Peter Bianchi stared into the eyes of Harry Potter, and the boy stared right back.
After the Bianchis had thoroughly disarmed the vagrant boys, Peter had ordered everyone to sit down so that they could discuss their business in peace. Harry had immediately plopped down on an old sofa next to a fire pit and refused to talk, pulling a pocket knife to carve up the rabbit carcasses. Peter allowed this moment of defiance, deciding they had the time to play the boy's game as he sat down in a chair of his own.
While it seemed that his eyes remained on gutting and skinning the rabbits, Harry never took his attention away from the slightest motion either Bianchi made. He was like an animal that had found invaders uninvited into his den and could do nothing about it, choosing to remain alert to run at a moment's notice.
Enzo had been reluctant to lower his gun away from Saul's throat, but Peter eased his son down and assured him that the situation was under control. Though reluctant Enzo moved over to a lone comforter chair and sat, keeping his gun at the red just in case. Saul meanwhile kept his hand near his throat rubbing at the lingering sourness there, eyeing the men suspiciously.
This was the setup for the next half hour, where no one dared break the silence. Peter capitalized on this by observing the two boys and how they behaved toward each other. Harry held a tension in his shoulders that came so naturally that Peter couldn't help but feel it had been there long before either he or Enzo had entered the barn. He was also competent with the preparation of food, another oddity for someone that young. Odder still was the fact that despite said competence, Harry was rather thin for his age.
To his surprise and mild amusement, Saul pulled a pack of Winstons as Harry cut up the rabbit into chunks and placed it into a pot, giving one of the cigarettes to Harry before pulling out his own. Harry leaned in for a light that Saul was quick to provide, giving it a drag before gesturing his head behind his shoulder at a pantry set up in a stable behind the couch. Saul gave the Bianchis only a moment's consideration before he got up, walking into the pantry to get the ingredients he knew Harry wanted.
Peter observed that Saul was always ready to aid the younger in some way, to which Harry would give smiles and nods of appreciation. He seemed to look up to the older boy, a dynamic that brought a little smile to Peter's face.
Saul returned with a pot and a box full of various vegetables and ingredients, which Harry quickly assembled into an appropriate stew for the rabbit. It was only after he had placed the pot into the pit that Harry finally spoke.
"How did you know I was here?" He asked.
Peter smiled, pulling Harry's journal from within his jacket, "You forgot to take this." He said casually, smirking as the boy snatched it out of his hands and clung it to his chest.
"How much did you read?" Harry asked in an accusing tone.
"Enough to know you had your reasons to run away, reasons I can respect," Peter replied. Harry stared at him, narrowing his eyes.
"It's not polite to snoop."
"Yeah well, didn't really have a choice, you weren't exactly easy to find." Peter shot back with an amused smirk on his lips.
Harry didn't hesitate to meet Peter's smug look with his own, "Good, that's how I wanted it. I never want to go back to that house."
"Even if they're not there anymore?"
Harry paused, unsure how to respond in a way that made it seem he was trying to avoid incriminating himself, "There's… a lot of bad memories I'd like to forget. About them."
"And you didn't have anywhere else to go? No other family?" Enzo spoke up, sharing a look with his father when Peter raised his brow in question.
Harry shook his head, "The Dursleys were the only family I had."
"And what happened to your aunt and uncle?"
Harry fell silent in response, refusing to speak further.
Peter found it notable that Harry made it a point to avoid talking about his relatives in any detail outside of the arbitrary. It seemed that Saul at least knew more than what Harry was letting on, going out of his way to distract Harry from their line of questioning to hand him a ladle and set of bowls to pour the stew into.
"Not going to share with your guests?"
Harry looked up from his own bowl just as he was about to take a spoonful into his mouth with a glare, one the Bianchis met with looks of indifference.
"If you insist." He said finally, grumbling as he gestured for Saul to give him two more bowls that he filled and shoved into their awaiting hands, slashing liquid onto the floor. Peter looked over at Enzo who was taking in the flavor of the stew and spoke once more.
"Well, it might not sound ideal to you, but the reason why we're here is that we were sent to deliver a proposition from our employer." He opened, opening a negotiation as he had many times in a court of law, "As it turns out, your aunt and cousin weren't your only blood relatives. Our employer, Mister Corleone, discovered you to be the great-grandson of his late brother, and was hoping to reconnect."
Both boys looked up from their food at each other at this, Harry's eyes narrowing in suspicion. "And why's he looking for me now? Why the sudden interest?"
Peter gave him a shrug, "Honestly? He's old and doesn't have much family left. You have to understand that the Corleones were once a major family unit, but now it's just him and some distant relatives, plus an ex-wife and kid that he hasn't spoken to in seven years."
Harry threw up his hand, dismissive of the whole explanation, "So what now?"
"Well, the plan was for us to work out the legalities of transferring guardianship from your relatives to him. But, seeing as they're not around and you're living like a hermit, we could have you on a plane heading to Sicily by tomorrow morning." Peter said, knowing that being honest was the best course at the moment. It was unfortunate that Harry didn't seem to be having it.
"Why?"
Peter blinked. "Sorry?"
Harry huffed. "Why does he want guardianship of me? From the sound of it, he didn't even know I existed until recently." He elaborated.
Peter paused to think about it and had to admit that even he didn't fully understand Michael's motivations. "To tell you the truth I don't really know. He's not privy to tell me anything he doesn't want to. Call it the sentimentality of an old man."
A lull then fell upon the conversation while Harry and Saul seemed to communicate with a few simple glances. By the look on their faces, Peter knew that they didn't trust them.
"Well that's nice and everything, but no." Harry finally said sharing a nod with his friend.
"And why is that?"
"I won't leave Saul by himself, he's done too much for me. Besides, let's just say I haven't had a good experience with family." That was the vague answer given, but Peter read between the lines to discern what he was really saying. 'I don't know you, I don't know your employer, and I won't risk going back to another abusive household.' That was the sentiment that Harry was really conveying, and Peter had just the response to give as his counter.
"You know, I may be speaking out of my depth here, I mean it looks like you've got yourself a good thing running here. If you're happy with it, what can I say to that?" Peter shrugged his shoulder, then with a sly look in his eye he added, "But if I may be so bold, may I make an observation?"
"You kids don't know shit about what you're doing, this setup you got, it's cute. But what happens when you get sick? Or run out of wood to burn? What are you gonna do when the cops eventually find this place?"
With each question he brought to their attention, Harry and Saul grew more unsure of their own efforts to protect and provide for themselves. But when he mentioned the involvement of the police it agitated a feeling of alarm within them that was displayed clearly on their faces.
"Oh yeah, the cops have been snooping around. Don't know what they know, you'd know better than I. If you don't want to tell me that's your prerogative, but if you're squatting in a place like this it can't be for swiping a playboy and a pack of chewing gum."
Peter quieted down to see their reaction, and he was pleased to see that his words had been sufficient to instill terror into their hearts. Harry and Saul were both looking at each other in panicked desperation, unsure of what they could do for what they saw was a choice between two undesirable prospects. It was now time to give them the offer of mercy that would play them into his hands.
"Enzo, go and get my suitcase."
Enzo looked up at his father with his brow raised but obeyed, getting up from his chair and leaving while Peter stared at the boys in silence as they waited. When he came back, he handed the suitcase to his father who laid it down on his lap, playing with the number combination on its clasps. The locking mechanism clicked and Peter turned the lip around to face the boys so they coils see inside as he raised the lid open. To say the boys were in shock would be a disservice as they looked upon the rows of hundred-pound notes with the printed face of Lord Ilay staring back at them.
"I'm giving you a third option. In there is about five hundred thousand dollars in British pound sterling. That's roughly over three hundred thousand if you don't know the math. The plan was to give this to your relatives if they proved stubborn about signing you over to Mister Corleone's custody." he pointed at the case, "You take that, I make a few calls and get the police off your back, then you can go on your merry way and Mister Corleone will set something up to keep the both of you comfortable until you come of age. After that, you'll never hear from us again."
"He can do that?" Harry asked nay above a whisper as he listened to Bianchi's Proposal in awe.
"He can do that." Peter assured him with a little smile as he gave a tired sigh, "Look. I read that journal of yours, and I can tell you right now that Vernon wasn't a good man. Hell, he wasn't a man at all, how could he when he treated you like dirt? But Mister Corleone? He always held his family in high regard."
Leaving the open case on the couch, Peter gestured to Enzo to stand, "If you don't want to live with him, that's your choice, but at the very least you could hear him out. Who knows? Maybe the offer he gives you will be better than the one I'm giving now." He patted Harry on the shoulder and turned to leave, "Think about it, we'll be out by our car."
-/ↀ\-
It was almost an hour later as the sun began to set below the trees before Harry walked out into the field looking for them. Peter, who had been leaning against the driver's door, reached inside and turned the blinkers on to gain his attention. A moment later after Harry had crossed the distances of the clearing, he stood before the Bianchis with his arms crossed.
"So?" Peter asked casually.
"I'll go. But only if Saul comes with me." Harry laid out his demand with no room to negotiate, glaring at them as if to challenge him for his request.
"Alright." Peter agreed, and Harry fidgeted where he stood, looking as though he wasn't as sure of himself as before.
"And we don't want our stuff to get stolen, either," He added after a brief pause.
"I'll have someone pick it all up. Anything else?" Harry shook his head.
"Then I guess it's settled, eh?" Peter reached over and offered his hand, signaling that they would settle the deal with the shaking of hands. Harry, looking upon his open palm with trepidation, yet reached forward with a brevity that he didn't feel fully confident in but pushed him forward, and the two clasped their hands together in agreement.
Though Harry could not see it on his face, Peter smiled within himself, as his gamble paid off. Never should it be made light the curiosity of a child, and the mystery of a man who would give away many hundred thousand dollars in hard cash on a whim, for another who could make whatever legal trouble they had stumbled into disappear with a simple word, was too much a temptation to leave unanswered.
-/ↀ\-
The elegant silhouettes of the cypress trees passed in the reflection of the dark-tented windows of the Quattroporte as it drove through the vineyards of the Sicilian countryside. It drove by the villages of peoples whose ancestors had settled there before the rule of the Roman Emperors. Hills that sheltered humble shepherds with their livestock and groves of orange trees that housed the sparrow and thrush were tended to by peasant farmers earning their day's wage.
All of this Harry looked upon with the curious awe of a stranger in a foreign land.
The journey from Surrey to London had gone without complaint or hazard. They had stayed at their room at the Savoy for the night and shuttled to the airport the next morning after breakfast, wasting no time in boarding a private plane Peter had called for in advance the day before with a man name Brimhorn who knew Michael to be ready at any moment for their parting.
Harry would be lying to say that the plane ride to Palermo had been anything but an exhilarating experience as he had sat next to the passenger window and looked down upon the rolling French countryside to the waters of the Mediterranean Sea. Never before had he looked down from such a height, yet found himself fearless, yearning to go back into the air again soon even as they departed the landing stripe at Giuseppe.
Unknown to the boys, the airport was a smaller but private facility on the outskirts of the city, so was easier to grease the palms of the directors to allow the boys into the country without passport. When they had made their way into the city, the Bianchis had ushered the boys to a high-end tailor's office to have them outfitted in clothing appropriate to meet their Don.
While Saul had grumbled the enter time decrying the need to be poked and prodded, Harry remained silent to let the men do their work in measuring him, promising custom-made wear in the future for them for the money placed in their hands. While it would take time for them to be outfitted with appropriate attire, redressed in new slacks with suspenders and white button shirts, and shoes that shined with new polish. As soon as they had finished, they were escorted back to the car and driven out of the city into the Southern hills.
It was around twenty minutes into the drive from Palermo when they came upon the village town of Corleone built upon a high slope. They were made to pass through the village looking out their windows to see the ancient trullos built along a road paved in stone. There the people went about their business with eyes that watched the dark corners with suspicion and unease, as though awaiting a time when danger might arise if left carelessly ignored.
Harry observed their faces with a foreboding question, wondering if he had made the right decision to come to this strange place. But his friend knew of his doubt and nudged him with reassurance, both boys sharing a look of conspiratorial mischief if the outcome of the meeting proved sour. After all, it had been their reliance upon each other for the last two years that had assured their survival. If they should find themselves thrust back into the wild alone, they would have each other to ease the burden.
The car lurched after rolling over a stone in the road, kicking up dirt as they passed into the borders of a private olive grove. The two boys looked at each other and forward, waiting with bated breath as the car drove forward toward the stone pillared entrance of their destination, and passed through the gates of Don Corleone's Villa.
-/ↀ\-
The two boys were the last to get out of the car as the Bianchis led them to the front door. They both looked up in wonder at the luxurious home, where its grand hedges and palm trees swayed in the gentle summer wind that gave respite to the noonday heat. Harry considered the men who had opened the gates, standing guard to the estate with guns swung over their shoulders. He marveled at the sight, wondering what kind of man Mister Corleone was to need such protection.
Peter stood before the door and rang the bell. A man, dressed in a black vest and a thin, parted mustache above his lips, addressed them at the door.
"Saluti, Signor Bianchi. Confido che la tua visita alle isole Britanniche sia stata produttiva?" The man spoke in thick Sicilian. Bianchi laughed in answer.
"È bello vederti, Filippo. Ti fidi correttamente. Eh, we had a bit of trouble, but as you can see, we were able to bring him along with us." He gestured to the two boys, the man looking down at them from his nose with haughty disinterest.
"Infatti? Ebbene, non dovremmo indugiare e far aspettare il padrone? Come. Come." He spoke to the boys as he turned into the house.
Saul leaned toward Peter, "Is that Mister Corleone?" He questioned.
"No, his name is Philip. He's a servant of this house and tends to Mister Corleone's needs when appropriate." He answered.
"He has a butler?" Saul whispered to Harry in astonishment.
Philip led the group into a cozy dining room with a polished wooden table and a fireplace against the wall. "Wait here." He ordered, leaving the room to inform his master of their arrival. Peter turned to the boys as well.
"You two stay out of trouble, I need to go in to speak with Mister Corleone for a bit." He stated, leaving them to be supervised by Enzo, who kept quiet as he glared at them as if to dare them to act foolishly.
It was a half hour later that Peter and Philip returned, the butler walking up to the boys to address them.
"Signor Corleone desidera incontrare Signor Potter da solo." Looking down at the two boys and discerning they did not understand by the disapproving look on the elder's face, he repeated in not-so-good English, "Signor Corleone wish to meet Signor Potter alone."
Saul was geared to protest but fell silent when Harry placed his hand on his shoulder, reassuring him that he was alright with talking to the man on his own. He nodded to the man that he was ready, so Philip bowed and led him away.
The elder led the younger down a hallway with many doors to one that had a grand double oak door with spiderwebs carved into its surface. Opening the doors wide, he brought Harry into what appeared to be a personal study, before addressing him once more.
"Signor Corleone see you soon. Stay here. Wait." Philip instructed with his broken English, closing the doors to the study behind him.
Now that he was alone, Harry let his shoulders relax as he began to look around. The office was fanciful in a way that his Uncle could have never dreamed. Shelves and glass bookcases were built into the very walls, displaying statues and trinkets alongside a pioneer stereo system and record player nestled between rows of novels. Polished wood paneling decorated the walls of the room, where frames of black and white family photos were huge. A large roman painting was displayed over the mantle of an ornate fireplace just behind the large oak desk in the deep center of the room atop a Richmond carpet, giving off a cozy, organic mood.
This was however muted only by the darkness of the room, as the shades only let in so much light that allowed the shadows to linger in the corners. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, as Harry felt a sense of foreboding that made him alert to the enclosed space he now found himself in. Silently he moved to the windows and drew the blind, finding them to be locked by a latch. Peering back to the door to assure himself he wasn't being watched, he unlatched the window and lifted it only a little, assuring it could be opened before closing it again and redrawing the blind to make it appear that nothing had been disturbed.
All of this was observed by Michael, sitting in the darkness, watching him in silence.
Michael sat in the darkness of the room, unmoving and silent as the grave, to consider the boy whom was descended from his brother. To one giving him a momentary glance, Harry Potter was not impressive to the eye, runty and weak in stature even compared to those his age. Yet Bianchi had made known to him that the boy had a nerve beyond his age and a willingness to kill in defense of himself and his friend. Even now the boy made it a point to make a way for his escape should the situation prove unfavorable, an action Michael found himself approving. All of this he considered and allowed himself to watch the boy in his element to determine what he might do on his own.
Even now he observed as Harry began to reason that when Michael revealed himself he would sit back into the ornate leather chair set behind the desk, both of which had been inherited from his father. It was a sensible reasoning, as he did favor the chair with the head of rams encrusted upon its armrests. But what amused Michael was the look of distaste on the boy's face as he looked upon the chair in front of the desk, which was made of simple wood, and provided little comfort.
This of course was by design, as the chair was reserved for those who required help from him. Singler, showcasing that there was room for only one request at a time, while its rigid design assured any illegal request was made swiftly by the party and lasted no longer than necessary. Harry, however, didn't seem content to endure the indignity to sit in it.
Harry glanced up at the glass liquor cabinet set between the fireplace and the window with an expression that seemed to hold a mild distaste at the sight. Choosing to ignore it for now, he looked for a place to sit, noting the dark-colored padded lounge chairs sit in a circle between end tables. Finding them more agreeable, He picked up the offending chair with a grunt and set it aside, then with effort pushed the closest lounge chair to the front of the desk and sat down to wait.
The amusement in Michael's eyes grew as he delayed to reveal himself, watching as the boy grew restless in waiting so began to fidget and tap his foot in expectation. Harry lightly tapped his finger against the table, noting the books and ledgers strewn about its surface between a desklamp and phone, as well as a picture frame that was faced away so who could not see whose face it held and a pitcher of what looked to be orange juice. Looking away he then noticed a glass case set against the wall below picture frames and found his curiosity steered, so he stood from the chair and made his way over to the case to look upon what lay inside.
Michael then decided it was time that he made his presence known as he stood from the darkness and made his way quietly across the room to stand behind Harry, looking down at him as the boy traced his finger against the glass that held the awards earned for his life of service.
"Elegant, isn't it?" He spoke, smiling as the boy jumped and looked up upon being addressed.
"I was just looking-!" Harry defended, fearing he had somehow angered the man by laying his hand on the glass. Michael assured him by raising his hand signaling him to be quiet.
"It's alright. I apologize if I startled you. I forget how one might take being snuck up on by an old miser such as myself." He looked down at the case that Harry had been peering into, "May I?"
Harry quieted and nodded his head, moving out of Michael's way as he stepped forward. He opened the case, and with a reverence for something that is Holy, held up the red and black ribbon for Harry to see,
"The Order of Saint Sebastian, bestowed upon me with the blessing of Pope Paul the Sixth." He explained, gently holding up the pearl-white cross that held the likeness of the Patron Saint in his palm, "The Vatican deems it appropriate to award the knighthood to rich soldiers who use their wealth for charity."
Harry looked up at the man in awe. Though he didn't consider himself religious in any way, he still marveled that he now stood before a man knighted by the Church, and wondered still how he could be related to such a man.
Michael placed the honor back into the case, then pointed down at two ornate medals, one a silver and gold star set on a ribbon of red, white, and blue, while the other a bronze cross pattée with a ship stamped upon its surface whose ribbon was navy blue and white.
"Service. That's what those others are for as well. Bravery in the Pacific Campaign." Michael pointed to Silver Star and Navy Cross.
"You were a soldier?" Harry had not taken his eyes away from the case, so it pleased Michael to know that the boy at least knew to pay attention when he spoke.
"In the war. The big one." Michael clarified as the child looked up at him with wide eyes. He gestured to the desk so that they may sit, so the boy followed him and sat down in the chair he had moved, and Michael took his seat as well.
"So," Michael began, tapping his fingers against the armrest, "I trust that your flight was pleasant?"
"It was alright," Harry answered shortly, giving away nothing. Michael smiled in approval, "We passed a village on the way here, Corleone. They named a town after you?"
"Actually it was the other way around. When my father immigrated to America he was an orphan who couldn't speak a word of English. The immigration office misread his tags and thought his name was 'Vito Corleone', so that was how he was registered." Michael explained, shrugging his shoulder as he leaned his head against his hand, drawing circles across his temple with his finger. He considered the boy and spoke again, "Mister Bianchi has informed me on a few things, many of which involve you. He says that meeting you was, shall we say… eventful."
Harry remained quiet, letting the man speak for him.
Michael continued on, "I made it a point to have my lawyers keep track of distant relations throughout the years. My brother, Sonny, died a long time again. His wife couldn't live with it, so she moved her family to the UK. She, along with her youngest son, her daughter, and her eldest, your grandfather."
He raised his hand in mock astonishment, "Imagine my surprise that, while there are plenty of documents to detail the life of your aunt, there wasn't much to speak of your mother," Michael noted that there was a look of conflicting emotion on the boy's face, seeming both relieved and disappointed hearing this, "Regardless, up to the age of eleven, your mother's file holds school records that shows a gifted young mind. Something your own school records do not seem to reflect."
"I'm not stupid." Harry defended, wondering now if, like his aunt and uncle, this new relative's only interest was to insult him. Michael nodded in agreement.
"I don't doubt that. I made it my job to familiarize myself with you before this meeting in any way I could. Your record for your first year of schooling shows the promise of intelligence, yet after there's a sharp decline in your performance. That doesn't come by accident."
Harry pierced his lips, relenting that Mr. Corleone had made a point that he couldn't defend by lying. "Life was easier that way." He muttered instead.
Michael's brow rose, "Your relatives… they preferred you stupid?"
"They didn't want me showing up their son." Harry growled with a semblance of disgust, and Michael imagined that based on the school records that the effort to 'avoid showing up his cousin' had barely been above having himself registered as mentally hindered.
Michael nodded along, rubbing circles as he thought. "And what would they do if you did?" He questioned, seeing that Harry tensed at it.
"I don't want to talk about them." He said evenly
"Yet they're gone now. You don't have to hide who you are, or worry about them making a misery of your life ever again. Because they can't, can they?" Michael questioned rhetorically, gazing at the boy as he guessed, "You know what happened to them, don't you?"
"I've already said I don't want to talk about it." Harry protested.
"Ah, but that's not what I asked, is it?" Michael smiled.
Harry fell silent once more, as Michael breathed from his nostrils.
"Let me tell you a story, about me and my father." Michael leaned back and began to wax on as he remainest upon history long past, "My father was a great man, a mafiusi, that is to say, a man of respect. Now he earned that because he didn't let anyone walk over him and push his buttons. And it was a principle that he tried to teach his children."
"Now when you refuse to let others dictate your life, fighting your way to the top to be the one to pull the strings, you make enemies. My father had many enemies, and they went so far as to try and kill him. And for what? Because they had come to my father and said, 'Mister Corleone, do business with us,' and he wouldn't because it went against his morals. For that, they shot him. Boom, right there in the middle of the street." Michael made the gesture of a gun being fired as he dramatized his story.
"I loved my father, and when I heard that I was scared and furious. I did everything to protect my father after that. Even earned this for my troubles." he tapped his left cheek, the misaligned angle of his jaw telling of a nasty injury sustained many years before, "But most important of all is that I made sure they couldn't get to him again. I found out the names of the men responsible and when I had them when they were most vulnerable I avenged my father. Because that's what family does."
"I told you that story for two reasons. One, because what your family did was wrong. More than that, it is a great insult to a Corleone, to not stand with one's family no matter what. What would we do with garbage like that? They're fucking dogs." As Michael said this his eyes shone alight with a hateful conviction that startled Harry, having never witnessed such disdain from an adult for the behavior of the Dursleys before.
Then Michael leaned it, as though to share some conspiratorial secret he did not wish to be overheard, "The second reason why I told you that story is because, from the moment I looked at you, the look in your eyes told me everything I needed to know. Because that look, it's the same look I had after I put three bullets into those bastards."
Michael leaned back into his chair once more, grinning at the look of started amazement on the boy's face. Harry seemed unsure what to do now, and Michael surmised that the child had not suspected that someone could guess his thoughts so perfectly, to divine the secret things of his soul. Harry looked into Michael's eyes, and it seemed to the elderly American that Harry was really looking at him for the first time. His eyes were piercing, and Michael thought with frightening clarity that they held a sharp coldness so similar to those who say each day in the mirror. How someone so young could hold such a look he did not know, yet hoped to have riled a confidence within the boy so that he might learn.
His hope would be rewarded, as after a moment, Harry looked away, seeming to have found in Michael's eyes what he had been searching for, and sighed. A weight unseen seemed to grow heavy upon his shoulders, and looking down at his hands, came to a decision.
"I guess it started when I met Saul…"
-/ↀ\-
And there it is, the final chapter of the preview. I will now be spending my time writing out chapters in bulk, so expect them to release more sporadically as I take the time to flesh them out. I will also be working on certain elements of the story already in place, the backstory of Carlos Rosario being the chief example. His character is more of a bookmark to what I want to do with him, so I'll probably be tweaking his backstory to make him a more rounded and unique character rather than simply a fantasy copy-and-paste of 'Pablo Escobar', so be on the lookout for that. I will be removing the 'PREVIEW' status from the story as to signify that I am now moving forward with this project, and I hope to hear from you then. Don't forget to READ AND REVIEW, I hope you've enjoyed my work so far. Toodles!