CHAPTER 16
Galen really hated the word 'surprise' and all its derivatives; in his short life, it was more often associated with bad things. So when his father told him Saturday morning, after breakfast, that they were going on a short trip to a surprise destination, his stomach tightened into a small knot.
Ottavio had been riding for quite some time, leaving the busy city traffic behind, but he still ignored Galen’s increasingly obvious questions about their destination and plans. The man’s only response was a mysterious smile each time his eyes met his son’s in the rearview mirror.
At some point, the scenery changed, and the empty vastness gave way to houses, their sides lined with trees, bushes, and flower beds. It must be a small town, but a newly established one, or something like that, Galen thought, because there’s no sign with its name and population.
The kid buzzed with a mix of impatience and excitement as he wondered when his father would pull over, and he felt a bit disappointed when the man kept driving, leaving the small town, village, or whatever it was behind. The boy grew worried when a wall-like thing appeared on the horizon.
The sight of the structure made unease coil in the pit of Galen’s stomach, a thousand thoughts roiling through his mind like a hive of mad bees.
The teen wondered what kind of beasts were behind the construction, which looked very tall and solid, and all the answers he could think of were equally unsettling.
A prison. A facility for the mentally ill.
An orphanage. The last image sent shivers down Galen’s spine, and he made a great effort to push the bad thoughts away.
Come on, the kid told himself. This is your papa, the man who would never abandon you and would do everything to keep you safe or rescue you if bad people ever took you away from him.
Lost in his own thoughts, Galen only realized the car had stopped when two men, as solid as a wall, approached.
After exchanging a few words with his father, they opened the large, heavy metal gates.
The engine purred back to life, and the car rolled through the gates, which closed behind it at a signal from the two men.
Ottavio pulled the car over in the parking lot about a hundred yards from the gates.
“We’ll walk from here, but it’s only a short distance to the building beyond that tall tree,” the man said, pointing ahead.
“On our way over there, you can ask me anything, and I promise to give complete, honest answers.”
“What’s this place?” Galen’s voice was slightly shaky as he asked. “The walls, the gates, the men outside… everything looks kind of scary.”
“Yes, it’s quite intimidating,” Ottavio nodded, a small smile on his face. “All you see is meant to keep bad people out—very bad people who harm children. This is The Base, a sanctuary for severely neglected and abused children of all ages.”
Galen’s eyes widened in surprise, and he let out a loud gasp. “Whoa, this is…” The boy couldn’t find the words to express the emotion he felt in that moment, so he left the sentence unfinished: “Are we here to meet some of these children?”
Ottavio shook his head. “Do you remember when I once told you about this big library, a magical place filled with thousands and thousands of books about everything mankind has invented, created, and learned, including every scientific discovery, research, and more?”
“You did it more than once.” The realization hit Galen, and he brought one hand to his mouth. “Wait, are you saying this place is here and we’re going there… right now?” The next second, the light in his eyes was replaced by disappointment. “Oh, but today is Saturday. The library is closed.”
“No, it’s not,” Ottavio offered his son one of the warm smiles reserved just for him. “They are waiting for us.”
“They, who?” Galen asked, frowning in confusion. “You said we’re not meeting the kids who live here.”
Ottavio ignored his son’s question. “Here we are,” he said, gesturing toward the building’s entrance. “Let’s get inside.”
“Here you are,” a red-haired young man in his mid-twenties with emerald-green eyes greeted them with a big, warm smile and hugged the boy. “I’m Martino, your uncle, happy to finally meet you. Hello, fratellone,” he said, flashing a cute grin at Ottavio.
“You are... Papa’s brother?” Galen extended a hand. “Galeazzo Sforza, the fourth of his name. Nice to meet you.”
“You are Ottavio’s son without a shadow of a doubt,” another young man, about Martino’s age and wearing glasses, said with a laugh, extending his hand toward the boy. “Baldassare Van Necker, your father’s cousin, which makes me your uncle.” He hesitated in front of the boy. “Can I hug you?”
“Baldassare, like the cool guy who helped me when my horrible relatives filed for custody?” Galen let out a loud gasp. “Of course, you can hug me. What would I have done without your messages of encouragement and great advice?” He threw himself into the man’s open arms.
“I’m not so cool, but here’s someone who fits the bill,” Baldassare smiled, gesturing to another man, a fragile blond with unruly curls and sky-blue eyes.
“Meet my beloved husband, Elyan, who did some serious digging into your evil relatives and those who helped them. He’s a hacker,” the man winked.
“Is my uncle kidding, or telling the truth?” Galen grabbed the blond’s hand and gave it a firm shake. “Are you really a hacker, like in the movies?”
“More like a computer tech who knows a few basic tricks,” Elyan answered, lowering his gaze. “I mean, I know a lot compared with the average person, but that doesn’t make me as cool as you think. Especially not when I’m in the same room as the coolest dude in all the lands.”
“My dear husband is talking about the Wisdom Keeper here,” Baldassare said, gesturing toward the man behind the counter.
“He’s everyone’s best friend, big brother, uncle, or dad—the librarian extraordinaire and protector of all who are in danger or need.
” The young man’s voice was thick with a mixture of affection and gratitude.
“How cool is that?” Galen said, extending a hand over the counter. “Galeazzo Sforza. Meeting you is a great honor, sir. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Brian Cavallieri, it's a pleasure to finally meet you,” the librarian said, taking the boy’s hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.
“I’ve heard many good things about you, and if it weren’t for your father’s high praise, I might have doubted it.
I’ve known Ottavio for over ten years, and he’s rarely full of compliments. ”
The other men in the reading room began speaking quietly, their conversation sprinkled with Sicilian dialect.
Even though Galen had begun studying the language under Ives’s guidance just a few days after he first arrived at the house, he still hadn’t mastered it enough to hold a coherent conversation.
From what he could tell, it was about Luca, his uncle Martino’s husband, who couldn’t join them because he was spending time with his father, Sergio, Duke Orsini, and the Duchess Dowager, his Nonna.
The two hadn’t seen their son and grandson in over a year, since the last vacation he had spent with the family in Sicily at Palazzo Orsini.
After a while, the men switched completely to their native language, but even if they hadn’t, Galen stopped paying attention to them altogether, busy examining the Wisdom Keeper.
He liked the man’s unique multicolored eyes and long hair; these characteristics matched the image the kid had of someone in charge of safeguarding an eight-century-old treasure of knowledge.
On the other hand, when he told Galen about the Wisdom Keeper, his father added that the man was fiercely protective of the weak and helpless, as his uncle Baldassare had said earlier.
In the thirteen-year-old boy’s imagination, a protector had to be muscular and strong, but the librarian’s leaner physique didn’t match the picture in his head.
Galen was a bit disappointed, but then he remembered something Poisoned Ivy, the triplet who was an expert in numerous combat styles and wielded many weapons, some of them rarely seen, once told him about the Shaolin monks.
Their posture was meek and humble, their bodies fragile, but when the situation required it, they became instruments of destruction, using the most unlikely objects to defeat their opponents.
The more Galen studied the Wisdom Keeper, the more he realized how wrong he was to be disappointed that the man wasn’t more solidly built. The man behind the counter emanated a quiet strength that made the kid feel safer than ever before, except when he was in his father’s presence.
And then there were the Wisdom Keeper’s eyes. At first, Galen didn’t pay them any mind, busy evaluating the librarian’s physical qualities. When he finally looked into them, he saw they were filled with a mix of kindness, understanding, and something else he couldn’t quite identify.
Frowning in concentration, Galen tried to put a name to the feeling overtaking him as he gazed into the Wisdom Keeper’s differently colored eyes. Finally, he succeeded: peace. An overwhelming sense of tranquility took hold of him, and all his worries and doubts vanished.
“So?” The Wisdom Keeper’s voice snapped the boy out of his thoughts. “Did you reach a conclusion?”
“Um... I beg your pardon?” Galen looked at the man, confused, then blushed a few seconds later. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
“No harm done,” the Wisdom Keeper said with a gentle smile. “You just confirmed that the Sforza blood runs through your veins.”
“What zio Brian means is that both your papa and your zio Martino were very cautious the first time they met him,” Baldassare grinned at his cousins. “Hells, sometimes the redhead hissed and growled at him like a furious cat, a super-angry one.”
“Wow!” Galen exclaimed, his eyes wide, covering his mouth with one hand. “Is it true, Uncle?” He turned to Martino.
“Yes, very true,” the red-haired man confirmed, shaking his head at the memories. “I was a real pain in the butt more often than not, and I wonder how poor Brian still has any patience left. I thought he used it all up with this troublemaker,” he said, pointing to himself.
“You weren’t so bad,” the Wisdom Keeper smiled paternally. “I didn’t think that way back then, but it’s all in the past now.” He turned to Galen. “That said, what do you think—would you like to be one of my disciples?”
“If you ever need help understanding the laws of war, I’m here,” Baldassare said with a grin. “I’m the absolute expert on them; you can ask anyone,” he added, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle on his shirt.
“Thank you, Uncle,” Galen nodded slightly, then turned to the Wisdom Keeper. “Is that true?”
“Yes,” the librarian confirmed, a paternal smile playing on his lips.
“I often fall asleep with my head on the book. In my defense, I’m a man of peace, and war or conflict doesn’t make sense to me.
” He locked eyes with the teen. “Back to my question, what do you think about me being your mentor in all things Mafia?”
Enthusiasm and excitement made Galen’s dark-brown eyes, so much like his father’s, shine brightly. “I’d really love that, Wisdom Keeper.”
“You may call me Uncle Brian.” The words came in a soft, warm voice.
“Yes, Uncle Brian.”