Vincents struggle in Sicily a year of tension and desire

The year in Sicily began with the sounds of the sea crashing waves against the rocky shore, the scent of saltwater carried on the wind, and the distant hum of cicadas beneath the warm Mediterranean sun. For Vincent Vieto, it was a return to his roots, the place of his birth, where he had grown up among the tough streets of Palermo, learning early how to survive the brutal, unforgiving world of the Sicilian Mafia.

 

But Sicily, despite its beauty, was not a place that felt like home to him anymore. Not now. Not after Berlin. Not after her.

 

Month 1

 

Vincent arrived in Palermo after weeks of travel, his body taut with the pressure of what had happened in Berlin. He had returned to Italy on business for his father arranging deals, keeping the family’s operations running smoothly but his mind was never fully in it. Every day, he was haunted by the face of Dorothy Vallens. Her image, her voice, her eyes, Her body, her soft skin haunted his every thought, skin prickles as her touch against his skin feels like yesterday.

 

He had gone to Berlin under her father’s orders to find her, to bring her back to the family. But instead of duty, something more dangerous had stirred inside him desire. A forbidden, consuming desire for his own Famiglia. And now, despite the distance, despite the miles of sea that separated him from her, Vincent couldn’t shake the pull, the way she had taken root in his heart.

 

It eat him inside out, his cousin. Dorothy Vallens. She had become more than a name. She was a wound that wouldn’t heal.

 

Month 3

 

The Mafia’s presence in Sicily was like a constant hum beneath the surface of daily life business as usual. Deals were made, loyalties tested, and enemies disposed of in swift and efficient ways. Vincent threw himself into his work, like a man trying to drown in the noise of the world around him. He was busy. The clan was busy. But when the sun dipped below the horizon, when he was alone in the quiet of his villa, his thoughts turned to her.

 

In the quiet moments, he would catch himself looking out over the balcony, staring into the blackness of the Mediterranean night, his thoughts drifting back to Berlin. To Dorothy and her liquid black dress. To the way she had looked at him that night in Die Rote Spinne a gaze full of fire and resistance.

 

Damn her, he thought. Damn her for making me feel something I shouldn’t.

 

His fiancée, ....., noticed the change in him. She had been an understanding woman, someone he had known for years, someone he had promised his heart to. But now, when she tried to speak to him, there was a coldness in his eyes. His mind was elsewhere.

 

They would sit together for dinner, and she would smile, talk about her day, her family, the wedding that was set for next spring. But Vincent could barely focus. His thoughts drifted back to Berlin, back to the moment Dorothy stared at him, her big dolly eyes, dark with something unreadable, but full of promise. He couldn't remove from his head...

 

His fiancee’s soft voice broke through his thoughts one evening, her tone gentle but filled with concern. "Vincent... you’re not here with me. What’s troubling you?"

 

He looked at her, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Nothing," he said curtly, the word tasting bitter on his tongue. He wasn’t the man to speak of feelings—especially not to her, not when his heart was torn between family loyalty and a passion he knew he could never forget.

 

His fiancee lowered her eyes, the hurt clear on her face. She knew something was wrong, but she didn’t press it. She never did. She was patient, a virtue Vincent respected but couldn’t fully return. Not anymore.

 

Month 6

 

Six months had passed since he’d returned to Sicily. The Mafia business was running smoother than it had in years, his father proud of his efforts. But Vincent felt like a shadow of the man he once was. He felt restless, torn between two worlds, the world of duty, loyalty, and tradition in Sicily, and the world of temptation, passion, and forbidden love in Berlin.

 

He had never been one to indulge in weakness. But Dorothy... Dorothy had cracked something inside him. And it wasn’t just her beauty it was the way she challenged him, the way she saw through him, the way she made him question everything he had known.

 

His fiancée,...., had tried to fix their relationship, but Vincent found himself numb, distant. There were moments when he would hold her, and his mind would drift away again. When he kissed her, it was mechanical something he had to do to keep up appearances, to honor the promises he had made. But Dorothy’s face was always in the back of his mind.

 

His fiancee felt it. She felt the distance, the coldness, and it hurt her deeply. But she never said it out loud.

 

"Vincent," she would say sometimes, her voice trembling slightly, "we can get through this. We’ll make it work, just like we always said."

 

He would look at her, and his heart would twist. He cared for her. But she wasn’t Dorothy.

 

Month 9

 

By the ninth month, Vincent’s struggle had reached its peak. He had spent every night wrestling with himself, trying to suppress the feelings that churned inside him. The Mafia business was in full swing drug shipments, illegal arms deals, and the usual backdoor politics but nothing seemed to fill the void inside him.

 

One night, alone in his villa after another long day of meetings, Vincent stood before the mirror in his study. His hand reached up, lightly tracing the scar on his cheek, the reminder of his strength, his survival. His brow furrowed as he stared at his reflection.

 

What are you doing, Vincent? he thought. This isn’t you. You’re better than this. You don’t let a woman ruin your life. Not like this.

 

But then, in his mind’s eye, he saw Dorothy again her dark big dolly eyes, her seductive smile, the softness of her voice when she had whispered his name. And all the promises of duty, of family, of honor they seemed to crumble away, like dust in the wind.

 

He left his villa that night, walking down the winding Sicilian streets with a purpose. He went to his father’s office, to the quiet, unspoken business of the Mafia. He had made his decision.

 

Month 12

 

By the end of the year, Vincent was a man at war with himself. He had done everything expected of him. He had honored his commitments, fought for the family, upheld the Mafia’s legacy. But when the long nights came, when the silence in his villa pressed in on him, all he could think of was Dorothy. Her image had consumed him, mind and body.

His fiancée, had come to him one evening, her face red from crying. "Vincent, you’re not here. You’re not with me. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t live in this... limbo."

 

Her words cut him deeper than any betrayal. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he couldn’t give her the love she needed. Not when his heart belonged to another woman.

 

And so, after a year of torturous silence, Vincent made the only choice he could. The night he left Sicily, he stood at the edge of the sea, the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks below.

 

He was leaving everything behind. His family. His fiancée. His position in the Mafia.

 

He would return to Berlin. To Dorothy Vallens.

 

His heart ached with both the fear and the excitement of the unknown. He knew that what he was about to do, would cost him everything. But he also knew that it was, the only thing left that could give him peace.

 

As the plane soared over the Mediterranean, heading north, Vincent closed his eyes, already imagining her face. He didn’t know what would happen when he found her. But one thing was certain he was done fighting it.

 

He was going back to Berlin. To her.

 

And there, in the heart of the storm, Vincent Vieto would finally discover what it meant to love the woman who had stolen his heart and what it cost to be with her.

 

Photo taken : maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Club%20Road/37/121/32

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