time.”

To his surprise, Death seemed to consider it. His hand went to his chin bone, stroking it thoughtfully. Do you truly believe that? You think your bloodline is forever?

“I do,” said Giovanni. “My children are disappointing, but some of my grandchildren…Give me more time, and I’ll make sure they’re ready to take over and expand my family’s power. They just need my guidance.”

The guidance you didn’t give them while you were alive?

Death sounded amused, and maybe that was where Giovanni had his chance. “Yes,” he said. “If I could just…stick around, and give their guidance my full attention, we’ll last until Kingdom Come.”

Interesting. You make a bold claim, but you were an extraordinary man. How about a friendly wager?

“A wager? What did you have in mind?” Giovanni still couldn’t feel anything, but he remembered hope.

I will let you stay, Giovanni Medina. Not as a man, but as a shade, watching over your family. They will not see or hear you except in their dreams as you whisper your guidance. You will be free to roam anywhere one of your descendants walks.

“Yes,” said Giovanni. “I will do this. But no offer comes without strings. What’s the catch?”

You will exist only so long as your family does. When your bloodline ends, so do you. Guide your family well, Giovanni. We’ll meet again, when I collect your children and grandchildren. Eventually, I will collect you too.

Giovanni didn’t have time to argue or ask questions. He remained where he was, but the rest of the world resumed. Luccia held his limp hand, and his body stared lifelessly at Stefania, who stared back fearlessly.

“He’s gone,” Luccia said, setting his hand down. “We going to have a problem now, Benicio? Dario?”

“The fools don’t have the guts,” said Giovanni. He tried to put a hand on his daughter’s shoulder, but it passed right through.

Benicio had his hand on the dagger at his belt. His thumb ran over the pommel. “That depends, sister. How do you plan on divvying up the bastard’s land and possessions?”

“Equitably,” she said. “Everyone gets what they need. I need less than the rest of you, so I will take less. Is there anyone else you trust more to be fair?”

Gianna took her side immediately. “I trust you.”

“Of course you do,” Dario spit. “She’s helped coddle you. I for one refuse to have my inheritance squandered by a careless whore.”

Everyone started talking at once, shouting and pointing fingers at each other. Surprisingly, Giovanni was glad he was too dead to have a headache. Stefania broke away from the family and came to his body.

“Goodbye Nonno,” she whispered, closing his eyes.

“Not goodbye, my little terror,” he said, smiling. “If I can come to you in dreams, then I’ll see you this very night. I’ll work on the family, but no one will get as much time as you. When I’m through with you, you’ll be greater than I ever was. That’s my promise.”