Date: Sun, 07 Oct 2001 19:01:02 -0400 From: Tom Cup Subject: Kevin - Series Chapter 15 The Lion of Bolognia - Kevin Part 2 by Tom Cup Copyright 2000, 2001 by the Paratwa Partnership: A Colorado Corporation. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, except in the case of reviews, without written permission from the Paratwa Partnership, Inc, 354 Plateau Drive, Florissant, CO 80816 This is a fictional story involving youth/youth or adult/youth sexual relationships. If this type of material offends you, please do not read any further. This material is intended for mature adult audiences. Names, characters, locations and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. ************************************************************************ This story is part of the Tom Cup Library Please visit the member's area of the Tom Cup Library for Chapter 9 of The Lion of Bolognia (Kevin Chapter 23); Chapter 27 of "Calvin"; Chapter 12 of "Angel"; "David's Christmas Present" (Revised with new additions and chapters by Tom Cup); Chapters 6 of "A Place Called Home"; Chapter 2 of "In Memory of Steve". Also available Tommy -- The Return -- Chapter 2, "Stephen Miller's Journal" Chapter 1; "The Day My Life Began" and many more series and short stories! Once again, thank you for your support, and as always, your e-mail is much appreciated. ************************************************************************ To support this and other stories by Tom Cup, join the Tom Cup Library at: http://tomcup.iscool.net *********************************************************************** The Lion of Bolognia Chapter 1 Kevin Chapter 15 By Tom Cup To my father - who I never knew To my mother I hope you understand To the child - I'll always be To the man - I hope I am. "This is not an easy story to tell," stated Tony plainly, "I hardly know where to begin. I suppose with your great grandfather." ***** The sea salt permeated every fiber of Raphael Giovanni de Bologna's being. It was the smell and taste of freedom, and opportunity, for the fifteen year old from Bologna Italy. As was the dream of many in the early 1900's, so it was for Raphael: the dream of reaching America. To leave family, home and country, for the chance to join the huddled masses in the new world was a small sacrifice. Indeed, for Raphael it was a necessity. Being amongst artisans, had given him a love for beauty. Being poor, had given him the will to achieve at any cost. His will had cost him and his family dearly. He was in and out of trouble with the local officials and being caught attempting thievery in one of Bologna's wealthiest citizen's home had not help matters. What had made it worst was the stabbing of the man's son; who had caught him. His father knew nothing else to do but to ship the boy off to exile, in America, far from the hands of vendetta. For Raphael, it was the best possible end to a miserable existence. His head was full of ideas of the great man he would become. It was common for those of Bologna to think of themselves as somehow greater thinkers than the rest of Europe. After all, they possessed one of Europe's finest art collection and Europe's oldest University. For Raphael, it meant he was destined for great things. He would one day return home a man of such status that the King himself would bow to him. He swore to himself. His parent's would hold esteem in Florence, Milan, Genoa, and Venice; and be guests in the halls of Rome. This also he swore. Not that he had any particular use for the Pope; it simply delighted him to think of his reputation demanding that the Pope entertain his parents. He would, of course, never see his parents again. "You there! What do you think you're doing? Back to the galley with you!" But first he must get to America. His father only had enough money to beg that the captain's cook to take him on as an apprentice for the journey. And so, it was the washing of pots, peeling of potatoes, serving of meals and the like for him. The captain was a robust man and fond of savory food. There was none to be found aboard ship at the hands of his cook. The man had been hired in short order; when his predecessor was found in an ally, behind a bar, having lost all his worldly possessions along with his life. Raphael tried to help the man as best he could but the cook was short tempered and arrogant. The type of man Raphael would have bashed if given half the chance. As it turned out, he didn't need it. It was fourteen days into the journey and the captain had been grumbling about the meals for nearly a week. They had served roast beef with carrots and potatoes. The meat had been uneatable. The captain had come down to the galley and nearly beaten the cook to death; shoving and kicking him this way and that. It had been Raphael who had saved the man's life; and learned the value of collecting favors. "I owe you my life," the shaken man stated. Raphael grabbed the helpless man by the throat and began choking him. "Remember this Carlos," he jeered adding a bit more pressure, "One day I will collect on this debt. Should you refuse me, I will finish what the captain started." So shaken was Carlos by the brut strength of the fifteen year old, that for the rest of the voyage, he constantly asked if there was anything he could do for him. "Not yet," was always the reply, "I'll let you know." It was a simple clerical error, at the holding station on Ellis Island, which renamed Raphael of Bologna 'Raphael Bolognia.' It was his short temper in collecting on debts that gave him the nickname the Lion. His only son, and namesake whom they called Giovanni, inherited his love for learning, art, and collecting of debts. He built on these and by the time he was twenty-three was one of the most respected art collectors in the country. He also built on his father's temper and became one of the most feared man in his Philadelphia neighborhood: not to mention one of the wealthiest. Raphael was in his forty-first year when he took his eldest son, and several of his most trusted hands, to visit Carlos to collect the long outstanding debt. Carlos had done well for himself and now owned several butchery shops. They waited for all of the customers of the shop to leave before asking the teenaged boy at the counter were Carlos could be found. They were directed to a restaurant five blocks to the east. Arriving there, they found him sitting at a table eating lunch. "Do I know you?" "I have come to collect an old debt." Carlos had narrowed his eyes on them, and then opened them wide again, as recognition and memory flooded his mind. He did not then react as the Lion had expected. Instead, he laughed; mockingly shaking his head. "My young friend, how you've grown. But we are no longer aboard a ship; and I am no longer in fear of you." Ah," stated the Lion, "So you do not intend to pay your debt?" Carlos had sneered then and spit into the food he had been eating when the gang arrived. He was a protected man and had paid many years to ensure that protection; this, he made known to Raphael as he laughed. They would leave or he would be sure to make their presence known to his patron: Cossa. "You and all your kind will be dead before the morning! Now, get out!" Carlos roared. It was a time of violence: men fought for survival on every level; families fought other families for the right to claim territories; nations fought (or prepared to fight) one another. Violence was no secret to the Lion. They would have killed Carlos then and there; made a public display of him but the Lion was not an impetuous man. He would attend to other business first. And so they left, leaving Carlos feeling save and secure in his boasting. No one knows how they got to him, but by the morning Cossa and most of his chief lieutenants were dead. Sirens rang through the morning air as fire blazed the homes of a half dozen men. Carlos woke to the sirens and stared once more into the face of the Lion of Bolognia, shaking in his bed. He begged for his life of course. Gave him the deed and title to his shops and all the money he had on hand. The movement had been slight, like the shadow of trees in the moonlight, before the gunshot was fired. Had it not been for the slight movement of Carlos' eyes they would have all been caught by surprise. Giovanni had been fast and leaped grabbing the man by the hair; shielding himself with the man's body. The Lion fell. "Drop it!" Giovanni command, "Or I'll slit his throat!" The gun dropped from the hands of Carlos' thirteen-year-old son. Giovanni ordered the boy to kick the gun to him and he obeyed. As he bent to pick the gun up, the man yelled for the boy to run. Giovanni was quick, but the boy was quicker; spinning and disappearing as Giovanni slit Carlos' throat and fired a shot in the boy's direction. The Lion died in his own bed two nights later; making his son promise to find the boy and enact vendetta. "Let none of them live; for the family will then be forever in danger." Giovanni had sworn. ***** "I was three when my father swore to avenge the death of my grandfather. My brother was four. Marie had not been born yet." Tony told the boys. "Wait," interrupted Antonio, "I never knew you had a brother." "You would not know," stated Tony, "We do not speak of the things I am now telling you. Now, where was I? Oh, yes, I was three at the time. My father was kept out of sight for several years after this incident but continued to search for the boy. He did not find him for many years. In the meantime, his wealth and holdings grew to the point of comfort. He was respected, not only within the community, but by local and state officials; who knew nothing of his checkered past. He had become a successful businessman, art dealer and philanthropist. Those that knew him best, however, deemed him by the same nickname as his father before him: The Lion." ***** Giovanni loved wealth and prestige almost as much as he loved his family. His eldest son, Marco Giovanni was his pride and joy; and much like his father. His youngest son, Antonio Michaelangelo, was much like his mother. If there was any discord in the family, it was over Antonio. "If you continue to coddle the boy, he will grow to be soft in the loafers! He is ten years old and cares little for the things boys should. He spends far too much time with Marie. It must stop!" Julia did not argue. It was not her style. She listened patiently and allowed her husband to fume around their home until he came back to her calmly. It was true that Antonio was closer to his sister than to Marco but she felt it was only right. He was always one year behind Marco in his father's attentions but in Marie's eyes Antonio was the older brother, her protector, and her friend. When Marco was six, his father began taking him to the office with him; if he was away on business for more than a day, Marco went along: Antonio, he said, was just too young, moody and demanding when he was away from my mother. They decided together that perhaps he was suited for other things and so the pattern never changed. Antonio stayed at home with my mother while Marco spent most of his time with his father. ***** "Wait," Kevin now interrupted, "You mean your father didn't want you around?" "That's correct," answered Tony. "Is that why you felt so much for me?" "It is only part of the reason. Now before you bombard me with more questions, whose answers I promise will become clear to you, allow me to finish. As I was saying, my father suspected that I might have an affinity towards boys and wasn't pleased at all about it. It wasn't clear in my mind until I was fifteen or so." "Late bloomer, eh?" laughed Antonio and Kevin joined in. "You might say that. Things were different then. We didn't know what you kids today know. I didn't really figure it out until I met Alfredo and his younger brother." ***** Preparations were being made for Marie's twelfth birthday. Giovanni allowed Marie to invite some of her neighborhood friends; and he invited some of his close business associates and their families. Among these, was a new hire by the name of Franco; a single man with two boys: Alfredo; seventeen and Vincent; thirteen. Franco's wife had died trying to give birth to their third child; she and the child did not make it. Alfredo and Marco became fast friends, as did Antonio and Vincent. While the older boys spent time apprenticing with their father's, the younger boys were discovering they had other things in common. It had begun innocently as they skinny-dipped in a nearby pond. ***** "Finally," said Antonio, "We get to the good part." He and Kevin began to laugh; Tony sighed deeply and replied: "Vincent and I became lovers; it is true. We explored each other's bodies in fear and secret; knowing that, if either of our father's discovered what we were doing, we would be sent to live out our days as priest in a monastery. Our families would be thrown into disgrace. So, we loved secretly. It was not the burden of our secret that tore us apart, however. It was the revelation of a secret that Vincent held until Marie's sixteenth birthday. It was that year that all our troubles truly began." Please send comments to: tom_cup@hotmail.com