"Vincente, wake up. It's time for breakfast."
Monotone as always, his mother called his name over and over as she tore the blankets from around his huddled form. He curled around himself and squeezed his eyes shut. Just once in his life, he wanted to wake up on his own accord.
"…You don't have any excuses to stay in bed. We let you sleep in." she muttered as he walked out of the room.
He cracked his eyes open, only to be met with the glaring light of the sun. How depressing, he thought, that waking up after sunrise should be a strange occurrence to him. Though he knew his overseer would reprimand him for his tardiness, he couldn't be bothered to rush, especially with the pounding headache threatening to burst a hole through his left temple.
When he finally entered the kitchen, his family froze in place, spoons lifted in midair as their eyes widened in fear.
"Buon giorno, Vincente!" Of course it was Matteo who broke the silence. Vincente only grunted in response, though he took his seat at the table all the same despite the awkwardness of it all. Federico wore a scarf around his neck, hiding the damage from last night. The young boy let out a timid whimper as he turned his head, looking anywhere but at his eldest brother.
"You have a message, son," his father had said as he slid a pristine envelope across the table. The wax seal was already broken. Bastards: they went through his letters while he slept. He narrowed his eyes in suspicion, however, once cold realization sunk in. A wax seal? Emblazoned with a family crest, of all things. He ran his fingertips over its smooth contours. Nobody of any importance ever felt the need to contact him. To suddenly receive something like this could only mean trouble. He turned the envelope in his palm to double check the recipient, only to come face to face with his name, written in swirling, elegant penmanship. It was the only thing he could read.
"Why don't you tell me what it says, since surely, the children already read it out loud for the family?" He cast an accusatory glare at his father, who looked back only with an expression of absolute defeat.
"I'm sorry, Vincente. They got into it before your mother and I could stop them. But it's just another job request- nothing important. Your brothers were bored of it within seconds. I don't even remember the details. It's-"
"Basta!" He shook his head in irritation as he cut his father off mid-sentence. The headache from earlier still remained. "I have a hangover, and I would appreciate a little silence."
His mother, who had otherwise kept quiet, couldn't help but comment on the irony of the situation. "So you can't be quiet for the children's sake, but if you want silence, we all have to do as you say or risk a thrashing?"
"Precisely." He responded without missing a beat as he unfolded the letter. As expected, he couldn't understand what was written. "…Which one of you went through my messages?"
His brothers slumped in their seats, though Federico, perhaps eager to return to Vincente's good graces, offered his knowledge. "It was Alessio. He didn't mean anything by it. In his class, they're starting to get into advanced grammar, so he was curious. Big brother, I'm sorry. He was just playing around…"
"What does it say?" He was still too tired to argue. He slid the letter over to his siblings as they all fought for the chance to impress the family with their newly acquired knowledge.
"It says, 'Signore Valerio,'" Alessio bellowed in his deepest, most mature voice, "It has come to my attention that of the sailors of Palermo, you boast the title of the most skilled. In fact, with meticulous care, I observed you in action yesterday, as you-"
His heart sank in his chest as his brothers rambled on and on, taking turns reciting the lines. He already knew enough. It was a job request from a nobleman who watched him work. "…Who signed it?"
"It says… It says 'Signore Peacock.' Do you know what that means? Is that a grownup thing? …Hey, Vincente, are you listening?"
As if it couldn't get any worse. His mind raced as he scrutinized everything he said the other night at the bar. Had the so-called 'Merchant of Death been eavesdropping on his conversations? After all, he already knew that Vincente openly mocked him.
"…I should get going." Without even eating breakfast, he threw on his coat and made his way to the docks.