Lavender and warm honey danced through the air as his senses started to return back to him. The silk beneath his fingers felt cool and familiar but he couldn't bring myself to open my eyes. His face freaking burned.

What destruction has he caused yet again? Who did he hurt?

Sleep was no longer a problem for him, he thought, and the fault is that woman's. Although he knows it wasn't hers alone.

Every night Vincent wishes he could dream about her, but a cloud hanging over his head refuses to let him dwell on the thought. That darkness only allows him the freedom to hear her soft whisper ring in his ears to remind him what he had lost. What Vincent could no longer claim as his in his life. A voice that once called him an asshole but then assured him that fighting was the only way to win.

She wasn't wrong that time. He did want to die. But what he's been asking himself on the way here is if that were still true.

She encouraged him then to continue to survive because there was so much on the line.

His son, Claire, Ronnie, her.

Vincent's boy is growing and probably won't even remember his face, the mother of his child is dead, Ronnie is out of jail and will most likely have to still be looking over his shoulder, and Amari is going off to live her dream. Making the most of her life and making up for the time she wasted being held against her will. By him.

What was there to win anymore?

There's nothing left. If Vincent were to leave this world today, at least he could die knowing that she was somewhere smiling the goofy way she always would.

But, it all changed when a warm ringed hand weaved overgrown dark hair off his forehead. Chiziduru Yung. Or Chizi, if you were his Father.

"Zō-san, Zō-san
Ohana ga nagai no ne," Mom softly sang.

Little elephant, little elephant, your nose is so long.

How dare he forget about the reason he started to fight?

"Sō yo, kā-san mo
Nagai no yo," she continued.

That's right, and mom's nose is long too.

Growing up with a father like Leonardo made it difficult for Vincent to see what a real man was. Vincent always believed it was a soldier who didn't fear losing everything because eventually people would deceive you.

That being a man was to have low expectations for everyone.

That you were the one who controlled your fate.

"Mama," the words scratched through his dry throat.

She lifted a shaky glass to Vincent's lips and the cool water sent a delightful hum down his neck.

As she put down the cup he could finally take in the room and her appearance appreciating that the room was lit with candles instead of fluorescent light.

Scratches on parchment remained taped to the walls. At least that part wasn't erased from his childhood room.

Chizi looked good but not better. Her smile was still warm, like the sun when it hits through a breeze, and her slightly tanned skin was a bit pale. Unlike Carina, her auburn hair was still long and below her shoulders which was unusual because she always had it tied up. Vincent noticed that her brace looked tighter and he could only imagine the saddened look on her face when she woke up this morning and saw her pinky stiffly bent toward her palm, unmoving.

"I'm glad you're awake." Her hand not covered with a restrictor was now pressed against his forehead. "Sorry about the noise outside. The fundraiser began and the neighbors and tourists are gathering in the streets. I'm happy you came back."

Vincent could finally take notice of the loud strumming of guitars and the incessant clacking of castanets traveling up through our open window. The people on the coast always are the most liveliest than those closest in the city.

He always believed it was because the Tyrrhenian always showered a mist over the homes during the year's most warm season. Everyone was just happy to be outside and together.

"My donation was already sent to the board so I will not be attending the fundraiser this year." He sat up but a needle plugged into my arm and a fuzzy head made him frown.

"When the driver picked you up from your plane you were...inebriated. Luckily when he called the house Polaris picked up and referred it to me instead of your father. We were able to sneak you up here without his knowledge." She then shared the same frown. "That's a shame. You adored going to the fundraiser."

He hated drinking.

Vincent wasn't shocked that Mama danced around the fact that he was so drunk off my ass that he had to be hooked up to a banana bag. He definitely didn't get his drinking problem from his Father whose viens were probably filled with more tea than blood.

But wait.

"Polaris?"

"Yes. Don't tell me you have forgotten about her already?"

How could he ever forget the girl that poured old, cold coffee on his sketches just to prove a point. Aries. I haven't said that name in forever.

Even though her name was pronounced Poe-lar-IS and is a bit different from his nickname for her, he'd realized that the zodiac sign fit perfectly for the strong tempered girl.

"I just didn't think she would still be working here."

"Oh, yes it's a pity, really. The little one's been here worrying sick about her mother since she asked your Father for leave when you first...left the house. She promised him that she's work under the family until Linda returned."

So he had ruined Polaris' life too.

She was always lingering by Linda's legs, learning about what her mother was doing. She helped her set his family's table, clean the hallway, tidy up his room. Although it wasn't Polaris' job she wanted to help her mother.

When she was old enough, maybe 12, Polaris would do things around the house on her own like put away cutlery, sweep the hallway, and straighten up the sheets on Vincent's bed. Having another maid pick up the socks from his floor was normal but seeing an actual girl his age in his room had his young face burning with a mixture of excitement and embarrassment.

Excitement because it had been a while since seeing someone his age. Embarrassment because the little girl would be folding Vincent's underwear.

Mother's face twisted.

"By God, may I ask how you got those ugly scars on your face?"

He squinted his eyes in agony as soon as she touched the spongy bandage covering his left cheek.

"A perfect misunderstanding." Vincent could tell that she wanted to push further to dig out the truth but a knock and swing of the door interrupted her queries.

"Pardon me, Madam." Polaris shot an apologetic plea to Mother before shifting her gaze to Vincent. There was always something about her deep voice that was compelling. "Mr. Passaretti would like to speak with you, sir."

"Before I forget, happy birthday sweetie," Chizi said sincerely.

Polaris gave a tight smile. "It's just another day."

With a look from his mother to Vincent that clearly incited that their conversation would continue at a later time, she had to help him to his feet since the alcohol he chugged on the plane was still swirling in his blood.

Man did he hate drinking.

The last time Vincent drank like that was during that childish drinking game with Amari. She loved games—a little too much.

But to his luck, the woman next to him walking with folded hands in front of her hated games.

What could he say to her?

Sorry he stole her mother away from her and she'll be getting her back as soon as she's done doing whatever she was doing in his New York home?

Vincent tried to make Linda come back. He really did.

"I have some good news for you." Vincent had barged into his kitchen with hope in his words and startled Linda cutting warm brownies with a steak knife. "I am returning home and you can as well. You've been with me long enough and I don't need you here anymore. Go home." He gave her a warm smile.

An emotion passed over her face that Vincent would've missed if she hadn't spoken. "You don't...need me anymore?" This wasn't sadness. She was offended.

"Well no, but you have a family back in Napoli that I practically stole you from and you should return to them as soon as possible." Why were her face doing those weird things? He thought she would be happy to go home.

"Vincent," she paused to put her sharp weapon safely on the counter. "Sit down."

With skepticism and a grumbling stomach, an effect from how delicious my favorite dessert smelt right now, I settled in the chair in front of the island.

"I remember when you were a little boy, the shyest one out of all of your siblings." Linda slid a brownie topped with whipped cream in front of Vincent with a fork. "The only person who would actually talk to you about things you liked was your mother and I, and the person who disagreed with everything that came out of your mouth was Polaris.

"Without that balance I don't think you would've been able to tell a waiter what you wanted to eat or even wave them down for that matter without crying."

Vincent had no idea what she was getting at but he silently munched on his brownie as red creeped to his cheeks about the embarrassing realization. He hated interaction with others as a kid as much as he hated drinking as an adult. I guess hate has range too.

"The point I'm getting at is this, I didn't come here to just clean your kitchen. I'm here for you. I want nothing but the best for you. When you wanted to come out here, I couldn't let you go by yourself.
Yes, Polaris was pissed and she will stay pissed at both of us for lifetimes over because I chose you over her. But she understood what I had to do, and I need you to understand what I am doing too."

Linda wiped chocolate hands on her apron and came around the counter to sit next to him.

"You are my family and I don't want to leave you behind."

Ouch, way to turn the mirror on him Linda.

"What I'm saying is that you are my child now. You have been since you begged me to sneak you sweets so you could stuff your face until the sun came up. Keeping you the peacemaking star you are has been the only job that I've been doing since the day you were born with a family like yours. So I will be staying here because I am not needed back home. Not yet. But you will go to make things right back home, along with Polaris. Yes, I know it will be a pain to work with her but deal with it. I raised y'all right."

Vincent believed he knew where to start.

"Hey."

Why did his voice just go up an octave?

The woman strolling in the gold encrusted hallway was only a few steps ahead of him. Vincent could already anticipate the numerous family portraits they they were about to pass and he internally groaned. His father praised immortality.

"Hello, sir." She hadn't even looked back.

"So are you going to the festival this year?" Even when I'd successfully gotten us shoulder to shoulder she made sure to stay in front.

Polaris' once stoic face only aged with her. "May not have the time. I might be needed here, sir."

"If it makes you feel any better I will not be attending either," Vincent said like she cared at all. "Remember the time I had a fever so high that we weren't able to go see the festival? You were furious that you weren't able to see the fireworks up close that night and Linda did the worst thing a mother can do to a daughter."

Vincent looked ahead to see if any recollection of the story was running through her brain. Or if she would finish the tale. Or if she was going to turn around to look at him.

"She put you in a room with the person you hated the most, and who happened to be sick on top of that. Linda made us watch the show from my room because from there we had the perfect view of where the fireworks would crack."

He started to remember the countless amount of snacks that Linda left that would've lasted us a lifetime. Bowls of fried snacks that ranged from goldfish, Cheetos and unwrapped Twinkies. They were even in the presence of every flavor of Capri Sun that ever existed. At the sight of it, young Polaris couldn't decide if she wanted to scarf it all into her mouth or give it a huge eye-roll. She settled for both.

"Every time I would try to talk you would shut me up by spritzing a little juice on me." Vincent could still recall how sticky he was at the end of the night. "As soon as the fireworks started you ran to the balcony and you scared me when you swung your leg over the banister so you could get as close as possible to the colors spraying in the sky. You looked super cool like a superhero as you hung on the banister gazing at the sky so of course I wanted to do it too. Only as soon as I pulled my leg over the railing I slipped. I for sure believed I was going to die from plummeting from my balcony, which would've been embarrassing, but you did the last thing I thought you would. You caught me. You ultimately dislocated my shoulder from pulling my hand, but you caught me."

Polaris' fierce eyes that night held more emotions than I'd ever seen in her and I think I even saw her eyes become misty after pulling me back over the iron railing. With the beautiful tricolore of reds, greens and white painting the sky behind her, Polaris didn't look not once. She couldn't stop poking at his sore arm trying to make sure it still had movement.

She did look like a superhero that night; at least to him. Both of her curly poufs were dancing like she was in a wind tunnel and her hazel eyes were squinting as she was looking to the sky like she was on a mission.

"I'm afraid I do not recall, sir."

Vincent couldn't tell if Polaris was lying, but he already knew that she sniffed sodium pentathol every morning. What could he expect from a woman who hates him more than she despises the devil.

Now that he's actually paying attention instead of storytelling he noticed that they'd already passed by the mahogany door of his father's office. Of course we wouldn't be meeting in there. His father never liked being in a confined spaces. Even if he wasn't around people he liked the air and looking at the sky because it 'represented endless possibilities', or something like that.

I could bet my life that he was outside sipping on Earl Grey. Oh! And a burning cigar in his right—no left hand.

"You can quit with the formalities. I'm not my father after all."

There was always a punch in the word every time she said it.

Apparently something I said finally had her long braids swing over her shoulder. She slowed her pace but she made sure to stay in the lead.

"You are most definitely not," she defensively said.

Vincent couldn't help but open and close mouth because he didn't have any words to say without embarrassing himself any further.

"Any plans for your birthday?"

Before moving out (BMO), since the day he met Diavian he had wanted to give her a present for every birthday.

Each year he drew up a new Polaris-ville or Polaris-city filled with things she liked most that year. Each year she hated it.

They stopped before a red door that led out to the terrace. Polaris was now facing him full on with a sardonically lopsided mouth. "Let's see. I have a job so I am going to do that job so I do not lose that job. I guess that's what I'm doing for my birthday, sir."

After all these years her eyes still commanded all of his attention. Vincent couldn't condemn other humans if they felt the same way.

But he couldn't ignore that her last punch of 'sir' was to his crotch and he had no air left in his lungs.

With a plump irritable smile, she led us out to the terrace. Low and behold, his guess about his father couldn't have been more accurate.

Leonardo poured, with his right hand, an odd appearing and led smelling liquid into his bird painted China as smoke and ash flitted from the cigar in his left hand. I'd always wanted to sketch him because he was a once in a lifetime subject, like a bird. If it moved you would have to start all over and begin again.

Although he was predictable with his choice of  and tobacco, Leonardo's eyes would've been his main focus for the drawing. If Vincent was so lucky to be able to draw his father, he would've only needed to draw the outer parts of him like—his legs, arms, hair—everyone seemed to be a fan of his hair. For his eyes, he could've drawn many different expressions with his posture because the mood in the picture could change easily with a dragging down or uprising of a brow. In Vincent's room, when his skills were horrendous, he'd drawn a stick figure of his father with happy, squinty eyes.

Vincent believed art was sketching something that would never be seen in reality and building a story.

Well in his tale, his father was drinking hot tea, smoking a cigar, and his eyes were happy—squinty.

But in his nightmare.

"Who invited the ghost?" Leonardo brought the cup to his mouth with birds seeming to fly as far as possible. Sensing danger. "I thought ghosts didn't bleed."

Vincent had settled into the seat across from Leonardo. A trickling of something traveled down Vincent's injured and neatly bandaged cheek but he just assumed it was sweat.

"I will go and get the First Aid kit right away, sir." Polaris insisted but Leonardo held his hand up.

"Don't worry about it. If he is really a ghost, then this is all an illusion." If he was joking right now Vincent was sure he was in for a nice conversation with his father. Leonardo lightly snatched his cigar away from his mouth to say something he'd almost forgotten. "What the hell are you still doing here? Go away, and happy birthday."

Polaris thanked him silently before ducking her head back into the house. Vincent tried his very best to ignore the hidden and careless smile that curled her mouth shielded by her hair. And the man sitting a foot away who he tried to run away from.

"Back to haunt me now?" Leonardo said before taking another puff from his cigar. Man did he want one.

Leonardo's advice did stick with him and so did Linda's. Vincent was going to be the one to control his fate. Yeah, by taking it by it's thick skull and slamming it against his knee.