12. Gianni
Chapter 12
Gianni
As I stand at the precipice of the underworld, my breath catches, my pulse hammering as I take in the scene before me.
The gate looms tall and unyielding, a monument to the dominion of death itself. Its iron structure twists into intricate, unsettling patterns, dark and rusted as though it’s bled through time itself. Swirling vortexes pull my gaze inward, while jagged, dagger-like edges jolt it back, creating a dizzying tapestry that seems alive.
I know drawing closer would mean getting snared within it.
Impossible to scale. Inescapable. But then the gates suddenly opens and I walk straight into the Asphodel meadows
One step closer to Genoveva.
In the meadows, the hazy forms drift past me, their muted voices whispering secrets I cannot grasp. I walk right through them, focused only on the path ahead. Genoveva is here somewhere, her soul trapped in this endless twilight, and I will find her.
The path ahead stretches endlessly, a winding trail through a sea of restless souls. As I move deeper into their world, the spirits around me begin to take shape. Their features sharpen, becoming hauntingly familiar. I freeze, my breath catching in my throat as I recognize a face from my past.
"Salvatore," I growl without thinking, my fists clenching at my sides. The spirit of my old rival turns, his ghostly eyes locking onto mine. For a moment, I think he won’t remember.
And then, he says his own name. “Salvatore,” trying it on his lips. “Haven’t heard that in a while.”
It seems as though he’s remembering who he once was.
"Come to join us in eternal torment?" he asks at last, his voice echoing eerily.
I laugh, the sound harsh and bitter. "Not today. I've got unfinished business in the land of the living."
Salvatore's form flickers, his expression twisting with malice. "You always were too stubborn for your own good, Gianni. What makes you think you can challenge death itself?"
My lips curl into a predatory smile. "Love, Salvatore. Something you never understood."
I push past him. More faces emerge from the mist - enemies I've dispatched, rivals I've crushed. Each one a reminder of the blood on my hands. For a moment, I wonder where I’d be led to, on my day of reckoning.
And then, to my utmost surprise, a woman. Old and dreary, I look closer, feeling a pull, and then she comes back to me.
“Lola?”
She freezes and turns. She glides closer, expressionless, and a knot forms in my throat. No! This can’t be! It has to be a mistake.
She was anything but ordinary. She was my world.
She extends a thin, long, shadowy arm and like the olden times, caresses my cheek. She can’t seem to touch me though, her fingers running through. “Familiar,” she whispers, raspy to the ear.
“Yes, yes, Lola,” I cry out loud, reaching out to take her hand, but I can’t. “It’s me, Gianni.”
Lola's hollow eyes bore into mine, a flicker of recognition passing through her ghostly visage. Memories flood back, raw and painful, of a time long gone but never forgotten. She cared for me when I was a child, helping share my mother’s burden. She came as a nanny, but lived out her days with us, never having a family of her own. She sacrificed it all, she deserved heaven. Her presence here, in this desolate realm of lost souls, shakes me to my core.
"You shouldn't be here," Lola murmurs, her voice like a distant echo. "None of us should be here."
"Why are you here, Lola?" I demand, my voice tinged with desperation. "Where is Genoveva? Have you seen her?"
Lola's ethereal form wavers, her gaze unfocused as if peering beyond the veil of this existence. "She's not like us," she whispers cryptically. "Her soul is... different."
The urgency rises within me, fueled by a mixture of hope and fear. I grasp Lola's insubstantial shoulders, pleading for answers. "Tell me, Lola. Please. Where is she?"
“I do not know what I don’t,” she whispers hauntingly. “I cannot say what I do.”
And then, she drifts away. I chase after her but lose her soon in the sea of faces.
"You don't belong here, Montagna," a chorus of ghostly voices hisses. "Turn back while you still can."
“Where?” I scream into the crowd. “Where do I turn to?”
Before I get a response which I doubt I ever would, my gaze locks onto a familiar figure, and my blood turns to ice. The redhead - Paolo Greco's brother, the bastard who took Genoveva from me. His ghostly form shimmers in the gray mist, his hair still as red.
Rage explodes in my chest, white-hot and all-consuming. Without thinking, I charge forward, my fists swinging through the air. "You son of a bitch!" I roar, forgetting for a moment that he's nothing but a specter now.
My hands pass through his form, the chill of the underworld biting into my skin. The redhead's laughter echoes around me, mocking and cruel.
"Still as hotheaded as ever, eh, Gianni?" he taunts, his voice grating on my nerves. "You really think you can save her? Genoveva's soul is beyond your reach now."
“You belong in Tartarus!” I bellow, wanting nothing more than to drag him to the depth of hell.
“I made my choices, for the sake of family. That counts for something.”
I bare my teeth, my voice dropping to a low, menacing growl. "I'll tear this place apart if I have to. You think death will stop me from making you pay?"
The redhead glides towards me. "Oh, I'm counting on it. Your pride was always your weakness, Montagna. It'll be your downfall here, just like it was in life. You’ve come here seeking your wife? You’ll never succeed."
My hands clench at my sides, nails digging into my palms. "I swear on everything I hold sacred, I will destroy you. You took her, and I’ll take her back if it’s the last thing I do!"
"Big words from a man who couldn't even protect his woman," he sneers. "Face it, Gianni. You've lost. Genoveva is-"
I lunge forward again, my voice a primal roar of fury and anguish. "Don't you dare say her name!"
My hand flies to my waist, fingers wrapping around the cold steel of my gun. Logic be damned, I can't let this bastard mock me any longer. I draw the weapon in one fluid motion, muscle memory from years on the streets kicking in.
"Eat lead, you spectral piece of shit," I snarl, squeezing the trigger.
The gunshots echo through the Asphodel Meadows, a jarring sound in this realm of whispers and shadows. But the bullets pass harmlessly through the redhead's translucent form, disappearing into the gray mist beyond.
He throws his head back, echoing laughter ringing out. "Always resorting to violence. Some things never change, do they?"
With a final mocking grin, he vanishes, leaving me alone with my rage and frustration. I holster my gun, hands shaking. "Fuck!"
A flicker of movement catches my eye, and my heart nearly stops. There, just at the edge of my vision, is a familiar silhouette. Soft waves of dark hair, the graceful curve of a neck I've traced a thousand times.
"Genoveva?" I whisper, my voice cracking.
I spin, desperate to catch a full glimpse of her. But as I turn, the form dissipates like smoke in the wind.
The emptiness that follows is suffocating. I drop to my knees, the cold seeping into my bones. "Genoveva," I murmur, "where are you, amore mio?"
The Meadows offer no answer, only an endless expanse of gray nothingness. But I can still feel her, like a phantom limb. She's here, somewhere in this godforsaken place.
As I sit there, the air around me grows heavy, thick with tension. Whispers rise from the mist, a discordant chorus that sets my teeth on edge. I rise slowly, muscles taut, every instinct screaming danger.
"Who's there?" I growl, eyes darting left and right.
“Who treads here?” a dozen echoes come from all across, screeching, crying, wailing, angry.
The spirits are restless, agitated. I've disturbed their eternal slumber, and now they're circling like sharks scenting blood.
A chill creeps up my spine, ice-cold fingers of dread wrapping around my heart. The temperature plummets, my breath visible in short, sharp bursts.
"You don't belong here, living one," a voice hisses, so close I can almost feel lips brush my ear.
I whirl, but there's nothing. Just more shadows, more mist. "I'm not leaving without her," I snarl, fists clenched at my sides.
Spectral hands materialize from the gloom, dozens of them, grasping at my clothes, my skin. Each touch is like a knife of ice, stabbing deep into my core. I grit my teeth against the assault, fighting the urge to shiver.
The cold is relentless, sapping my strength with each passing moment. I think of Genoveva, of her lying in my bed, lazily running circles down my chest.
She had reached up, smoothing the lines on my forehead. "Remember that day on the playground? When those boys were picking on you?"
I turned towards her, took her in my arms. "You stood up for me."
How sweetly she nodded. "That's when I saw it. The way you looked at me... like I was your whole world."
She softened my heart. "You were. You are."
“To imagine,” she whispered, intertwining her hand in mine, “from then to now…”
“From friendship to life partners,” I smiled, gently squeezing her hand as my thoughts drifted to that fateful time. For years, we thought we could be just friends, until time proved otherwise. No matter how many women batted eyes at me, I only ever had eyes for me. No matter how many years passed by, I never sought another.
And neither did she.
And when I learned her father was in the mafia, and the time came for me to take my reign, it was only right that a proposal be made to solidify my power. Our families were overjoyed to see two powerful families unite as one to create the most powerful syndicate Rome has ever seen.
I think of her warm smile on that first day of school, of her fierce protection that blossomed into love. I can't fail her now.
"Get. Off. Me!" I roar, swinging wildly at the phantom limbs. My fists pass through empty air, but the action itself seems to push them back, if only for a moment.
I stumble forward, legs leaden, each step a battle against exhaustion and bone-deep cold. But I won't stop. I can't. Genoveva is waiting, and I made a vow. In life or in death, I will always find my way back to her.
Desperation claws at my insides as I fight against the relentless tide of spirits. My pride, my strength—they mean nothing here. But I won't go down without a fight.
"You want a piece of me?" I bellow, my voice rising to a defiant roar that echoes through the endless gray of the Meadows. "Come and get it, you spectral bastards!"
The spirits press closer, their whispers a haunting chorus. "Give up," they hiss. "Surrender to us, Raven. Your strength means nothing here."
"Like hell it doesn't," I snarl, breaking into a run. My feet pound against the misty ground, each step sending shockwaves through my body. I'm gasping for air, my lungs burning, but I push on.
The spirits pursue, their cold fingers brushing against my neck, my arms, my back. I shudder but don't slow down.
"Genoveva," I pant, her name a talisman against the darkness. "I'm coming for you, amore mio."
My heart thunders in my chest, drowning out the whispers that urge me to give in. I won't. I can't. The thought of failing her, of breaking my vow, is more terrifying than any specter in this godforsaken place.
I run on. Let them chase. Let them whisper. I am Gianni Montagna, and I will not abandon the woman I love.