Don 2 - Chapter 1

  'He was despised and rejected by mankind, a man of suffering, and familiar with pain. Like one from whom people hide their faces he was despised, and we held him in low esteem.' Isiah 53:3

Lying languidly on his bed, Harry Hagen, weathered by the weight of years, gazed pensively out of the window, his weary eyes fixed upon the impenetrable depths of the darkest woods. Through the veil of shadows, a haunting vision unfolded—a spectral figure resembling his father, strolling into the depths of the wilderness hand in hand with his seven-year-old son, the glint of an axe catching the feeble rays of light.

In the quiet recesses of his contemplation, a poignant realization dawned on Harry. "Life can possess a profound simplicity," he mused, envisioning the idyllic tableau before him. In that ephemeral moment, what he yearned for was a narrative of exquisite beauty and unassuming normalcy, a respite from the complexities that had woven themselves into the fabric of his existence.

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"I do not recognize this man," vehemently asserts Elicia Fitcher, spouse of Tom Fitcher and purportedly the sister of Don Harry Hagen. Tom Fitcher, a father of two, had fallen prey to the macabre events. Adding a layer of complexity, Don Hagen subsequently wedded Quincy Anderson, the widowed wife of his victim, seamlessly assimilating her into the enigmatic folds of the Hagen family.

The shadow of criminal lineage looms large in Don Hagen's past. His father, Henry Hagen, although a man of principles, was a recognized criminal, claiming more than a hundred lives with his own hands. Henry was initially associated with the Wilson family before ascending through the ranks under the tutelage of Don William Wilson, eventually becoming a mentor and paternal figure. The intricate tapestry of relationships reveals a complex interplay of loyalty and betrayal.

The saga takes a tragic turn when Don William Wilson is murdered by his confidant, Travis Anderson. Left homeless with his younger sister after their mother's tragic suicide, Harry Hagen, once a humble beef seller, metamorphosed into a formidable force in the criminal underworld. Collaborating with the notorious Hobbie Brown, another criminal luminary, Harry ascended the ranks, only to orchestrate Hobbie's demise, a betrayal that marked a stark deviation from his initial principles.

In a cruel twist of fate, Harry transformed into the very embodiment of what he despised after betraying Hobbie Brown. Don Vito, although implicated in the betrayal, skillfully kept his name clear of the criminal chart. Amidst the swirling rumors, the speculation intensifies, hinting at Don Vito's imminent passing down of his empire to his rightful heir, the heir apparent, Don Erick Vito, who publicly prefers the moniker 'Vito Junior.' The impending transition foretells a continuity of power within the enigmatic underworld of crime.

Returning to the enigmatic figure of Harry Hagen, he lays claim to a legitimate heir in the form of Harvey Hagen—his adopted son and the rightful heir to the Anderson bloodline. In this intricate narrative, the pendulum of destiny seems to swing toward the Andersons, indicating that, technically, the empire must eventually find its way into the hands of this scion of the Anderson lineage. The threads of lineage and succession weave a complex tapestry, suggesting an eventual convergence of power into the rightful heirs of the Anderson family.

"I couldn't care less about the Andersons anymore," declared Don Harry Hagen, disdainfully tossing the newspaper onto the floor. "Harvey is my pride, my son, and always will be! He must uphold the Hagen bloodline." Quincy, retrieving the discarded newspaper, settled beside Harry, who, his eyes closed, sought refuge from the tumultuous emotions.

Concern etched across her features, Quincy extended the warmth of her affections. "You're troubled about Elicia," she observed, "She's just frightened. I'm willing to wager that when you meet her, she'll find her strength again."

"I raised her Quincy; I nurtured her. I couldn't attend school or pursue the aspirations I harbored, but I sacrificed every part of myself for her. And today, I read, 'I Do Not Recognize This Man,'" Harry confessed with a somber disdain, tears welling in his eyes.

Attempting to assuage his despair, Quincy reassured, "She's likely fabricating it. I'm certain she misses you just as much; you're still her hero."

"A hero she won't even acknowledge," Harry retorted, his tone steeped in bitterness. "If I linger by the phone awaiting a call, it will only render me weary and wrinkled. Instead, let's pay her a visit, shall we?" Quincy proposed, attempting to infuse optimism.

"Forget it. She won't permit it. Besides, my friend Tommy probably wouldn't appreciate a man like me exerting influence on their children," Harry asserted, rising from the couch and distancing himself with a heavy heart.

In the tranquil night, Quincy and Harvey succumbed to slumber, but Harry found himself abruptly awakened. An unsettling force thwarted his attempts at repose. They say impending events cast shadows before them, and Harry, of late, had been grappling with an unexplained unease. Each morsel seemed to resist its descent down his throat, a sensation that compelled forceful persuasion. Was it the specter of Elicia haunting him, or the weight of the colossal power he now wielded in his life? As the preeminent Don in the entire country, the impending burden of becoming the most influential Don globally gnawed at him. Power, as they say, begets consequences.

The shrill ring of the phone pierced the stillness, disturbing the repose of his son and wife. Reluctantly, Harry dragged himself to the intrusive device, answering with a weary, "Hello." The voice on the other end, a woman crying and sobbing, addressed him as "Master." Goosebumps cascaded over Harry as instinctual alarms jolted him awake. Quincy, roused by the commotion, approached with concern.

"What happened? Why are you crying?" Harry inquired, his voice hushed. Quincy, in a subdued tone, sought clarification, "Who is it?"

"It's Vito's maid, Jessica, probably her," Harry responded, returning to the call. "Why? What happened, Jessica?"

"My master took his last breath a few minutes ago!" The words fell like lightning on Harry, shattering him upon learning that his esteemed friend and mentor had finally succumbed. Overwhelmed, Harry broke into tears, reassuring, "I will be rushing. Just don't panic!" He hastened to his car, then to Don Vito's house. Vito's son was conspicuously absent, and Harry assisted the maid in transporting Vito to the hospital, addressing the bleeding wound on his head.

"How did it all happen, Jessica?" Harry inquired, endeavoring to calm himself.

"Master had just finished his dinner and was descending the stairs when his foot slipped. I rushed to his aid, but before I could reach him, his head collided with the stair's edge, and everything unfolded. I was in a panic, not knowing what to do, and Junior wasn't home either, so I called you," explained Jessica, her voice laden with distress.

"You've done all you could; don't fret. I've informed Erick, and he might arrive any moment. We'll arrange a dignified funeral for Don Vito. I must take my leave now; my wife and son are alone at home," Harry conveyed, his tone carrying a weight of responsibility.

"Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Hagen," expressed Jessica as Harry departed the hospital, bound for his home.

The following morning, the burial ground teemed with a gathering of friends that Don Vito had accrued throughout his life. Some faces were familiar to Harry Hagen, while others remained strangers to him. A distinctive Sicilian crew, deeply connected to the Vito family, was also in attendance. Amidst the somber scene, Erick Vito sat beside his father's grave, overcome with tears, as the priest conducted the final prayers.

Observing Erick, Harry couldn't shake the suspicion of a peculiar joy interwoven with his tears—a clandestine emotion that seemed to harbor an inexplicable desire for his father's demise. As the ceremony drew to a close, attendees paid their respects to Don Vito and offered condolences to Erick. Harry, sensing the need for a conversation, approached Erick. The two embraced, tears mingling and dampening their coats in a poignant display of shared grief.

"It's okay, Erick. Wherever he is, I believe he's found happiness, continuing to be the great man he always was," reassured Harry.

"Daddy was truly exceptional. I never expected this to happen. I wish I had been there, but I want to express my gratitude to you for looking after him in his last moments. I am sincerely indebted," expressed Erick.

"It's alright, Erick."

"Don Vito Junior, if you will, please," suggested Erick, and the words resonated in Harry's ears, leaving a subtle impact.

"Ah, Don Vito. So, you prefer being addressed as Don Vito from now on, huh? It suits you, to be honest. I'd love to call you Don Vito, but there's a slight complication, Erick," remarked Harry, catching Erick's attention. "And what is that problem, Don Hagen, if I may ask?" inquired Erick with wide-eyed curiosity.

"Don Vito was not just a name. You see, all these people gathered here, they were here for Don Vito—a name his enemies feared, a moniker his friends trusted. Your father earned it all. So, Don Vito is not merely a name; it's a title, and it must be earned, Erick," Harry asserted, delivering a dose of reality to Vito Junior.

Erick smirked, responding, "I will make sure I earn this title from you, Don Hagen. By the way, how is everything going? How is little Harvey doing?" Erick shifted the conversation forward.

"Ah, Harvey is doing well. You know, I used to get beaten up in school as a kid. My father didn't want this life for me. He knew I was taking a beating from other boys, but guess what? I don't see them around in this city anymore. Perhaps they're hiding in their tiny closets," recounted Don Harry.

"Or maybe they're well aware of who you truly are, where you come from, and who elevated you to the helm of your empire," posited Erick. Harry cast a sidelong glance at Erick, surprised to witness such confidence challenging his authority.

"Your dad was a blessing in my life. I embrace everything he bestowed upon me," asserted Harry.

"Well, he truly was a remarkable man. I don't think anyone else could fit into his shoes better than him. What do you think, Hagen?" questioned Erick, injecting a subtle hint of doubt into Harry's authority.

"You seem rather pleased today, am I correct?" Harry whispered into Erick's ear. In response, Erick leaned closer and retorted, "A son must be the strongest person at his father's funeral, but you wouldn't understand that." The words sent an electric shock through Don Harry Hagen, astounded by the audacity of Erick's words. Shaking hands with Don Erick Vito, Harry prepared to depart the grounds, finding himself among the last to leave.

"Hey, Harry! There's a rocking chair at your villa that belongs to my father. It's one of his cherished possessions, and I would like to reclaim it now. I hope you don't mind returning it to its rightful owner," came the weighty request from Erick Vito. Harry discerned the true intentions behind Erick's words and, with a nod, proceeded forward, an underlying discomfort settling over him.

A week elapsed, and Harry found himself encountering news about Erick's ascension as the new Don of Pennsylvania, following in his father's footsteps. The public had swiftly adopted the moniker "Don Vito" for the younger Vito.

"Do you ever ponder why your father wished for you to stay out of this life?" Quincy queried out of curiosity, the rain outside the window providing a contemplative backdrop.

"Perhaps he knew the repercussions of power. He was betrayed by his own friend. What could be worse?" mused Harry Hagen in response.

"Well, dear, I don't fancy this new Vito guy. The way he spoke to you that day at the funeral was far from pleasant," remarked Quincy.

"It's alright, dear. In fact, I was the one who provoked him first. I spoke my mind, and a man unable to withstand criticism falls prey to illusions of his own grandeur. I saw that in him. But who knows, maybe we'll become friends. I've always made friends in such a manner!" A glimmer of joy crossed Harry's face as he delved into his childhood memories with Oliver and Tom.

"You know, when I first met Oli and Tom, they were both troublemakers in the streets, bullying me and causing mischief all the time. Yet, when they learned about my life with Elicia, they softened. After that, I became the one causing them trouble, and together, we stirred up mischief for Elicia!" Harry burst into laughter, reminiscing about the camaraderie forged in the crucible of shared misadventures.

The telephone rang, prompting Quincy to stride forth to answer it. "Hello?" she greeted. "Hello, Quincy, how are you doing?" came the voice on the other end. It was Elicia. "Who is it?" Harry inquired, and Quincy signaled for him to join her as he had already surmised it was Elicia.

"I'm doing well, how are you? How are the twins?" Quincy inquired, her voice exuding warmth.

"They're all good. You know, I've been thinking about talking to you guys for a while. Perhaps we could all have dinner together someday?" suggested Elicia.

"Your brother is quite occupied. I'll try to bring him," Quincy replied.

"Oh, don't bother. If he doesn't have the time, he doesn't need to be here. We're all good without him. You can come and stay for a few days if you want," Elicia's words dimmed the glow of joy on Quincy's cheeks and cast a shadow over Harry's face as well.

"Elicia, he's your brother. How can you say that? If we come, we'll all be together," Quincy asserted in a firm voice.

"Alright, I have no problem. But make sure he doesn't bring all his guns. Now, I have to go; there are a few friends of Tom as guests. Goodbye," Elicia concluded, and the line went silent.

"You didn't need to say all that. If she doesn't want me around, I'll just stay here," expressed Harry, a tinge of disappointment clouding his expression.

"Dear, don't interpret her words that way. I'm sure she didn't mean it like that," reassured Quincy. "Maybe you can talk to her personally when we visit their house."

"Right, I'll make everything clear this time. She's my sister, my pride," affirmed Harry Hagen. Amid their conversation, Harvey joyfully darted into the room, eager to meet his aunt Elicia after four long years.