On October 27th, 1982, Gabriel Enrique Caccia met their end at 92 years of age, dying peacefully in their sleep at 5:27 am. The Caccia family, scattered across Sicily, had been called to the main estate, all 16 children of the deceased Patriarch gathered in one place, a childhood home long abandoned.
Laid flat on their back, a coffin set on a pedestal, laid bare to the arriving family members of the Caccia family, an elderly man with parted silvery grey hair, eyes closed, hands placed upon their chest, a matching colored moustache placed above their lips. The Eldest of the family, an older man, about 218 centimeters in height, with jet-black hair, a similarly placed moustache sat above their upper lip, sapphire eyes looking down at the cadaver of their once parental guardian. "You've finally met an unfortunate fate, haven't you... Old man?" Their voice was like a slab of stone against gravel, a smile creeping across their lips, revealing a silver front. "Good riddance." Giusto Herasuiz Caccia stomps away, loud thumps following their every step.
Second of the Family, Cornelio Fernandes Caccia, watches from afar, hands clasped together, set in front of them. They wear their jet-black hair down to their shoulders; a five-o'clock shadow sits across their jaw from a recent shave, maybe to look more presentable out of formality.
Eulalia Garcia Caccia, the third child of the family, a tall middle-aged woman with a soft smile spread across her lips, eyes full of sympathy scanning across the room, providing kind words to those who seek it, mostly speaking with the many servants of the estate about the unfortunate passing of the Patriarch.
"No need..." Giusto commented, letting a soft hiss out from their gritted teeth. "There is no need to spread about pleasantries about the codger when... well... he's not done good for us... No need for us to do good for him. Out of sight, out of mind, he deserved it, end of story."
"Giusto... you... You shouldn't say such things about our father. Even if he were cruel to some of us, he was kind to many as well. No need to put others down to make yourself feel better." Eulalia fired back, politely standing before who she'd assumed would be the next family patriarch.
The fourth and fifth enter, two other middle-aged members of the family, both women, only a few years apart in age. Leda Kaminara Caccia, and Rosina Ophelia Caccia. Leda carried a confident demeanor, muscles bursting through her clothes, whilst Rosina carried a more conservative air about them, attempting to keep away from the rest of her family, keeping a cautious gaze on every one of them, calming herself with steady breaths.
Leda crossed to the coffin, spitting onto the corpse of her father, jaw clenched in a palpable rage.
Giusto chuckled, "Good to see ya, Leda... up for a round?"
"Not in the mood, Giusto, I'll beat yer ass another day."
"So much confidence held in such a small body. Truly, you believe you can face me? One-on-one, such confidence is hubris. Almost disrespectful, but... I'm fine with a spar anytime, anyhow."
"Battle Junkie, freak."
Giusto cackled, arms crossed.
"Why are you still here anyway? I'm about to leave, I'm done with this formality bullshit."
"There is to be an announcement later. The head servant of the estate said so themselves, something about an inheritance. If those words click with you, that means you know damn well why I'm waiting ever so patiently."
"Never thought you to be one who could succumb to greed."
"No... curiosity." He chuckled, "Also... I know shit is gonna go bad... I can feel it." An ominous cackle reverberated through his throat.
Leda sighed through her nose, taking a step back and waiting as well with a speculative glare about her.
Sixth of the family arrived, Antonio Patrizio Caccia, a shorter, middle-aged man with slicked-back black hair, shaved at the sides, a thick beard hung across their face, paying proper condolances, which, so far, had only been done by Eulalia who had found themselves in deep conversation with Rosina, providing passing glances to some of the newly arriving members of the family, some, evidently not having been in Sicily during Gabriel's time of death, that being the Seventh of the family known as Nevio Adamo Caccia, wearing a tropical shirt and khaki shorts, jet-black curly hair rolling down their shoulders.
One of the many outliers of the family, sporting the Emerald Green eyes of the partnered family that is the Driskolls, the eighth member arrived as well, just behind Nevio, a younger woman by the name of Irene Ciolbergh Caccia.
And then, a long gap had occurred. During Gabriel's time being alive, he had sired many children, and at one point, had stopped altogether, almost consecutively having children with his variable number of wives, halting for some time after having Irene with a distant relative of the Driskolls. You could say that they were happy for a time, a rarity amongst the family.
After the sudden demise of his fourth wife, his siring of children began once more, starting with the Ninth of the Family, who was a no-show.
The Tenth of the Family, Bruno Claudio Caccia, most known for their military service and critical demeanor, held themselves highly amongst the family in an attempt to stand out from their siblings, almost robotic in their mannerisms.
The Eleventh of the Family, Aurora Emil Caccia, a twin-tailed goddess amongst the more high-standing families in Sicily. Either referred to as a social butterfly amongst more gossip-centric circles or a Villainess by her greatest enemies.
The Thirteenth & Fourteenth of the family, being identical twins, two of the youngest in the family, the one who wore gray was named Nero Orazio Caccia, and their brother was Nello Martinio Caccia, the one who wore all back in contrast to their sibling, kept close to each others sides, almost protectively clinging onto one another.
The Fifteenth Sibling was a young and lively girl wearing red, along with a black dress fitted for the occasion. Amongst her peers, she stood out with her eccentric personality and rebellious spirit, named Emilia Gabriella Caccia.
And lastly, the youngest of the family, hand still clutched tightly by their mother's grasp, Mateo Euleces Caccia.
At first, it appeared as if everyone who had suspected to arrived had finally gathered at their belated Father's wake, until a more clumsy, feeble looking young man peaked their head from around the corner, followed closely by a massive woman, their guard, light brown hair sat atop their head and emerald green peering behind a pair of sunglasses to the other siblings as she escorted the feeble Twelfth Member of the family, Luce Tyche Caccia, a sunken-eyed young man, a cane at his side along with his trusty guard.
Many of the guards were left out in the lobby of the estate, but Luce was a special case due to their special disposition, their body always being frail since a young age, along with the ire they had attained through their special treatment in the family.
A family that emphasized strength and willpower reduced to... this. Why was Luce so special compared to the others? This weak-willed young man, who'd rather crawl into a hole rather than get into any semblance of any conflict, was treated like a child amongst the many other siblings in the family by their father. No, in general... that man, Gabriel, had been much too kind to the younger kin, but doubly so it applied to Luce, an antithetical existence amongst the family.
To even have Aran Diskoll of the Driskoll family, of all people, be the young man's guard was some sort of cardinal sin amongst the more steadfast family members who would carry the traditions set by the late Gabriel to the grave.
Giusto let out a guttural roar of laughter after spotting Luce, "Seems you've decided not to cower away within your den, huh!? Little Moth!?"
Eulalia sighed, "You must stop poking the bear further, Brother Giusto."
"I should have absconded like Patrice," Cornelio commented. "At the very least, I'd have kept my self-respect in the process. Not stuck in a room with the lot of you pestilent worms."
Leda groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose, hoping for today to be a peaceful venture, not that she had helped much herself in keeping the mood cordial.
Rosina kept to herself in the corner, anxiously watching the door, waiting for the Head Servant of the estate to come out with Gabriel's Will.
Antonio huffed from the nose, ignoring the bickering of his siblings.
Nevio had already stolen a seat from one of the Respite Rooms nearby and had slumped into the chair, casually sipping at a cracked can of soda loosely held in their fingertips.
Irene spoke of God with the still-grieving servants scattered about the Wake, handing out the bible to ones more willing to indulge themselves in the teachings of God.
Bruno clicked their tongue at Giusto's crass attitude, catching the large man's attention. "Do my words bother you, sibling?"
"Carry some decorum, Giusto. That attitude of yours, that lackadaisical devil-may-care attitude, drives me up a wall to no end. Show some fuckin' respect."
"Respect must be earned. Apologies that one who had not respected me does not receive respect in turn." Giusto sneered.
"Get over yourself, Giusto. Not everyone had the same experience as you-- the man is decades old, almost making it to a hundred, so much life had been lived, yet a grudge still remains in your heart. A miserable old fuck you'll always be."
"I'm plenty joyous, Bruno. I even chortle like the Old Saint Nick." The large man snickered.
"Insensitive sleaze."
"You flatter me."
Aurora scoffed at their squabble, keeping a keen eye locked to the casket, staring almost expectantly, as if waiting for Gabriel to spring out from their Coffin as if nothing had happened at all, as if they were alive the entire time, as if their cold, and quiet slumber hadn't occured at all. Their slumber into the forever, and never to be again.
Luce held a shaky gasp between their lips, Aran keeping him close, whispering gentle reminders into his ears, a tearful expression painted across his face before he stifled the wave of grief, keeping a lowered gaze at the podium expectantly. Aran gently kept their hair tied back, a dark expression on their face as they looked down at the feeble young man before them.
Nero looked to the distressed Luce, "Hold strong, Luce, it'll be alright, it was bound to happen."
A shaky nod in response before a sputtering of words existed their throat, "I-I... I... I know...I know... It-I'm fine... I'm not... I-- we... we knew this was going to happen, but" Luce sighed, calming themselves. "It's not that, I'm not worried about that, I... it just hurts. Why does... why does the air have to be so constricting? We're..."
"I get it, but just stay close, be calm. Not everything can be as ideal as you'd like to believe it can."
"I-I know but... I'd..." Luce sighed, a comforting hand placed atop his head.
Aran spoke up, "It's best not to think too hard about it, okay? Just keep steady. Try not to show weakness. Drop blood in the water here and the sharks will come flockin', okay?"
"Okay." Luce nodded.
Nello impatient tapped their foot to a rhythm, eyes darting wildly across the room in a scanning motion, "Gods, when is that damned servant going to arrive?"
Nero sighed, "Not sure, we've been waiting a while. Showed up late and everything, so we could skip the formalities too."
"Such is fate." They say in unison.
Luce scoffed, and the group chuckled to themselves.
"At least there are snacks," Emilia commented, stuffing her face full of strawberries and various other delectables from a nearby charcuterie board.
The Mother of Mateo stood in quiet observation, hands over her child's ears due to the more vulgar nature of the child's siblings, eyes eventually locking onto a younger dark-skinned man, hair slicked back, a suit tightly worn across their body, white gloves clinging to the hem of their collar the family immediately standing at attention when the man stepped onto the pedestal.
They cleared their throat, this... this was the Head Servant of the Estate, Raphael Florice Castor, said to be a servant directly trained under Gabriel's tutelage.
The room halted in bated breath as they pulled a pamphlet from their right breast pocket before reading aloud, "I figured this would be a sudden venture, and knew that the reception would be less than desirable, so I'll state plainly that I hadn't called you all to make you suffer being within my rotting presence any longer than you have to as most would find it displeasurable-- speaking of the older ilk amongst the lot of you. As you all know, doubly so, either by the obvious corpse laid within that casket sat before you or by you reading this, I will have met my demise. I knew it would happen, and the fact that it happened is evidence of my failures."
Raphael took a breath, giving a glance to the enraptured crowd sitting before them, amongst this exceptionally large ballroom repurposed into a funeral gathering.
"Knowing that I have failed, I gathered a gift, or a failsafe of sorts. A guaranteed measure for one who would take the mantle... for the one who'd take my place. It won't be as simple as 'the next of kin' or the 'next in line' for my perverbial throne. No... I will do as my fathers did with me before I took over my position as the head Patriach of the Caccia estate. I have an inheritance of 300 million, waiting for the rightful heir to snatch it from my cold, dead grasp. Yet... it is not before you in a case, it is not before you underground, nay."
