In the labyrinthine underbelly of the mafia, Romero Zaviero has been an enigma. As the only Made Man who seldom graces the high-profile gatherings of the Cosa Nostra's elite, his inscrutable presence looms in the darkest corners. His motives are con...
"Nothing personal, it's just business." - Otto Berman.
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I feel a sensation of movement, jolting me from the depths of unconsciousness. The world around me seems to be in motion, and I'm aware of the unsettling rattling and low-pitched noise, like the roar of some mechanical beast. My senses are dulled, and my mind struggles to understand what is happening.
Turbulence. That is what it must be. The realization comes to me faintly, like a distant memory surfacing through the haze of sedation. I can't quite put the pieces together, but I know that something is not right.
Desperation prompts me to open my eyes, to reclaim a foothold in reality beyond this murky limbo. But my eyelids resist, heavy as if laden with the weight of the world. The sedative's tendrils snake through my veins, binding me to this half-conscious realm, where the boundaries between dream and reality blur.
Faint mutters echo around me, distant and indiscernible like whispers carried on the wind. They flit through my mind like ethereal wisps, taunting me with their elusiveness. I strain to grasp their meaning, but the words slip through my fingers like fine sand, lost to the recesses of my befuddled mind.
With every passing moment, time seems to lose its grip, stretching and contracting like a rubber band pulled tautly. I'm suspended in a realm where minutes blur into hours, and hours fade into mere instants. The softness of the material underneath me is incongruous with the jolting movements of the plane, further disorienting me in this paradoxical reality.
I yearn for clarity, for the sedative's veil to lift and grant me access to the world beyond this haze. Yet, the currents of consciousness remain elusive, like fleeting shadows dancing just beyond my reach.
Caught between the desire to fight against the sedation's pull and the overwhelming urge to surrender to its comforting embrace, I oscillate in this tug-of-war. My mind struggles, an agitated sea in search of the shore.
As the murkiness claims me once more, I surrender to its inscrutable allure. The turbulence fades, the engine's roar dissipates, and I'm cocooned in a swathe of tranquility.
Weightlessness.
Like a feather in the wind, I float through the void, unaware of the passage of time.
Then something inside clicks and my senses turn on.
The same senses have my heart pounding, mind wide awake, and fists ready for action.
Suddenly, the darkness begins to recede, replaced by a blur of a chandelier and I find myself in a completely different place.
As I try to make sense of my surroundings, I feel the warmth of a duvet beneath me and the comforting support of a bed. The softness beneath me contrasts with the harsh reality of the situation.
As my eyes flutter open, I find myself confronted by a figure standing before me. The dim light casts long shadows, veiling his features in a cloak of mystery. I can make out the glint of a stethoscope dangling from his neck, swaying with each meticulous movement. He seems to be cleaning my head with the utmost care, his gloved hands gentle yet deliberate.
