25. Prince Among Men

Date Written: February 13, 2019

Date Posted: August 24, 2019

Characters: Romano, Genoa, Veneziano

Summary: Genoa wants a piece of that Venetian trading empire.

Notes: This chapter (like Ch 18) is all about the Venetian-Genoese Wars. In the end, after four wars with Genoa, the Venetian Empire happened to win due to a technicality. Hence, the reason why Genoa is so salty. Also, I kind of cheated. Veneziano has a major role in this chapter, but he doesn't really appear...but I'm halfway through my goal of fifty chapters, so who cares! Ha!

Napoli liked to think that he was the oldest. In appearance, he clearly had an edge—his face was already showing signs of losing baby fat and hints of a gangly limbs were slowly emerging from his body. (It didn't help that no one else seemed to argue with his self imposed title, but there were a few who wanted to fight him for claiming such a thing). Anyway, as the lovely older sibling of many others (seriously, some popped out of nowhere while others… disappeared...It was too much of a bother and unwanted heartbreak after heartbreak to keep track of his family), he made it a point to keep out of everyone's affairs.

Sure, family was important. Is. But there was definitely a time and a place for the vulnerability of brotherhood. Their kind was notorious for not being the most…familial of creatures. How could they? No matter how solid in form, how tangible they presented themselves, they could be gone as surely and swiftly as the gentle evening breeze or as quiet as the death throes of a gaping volcano.

So, they fought.

They fought over land. People. Trade. Rights. Culture.

They fought because if they could not, their lives were no more.

Bah, who cares anyway? Napoli hardly met with any of his other siblings other than the usual standard affairs. Why should he care about the nature of human ideas and labels as such immortal, undying creatures? Such a funny notion…family.

Too much sentiment, but not enough to abate the bloodshed within their lineage.

"—listening? Hello, my dearest brother to the south? What have you got to say about this?"

Napoli turned away from the wooden grain of the table—such craftsmanship—to give a bored stare to one of his neighbors to the north. She was Genoa, a rising empire of trade on the western side of their shared peninsula. For some odd reason, her hair sported way too many ringlets and it fell down to her shoulders in purposely imperfect perfection.

The southern brother could only shudder at the implications. Ugh. French influence.

He leaned his chin into his open palm, eyes drifting heavenward. "Congrats on your most successful trading expedition." He turned a dark brown gaze to the lowly room that only housed the bare essentials. "Are you the world's best trading empire yet?"

Genoa's smirk turned sour at the unfortunate reminder that she was still tiers below Venezia's affluence and power. "You self-entitled, little—"

And Napoli tuned her out once again. It wasn't like he didn't care. He did. But he also knew how to be realistic. With trade came power, and with that, came those who wanted to wrest that way. It was natural, expected even, to get booted by the competition as early as possible. Pardon his pun, but it did come with the territory.

"Honestly, why did you come talking to me anyway?" Napoli fingered the hem of his tunic, fully conveying that he could hardly care less. "You want a bone to pick? Go snapping at Venezia's heels!"

Genoa, the little brat, stormed her way a little too close to Napoli's personal space. With a speed and strength that was characteristic only to Nations and the most strong-willed of humans, the child tried punching her elder. Unfortunately, Napoli caught her wrist with one hand and upper-cutted her with the other. Yelping, Genoa stopped attacking, but Napoli refused to let go.

"Genoa, I don't give a damn." He let go. "You talk to Venezia."

"But he'll listen to—"

"Northerners," Napoli hissed to himself. "Shut up and go deal with him yourself."

And with that, Napoli threw himself out the door and back to his villa at Naples.

The thing about Nations was that once they had something, it was very hard for them to leave things well enough alone. For one, sentiments that usually made its way to the surface meant that they're people wouldn't forget and would continue to perpetuate ideas that would long outlive them. (Read: grudges were far from unheard of and were a common way to get yourself killed). Secondly, Nations were nigh immortal. Ideas were hard to kill and it was harder still for them to forgive and forget. To turn the other cheek. And so on. Thirdly, it was a Nation's nature to be as bloodthirsty and merciless as the gods they worshipped in the old days. Even when Christianity was on the rise, Europe was still slathered with blood and dripping with guilt. There was no innocence to be had anymore.

So, it wasn't at all surprising when Napoli was resting in one of his hometown villas to have Genoa bursting through the door. Her clothing was torn, hair askew, and eyes were blazing with fury. Although she was seriously unkempt, Napoli allowed her to come inside. There was a time and place for propriety, but for now, Napoli was willing to be merciful.

"So—" He gestured for her to take a seat, which she refused with an angered huff. "—how did your little wars with Venezia go? That badly?"

Genoa huffed angrily. "I could have won, Napoli! I could have—"

"And what made this special occasion any different? And why are you even here?" Napoli took a swig of his wine even though it was still early afternoon. "Don't tell me Veneziano beat you so bad you want me to reign him in."

The look on Genoa's face was more than enough admission that was exactly what she wanted.

"Dio mio," Napoli breathed. The grin that he was sporting on his face was so ugly, Genoa felt that her entire soul was getting ripped into shreds as she witnessed her elder brother looking like he was about to fall off from his chair. "God above in Heaven, strike me down! That has got to be the funniest thing ever! However did that little trader defeat you in combat?"

"I could have won."

"But you didn't and—" He held up a hand to silence her protests. "—what really matters was the fact that you lost. Now go away."

Genoa bared her teeth at him and stomped out the door.

"Never let it be said that I was being unfair: I hate the both of you equally!" Napoli laughed as Genoa used the both of her arms to point a lewd gesture at him.

Elsewhere, little Venezia sailed high and proud on his trading adventures.