Changing Times

"Nothing is more deceptive than changing time."

It was late evening. The sun had nearly vanished beyond the horizon. Cold air mixed with the lingering smoke in the dimly lit room. Vikram sat on the sofa, his gaze fixed on a painting hanging on the wall. The artwork struck him as morbid—a skeleton being devoured by a faceless man whose hands resembled a wolf's paws. He took a slow sip of his coffee, then another drag from his cigar.

The door creaked open slightly, and Mr. Massino stepped inside. His eyes landed on Vikram.

"What are you looking at?" he asked lightly.

Vikram, engrossed in the painting, was momentarily startled. He turned to Massino with a small smile.

"Nothing. Just this painting. It's strange. I've been staring at it for half an hour, but I still can't figure out what the artist was trying to convey."

Massino followed his gaze to the painting. "That one? It was a gift from my father. He painted it himself—along with all the others in this room. He had a habit of painting, though I doubt many understood his work." He paused. "This particular piece represents the corruption of mankind. The skeleton symbolizes human values—love, respect, trust, and conscience. The creature devouring it? That's the corrupt man, the one who abandons his humanity and becomes a beast." He exhaled slowly. "In its own way, it's a brilliant painting."

Vikram nodded. "Your father was an ingenious man."

Massino smirked. "Ingenious? No. Quixotic? Definitely."

"You don't seem to have a high opinion of him."

"Maybe it runs in the family. I never liked my father. My son doesn't like me."

"That's not true. He loves and respects you."

Massino scoffed. "Does he? He left for a foreign country on the advice of a stranger. I don't see much respect in that."

"He made the right choice. Staying here would have been dangerous for him. I don't trust Mr. Valentina or his daughter."

"And yet, you're insisting he marry Anabelle."

"It's the smartest move right now. Valentina is dying, and I don't want someone else profiting from his downfall. If Sonny weds Anabelle, no one can challenge your rise. You'll be the most powerful man in Italy. After that, I'll take care of Rico once and for all."

"So, in the end, this is all for your victory," Massino muttered.

"Ours," Vikram corrected. "If I rise, you rise too. I don't abandon my allies."

"Yet you don't seem much like a friend to me."

Vikram exhaled sharply, got up from the sofa, and walked to the bar. "What do you want me to say?" he asked, irritated.

Massino's voice was tight. "I want respect from my own men. Coppola, Demmola, Calel—even my own son—they don't take my words seriously. Everyone waits for your command. 'VPS this, VPS that.' I'm sick of being a prisoner to you."

Vikram turned to face him. "A prisoner? I gave you power, money, an army at your back. You should be thanking me."

Massino's laugh was bitter. "Did you give it to me alone? Shinzo and Farooque are just as much your beneficiaries, yet they command you rather than taking orders. Farooque can marry whoever he wants and still have your full support. Shinzo barely stays by your side, yet he's your most loyal man. I've given more than both of them combined, but I have no say in my own son's future?"

"Fine," Vikram said, arms crossed. "Who do you want Sonny to marry?"

"I don't know. But not Anabelle."

"Then who?"

"I told you—I don't know."

"That's your problem, Mr. Massino. You don't think ahead. Anabelle is the key to Valentina's fortune. Men are lining up to marry her. Rico and Dempsey are just waiting for an opportunity. And here I am, offering her to you on a silver platter, yet you are being arrogant."

Massino clenched his jaw. "Arrogance is what I have. I spent my youth being treated like a fool by my father. Then Valentina stripped me of everything I had left. I spent years fighting to reclaim what was mine. And now, even after clawing my way back, people call me your dog. They say I don't even take a shit without your permission."

Vikram's tone remained even. "I'm not responsible for their mockery."

"Then who is?"

"No one. People mock others when they can't match them. Do you think Valentina doesn't hear insults? Or that I don't hear people calling me names? Learn to rise above it. Let them bark. Success is the only answer."

Massino shook his head. "Your situation is different. You're VPS. You're untouchable. The men who mock you wouldn't dare lay a finger on you. But me? I deal with gangs every day. And one day, my son will have to do the same. The people in those meetings don't see me as a leader—they see me as your pawn, incapable of making a single decision on my own."

Vikram sighed. "What do you want me to say?"

Massino stared at the floor for a moment. "I don't know. I want something that can't be given or taken—only earned." His voice dropped. "For years, I wanted to march into Valentina's house and put a bullet in him for every torment he inflicted on me. But by the time I had the power, he had already become a sick, pitiful old man."

Vikram studied him. "Do you still want him dead?"

Massino exhaled. "It doesn't matter. He's already half in the grave. I have no interest in pushing him the rest of the way. He has no son for me to take revenge on. And I'm far too old to take out my anger on his daughter."

Vikram took another sip of coffee, his expression unreadable. "Where's Coppola?"

"Sick. Demmola is at his sister's wedding. Calel is in Pakistan. Sonny is presumably in India. Looks like it's just us."

"Good," Vikram murmured, setting down his cup. "Because we're going to visit Valentina."

Massino frowned.

Mr. Valentina, Mr. Massino, and Vikram sat in Mr. Valentina's room.

"I heard you're getting better, Mr. Valentina," Vikram said.

"You heard wrong, Mr. VPS," Valentina replied with a weak smile. "My time is running out, and no one can change that. My only concern now is Anabelle's happiness. Your decision to marry her to Sonny has put my mind at ease."

"So, you approve of the marriage?" Vikram asked, his tone unreadable.

"Why wouldn't I? It's a wonderful proposal. Anabelle will be happy in Mr. Massino's home."

"Well, at least one father seems satisfied," Vikram remarked, glancing at Massino with a smirk.

"My happiness doesn't seem to matter," Massino scoffed.

"Why not?" Valentina questioned, his gaze sharp.

"Don't play ignorant, Antony. You know exactly why I have my reservations. If you were in my position, you'd feel the same," Massino said coldly.

"I won't completely disagree with you," Valentina admitted. "But let's not forget—we signed a contract. You drafted the terms, and I accepted them without hesitation."

Vikram frowned. "What contract?"

"Nothing too dramatic," Valentina said. "Just a little document for assurance. But contracts are just words on paper. People bend rules, and trust is a different matter altogether."

"I still don't trust you," Massino cut in.

"What do you want me to do to earn it?" Valentina asked, his voice laced with exhaustion.

Silence filled the room. Then Massino spoke, his words carrying a chilling weight.

"Kill your brothers. Giuseppe and Simone. I know they oppose this marriage, and one of them has already tried to harm your daughter—twice. If you truly want my trust, I need to see both of them dead."

Valentina turned to Vikram, who pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"My brothers are not commodities I can trade," Valentina said, his voice firm. "They have families, responsibilities. And what legacy would I leave behind if I murdered my own blood? It would bring shame to all of us—including you, Mr. VPS."

"I don't care," Massino said flatly. "I want every potential threat from your family eliminated. I'm an old man, and I won't risk Sonny's future."

"So, you're asking me to wipe out my own lineage?" Valentina grunted, his patience wearing thin.

Sensing the rising tension, Vikram stepped in. "No one has to die. There's a better way to resolve this."

Massino scoffed. "And what might that be?"

"Sonny and Anabelle won't stay in Italy," Vikram explained. "After their wedding, they'll move to India and settle there. I need someone trustworthy to handle things there, and Sonny is already learning the ropes. Anabelle will have her own opportunities. Keeping them away from Italy will ease tensions between the families. After Mr. Valentina's passing, they can return."

Valentina nodded. "That sounds reasonable to me."

Massino remained silent, his jaw clenched.

"I need time to consider it," he finally said, his voice tight.

Vikram rose and made his way to the door.

"Where are you going?" Massino asked.

"You two are about to become in-laws. Have a private discussion," Vikram said with a smirk, waving them off as he stepped out.

Mr. Massino and Mr. Valentina stared at each other in silence. After a moment, Massino scoffed.

"Just tell me—why are you so eager to marry your daughter to my son?"

Antony exhaled, gripping his cane as he stood. "I'm dying, Frederick. All I want is to see my daughter happy. She loves Sonny, and he loves her. I see no reason to stand in their way."

"But I am your enemy."

Antony smiled faintly. He stepped forward and embraced Massino. "And I regret that. We could have been great friends—but fate had other plans. Your father and I had a scuffle, and before I knew what I was doing, I shot him. Three times. I don't know what came over me, but after that, I took his place. You were young, and so was I. Before I could reach out, the rift between us had already grown too wide."

He sighed. "You were never easy to convince, but I tried to help you. Your father never trusted you. He wanted you expelled from Italy, but I defended you. Even on the day of the incident, I argued for you. But we cannot change the past, no matter how much we wish to. So why not put an end to this enmity—through a marriage between our families?"

Massino's eyes darkened. "Easy for you to say. You've lived in luxury, exploiting the wealth that was rightfully mine. And now, you talk of peace because you're a father seeking redemption. Fine, I'll agree to the marriage. But I want something in return. Call it a dowry."

Antony's expression remained unreadable. "And what is it you want?"

Massino smirked. "I'll tell you on the wedding day."

Antony chuckled, shaking his head. "I've given you everything. I doubt there's anything more I can offer."

Massino's voice turned cold. "You gave me what was mine to begin with. Even your daughter—she wouldn't be yours, not truly. Coppola wanted to marry Emilia. You stole what belonged to many."

"Emilia chose me," Antony shot back. "Your pathetic friend lusted after her. A man like him never deserved her."

"He's a thousand times better than you," Massino retorted. "Emilia realized her mistake in the end. Maria told me what you did to her."

Antony's eyes darkened. "That is my personal matter." His voice carried both authority and anger, but as he spoke, a violent cough wracked his body.

Massino, almost instinctively, handed him a glass of water. Antony took it and drank in one go. He wiped his lips and looked away. "Don't speak of Emilia. Ever."

With a weary sigh, he sat on his bed. "Go now. I need to rest. I'll discuss the details with VPS. All I want is to mend this rift between us."

Massino rose, watching his old enemy—frail, sick, and slipping away. "You've made more wounds than you can heal, Antony. But if this is your last wish… then let it be known that I am the bigger man."

Without another word, he turned and walked briskly out of the room.

Antony lay back against his pillow, a faint smile crossing his lips. "Crazy man. No wonder his father didn't like him."

He chuckled softly, then switched off the lights.....