An Arsonist and a Necromancer Walk into a Bar

Family Matters

Chiara

"I can't believe you talked me into this."

Dante rolled his eyes. "And I can't believe you're still complaining."

Chiara scowled at her half-brother. The two of them were slowly making their way through their childhood home, La Villa di Cristallo. The villa itself looked as though it had been carved from a ruby the size of a hill, the walls, roof, and floor all the same pale translucent pink. Tapestries of their family history hung crystalizing on the walls between thick pillars of white quartz, while sapphires and emeralds the size of melons decorated the ceiling. If she hadn't long since grown used to it, the midday light reflecting from the countless crystals and gemstones would have blinded her.

The state of their villa wasn't some lavish decoration, but a byproduct of their family's continued existence on the land. Ever since their founder, every child of their family had been taught crystalline magic. At first because it was tradition, and then it turned into the only way for them to survive.

Continuous use of magic didn't just warp its practitioners. If used in the same place for a long enough period of time, it could warp the very land itself.

"You can't really expect Father to agree to this!?" she hissed, taking care not to speak loudly enough for the other servants to hear. They were family, sure—Cadorna bastards all of them, since normal humans couldn't survive their home—but if anything them being family only made it worse. She had no illusions about who they'd report to.

"I just need him to consider it," Dante waved her off confidently. "We are one of if not the wealthiest Famiglia in the city. And he's our father. Surely he chafes being subservient to the Ambrosi as much as we do."

She scowled, not willing to admit he had a point. She was just—worried. It had been years since she'd last spoken to her father. Not since she joined the guild, at least.

She supposed she just had to accept Dante knew him better than she did.

"We need to present a united front," he continued. "We might not be directly a part of the family business, but I'm still a guildmaster, and you an adventurer. On paper, only father outranks us in the family."

Chiara still wasn't convinced, but she sighed, rubbing her forehead. She supposed she wouldn't be so against this if he wasn't dragging her along with him. If he went alone, his failure or success wouldn't matter much to her, but now there was a chance Father—or worse, one of her other brothers—might take notice of her before she was ready.

But she owed him. Dante was the only person in their family to give her the chance she deserved, and she paid her debts.

They didn't speak again until they reached their father's study, standing before the great hexagonal crystal doors.

Chiara glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "Are you ready?"

Dante adjusted his sleeves, scowling at the ruby decorations that hadn't been there moments before. "Not in the least."

Then their father called them in, and they had no more time to speak.

Their father sat behind his desk, a great chunk of amethyst topped with a slab of wood that she knew was there to stop his paperwork from crystalizing when he was gone. The man himself was rather short and skinny, to the point he looked like he was swimming in his silk robes. Most people looked at him and thought him unassuming, a weak man coasting on the wealth of his ancestors.

But his family knew differently. She never knew them, but her older siblings (the bastard ones, at least) spoke of elder uncles and aunts who one day just… vanished.

Chiara loved her father. She did. But she was also terrified of him, in a way she didn't think Dante could understand.

Unfortunately, though, their father wasn't the only one there.

Their elder brothers—their Father's only other trueborn children besides Dante—stood beside Father. Giorno and Caravaggio, twins who constantly fought over who would be heir. Pale-haired with emerald-eyed, they agreed on nothing.

Nothing besides the fact that Dante wouldn't be inheriting anything.

She had to work to keep the frown off her face. She glanced at her only decent brother and saw Dante suddenly looked much less confident then he had a moment ago. That all three of them were already standing opposed to them…

"Dante!" Father smiled at his son. He nodded at the chair sitting on the other side of the desk, motioning for him to sit. The chair was notably shorter than his. "My Son! What brings you here today?"

Dante's brow creased. She agreed—Father knew why they were here, they were behind closed doors, why the theatrics?

"I have a proposal for you, father," he plastered a smile on his face, giving the man a nod of respect. "It's a bit ambitious—"

Caravaggio snorted. "A bit?"

"—but I think it has potential," Dante continued, ignoring their brother. "Our family is wealthy. Wealthy beyond words. And yet we're barely a power in the Signora! We don't even control a seat in the Arti! Which is why I believe it is time for a change. The Ambrosi are weaker than ever before, the Capparelli are floundering, and the both of them are ceding ground to the foreign Gennarelli. It is time, I think, for a new Famiglia to take power."

Their father's smile hadn't left his face. Hadn't even twitched. "Time for us to take power, you mean?"

Dante nodded sharply. "Yes."

"Ambitious," Father nodded. "But foolish."

"Wha—?"

"We run the jeweler's guild, true," Father continued smiling at them. Chiara wanted to hide behind her brother, but she forced herself to stand her ground, taking a step forward so that she was only just behind his shoulder. Her other brothers scowled at her, but Father didn't even give her a glance. "And it is true we are wealthy. But our wealth is fixed—if the gold crash of the last decades showed us anything, it is that inflation is as deadly a foe as any demon."

"Our house is made of rubies!" Dante, foolishly, interrupted their father. "Surely we can—!"

"Who buys the rubies?" Father cut him off. "Who buys the emeralds? The sapphires? I'll tell you who—the Ambrosi. The Capparelli. The Gennarelli. The wealthy elites who run this city are our main customers. We take them out, and who do we sell to? Our exports to foreign cities won't change. We'd only lose money if we got rid of those powerful Famiglia."

"But we have more than just gems! We have a whole adventurer's guild! One with powerful adventurers, including Ósma! We can make money in ways that don't involve jewelry!"

"Oh?" Father raised an eyebrow. "And how much of your personal funds do you spend each month just to keep your little guild afloat?"

Dante flinched, biting his lip to stop himself from spluttering out excuses.

Chiara winced as well. She understood, in that moment, why the whole family was here. This whole idea was doomed from the start. Their Father wasn't even considering the idea.

She supposed it was inevitable. The Cadorna made most (all, really) of their wealth from the jewelry trade. Rubies, emeralds, diamonds, all types of crystals crafted into jewelry by mages who'd spent their lives dedicated to the craft. And that meant that, even as a subsidiary of the Ambrosi Famiglia, even as just a fraction of the Blacksmith's guild, the Cadorna Famiglia had enough wealth to rival those grander Famiglias.

Compared to that, what was a single broke adventurer's guild?

As she'd expected in the end, Father saw their adventurer's guild as little more than a vanity project.

"My uncle founded that guild at a time when the world was much more dangerous," Father told them dismissively. "Back in the day, after the collapse of the Empire, it was seen as a mark of prestige and power to do so. But those days are long gone, and the guild has only been a drain on our resources for years now. I gave you the guild to see you make something of yourself, but it seems all you've done is get ideas above your station."

Finally, Dante's mask of confidence broke. "…Father, please."

"I'll give you a choice," Father continued relentlessly. "You can either get rid of the guild—sell what you can to make back your losses, maybe point some of your more competent adventurers to our… actually, no, don't do that—or, you can keep the guild. And get rid of your family name."

Dante stared at their Father, frozen.

And Chiara herself wasn't much better. She felt herself begin breathing heavier, already realizing what he was going to choose. There was no way he wouldn't right? Her one chance to prove herself, gone already—!

"I have to choose?" Dante rasped, clutching his knees hard enough to crack diamond. "Is there really no other way?"

"There isn't."

Dante licked his lips, eyes glancing at his brothers. But the two just glared back, dark amusement dancing in their eyes. He would find no allies there.

"…Very well. Then…" he took a deep, shaky breath. "Then I choose the guild."

Everyone in the room froze at his declaration, spoken in a near whisper. Almost like nobody could believe what he'd said—not even Dante.

"…What?" their father, for the first time since she'd met him, sounded shocked. "I seem to have misheard you. What did you say?"

Dante rose from his chair, standing on shaky legs. And even as his voice shook, he raised his chin proudly, now looking down on their father. "I said, I choose the guild. The Rosa Dominae is my life's work, I'm not going to abandon it so easily."

"You're life's barely begun," their father murmured, staring at his son as if he'd never seen him before. Then his smile returned, looking almost proud. "I hope you understand what you're giving up?"

"I hope you understand what you're giving up," Dante countered. "Don't come crawling back to me once I've become Gonfaloniere."

"Gonfaloniere, eh? How disgustingly ambitious…" Father chuckled. "Very well. I'll give you the week to gather your things and move out. That includes the townhouse in the city—you live there on my coin, I hope you remember."

Dante's face soured, but he stood his ground. "I remember."

"Good!" Father smiled at him. "Then I expect you gone by then, Dante."

"By your leave, Signor Cadorna," Dante nodded sharply, before swiftly turning and marching out of the room. Chiara followed, giving one last glance at their father.

He met her eyes, and she quickly turned back around.

The two of them walked in silence for a long while, until their father's study was far behind them.

It was Chiara who finally broke the silence.

"…Thank you," she whispered, holding back crystal tears. "Thank you so much."

That seemed to be what finally broke Dante, and he nearly fell over, leaning against the wall for support. "I didn't do it for you," he rasped back, running a sweaty hand through his hair. "I did it for me. I hope… I hope you realize this changes nothing."

"You seriously can't think we can do this alone, can you!? We're already broke, and selling jewelry would put us in direct competition with Father," she hissed, trying to bite down on her own hysteria. Was her brother insane!? "What do you expect us to do!?"

"…I have a backup plan," Dante replied, in a tone she'd long since realized meant he was lying. "And it's not like we have to rush. The guild is now… it's now my Famiglia. Like Father said, this is my life's work. And my life's barely begun."

"You're crazy," Chiara told him, but she couldn't help but laugh. "And I must be just as crazy, since I'm following you."

"Crazy, huh?" he chuckled tiredly. "…crazy…"

"…What?"

"Well, it's just—Father's cut us off. We aren't even Cadorna anymore. So we'll need a new name for our new Famiglia. A powerful one. One that everyone will remember."

"I feel like I'm going to regret asking, but what the hell are you talking about?"

"It's an idea I've gotten from our newest recruit, actually," he told her with a wry grin. "It would be an arrogant statement, and one that would gain us no friends. But it's not like we have any allies anyway, so… why not? Let's come out the gate swinging!"

Chiara gave him a skeptical look, before her eyes widened in shock as he explained his idea. Then she grinned widely, and agreed. Arrogance and ambition alike, what else could she do but admire his sheer audacity?

And so brother shook hands with his bastard sister, and the Firozzi Famiglia was born.

--

​

Capparelli

Matilda dei Capparelli sat in her solar, slowly digging into her breakfast. Poached eggs stuffed with freshly caught salmon, served next to toasted bruschetta. Cold cuts of sausage and ham. And of course, a glass of coffee the size of her head, filled with enough sugar and cream to turn it near white.

With shaking hands she slowly brought the next bite to her mouth. It was slower than she'd wished—she was getting on in age, unfortunately, and it turned out that even getting food to her mouth was becoming a chore. Still, she wasn't that old yet, and as her fork finally reached her mouth she savored the taste.

Mhm. The servants had truly outdone themselves this time.

"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND!?"

A fist slammed down on the table she was sitting at, shaking it hard enough that some of her coffee jumped out of her glass. She watched in horror as the glass began to tip over, but luckily her granddaughter Francesca swiftly leaned forward to catch it before it could fall.

Matilda sent the girl a look of approval. This was why she was her favorite.

Her son Francoise, on the other hand, continued to make a fool of himself.

"MY DAUGHTER IS DEAD! YOUR NIECE! AND YET YOU'RE ACTUALLY CONSIDERING PEACE!?"

Beatrice, her eldest daughter, scowled in return. The woman herself was old enough she could have been a grandmother herself, if the tragedy hadn't occurred years ago. "I mourn her as well, Francoise, but this is, for once, not the Ambrosi's fault."

"IT WAS THE DEMON-WORSHIPER THAT THEY INVITED INTO OUR CITY THAT KILLED HER! HOW IS IT NOT THEIR FAULT!?"

"No, brother," she sneered. "It is yours. If you hadn't decided to attack the Ambrosi over a couple of horny teenagers, we would not even be having this conversation. Instead, the Ambrosi and the Gennarelli would be killing each other while we watched from the side."

"That's unfair!" her youngest daughter snapped. The woman was heavily pregnant herself, with her third child on the way. Francoise himself was too angry to speak, gaping at his sister with a red face. "None of us knew this was going to happen! You can't blame him for this!"

"We have to take responsibility for our actions, Betilda," her second son sided against his sister. Or more accurately, against the brother who was just ahead of him in the line of succession. Ambitious little brat. "Regardless of our intentions, it is our actions that must be judged. You cannot tell me that if Francoise had been anyone other than the heir he wouldn't have been punished already."

That dragged in her third son, who joined Francoise. He'd been trying to curry favor with the heir apparent, knowing he had little chance of inheriting—and, more importantly, that if her first son was disinherited, he'd need his help to take the second son out of the picture.

Then her other daughter chimed in, bringing in her daughters, and then Francoise's son joined in…

Hm. Perhaps she had too many children.

Francoise finally regained his voice, leaping to his feet with a roar, "YOU DARE—!?"

The old woman sighed through her nose, exhausted by all this shouting.

She had led the Capparelli for decades now. Nearly seventy years, give or take, not long after her own father had been assassinated by an Ambrosi spy.

So she understood her son's rage, truly she did. She'd been much the same when she was younger, all hot-headed and full of righteous vengeance.

That did not mean she was going to let him continue throwing a temper tantrum.

"Sit down."

Francoise sat down.

Matilda took a long sip of her coffee. She let out a relieved sigh at the taste, exulting in the pounding of her heart. Her children were, for a moment, blessedly silent.

"Now, what seems to be the issue, here?"

Francoise swallowed, before speaking with barely repressed anger. "My daughter—your granddaughter—is dead, Mother. And now, only after she is dead, do the Ambrosi sue for peace. This cannot stand. We have the Paladin Sinbad and the Gennarelli on our side! We should finally destroy the Ambrosi once and for all! Now, while they are weak and we are strong!"

"We are strong?" Matilda hummed, playing up her confusion. "That's news to me. It seems like all our strength comes from temporary allies."

Francoise winced, but pushed on admirably. If stubbornness could ever be called admirable. "That is… It just means we're using the Gennarelli to soak up the damage, while we can claim the spoils ourselves!"

"A fine idea," she nodded at him, taking another long sip of coffee. "But in what world do you expect that to work? That the Gennarelli would just accept us taking the territory and influence they fought so hard for?"

"That is… I…"

"It is a moot point regardless. The Gennarelli have already made peace with the Ambrosi—their casus belli ran out the second the Ambrosi surrendered their Demons. And we are in no position to fight the Ambrosi alone."

"We… Mother, surely you don't think we should just give up, do you!? Accept the death of my—our family!?"

She raised a wizened eyebrow. "You did not seem quite so torn up when your nephew Antonio died some years ago. In fact, I do recall that you were the one who was calling for peace that day. What was it you said…?"

"I remember his words well, mother," Beatrice, the mother of Antonio, gave her brother a bitter smile. "'We shouldn't allow the follies of youth to bring about more death,' were his exact words. I would argue that those words apply to this situation as well, don't you think?"

Francoise returned to his seat, shame-faced and seething.

Matilda sighed. She was getting too old for these dynastic politics. And with how much her children bickered, she feared for the day she finally departed this world and left them to try to work together without her.

"We will make peace with them today," she told her children and grandchildren, arrayed throughout her solar like the royal courts of old. Moments like these, she wondered if this was what her own grandfather felt, back when he was duke and their family ruled this city in truth. "That, we must do regardless. But the Ambrosi have taken a brutal blow, one they may not be able to recover from. Their reputation is shattered, their darkest dealings brought to light in a way no one can hide. Already there are rumors that their vassal Famiglia are pulling away, searching for a less controversial liege. Perhaps, they are searching for us."

Beatrice, the woman who in another life would have been her heir, nodded solemnly. "I'll begin sending out feelers into the smaller Famiglias. I'll focus on the ones who make up the Arti Meidane. If we gain control over them we'll have most of the Signora under our control."

"Excellent," Matilda nodded at her. "However, make sure not to allow the Gennarelli to sink their claws into them. Remember, if we are to restore our legacy to its former glory, we cannot allow anyone to replace the Ambrosi."

"Of course."

"Francoise," she turned to her true heir. The man was still seething, but nodded, showing how well she'd trained him. "I will not ask you to be happy about this decision. I will demand it. Mourn at home, but smile for peace when in public—you will garner no sympathy for mourning, not when the Ambrosi have also lost a son."

Her son scowled deeper. "Yes, Grandmother."

"Excellent," she nodded at him. "And finally, Francesca?"

Francesca perked up. "Yes, Grandmother?"

"Another coffee, please."

The girl slumped, before quickly rushing to make her another glass.

"Today we will grant our enemies mercy," Matilda nodded at her children, downing what remained in her glass. "But mercy is a blade as sharp as any other. The Ambrosi will fall slowly, torn to pieces from the inside out. And when we retake our place as the Dukes of Firozzi, there will be none left to oppose us."

Matildia raised her empty glass in triumph. "To the Capparelli!"

Her children followed, thumping the table and raising their own glasses high. "To the Capparelli!"

And the Duchess in all but name smiled thinly, proud that even for all their squabbling, her family understood what really mattered.

Soon the Capparelli would retake their rightful place as rulers of the city. And then, the Dukes of Firozzi would rule the peninsula once again.