Chapter 2 The Other Door

Heartbreak, they said, was the bane of men. This I couldn't agree more, for as the sound of vague music seeped into my ears, I stood in front of a crimson door unsure of my purpose. The glass chandelier overhead cast a fiery yellow shade on the lobby, and the array of portraits on the wall seemed to be screaming at me for reasons I could not fathom.

Stankovic had sent me a location earlier, giving me strict instructions to arrive by 9 pm. Hence, following a few bottles of alcohol, I found myself there, facing Room 666 of La Grande Hotel, in the very heart of New Graef City, lost in thought.

Everything seemed pale to me ever since I saw Roma. It was almost as if life had lost its spice. The lunch I had after the interviews did not taste good, and it was not from the cooks since that had been my favorite spot for three straight years now...

"Holla, Champ!" Stankovic's voice drew me out of my head. Before I could even respond, he pulled me into a rough hug, tight and hug, patting my face repeatedly as he broke away.

"Yo, bro! Have you been drinking?" He squeezed his face with displeasure.

"No," I replied matter-of-factly, turning my face away from him.

"Lying bastard," he chuckled, "you look like garbage."

"Tell me something new," I rolled my eyes.

"What happened to you, dude?" He wondered, and then I turned my attention back to him, taking in his appearance.

Clad in a dark leather jacket and pants, his frame towered slightly over me. His shoulder was broader than mine and I noticed that his once short blonde hair had grown longer, and packed into a ponytail, while his goatee had vanished.

"Hmm... what happened to you?" I retorted.

"How?" His brows crumpled.

"Well, for starters, you look more put-together than me?" I mused aloud.

"Oh, because you left me for school you thought I would turn into a failure?"

"No, I don't mean that. I mean..."

"We are twenty-nine years old now, brother. Our future is here. You don't expect me to be that drunk ass boy all my life, do you?" He let out his usual mischievous grin, and his trademark dimples became apparent. His well-arranged set of dentitions remained conspicuous.

"Oh, you haven't changed a bit, my brother," I muttered under my breath.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing."

"Talk, you piece of garbage."

"Fine! What happened to you, Stan?" I blurted out.

He rolled his eyes. "Well, if you had ever believed in me, you would not wonder..."

"Cut the nonsense," I grabbed his arm. "Tell me. What did you do with yourself?" I leaned into him, catching a whiff of pleasant mint on his jacket. "You even smell nice!"

A short silence hung between us before he pulled me into another tight embrace, giving no response to my previous question.

"I've missed you, man," he mumbled in my ears, tapping my back, but I reluctantly extracted myself from his hug.

"If you would just answer my damn questions, mate."

"There is nothing to say. You will find out soon enough, innit? Oh, by the way, I have got a son now."

"What?"

"Yes, he is three years old."

"Three? That long! Why didn't you say something?"

"You blocked my number, Ceasar! I was your best friend, but you cut me off completely. For what! Just because I joined La Cherussia you should alienate me, huh?" A tinge of sadness flavored his voice. He let out a heavy sigh and lowered his voice.

"Listen, mate. I did what I had to do to survive, okay? But you judged me, instead of standing by me, your best friend. You left! I would have stood by you no matter what, and you know it. But you could not do the same for me. You thought you were better, innit? You thought you could do better, and kept forgetting where you were. New Graef City. All because of that girl." He readjusted his jacket. "Now look at you, about to do the very same thing I did..."

"It is not the same!" I growled, gritting my teeth.

He scoffed. "You are still doing that delusional thing, aren't you?"

"Stankovic, it is not the same," I repeated with sunken eyes, not minding his previous statement.

"We'll see, innit?"

Suddenly, the handle of the handle rattled and Stankovic quickly pulled me closer and whispered harshly; "Remember the first rule of the mafia: no drinking." He reached for his pocket, and pulled out a bubble gum, then thrust it into my mouth. It had a very minty taste.

"Chew fast and swallow." He instructed.

"Swallow?"

"Ceasar, for once, just trust me."

"Fine," I grumbled, complying as quickly as possible.

"Good," he nodded in approval. "Now remember, there will be pain. But then, there is another door in there, and across it is the life of your dreams. Keep your mind on that. The silver lining is, if you pass, you get your pick of any girl tonight. And you can finally move on from your beloved Roma. Or wait, are you guys still together?"

"No!"

"Yes! I knew it!" He lifted his folded fists in the air, and almost leaped with joy, but on seeing my sad expression, readjusted his demeanor to a more serious one. "I'm just saying. You two were toxic as hell."

"Stop that," I shot back.

"Fine." He placed his hands on my shoulder and raised his brows. "My point is, once you pass the test you will meet stunning women, and have any of your liking, as many as you want."

"I am not sure that I want that..."

"Hush," he placed his palm over my mouth. "They are stunning. So, keep your mind on that." He cleared his throat. "Just be sure not to get anyone pregnant though."

"Why would I even want to do that?"

"Well, I'm just saying, Ceasar. Mistakes happen."

"That one is too costly, Stan. My life will end in an instant."

"Mine didn't." He pursed his lips, tilting his head to the side. And at that moment, I felt terrible that I had to let him go through that alone.

Finally, the door creaked open and Stan readjusted his position, his hands hiding in his pockets. It revealed a formidable figure, a ripped man with chocolate skin who was clad in nothing but tight underwear which revealed the humongous size of his male appendage. His aura exuded darkness, and his sunken eyes, rough goatee, and tattoed body hinted at a life of brutality and hardship. I perceived him as a sort of executioner, the type one prays to not cross paths with in life.

Shifting his weight slightly, he gestured for us to enter the enclave. A nervous twinge grew inside me, but I resolved to follow Stankovic's lead, my senses heightened by the unknown dangers lurking within. Immediately we stepped inside, the door slammed shut behind us. I heard the sound of a beep, an indication that we had been locked up in a room that reeked of tension. The ambiance was nothing to write home about. It was dominated by a round table having three men seated around it.

The three of them looked like tattooed Mohicans clad in dirty-white singlets. Smoke from their cigars, or whatever it was that they were smoking, enveloped them in an eerie haze, filling the room with an acrid odor that threatened to choke me to death. It peppered my esophagus and I wondered how these men's bodies could withstand such toxicity.

The table's centerpiece is a metal tray bearing a star-white skull, and surrounded by an assortment of knives, pliers, and clamps. Dread lodges in my throat.

"Good day, sirs," I managed to mumble, my voice barely audible. In truth, I was unsure of what to do, and perhaps a greeting would lighten the mood.

"A recruit, eh?" The man seated directly opposite me spoke up. His dark shade dangled on his nose. I was not sure who he was referring to, but my mouth felt parched as I tried to reply. Nothing came out. Fortunately for me, Stankovic responded in my stead.

"Forgive me, My Lords, for interrupting your meeting with such triviality. I just could not let him go alone. This I did in adherence to the Ten Commandments which stipulated that a Cherussia must not introduce himself except in the company of a fellow who must do it for him."

"That's right," I heard battle-laden voices concur.

"This novice is Ceasar Delores, a graduate of Business and Management at one of the finest Ivy League universities in the United States. He has been my friend and a trusted comrade from childhood. However, I leave the final decision in your hands, My Lords." His words hung heavily in the air, leaving my fate at the mercy of these enigmatic figures.

"An educated lad, I see?" The second one nodded languidly. He seemed to be the boss among them. He possessed a lengthy visage crowned by silver hair packed upwards like a Japanese Samurai. He pulled up his lighter and lit his cigar, taking a long drag before releasing a cloud of thick smoke.

"Good for business, innit?"

"Indeed," the others concurred, their expressions inscrutable.

"How many balls does he have though?" He chuckled in wicked amusement, signaling for me to step closer. I tried to comply, but my legs became a heavy lead, dragging along as if defying his command. The muscular man behind lost his patience and yanked me forward, pulling me like a bag of groceries toward the table.

An involuntary grunt escapes my lips as my legs leave the ground momentarily, a stern reminder of my helplessness. I tried to resist, especially at the sight of those sickle-shaped knives, but a thunderous slap descended on the back of my head, reformatting my composure, and extinguishing my resistance. I am left frozen like a statue before the table with a severe headache darting across my skull.

"This one is no James Bond, that's for sure." The boss chortled, pulling out a mysterious book with a dark cover and placing it on the table. His gaze bored into me, scrutinizing my very essence.

"Tall, handsome, and chocolate skin- pretty good for the ladies, and business-savvy." He recounted my good qualities as he perceived it.

"Promising, innit?" He mused. The way he kept repeating the word business like a relentless echo made my pulse race. Each iteration fueled me with anxiety and anticipation. The stark realization hit me, that I was about to be absorbed into a mafia organization using a fabricated persona, a mere façade.

In truth, I never attended any Ivy League university. It had always been a fake life stunt to impress my social media followers and perhaps land my dream job. I only did a few certificate courses from those universities and aced them, that's all. But here in Graef, one must do anything to thrive. The end usually justifies the means. But in this case, I knew that not telling the truth early enough might cost me my life.

I cleared my throat, intending to clear the air, but this man's voice slashed through my attempt.

"A Cherussia never lies," he declared, and my confession remained locked within. I swallowed hard.

God, I'm dead! My heart slipped out of my chest and down to my belly. It seemed as if my lips were instantly stitched up. I simply stared on like a helpless purple, hoping for the best while he opened the book and began to scribble something in. Perhaps, my death warrant.

"Dr. Ceasar Delores," he enunciated, and I was momentarily baffled by the title. This distortion of reality, how did it get this far? The boss spoke once more, affirming my fate with the weight of their creed.

"A true Cherissia never lies, that is the first commandment of La Cherussia. You are obliged to always tell the truth whenever asked by any of your comrades," he echoed. "I do not have to tell you the consequences of lying, do I?"

I shook my head in disagreement. First of all, who says I'm a doctor? How this lie progressed to this stage is something I cannot explain. Stankovic introduced me as a scholar, that was it. So, where was this coming from?

The boss did not seem to care. He simply pulled out a flier from inside the book and offered it to me. "Take this. Memorize the Ten Commandments. It is our code of conduct. And remember, our code is now your code."

I cautiously took the flier from him. Skimming through it, I could see its darkened surface inked with light-colored letters, a list of laws, and a declaration of allegiance like a binding contract intertwining my destiny with theirs.

"Thank you, sir." I shook my head in approval.

"You are on probation, for now, Ceasar. In as much as we need your brains and require more men for the battles ahead, we will be watching you for defaults. If you are good enough, then initiation by blood will follow. But if you fail, along with your guarantor, you will pay with your dear life and that of your family. I hope we are clear on that?" His voice assumed a dreadful undertone.

I nodded fervently, my affirmation punctuated by "Yes, sir."

"Henceforth, you will refer to me as Padriano. Is that clear?"

"Padriano?"

"It means 'Godfather'. You understand?"

"Certainly, Padriano."

He shook his head. "I can't believe I am the one teaching this caterpillar the rudiments. Get him out of here and fetch him some money and several women to warm his bed! He freaking sounds like a virgin!" Loud cackles of laughter erupted, especially among the chiefs. Then Stan dragged me by the hand, leading me toward the second door.

My mouth remained agape at the turn of events. The guards let us through, ushering us toward the other exit. But before we went through the bouncer at the door handed us a signed yellow card.

"Your ticket to paradise, boys." He smiled and let us through, the door closing behind us with a definite thud. The other room's sinister air is left behind, replaced by a new sense of uncertainty as we make our way toward a stairway.

Standkovic pulled me closer. "Lucky bastard," He whispered, a suppressed excitement notable in his voice.

"What just happened, Stan?" I replied in a whisper as well, my bewilderment palpable.

He leaned in. "Our Padriano has a liking for you."

"No way, the man looks mean as hell."

"I'm telling you, bro. You were drafted without a cut on your skin. It has never happened before."

"Why?"

"I do not know. You have no idea how bloody the initiation usually is. It surprised everyone that you were let in for free."

"That could be because of you, Stan."

"Me? No way, mate."

"So, what now?"

"We party."