Though it was the first time Michele had ever met this Mira, he found her astonishingly…trustworthy. It was not like he had a crush on her, but meeting an old friend he had known for years who he could tell anything to. After a few drinks, he already spilled everything on his mind, and it felt…surprisingly good, to lash out all the emotions that he had to suppress in front of everyone.

"I guess it is the sad fact of human society. You create rules to civilize yourselves and become the slaves of them." After listening to all the drunk complaints of Michele, Mira smiled in sympathy and made a comment.

Which made Michele laughed: "You are saying this as if you are not human."

Mira skipped the question without admitting or denying it, simply stood up and paid for the drink, then said: "Come with me, I want to show you something."

And it worked like magic, that Michele really just followed Mira into her car, who he hadn't known for more than two hours, letting her take him wherever she wanted to take him. Now as he woke up from the effects of alcohol, Michele started to slightly regret his decision, but Mira kept herself away from him at a proper distance, and she didn't seem to drug him or threaten him with any force, so that kept him less panicked.

The other reason that he didn't jump out of this vehicle right away, was the destination of their little trip—a seemingly ordinary bungalow by the sea, but Michele knew what this place was: the "pleasure house" of Paulo Bellini. Through the French window of that house even from afar, Michele could see how Paulo and his buddies were "partying" with a bunch of good-time girls wearing cheap teasing costumes, and to even make him more agitated, the driver of Mira's car turned on the radio and had him hear what those men were talking about in the room:

"You are fucking crazy doing this, Paulo, you are marrying the Napolitano girl next month and you are still fucking other women! Wait until their boss find this out…"

"It's fine, Franco understands that I need to extra enjoy my life before I go to the prison of marriage…"

"Prison? Fuck that, your wife is la gioiella della corona di Napoli!"

"I'm happy to die if I get to be in your prison for just one day…Wait, did that Napolitano boy touch her yet?"

"Nah I get to pop the cherry. Tsk, that Michele is like some kid who lives in the fairytale. Poor old Franco, don't know who he's going to get his son back on the track…"

Michele was about to dash out of the car, but held down by Mira immediately—and somehow, he just forgot about how weird it was for Mira to tap on Paulo and deliberately take him here to witness everything, maybe out of the pure rage on his mind…or something else. But what he could remember, firmly as if it was carved in his bones, was the conversation that happened next.

"Calm down, there's no benefit you could achieve by breaking in and being beaten." Mira grabbed his arm and said.

"I can't believe papa sold Olivia to a…bastard like this…"

"Then it's you who should step up and protect her!" Mira looked right into Michele's eyes and convinced him, "You cannot rely on your padre, you know business always comes first for him."

Michele was startled by the notion Mira was planting in his head. His body began to quaver, as if resisting it out of instinct: "What…what do you mean…"

"There will be a ship to Marseille waiting for you and Olivia at the port tomorrow morning at 5 a.m., everything you need is in there, including the new credentials, cash and plane tickets to America, just be at the place in time…"

"But I can't just leave…"

"Think about it, Michele, this is maybe the only chance in your life to live a future that you want! Don't you see? New identities and you don't have to be responsible for anything from your bloodlines, you two can be free to realize your dream, build a family of your own, and by then you can return to your padre as a happy, independent man. He won't get mad at you by then—if you both are enjoying the life, why would he? Isn't that what he always wanted?" Mira painted a bright picture in his mind with a moving voice, "Think about it, Michele, this is your life, you should make the choice for yourself."

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

As they were talking, the car drove back into the Vomero Hills. Mira dropped Michele somewhere near the Napolitano mansion, leaving him wander his way home like a puppet possessed by a lost soul. Watching him blend into the night like a small drop into the ocean, the man wearing sunglasses on the driver seat sighed:

"It's so cold-hearted to manipulate a young boy like that, Mira, even for you."

Mira smiled, taking a bottle out of the drawer under the seat and poured out a glass of dense, red liquid:

"Tutto è lecito…in amore e in guerra."

The sun rose just as usual, and Franco woke up immediately as the morning light shone into his bedroom. He lived a healthy life and cared for himself a lot after his wife died of illness, determined to be physically strong enough to care for the family, so he didn't look like a man that was in his 50s at all, and many much younger women were specially attracted to him, even though he had decided to remain widowed.

Just when he put up the sports clothes and got ready for his morning jogging, the housekeeper knocked on his door hurriedly, and the fright on his face really unnerved the old Franco.

"What's the matter?"

Franco asked the poor old man who had served him faithfully all these years, but the housekeeper was simply too shocked to even speak proper words, merely pointing at the direction of Michele and Olivia's rooms, and when Franco walked there and looked inside, he immediately realized what happened.

Both rooms were empty.

As for the young people who ran away, the consequences of their action didn't concern them—Michele totally forgot about his encounter with Mira and thought it was his own idea, while Olivia was just too thrilled about the new life with Michele to worry anything. Youth and love blinded everything and added a filter to their sight.

So they travelled far, far away across the Atlantic to the United States, arrived at the famous New York city and settled down in la Piccola Italia in Lower Manhattan. They rented a small flat on Mulberry Street, got acquainted with the neighbors and began searching for a way to earn an honest living, just like every young immigrant in the neighborhood. A month after they moved in, la Festa di San Gennaro started, and they even received the donations from people of good heart while having a crazy, great celebration. Olivia tasted beer for the first time in her life.

Then Michele found a job working in one of those theatres in Lincoln Center, and Olivia also started trying to sell her paintings to some small galleries. What Michele did was mainly chores like setting the stage and cleaning the props, but occasionally when needed he still got to sing some parts in the shows, and sometimes he even received appreciation from the audience.

"I met a very rich couple who watched our show today—Mr. and Mrs. LaCroix, I think they are called." Michele was cooking Gnocchi in the kitchen and sharing this news with Olivia, "They said my performance was excellent, too classic for Broadway shows. I even got their business card, they say they might need people like me in the opera house they are building right now…"

"And I have good news for you, too."

Olivia walked close, waving an invoice like an exciting child—it was from the gallery. She just sold her first painting.

Life would be perfect if it just kept on going like this, even though it was tough. But Michele hardly saw any progress in his career, while Olivia's paintings hadn't sold even one more ever since; the refreshing feeling of living in a new country wore out pretty soon, whereas the tiredness about their poverty and repeating frustrations was growing with each passing day.

It was not what Olivia expected at all when she ran away with Michele. She was the center of the universe at home, and even she was just out to take a walk there would suitors following behind, calling her bella. But here she was no one but a normal housewife who had to do the dirty housework that used to get done by servants, and her beauty was more of a trouble than a blessing, not to mention it was slowly diminishing because lack of care: she got lewd teases from men on streets, and sometimes the gallery owners would even indicate that she could have some chances by making…dirty deals.

And this dream-like blueprint of freedom and future they had in mind started to fall apart. Complaints filled the room, and there were quarrels about almost every aspect in their life, either Olivia bought luxuries and overspent the money on clothes or accessories, or Michele failed to get promoted because he was simply too proud to learn the "popular way" of performing. Love faded away pretty easily, when they had debts to repay and things broken here and there in the house.

Until one day Michele got back home from work, he was greeted by a hit from behind and knocked out into unconsciousness—the Bellinis found him…or to be precise, Olivia led them to find him.