By then Mercurio wasn't Mercurio. He was Michele Napolitano, and people used to call him "Il Principe di Napoli" back in 1985, when he was a fine, good-looking ragazzo at the age of 23, because everyone in Naples knew that he was the one who would inherit the…family business his father—the respectable Franco Napolitano built up. The Napolitano, at that time, was the strongest of all Camorra clans, and it was a great deed to achieve, considering how the clans were always more eager to slit each other's throat. Unlike the Sicilians, their organization was always very…horizontal.

His father, old Franco, had harbored some worries about Michele taking over the family business though. He had only this one son and one adopted daughter, and his beloved wife died young, but Michele was always more of a vocalist who indulged himself in the dream of performing in the greatest opera halls, rather a grown, mature man who could take up responsibility and make hard decisions, and his daughter, Olivia, who was la più grande bellezza of the entire Campania and he loved with all his heart, had now become the heaviest burden on his mind, because everybody knew that the two young people under his wings adored each other. Too fiercely.

Of course Michele and Olivia never had any affair or disgraceful, over-intimate interactions—even though outsiders had doubts or rumors, old Franco had the confidence about the purity of their relationship, for his son completely learnt his old-fashioned opinions about marriage and sex, and would never disrespect Olivia that way. Still, he knew what people said these days: even when you covered their mouth, love would be given away by the eyes.

And that was the problem. Hurting his son and daughter was the least thing Franco wanted to do in the world—he granted Michele's wish and sent him to Venice to learn singing, when he should let Michele stay at his side, watch and learn the way to do things. but even though Olivia was adopted and she was not related with Michele, their attachment was still too improper. Apart from that, Olivia's beauty had attracted many admirers, among whom there was one particular candidate Franco was supportive of.

It was Paulo Bellini, the head of another Camorra clan, which could be arguably viewed as the second strongest one. This young lad, Paulo, was to some degree the exact opposite of Michele Napolitano: he grew up to be the unwelcomed bastard in the family, but during the feud of Bellini family with another clan, he was the only offspring survived and worked his way hard to the top. He was a sensible, clever man in the business, and had the resilience few people of his generation possessed, but was also famous for his…playful way with women, a typical predator, some would say, a predator that would definitely not let go of a princess in the castle so high and noble like Olivia.

In fact, Franco had already said yes to Paulo's proposal on Olivia's behalf, but of course under the condition that he promised to stay loyal and loving to his future wife. The reasons why he did so were quite obvious: first to find a promising ally, and more importantly, to end those shameful rumors before Michele stepped up—his son was definitely unable to manage the family, if his soldiers could remember nothing about him but his affair with his adopted sister.

Certainly he encountered the strongest oppose from Michele and Olivia. They hadn't talked to him for days, and the family dinner had sunk into an embarrassing silence for a week. Their house was the most glamorous mansion with the most amazing view of Naples city and the coastlines in the Vomero Hills, and it was usually filled with laughter of friends and families, but now there was this strange tension in their lovely floral backyard, as Paulo Bellini was paying Boss Franco a visit, already discussing the details of his marriage with Olivia.

The bride-to-be wasn't here, however, shutting herself in her own room all the time, and Franco wasn't really pleased with that. Yes, Paulo wasn't platonic and romantic like Michele and was a flirtatious dandy, but most young guys at this age were like that, and Franco had seen many of them changed after having a family and a child. She should at least take a chance to know him, or it could only get worse afterwards.

"Michele, get Olivia down here." So Franco told his son, who was sitting beside him, tolerating this conversation with Paulo in silence, "She should spend more time with her fiancée."

Paulo looked at Michele with ridiculing eyes, raising his eyebrows as an implicit announcement of his victory, but Michele forced himself to ignore it and just walked away. He went back into the house and upstairs, knocked on Olivia's door, but she didn't respond.

"It's me."

So he spoke, then Olivia unlocked her door to let him. Even when she was in sorrow and didn't pay much attention to her appearance, she still looked so beautiful and ethereal, as if she had never touched anything mundane and worldly since she was ever born: her skin was flawless and her hair was dark brown smooth with huge waves all the way down to her ankle, shining a wheat-colored glow under the warm light, whereas her eyes were light, silver blue almost like ice, and Michele could see himself in there like he was facing the glaciers unpolluted by human presence.

Who wouldn't fall in love when being looked at by eyes like those.

"Has papa said anything?" She asked, pouted her naturally pink lips in the cupid-bow shape.

"The wedding will be in next month." But Michele would definitely have to disappoint her, "There's no…changing that is possible."

"I can't do this…That man is so…vulgar. I hear things about him."

"Just give him a chance, Olivia, he wouldn't dare to do anything to you, knowing who you are, because he knows we care about you, papa cares about you…"

Michele used the same reasons his father used to convince her…and himself, but that clearly wouldn't waver Olivia. She just suddenly stood up from the bedside and walked towards Michele, grabbed his hands to stop him from stepping back:

"If he truly cares about me, about us, he should respect what we want!"

But the room was then drowned into a suffocating quietness, because even themselves knew that was too hard to realize.

"I'm your brother, Olivia…"

"I don't care, we can run away…"

"We can't do that to Papa!" Michele immediately cut off this crazy thought, "If we are gone, who he has left? Mamma was dead years ago, we are the only families he have, we can't do this to him! Please, Olivia…"

But he was pushed out of the room and slammed outside by the door, couldn't finish his sentence, then a few minutes later, Olivia came out all dressed up, ignored him and rushed downstairs, took a few deep breaths to put up a weak smile, trying to greet her future husband politely. Lucky for her, perhaps, Paulo was just about to leave, so she only needed to entertain a few words and allowed him to kiss her goodbye on the cheek.

Then after the guest left, Olivia glimpsed at Michele before she went past old Franco and into the garden. It was within just an instant, but the despair and disappointment she placed on his shoulder with that look was unbearable—the princess was blaming her knight for not standing out and protecting her, when she was about to be taken by the dragon.

It was just too unfair for him. Michele couldn't help but feel like so, stuck between two sides, both he loved and he didn't want to hurt. Feeling so troubled, Michele escaped to town at night and drank in a bar, alone. It was a very vintage bar that played songs by greatest Italian vocalists like Frank Sinatra, and the only place he could get away with the bloody, dirty family business to simply enjoy the music—the greatest passion of his life.

He hoped he was able to travel to America and became a professional that sold records, He hoped he could be with Olivia just like normal husband and wife, he hoped mamma didn't die so early and papa would still have a complete family, he hoped…he wasn't born in such a lineage in the first place.

But Michele knew, this was just wishful thinking.

"Così è la vita…" Michele laughed at himself and finished the drink, just preparing to take off, swallow all these pains down the throat and get back to life, a young lady suddenly approached him and sat on the side, smiled and persuaded him to stay:

"Why in such a sadness, Signore Napolitano? Something on your mind?"

It was a woman with black, short and curvy hair and pale, ivory skin. She wasn't really very pretty per say, but there was this strange…enchantment in her eyes that actually made him do what she told him to. Michele shook his head, tried to get himself back to the state where he could think sanely and asked:

"How do you know me? And who are you?"

The woman chuckled and replied: "You are famous, Il Principe di Napoli, and I know this is where you frequent when you are…stressed. As for me, well, I'm no one, but you can call me Mira."

"There's no such thing as no one in this world. Are you from one of the other clans? You want to talk business?" Michele was impatient, "If you want something, talk to my father, I'm not the one who's making the decisions yet…"

"No, Michele, I'm not from any clan…any clan in your world, at least." The mysterious woman put her hand on Michele's and comforted him, "I don't want anything but to help you…to get freedom."