Well, this took far too long to finish writing. I think it's safe to say that I should be generally ignored when I give a schedule. After all, I'm the George R.R. Martin of fanfiction writers, in that it takes me 10 years to write a fucking chapter.

Happy Birthday to my father, who turns 65 today!

Sicily, 1990

The aroma of sausage simmering in olive oil filled Harry's nose as he turned the meat to obtain the desired brown crust he was looking for while he hummed along with the tune playing on the record player.

Mr. Corleone had not bought a record player since the 1960s, his vintage taste limiting his selection to pre-1972. Saul was horrified to learn this, not to mention the fact that the only thing that played on the radio was folksy Italian songs. However, Harry found that he preferred the softer tone of the older music to the harsh cords of modern rock, so the adjustment had not been difficult.

He had bickered over it with Saul when they had first moved in as his friend had taken offense at his slight against his favorite bands, but Harry had eventually won out as he came into his own sense of self-confidence. Often he could be found next to the stereo tapping his foot to voices ranging from Jackie Wilson to Roy Orbison while Saul complained to anyone who would listen that Harry was obsessed with 'grandpa' music. Harry smiled as the image came to mind, thinking back.

Three years living in Sicily had done wonders for the boy's physic. Gone was the scrawny seven-year-old who ate meager meals grudgingly provided to him. Now a month away from his tenth birthday, the region's rich food filled him out so that he now had a healthy amount of fat. Exposure to the Mediterranean sun brought out the natural olive tone to his skin that would have never come forward had he stayed in England. He was taller, but still short compared to most Anglo Saxons thanks to his Sicilian ancestry, which he spent little time thinking about as vice versa he was seen as above average to the other children who played in the local village.

Michael Corleone had proven to be a better guardian in that time. He made sure to provide for their needs, and while he didn't indulge them like Petunia would have done with Dudley, he didn't deny Harry as he had been under their roof. Still, Harry preferred to call him 'Mr. Corleone' rather than Uncle, as the title still held an unpleasant association in his mind. Thankfully Mr. Corleone didn't push the matter, neither was he nearly as strict as Vernon had been, but he did have standards set for Harry that he expected to be upheld.

He was patient yet firm that Harry was to be respectful of authority figures whether they deserved it or not, as such a thing could prove fatal in a country like Sicily. Better for someone to be impartial to one's self rather than an unnecessary enemy. He explained that there was a difference between courtesy and respect that few truly understood, so if he treated a harsh word with a smile and kind words in the presence of others, he would have the adoration of others for his manners while embarrassing the fool with no control over their tongue.

Image was everything, that was what Mr. Corleone believed. One must present themselves as respectable in conduct if one was to expect to be given any in kind. Harry had thought at first that the idea was dangerously similar to the Dursley belief, yet unlike his relatives, Mr. Corleone held an aura of grace and respect that went beyond an outward show and advertised an appearance that demanded respect.

Mr. Corleone also made it clear about his opinion on the boys' habit of excessive swearing. While he didn't condemn the practice itself, he instructed Harry to limit it in general conversation as its excessive use made him sound like, in Mr. Corleone's words, ghetto trash. While Harry didn't know what 'ghetto' meant, he frowned at the term all the same as it sounded like an insult, and didn't want to be associated with it. Mr. Corleone said nothing about them smoking but frowned upon it being done inside the house. Apparently, he had given it up years ago and didn't appreciate his house smelling like an ashtray to constantly remind him of his old habit.

Their time in Sicily was not spent idly, either. In the evening after lunch, Harry and Saul held an audience with tutors Mr. Corleone hired to teach them language, maths, and history. Mr. Corleone made it quite clear that he would not tolerate his nephew giving a subpar performance in his lessons purposefully. Harry was fine with this, having only thrown his previous education to keep the peace in his relative's house. Now he was free to reach his full potential unhindered and took to his tutors with gusto.

Every morning, except for Sundays when Mr. Corleone would usher the boys to the village cathedral to participate in the communion mass, Harry was led out to the garden to partake in another lesson in their family's history. Sometimes, Mr. Corleone would switch between English and Sicilian, testing Harry's ability to understand the local language. Harry would struggle with a word here and there, but Mr. Corleone always helped to work him through the pronunciation until he was satisfied that Harry understood.

In Sicily, they say that listening to the words of the elders is akin to hearing the voice of God. Harry wasn't sure if he believed in such things, but he held on to every word that Mr. Corleone imparted to him as a man kneeling at the Cathedral altar.

In this antique garden, Mr. Corleone told him stories of his youth and of Sicily, and he learned about the roots from which his mother's family was born. He told him how Sicily was a land that had been more cruelly raped than any in history. The Inquisition had tortured rich and poor alike. The landowning barons and the princes of the Catholic Church exercised absolute power over the shepherds and farmers. The police were the instruments of their power and so identified with them that to be called a policeman is the foulest insult one Sicilian can hurl at another.

Faced with the savagery of this absolute power, the suffering people learned never to betray their anger and their hatred for fear of being crushed. They learned never to make themselves vulnerable by uttering any sort of threat since giving such a warning ensured a quick reprisal. They learned that society was their enemy, so when they sought redress for their wrongs, they went to the rebel underground, the Mafia. Harry learned that the word "Mafia" had originally meant a place of refuge. Then it became the name for the secret organization that sprang up to fight against the rulers who had crushed the country and its people for centuries.

And the Mafia cemented its power by originating the law of silence, the omertà. In the countryside of Sicily, a stranger asking directions to the nearest town will not even receive the courtesy of an answer. And the greatest crime any member of the Mafia could commit would be to tell the police the name of the man who had just shot him or done him any kind of injury. Omertà became the religion of the people. A woman whose husband was murdered would not tell the police the name of her husband's murderer, not even of her child's murderer, or her daughter's rapist.

Justice had never been forthcoming from the authorities, so the people had always gone to the Robin Hood Mafia. And to some extent, the Mafia still fulfilled this role. People turned to their local capo-mafioso for help in every emergency. He was their social worker, their district captain ready with a basket of food and a job, their protector.

Only one thing was required. That you, yourself, proclaim your friendship. And then, no matter how poor or powerless the requester, a Don would take that man's troubles to his heart. He would let nothing stand in the way of a solution to that man's woe. To be shown respect was the reward he gained. Many a time the poor farmers presented some humble gift; a gallon of homemade wine or a basket of peppered taralles specially baked to grace his dinner table. But it was understood, it was mere good manners, to proclaim that you were in his debt and that he had the right to call upon you at any time to redeem your debt by some small service.

It was eye-opening for Harry to learn the true role of a Mafia Don, the kind of man Hollywood would have him believe to be evil. But Harry had seen true evil in the treatment he had received from his relatives, who had been considered model members of their community. It was a sobering lesson for someone his age to understand the nuance of what was considered to be good or evil and what lined up with reality, and the flexible nature of everything inbetween.

Despite his age, Harry embraced this lesson. He understood now that the world was not black and white, that sometimes one could expect better respect and decency from a stranger than one would receive from family. That such respect must be earned through hard work and devotion to the task, and once obtained must be defended fiercely. This worked to ease his consciousness, and as time went on it became harder to think about Surrey. His life at Number Four now seemed like a distant memory, and that suited Harry just fine. It was better to forget.

But such things were far from his mind now. Today was a Sunday, and they had returned from the cathedral to find that their tutor wouldn't be able to provide lessons for the day due to illness. Saul had immediately jumped on the opportunity and suggested to Harry that they should spend the day down at the harbor fishing for mackerel off the pier. Harry of course understood the implied meaning behind Saul's suggestion but decided to play along and began making them a lunch to take with them while Saul busied himself changing clothes.

Speaking of the devil, Harry heard a clammer coming down the stairs in the lobby of the house, and he knew that Saul was making his way down to the kitchen. Sure enough, the teenager stumbled his way into the kitchen, making a beeline for Harry to wrap his arm around his shoulder, his muscular biceps flexing notably.

"Hey, squirt! Makin' a mess down here? You know Philip will tan your ass if you make a mess in here." He joked, reaching down to pluck a meatball from the pan. popping it into his mouth before Harry could protest.

Harry rolled his eyes, brushing his hair down where Saul had ruffled it, "Keep breathing down my neck and I will make a mess. Then you'll be the one pulling mop duty, and that's if he doesn't knock your head in with the rolling pin." Saul pulled up his hands in surrender, laughing as Harry punched him on the arm.

Saul had grown quite a bit as well in the past three years, gaining an extra foot and a half in height, as well as bulking up which he took great pride in. He was often relaxed around the house, treating their stay in Sicily as a sort of vacation.

The same could not be said for Lorenzo Bianchi, who sat at the kitchen table reading the Giornale di Sicilia, the most popular newspaper in Sicily. His uptight mannerisms were complimented by the clear distaste he felt toward Saul even as he glared at him from over the pages, disapproval in his eyes.

Saul and Enzo had gotten into a major fight the day after they had arrived in Sicily. The fight had erupted because Saul wanted to show his displeasure with Enzo for pointing a gun at his head back in Surrey, and thought he could take the boy despite being twice his size. Surprisingly, he was half-right. Fists were thrown and egos bruised, until the fight ended in a draw with both boys walking away with wounds to lick.

Suffice it to say, their conflict wasn't resolved that day, nor had it improved in the years since. It could be said that, though the Berlin Wall had fallen, there was a cold war brewing in the middle of the Corleone Villa. The rivalry was made bitterly long due to Mr. Corleone insisting that the Bianchis stay in Sicily to help in matters he did not deem necessary for the boys to be concerned with. Because of this, Enzo was embittered by the upheaval of having to move to another continent while his academic pursuits took a hit in the shake-up.

Not that he didn't spend most of his time in Sicily studying, and Mr. Corleone had secured a spot for him in the Sapienza University of Rome. But he had been separated from friends and family, the life he had known, and while he knew that he shouldn't blame Harry or Saul for this, the resentment was still there. He knew he couldn't take it out on Harry, but Saul was free game for his contempt, and the feeling was mutual.

"Leave him alone, Thompson. We've got about a half hour to get down to the docks and he doesn't need you slowing him down." Enzo grumbled from behind his paper as Saul lazily looked over at him.

"Oh hey, Enzo. Did you swallow the one Philip rubbed out before or after kissing his ass?" Saul asked smartly.

Enzo made a face, "Good morning to you, too."

Snorting, Saul turned back to Harry, his eyes fixated on the sauce bubbling in the pan, "Needs a little more salt, Harry." He advised.

Harry blinked, taking a spoon out from the drawer to dip in the sauce to have a taste, swearing under his breath as he reached up into the cabinet. Saul smirked as he watched Harry dance around. "How long do you think it's gonna be? I wanna get out of here and dump ol limp dick as soon as possible."

Harry bit his lip, glancing at Enzo, "Actually Saul, he-" He started, only to be interrupted by the nineteen-year-old.

"I'm going to be coming down to the harbor with you.."

Saul spun around, "What? Why?!" he cried, surprised agitation clear in his voice.

Enzo shrugged his shoulders as he placed the newspaper down on the table, uncaring of the glare Saul was giving him, "Cry about it all you want, but Mr. Corleone requested that I keep an eye on you two-"

"Joy, Barney Fife to the rescue. Fuck me." Saul grumbled, which was promptly ignored by Enzo who continued to speak despite the interruption.

"-And I intend to honor that request, so you can forget about trying to bribe your way out of this. Mr. Corleone has done a lot to help my father and the least I can do is look out for his nephew, even if it means having to deal with your bull."

"Mr. Corloene's done so much for us, neh neh neh." Saul said in a high-pitched, mocking tone, making a face at what he considered to be a clear case of Enzo brown-nosing, "I'm sure your daddy impressed on you exactly what he wants to be done around here. Never seen anyone with as big of a hard-on for makin' their old man happy like you."

Enzo grimaced, leaning forward with his finger pointed at Saul's face, "What you put so colorfully is simply being smart. That stunt you pulled with that Muslim fisherman last week had the dockmaster in an uproar." He spoke with a growing heat in his voice, "You're a ward of this house and what you do reflects on Mr. Corleone. If you plan on going through life trying to put anyone who insults you into an early grave, you just might find yourself laying there in the dirt with them."

Saul rolled his eyes, "Thanks, Dad." He grumbled snidely.

"Don't antagonize him." Harry reprimanded.

Enzo turned to the smaller boy and smiled at him. "Thank you, Potter. At least you have some common sense. Besides, do you think I'm happy about this, either? It's not like I have anything better to do with my time than babysitting you."

Saul slammed his palm into the counter in frustration, startling Harry as the sixteen-year-old glared at Enzo in derision, "I'm sorry, but if I recall, that son of a bitch was pushin' Harry around tryin' to weasel some horseshit fee for a fishin' license he thought he could squeeze cause he assumed someone his age was too stupid to know you don't need a license to pull fish out of the fuckin' ocean."

Enzo raised a brow in question. "You think that's an excuse? You clearly over-reacted and know it."

"Debatable."

"You beat him over the head with a boat oar!"

Reminded of the incident, Saul couldn't help but smile humorously, "Bastard had it comin'."

Enzo lifted his finger as though he was about to lay into Saul, but found the mental strength to restrain himself long enough to stifle the urge to slug Saul in his smug mouth. As he waged his finger at the unrepentant teen, he turned and looked at Harry. "Right there is exactly what I'm talking about. That kind of reckless, dismissive 'I don't give a fuck' attitude is something we don't need." He turned back at Saul with narrowed eyes, "You're gonna get Potter into a world of trouble someday and I'm coming along to make sure that's no time soon."

"Aww, don't you trust me?" Saul's eyes sparkled while giving a fake pout.

"No."

"Oh, well, fuck you too," Saul said sarcastically, while Harry simply rolled his eyes. Such arguments were the status quo of living in the home of Michael Corleone.

Saul grumbled under his breath, and Harry looked up at him. The two shared a look, a glint in Saul's eyes telling Harry he wanted a way out of dealing with the nineteen-year-old buzzkill. While Harry's relationship wasn't as hostile, he wasn't too thrilled about the prospect of the older teen playing nursemaid for the whole day.

A look of mischief flashed in his eyes as an idea formed in his mind.

"The service today was a good one, don't you guys think? I do so love to hear Father Gaetano tell the story of David and Goliath." He said, seemingly unrelated to the conversation of the past ten minutes.

Enzo looked up with a brow raised. "The service was over the suffering of Job."

Harry blinked at him owlishly. "Was it?"

"You weren't paying attention, were you?" Enzo deadpanned.

To his credit, Harry was a good enough actor to blush in embarrassment, "Whoops. Well, I do love that story, though. You know the one, don't you, Saul? How David would respond when a lion came to snatch one of his lambs?" He asked, giving Saul a pointed look.

Saul smiled, the gears in his head formulating the devious scheme that he was sure Harry was cooking up. "Yeah. Yeah, I think that's a great story." He said, and the two boys went back to getting ready for their 'trip', all the while Enzo watched on, a deep frown on his lips.

-/ↀ\-

The three boys padded their way through the Sicilian countryside partaking in the early summer heat, wiping away the sweat that built up beneath the rim of their hats. They were making their way toward the village of Corleone, which sat on a low mountain overlooking the bay that attracted fish from the Tyrrhenian Sea, carrying poles and tackle boxes.

Being close to the coast held its benefits, as the smoldering sun was made tolerable by the ocean breeze coming off the Mediterranean that otherwise could not penetrate the interior of the island.

The road would have proven faster, paving through the rolling hills and skeletal ruins of ancient Roman homes, which now served as residences for sheep. Yet Harry and Saul insisted on traveling between the orchards and olive groves as a personal enjoyment of the ancient land. Enzo knew that sentimental line was a load of horseshit, but played along if only to unravel whatever game they were playing.

After about a half hour of walking, they climbed over a hill that sloped down into a little valley green with grass. Rocks that fell upon the others as though they had been tossed there by giants piled up on a hillock covered in shrubbery, crowned by a mausoleum whose eroded stone gleamed in the sun.

Harry tore the Brixton flat cap from the crown of his head to wipe the sweat from his brow, observing the sheep that grazed among the rocks. Saul only gave the scene a momentary glance before navigating his way down the hill toward the grassland, Enzo following close behind.

As they neared the weathered ruin, Saul began fidgeting in his step as he moved ahead, setting Enzo on alert as he reached out and grabbed him by the arm.

"Where do you think you're going?" He asked accusingly.

Saul looked down at Enzo's hand grasping him with an annoyed sneer, "Gotta take a leak." He growled, trying to pull away.

Only Enzo held on tighter, looking at him evenly, "Not out of my sight." He ordered, much to Saul's outrage.

"What? You want me to whip it out right here for you and God to see?"

"You can turn around if you have to go that bad."

"Ah come on, man, there are shepherds crawling around out here, I don't want them starin' at my dick. Look, I'll only be around the corner. See?" He pointed over to a pillar of rocks that rose up toward the weathered stone of the mausoleum. He turned back to Enzo, crossing his finger of his heart and raising it in the air as if to take an oath, "Ya have my honor as an Irishman."

It was clear that Enzo was warring the options on his mind given the pinched look in his eyes. He obviously didn't trust Saul enough to give him any leeway, but at the same time, he couldn't deny the fact that they were traveling through open grazing grounds. It wasn't uncommon for a traveler to get on the bad side of the grizzled old men that tended to their flocks, and it probably wouldn't be a good idea to offend a conservative Catholic shepherd with a slung rifle over their shoulder with indecent exposure.

Though he didn't like it, Enzo decided it was better to deal with whatever the younger teen might pull. "Off you go, then." He said grudgingly, snorting as Saul ripped his arm from his loosened grasp.

"I'll go with him." Harry moved forward but was stopped by Enzo's hand on his chest.

"You can stay right here where I can see you." He said firmly, "I wanna talk to you."

Harry swallowed. Saul would need at least five minutes, so for the sake of time Harry put on a forced smile as he humored the young man. "What do you want to talk about, then?"

"I think you can start with exactly how you two are planning to ditch me."

"What are you talking about? It's exactly as Saul said, we wanna get there while the fishing is still, you know." He said fawning in annoyance at being delayed, which wasn't hard as he was annoyed with Enzo tagging along.

"Cut the bullshit, I get enough of it from him" Enzo huffed, "Why the hell do you even stand up for that idiot? I wasn't talking out of my ass when I said he'd get you in trouble. Mark my words; he's a loose cannon who's gonna pick a fight with the wrong person someday."

Harry frowned, "You don't know him like I do. You'd probably get along fine if you'd stop riding his arse."

"Listen, kid. He's obviously done right by you, and that makes you feel like you owe him something, I get that." Enzo nodded his head out of respect for Harry's sense of loyalty. "But you need to step up if you want to make it here. If I'm riding anyone's ass it's because Mr. Corleone has asked me to. You know he's got plans for you. I hear my father talking about it all the time."

Harry turned away to hide the look of anger on his face, as he did in fact know this. People did not do charitable things for free, a lesson he learned all too well under the Dursley roof. He wasn't a fool, he'd known that Mr. Corleone wanted something from him from the first meeting in his study three years ago.

Being reminded of it stung him, though. Harry had grown accustomed to the idea that people acted charitable out of self-interest, and family was no exception. It would be remiss for him not to admit that Mr. Corleone's charity was far more sincere than the Dursleys had ever given. But he had hoped that he might one day have family that cared out of a sense of genuine care. Ever since that day in Mr. Corloene's study, he had known he would spend a long time waiting, but again, he had to accept it was the best he could hope for now.

The crack of a rifle echoed through the valley, startling them both. Enzo's head looked from one side to the other, alert as if expecting some attack. Harry was alert as well but for a different reason. Spotting Saul charging down the hill from the mausoleum with a bundle held tightly against his breast, Harry smiled before bolting away from Enzo.

The young man immediately took notice and went to grab him, but stopped when he heard the heavy footsteps drawing nearer. He turned back around, just in time to witness Saul throwing the bundle at him.

"What the fu-?"

"Catch!" Saul cried, dashing passed him as he fumbled to grab hold of the thing thrust into his hands. Enzo was left confused by the turn of events and was about to give chase when the thing Saul threw at him began to squirm. The bundle turned out to be a lamb, bleating in his arms.

Before he could think of putting the little creature down, a gunshot rang out snapping his attention away up toward the hill where the angry grizzled face of a shepherd stood pointing the barrel of a rifle down at him, screaming at him in Italian. The man marched down the hill at him, the only thing saving Enzo from catching a bullet being the lamb still held in his arms.

"Ladro! Ladro!" The shepherd growled, pointing the rifle in his face.

"God damn it!" Enzo hissed under his breath, nodding along to the angry shepherd's screams, glaring after the boys who ran through the hills and disappeared over the horizon.

-/ↀ\-

Harry and Saul laughed themselves silly for their prank as they stepped back on the road to Corleone. It was a little after two in the afternoon giving them plenty of time to make it to their randevu with a Muslim merchantman by the name of Muhammad Karim. Behind them, a jeep filled with soldiers barreled down the road toward them, kicking up dirt along the way.

The boys stepped off the road to allow the jeep to pass, keeping neutral expressions on their faces as the soldiers drove by. Mr. Corleone had warned them of the dangers the Carabinieri presented. Officially, they were the law enforcement arm of the Italian military, which acted on foreign and domestic policing duties. Unofficially, they were the government's tool to bully the peasantry, corrupt to the bone.

Mr. Corloene had warned them about the Carabinieri, and to never speak to them under any circumstance. It is sometimes said that the police are not your friend, but in Sicily, they were the enemy. This warning was easily taken to heart by the boys, who looked up at the policemen respectfully to conceal the contempt in their hearts as the jeep kicked dirt up into their eyes. Coughing, they rubbed away the sting as they continued on into the village of Corleone to convene in the shop of Dilshad Karim.

No one in the village of Corleone knew who Karim was outside of the unassuming owner of the Wakur Alkunuz Almatluba, nor where he had come from. One thing was certain, and that was that anything could be found in his store for a price, from a rare Topps baseball card to a set of authentic medieval armor, or, if one desired such things, a brand new 7mm Remington Magnum that hung on a lock in the rafters. One did not have to worry that some obscure item of desire would be out of the merchant's reach to provide, for he would always pull through to satisfy his customers.

They met with the man regularly, a secret that the brown-nosing Lorenzo Bianchi had almost unraveled. Here they turned their talent for tinkering into profit, taking broken items they found discarded home to fix in exchange for a bottle of hooch or a dirty magazine, or cold hard cash.

Karim held no scruples giving such items to the teens, as it was his policy not to let questions get in the way of a transaction. He only required that, if you were caught with something you were not supposed to have, then simply forgot the name of Karim so that it did not fall from your lips into the ears of the Carabinieri. It was a simple rule that, if broken, meant that you never did business in his shop again.

Harry and Saul understood this as a simple rule as they entered the backstreet that led to the back entrance to the shop. The interior was dark, relying on the natural light from the storefront window as many businesses had to in the poor village. As they made their way through the shelves of various antiques and trinkets, the owner of the store called out to them.

"There are my two favorite boys!" The man said fondly, clapping his hands together with excitement, "What have you brought for me today, eh?"

Karim was what one might say to be a handsome man entering the early stages of being middle-aged. Crow's feet had begun to form behind his eyes, but it did little to decrease the intense smile that formed beneath his well-manicured mustache. He wiped a stain of black shoe polish onto his apron that hugged tightly to his lean body before scratching at his forehead beneath the Sinhi cap he wore.

"Enough to earn our rate, I guarantee!" Saul exclaimed, setting his tackle box down and reaching in to pull out a handful of items he had hidden within.

A portable radio that had been Frankensteined from various broken sets he had found amongst junkpiles. He switched it on, playing with the dials, and smiled when he heard the clear morning news report.

"Exellent, excellent! And what about you, hmm? What do you have to show?" Karim asked with all the excitement and curiosity of a small child.

Harry smiled as he reached into the bottom of his tackle box and removed a long ornate wooden box made of elm. Harry slide it forward, allowing the Muslim man to inspect the box himself. The surface was polished and gleamed in the light, showing off a painted motif of a forest clearing through a reef of autumn leaves. Karim undid the clasp, which was a carved engraving of a stag.

Opening the lid, his eyes lit up in delight as two figurines of a stag and doe danced around on a platform painted to look like the forest floor to a hauntingly beautiful tune. The soft melody that played was a rendition of 'Mi votu e mi rivotu suspirannu', a local song that roughly translated as 'I Turn and Turn Sighing'.

"Ah, now this is special." Karim praised, examining the carvings of the music box. A peered over the rim of his glasses at the boy, a flicker of questioning sparkling within his black eyes as he asked simply, "Why the stag?"

Harry looked up at the man curiously. He hadn't actually thought about it when he had taken the knife to the wood. He had simply allowed himself to become absorbed in the work, allowing his hands to guide his work. Only now did he really take a moment to look at the proud features of the king of the forest, the antler crown adorning his brow circling like a halo.

"It felt right, I suppose."

Karim nodded, accepting this, "You have a gift, young man, do you understand this?"

Harry blushed and looked away, unaccustomed to being complimented on his skill even after years away from the Dursleys. He knew well that it was no easy task making the music box, having found the inner mechanism old and broken tossed out with the rest of the trash. He had taken it back to the villa and taken it apart, reassembling the pieces over a period of time when he found the appropriate replacement parts, whether they were scavenged around the house or had been requested from Karim himself.

The case itself had been his idea, however, as the original porcelain had shattered long ago. He hadn't expected the man to guess that it was he who had carved away and painted the wood and polished it until it gleamed in the light and frankly felt a little embarrassed by the attention.

Karim seemed to notice this as he added, "Always take pride in your own accomplishments, young man. Even when others won't." Karim chuckled at the shy display, reaching under the counter to grab a few items he began placing in front of them.

"As agreed. A brand new Gilbert quanco, two packs of Nazionali's…" He said as he stacked the items on top of each other, frowning with displeasure at the final item, "...and the latest issue of Cronaca D'Italia."

"Hand that here." Saul called, gleefully ripping the porno mag out of the shopowner's offered hand, "Ah yeah, those are some grade-A tits they've put front and center."

"A young man like yourself shouldn't waste time on rag pieces like that." Karim chided in disapproval.

"Would it make you feel any better if I told you I read them for the Hollywood interviews?" Saul asked cheekily, which earned a roll of the eyes from both Harry and Karim.

"Just remember you didn't get it from me," Karim grumbled, unable to help the amused smirk that came over his lips. "I'll see you boys again in a month, yes?"

"You can count on it!" Harry chirped, stuffing their earning into the bottom of their tackle box to hide them from view while Saul tossed the rugby ball into the air playfully. The boys waved Karim a warm goodbye as they exited from the front of the store into the Mediterranean heat, just in case anyone had seen them enter the back.

They took a turn in the stone-paved street toward the heart of the village, hoping to make it down to the harbor before their unwanted tagalong found his way out of the little prank they had pulled on him. It was unfortunate then to note that they only made it to the next corner before they were grabbed from behind by a very unhappy-looking Enzo.

"Honor of an Irishman, eh?" Enzo growled accusingly.

"What? Didn't ya know an Irishman's honor costs a bottle of hard liquor?" Saul said being a smartass, earning a hard slap to the back of the head. "Ow!"

The commotion provided entertainment to the elderly bystanders who watched on as Enzo frogmarched the boys down the street. Some openly laughed at their expense, while others shook their head at the antics of youth. And one young woman, who sat in the shade of a local café, followed Harry with interested eyes over the brim of her teacup.

-/ↀ\-

Enzo escorted the boys out of the village with the intention of scolding them the entire way back to the house. They were lucky that Mr. Corleone had a vested interest in their well-being, as otherwise he would have throttled them and left them in a gutter.

Enzo directed them onto the road, daring them with his eyes to even suggest going through the country once more. Fortunately for both boys neither rose to the bait, smirking to each other in silence as Enzo ranted at them.

As they made a turn on the road they came upon a house with a creek-stone wall around the yard where chickens pecked at the ground. It was a humble hovel, so Roman in its structure that it looked like the ruins that were scattered across the island. None of the boys paid it any mind though as they neared the property, neither did they give it a second glance as they passed the old stones. No doubt it was owned by some old widow whose husband died in a vendetta long ago.

However, as they continued on the way, the voice of the old widow who owned such a house called out from the porch step, "Isabella! Isabella!" She crowed in a raspy voice that sounded more like the growl of a dog.

"Sto arrivando, nonna!" A musical voice called back that drew Saul's curious attention, so much so that he dared ignore Enzo's angry words to chance a second look back. Enzo and Harry made it three steps ahead before realizing they had lost their third companion, turning to glance at Saul whose feet were locked in place with his eyes transfixed on what was walking amongst the hens.

Traversing up a slope that dipped below the foundation of the house, a girl climbed carrying a basket overflowing with grapes so lush and richly purple that they were almost black. She was dressed in a cheap gaily printed frock that clung to her young body. Though she was only a teenager, her body was as shapely as a grown woman's with sun-drenched flesh that swayed with every step. Oval-shaped eyes as dark as the grapes she carried glanced in their direction under heavy lashes, catching her by surprise.

She stood there as a deer in the headlights, biting full lips as red as the carnations growing in the fields in a nervous display of uncertainty. A breeze picked up and ruffled her onyx locks across her eyes, carrying the scent of orange and lemon blossoms that Saul could smell as clearly as if he were standing in the orchards. She lifted a delicate hand to brush her hair behind her ear, the skin a rich creamy brown, and her eyes that held an innocence to them locked with his.

The old spinster called the girl's name once more, and it was as though it acted as a spoken magic spell that broke her from her trance. Her eyes widened, showing off their enormous and attractive green not unlike the color of olives, and she whirled away from them and fled toward the house, turning only to check if they had tried to pursue her before she closed the door.

Only when the door closed did Saul release the breath he didn't know he was holding. His heart was racing, his head felt dizzy. Blood rushed throughout his body from his toes and fingers to his extremities. The breeze picked up once more and carried all the perfumes of the island, enchanting him once more with the scent of orange, lemon blossoms, and lush grapes.

On a clear blue-skied day in Sicily, Saul Thompson was struck by a bolt of lightning.

-/ↀ\-

I hope you enjoyed the newest installment! I look forward to reading your review :)

Shoutout to my friend AlexWoundedSide, who I helped post his reviews. I'm happy that you enjoyed listening to my story so far!