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Normally, I wouldn’t even be near the gate. At this time of the day, in the very early morning, I should still be snoring in my bed. Why am I here?
The estate I’ve settled in shortly after my ascent to bosshood is just about the largest property Daivan has to offer. Of course I’m not alone here—it's become the shared home of the entirety of CR:5’s upper management. That means me, the five caporegimes, consigliere Cavalli, the full body of retired old men and a good chunk of our most trusted subordinates.
I hardly have to do anything outside of my duties as the boss. The newspaper gets brought to me, my meals are taken care of by others and a snap of my fingers has runners sent out carrying my messages to anyone I need. This estate is effectively CR:5 headquarters.
An itch that won’t give me rest has drawn me out of bed today, way before the sun was up. Now, in the golden light of dawn, I’m miserably stumbling around near the entrance of the property. Normally there are guards here at all hours, but somehow there’s nobody but me. I’m alone.
And then I’m not.
Even while squinting in the crazy bright light, I recognize her. I had a good night in her company some time back, but I’ve not seen her since. I remember her long golden hair and equally-golden eyes, her long, slender figure. She was charming and wickedly funny, intelligent with a sharp tongue to match.
She came to me then as an elegant, though a bit clumsy, lady—as human as any other.
Today she is not.
Though she had conveniently gotten around having to introduce herself last time, I know who she is.
Dea Fortuna, Lady Luck.
I have no friggin’ clue how I know, but there’s no doubt in my mind. Dio mio—er, Dea mia, I banged an actual Goddess and I had no idea.
I haven’t… offended Her, have I?
Before I can properly react to my divine visitor, She approaches me. A honey-colored hand gently takes hold of my jaw. The skin contact feels pleasantly warm and soothes the panic in my mind. I idly think that I’m supposed to kneel or some shit, a real Goddess should rank higher than the president or royalty, right?
She definitely ranks higher than a lowly boss of the Cosa Nostra.
My thoughts feel muffled, overwhelmed, with no room for panic or shock. How am I supposed to act with a literal Goddess up in my face? Even when She moves on to caressing my jaw I’m still tangled up in my own thoughts and left completely tongue-tied.
I take a deep breath and attempt to speak, though I still don’t know what I’m gonna say. She presses a finger to my lips and even shushes me. I’m too shocked to react.
“Buongiorno,” She says in perfect Italian, “Mio caro.”
Her voice still sounds like tingling bells, no real surprise there, but the endearment is unexpected.
I barely manage to reply, “Buongiorno, Signora Dea Fortuna.”
“Don’t be so cold and formal, dear,” She scolds me tenderly. “That does not suit you.”
She is right, but what else am I supposed to do here?
The next thing I know is that She has let go of my face and I am handed two wrapped bundles of cloth. They are warmer and heavier than I expected. Some long-forgotten instinct has me using the full length of my lower arms to support one bundle each even as I frantically try to make sense of the situation.
“Wha—”
“See, Mio favorito. The time has come for your next avventura. These two are ours—yours to keep and to love.”
Two sleeping faces emerge from underneath the swaddle cloth when She reaches out to pick at some of the bindings. That is when I realize that I am holding a pair of small brats.
Ours, She said just now. This pair of tiny rugrats with heads full of golden downy hair are mine—and Hers. I’m too shocked to react, but I can feel my heart lurch in my chest. I haven’t seen all that many kids in my life, only when I was at the abbey, really, but I know enough to place them at barely a few days old.
“Twins?” I hear myself ask.
“Sì, born on July the 7th,” She says with a mischievous smile.
The year is, naturally, 1937 for the additional seven to the tykes’ lucky streak.
“Aren’t You laying it on a little thick?” I ask Her. At this point I am completely over the shock of talking to my personal Goddess and I’ve resumed my usual go-with-the-flow attitude.
“Now innamorato, you should ask me why I would not.”
I can’t help but smile in response to Her. This right here is why I was attracted to Her to the point that the bratlings were conceived. The cheek, the wit and the mischief well-matched to my own are incredible.
“These are Gianna,” She continues “e Gianni—”
A girl and a boy. Gianna and Gianni.
“Bourbon del Monte.”
“Signora—”
“It is only right that they carry their father’s name. I would have given them mine as middle name but I believe this has gone out of fashion, yes?”
“I—I’m honored,” I stammer, still stuck on the names that they do have instead of the one they don’t. “We could do it anyway,” I blurt out awkwardly when it seems that She is still thinking of the middles names the kiddies don’t have. “If you don’t mind being named their patron Saint, they can have that middle name you wish for.”
“Ah, caro. I am your patron Goddess and they are the young I bore—there is no need for hesitation. I gladly displace any Saint that dares lay claim on you or them.”
I feel a blush rising on my cheeks from the passionate declaration. It was nothing I didn’t know, honestly, but I don’t have the balls to claim this very real Goddess as my protector to Her face.
“Uh—good thing then that I don’t have a patron Saint,” I respond lamely.
She pays little attention to my muttering, instead turning to the two sleeping babies to whisper words to them too softly to hear. She and I are the same length, so She doesn’t need to bend much for that. I think She is giving both Her blessing, if they don’t have it already from the moment they were born.
My eye falls on the shine of Her necklace, a golden ring on a cord—just like mine, except for the elaborate engravings that make it resemble a wheel. Her soft yellow robes have subtle crown-like motives sown in along the edges and are held together with a horn-shaped brooch pinned above Her heart.
The Rota Fortunae and the Cornucopia. Me, with my extraordinary luck, memorized Lady Luck’s symbols when I was still at the abbey. It’d been part boredom and part curiosity, but once I knew I never forgot. This is why I find myself looking for the rest of them despite myself.
Her golden earrings that I had thought to be modern artsy-looking turn out to be halves that form the shape of a ship rudder. And finally, after a long moment of search, I find a small golden ball attached to her otherwise unadorned bracelet.
The rudder and the ball.
If I still wasn’t sure of her identity, this definitely would have cinched it. This is Signora Dea Fortuna in all Her glory, with all Her symbols of power.
When She straightens, I can sense that our meeting is about to come to an end.
“Take care of i nostri tesori, Mio coniuge,” She demands, no, commands me.
I find myself promising Her before I realize what is happening. Some part of my brain is wondering if this would be the moment to kneel, but I’m quickly being overwhelmed again by Her presence.
Before I know it, She bends forward to kiss me and I lose myself to the overwhelming warmth flowing through me from the point of contact. I feel myself being energized from the inside out, restored to perfect health and physically strengthened on top of that.
I know with the same certainty that I recognized her as the Goddess Fortuna that I have just received Her divine blessing. My luck should be even better in the future.
When our lips separate She spends a moment to look at me. I can see myself reflected in Her rich golden eyes and the expression of fondness She has for me has a feeling of awe burn in my chest.
Then She turns around, the folds of Her clothing swaying behind Her, and I’m left behind clutching the two brats She entrusted to me. Within moments I can no longer see Her in the blinding morning light. Her parting words are carried to me on the summer breeze.
“Arrivederci, Mio cane fortunato.”