OOC: The following events take place after the pass the baton event, which seems like a lifetime ago now, where Rudolf_Romeo_Riviera and his crew stopped remnants of the Abruzzo crime family in their attempt to take over the city. You can read more about it here. This was to be another chapter in his journey in this world of ours, a journey I had hoped would continue for a little longer. Nevertheless, it turns out death is infectious in times of war :) Anyway, I have tried my best to give his story a somewhat satisfactory ending, but I encourage anyone, who has read and appreciated the last five chapters(who am I kidding? nobody read any of those) and wishes to come up with an alternative to this ending from Romeo's point of view, to do so below. I'd love to read any and all variations.(I'd be lucky to get 2, but idk worth a shot I guess) For the sake of convenience-
 

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 5.5

Firenze, lo sai, non è servita a cambiarla.
La cosa che ha amato di più è stata l’aria.
Lei ha disegnato, ha riempito cartelle di sogni
ma gli occhi di marmo del Colosso Toscano 
guardano troppo lontano.

(Florence, you know, didn’t help to change her.
The thing he loved most has been its air.
She drew, she filled folders with dreams
but the marble eyes of the Tuscan colossus
look too far.)

The lyrics softly entered his head and took him back to the first time he had heard them. He'd been laying on a hospital bed much like he was now, his life hanging on by a thread. The cops that had found him had rushed him to a hospital and kept him under guard while a judge had found him guilty of his crimes. As he laid in that hospital bed, his abdomen gaping from the knife wound he had suffered when his lover had stabbed him, the only thing that kept him alive was a thirst for vengeance.

Why then had he let the thirst subside when he got out? Why had he been so reluctant to pick up a weapon again? Why had he chosen to hide away in this blasted city so far from his home? Was it to avert the same fate again? Considering he was in a hospital yet again holding desperately onto his life, perhaps that was true.

"He's lost too much blood. We must act fast." Someone said anxiously. Romeo tried to open his eyes, pushing through the pain. All he could glimpse was a man dressed in white, a flash of steel and a searing burn before he passed out. His mind wandered to memories he'd long forgotten.

There he stood making pasta with his nonna in their cottage in the Sicilian countryside. Here he was carrying her ashes on a ship across the Atlantic so even in death she could see the new world. There he was a young soldati doing his first job in Chicago, his youthful eyes brimming with naive optimism. Here he was signing the divorce papers as he caressed his wrinkled forehead when he watched his wife Joy leave him. There he stood dancing with the love of his life under the pale moonlight. Here he lay in the snow with her knife in his belly. There he was boarding a plane to Seattle hoping to find a quiet place to build a bistro and retire. Here he was dying, his violent delights having met violent ends. 

The last time his desire for vengeance had brought him back from the brink, but this time he had none. Just a dull ache pushing past his exhaustion. His love danced infront of him, her smile intoxicating him, her hand outstretched, inviting him to join her and leave this wretched world behind. For a moment Romeo walked forward, his arm outstretched reaching for hers, wishing he could feel the soft caress of her skin once again. But then he felt his feet freeze. The woman danced , enticing him and the distance grew almost as if someone was pulling him away from her and the warm embrace he longed for. Romeo scratched and clawed till his fingers were inches away from hers. He screamed her name and she just looked at him with her eyes full of longing as he was pulled away. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he watched her drift away into darkness. He tried to blink away the tears but when he opened his eyes he found a man in a white labcoat staring at him.

"Ah Mr. Riviera, we were worried you were too far gone. Had to bring you back from the brink, your body it seemed had almost given up. Nevertheless, you are awake now. Things will only get better from here. I'll fetch the other doctors so we can brief you about your recovery."

Caro il mio Barbarossa, studente in filosofia,
con il tuo italiano insicuro certe cose le sapevi dire.
Oh lo so, lo so, lo so, lo so bene lo so,
una donna da amare in due, in comune fra te e me.
Ma di tempo ce n’è in questa città,
fottuti di malinconia e di lei.

(My dear red-bearded one, student of philosophy,
with your uncertain Italian you could yet say certain things.
Oh, I know, I know, I know, I know it very well,
a woman to love in two, to share between you and me.
But there’s a lot of time in this city,
both screwed by melancholy and by her.)

The nurse in charge continued to play the record when she noticed him react to it. It felt almost a part of him now, the words resonating with his life. He sat up and briefly paused expecting to feel the familiar pain in his leg but it never came. Like his suppressed desire for vengeance, it had slipped away into nothingness. The doctors had informed him after he woke up ten days ago that they had removed the bullet from the old wound in his leg along with the new one in his shoulder. Reluctant to part with something that had been with him for so long, something that had defined him, he had it placed onto a ring that he now wore on the little finger of his left hand. 

"Alright Redbeard, time for your exercise." The nurse said with a smile as she walked him in. She said she'd called him that since the day he was brought in, his greying beard stained crimson with blood. Romeo held out his hand and let the Nurse grab it. The muscles in his shoulder were taking their time to heal, and for a while the doctors had been worried about lasting nerve damage. He slowly clenched and unclenched his fist, rotated his wrist and went through all the exercises at once. 

"That's good. You've been making some great progress, keep that up and you'll be out of here in no time hon." She said, pleased with him. "Grazie Signora." He replied absentmindedly, his mind elsewhere. The nurse simply sighed and left him to his thoughts. 

Romeo put his arm back in his sling and walked to the window overlooking his bed. He looked around cautiously as he let his right hand slip to the ledge outside, searching for the bottle of whiskey he had hidden. He uncorked the top and took a long whiff, loving the familiar scent. He tilted it up and closed his eyes as he opened his mouth. But the whiskey never landed on his tongue. The nurse stood to his side having snatched the bottle away from him at the last possible second.

"Now, now Redbeard. Like I told you the last three times you tried to sneak in some alcohol, the doctor has strictly forbidden you from drinking any . Now stop behaving like a little child or I'll bend you over my knee and spank you like one." She said disapprovingly. Romeo rolled his eyes and mumbled incoherent curses under his breath. Reluctantly he went back to the bed and lay down. 

His mind wandered to the fellow mafiosos who had helped him stop the attack on Rubber Duck Sailors' ships. He'd heard they'd made it out more or less in one piece and he was glad. He'd hoped that after having fought back the Abruzzo family remnants he would have a chance to return to Sicily. Heal and recover in peace. But things had taken a drastic turn . The whole nation was at war with each other. Details were a little fuzzy to him in his little room in the hospital. The more he got involved the more confused he got. Nevertheless he did his bit sitting by the phone. Co-ordinating between the crews, sending healers and hitmen wherever needed. Piecing together information from the cops on the city's payroll and using it to identify and mark potential threats. 

While the nurse disapproved of his behaviour, she knew taking his whiskey from him was one thing, but taking his phone away would not be forgiven. The two armed guards that had stood at his door, an order from on high, had scared away any thoughts she might have held otherwise.

He closed his eyes and stroked his beard wondering just how many would die , how many who live will still be the same and just how long would it be before he could step away from all this. All he desperately desired now was a chance to run home to Sicily, back to the little cottage where he made pasta with his nonna. Away from this pointless war in this pointless city. Somewhere to die in peace. 

If he could drink vino on his farm yet again, he would die a happy man. Fate though, it seemed had other intentions.

He never saw the shooter, he just felt the bullet enter his chest and the darkness envelop him. He smiled as he realized he may never have worked up the courage to meet the love of his life. His desire for vengeance or peace would have stopped him, but now that he was dead, he could feel her warm embrace yet again and for the first time in a really long while, he was happy. The last sound he heard was the chorus of the song.

Per questo canto una canzone triste,
triste, triste, triste, triste, triste, triste,
triste come me.
E non c’è più nessuno che mi parli ancora un po’ di lei,
ancora un po’ di lei.
E non c’è più nessuno che mi parli ancora un po’ di lei,
ancora un po’ di lei.

(Thus, I sing a sad song,
sad, sad, sad, sad, sad, sad
sad like myself.
And no one is left who still talks to me a little about her,
still a little about her.
And no one is left who still talks to me a little about her,
still a little about her.)