In the streets of Naples Prologue

 In the streets of Naples

Prologue

Nikki had been in Naples for a few days and he was enjoying his vacation for once. He needed it after everything that had happened to him. He couldn't stand the dreariness any longer. For almost a year, the weather in France had been gloomy and gray. For the past few months, his mood had been gloomy, his morale at half-mast. Work wasn't going well. His love life was complicated. He needed a vacation and, above all, he needed sun. Naples seemed a particularly good choice. On the plane, Nikki dreamed of orange and lemon trees and the bright colors of the city's markets. He hoped to find in this trip everything he missed in everyday life: smiles, sunshine, fun. The choice of Naples was no accident. Italy had been his dream country since he was a child. He had spent vacations there with his parents as a child. For him, it had been one of the rare moments of happiness in his childhood: freedom, parents who were no longer on his back all the time, far from his many sisters. He had met an Italian boy... He couldn't remember his first name, hardly even his face. But this boy had been a true friend. Probably the only one he'd had during his childhood. Probably the only one he'd had to this day. On the plane, it was with some emotion that he remembered the separation. This boy was a man of the people and he, Nikki, the son of a French Catholic soldier, came from the old French bourgeoisie. His parents didn't take kindly to their son hanging out with this “thug”, as they called him. Together, Nikki and the boy spent their days outdoors. Nikki had learned to fish for sea urchins, make hooks from wire, build a fire. Everything he'd never been allowed to do, he'd done on those vacations. They were still, 15 years later, a memory of incredible freedom.

These memories were no stranger to his choice. Nikki knew he'd never find this guy. He didn't even know his name anymore. Nikki had changed so much. Back then, he'd still been the puny little boy in shorts and well-combed hair. The hours spent in the gym, the tattoos, the earrings... He'd done everything he could to hope to forget his social origins, his strict upbringing and the rigidity in which he'd been raised. His parents, his sisters, his brothers-in-law were all identical, well within the norms, military or bankers. He was nothing but a poor gay history teacher, muscular and tattooed. Deep down, he knew that the freedom he'd worked so hard to earn was something he'd discovered thanks to Naples and this guy. That's why Naples was such a restful place for him.

Luigi's life hadn't always been fun. His mother had died when he was still young and his father spent a lot of time working and even more time drinking. School hadn't been a smooth ride and he didn't really have any qualifications. It has to be said that he spent more time hanging out with his mates than studying. With no real profession and totally alone, he had to find a way to survive.... And in Naples, in the working-class neighborhoods, there's a very well-known way, even if the law and morality disapprove of it. In short, Luigi lived by crime. Mind you, he wasn't a criminal, he wasn't a murderer.... He'd started out as a lookout before he was a teenager, and since then he'd gone from strength to strength in his organization. He wasn't a mafia godfather... He looked more like a henchman, a big shot. It must be said that his physique could help him... Over 130 kg of muscle, a body almost entirely tattooed... He could impress anyone.... And those he didn't impress soon came to know the power of his fists.  He was now making more money in one year than his father had in his entire life... He was one of the gang's linchpins, but didn't aspire to anything more. He'd just wanted to get out of the misery he'd known as a child. He had no desire to earn fortunes, just to be financially comfortable, and the physical domination he exercised over part of the city of Naples was enough to keep him happy. This happiness... when he thought about it, Luigi said he'd never known it. Sure, he earned a living, sure he had a respectable position, but he was missing something... love or friendship.... He wasn't sure what... He was too frustrated, too on edge to know the difference... He just remembered a moment when he was little.... when he'd met this little Frenchman.... He didn't remember much. Just that, for him, it was a form of happiness he'd never encountered again. Who was this guy? What had they done together? Honestly, he didn't have time to think about it... His life was too full... Besides, a text message was buzzing to tell him about a new mission...

To be continued...