Where was his brother? Brothers. Oh, how he hoped more of the cosca survived. But, inside he was afraid - afraid due to the fact that Father and Antoni had died, that he had seen them die. That all of the higher-ups had died. What hope was left for others? He himself had barely made it out. At least he had met that one boy - the first sign of Italian since he arrived in this land. That, in itself, was a great comfort. He'd sigh and pause there - should he go look for Enrico, with him unable to find any of his brothers, or should he continue his current search? It was, perhaps, that his search for Enrico and Basileus' would runa cross, and he'd be able to find his elder littermate there.

"Speech" Italiano

Since learning about the destruction of the clan Basileus had learned what it meant to truly hate someone. Before he'd thought it akin to any other feeling. He'd used the word liberally; I hate the snow; I hate rabbit meat; I hate mornings. Now he knew. True hate was a visceral thing. It sat in his stomach with the weight of a sharpened stone. He felt it every second of every day; how it cut him, drove into his belly with every move he made. Instead of weighing him down he'd been renewed by it. Gone was his fatigue. If it was the last thing he did he would see the end of the oath breaker. He'd never been particularly fond of killing. Duty was what compelled him and duty made him unfeeling. But this killing would be different. More than anything else he wanted to look into Enrico's eyes. Basileus wanted to see the moment Enrico realized he was going to die. His breath caught and he stilled, his gaze fixed on a nearing figure. It couldn't be. Oh please, let it be. "Vittore," he breathed in disbelief, the name leaving his lips in a whisper. Louder, he shouted, "Vittore! Dimmi i miei occhi non sono sbagliate! Vittore!" Without waiting for a response he ran towards the man. More than anything else Basileus had been afraid for his family. He loved his clan brothers dearly, but he'd felt true fear for the ones he'd grown up with. If Vittore had survived surely the rest of his blood family had made it. What of those not in the clan? What of his sisters, his cousins, the children, those who lived outside the brotherhood? Where had the killing ended? He had so many unanswered questions! Reaching the man Basileus immediately reached out to touch him, to bump Vittore's neck with his nose. He was real. He was real and he was alive. "Oh, fratello! Oh, mio fratello! Non pensavo che avrei visto tu nuovo!" Hover speech for translation

What - could it be? Vittore grew rigid as a voice called his name, eyes round with shock and disbelief. He barely had time to process the voice, the fur, when that figure became blurred, running towards him. "Si vede chiaramente, fratello!" he called back, voice shaking from the excitement, the joy. The feeling of seeing one of his brothers again, not only a clan brother but also a blood brother. He had been growing fearful - day by day, as the weeks wore on, that he would never see any of the cosca again. And yet, here he was. Here was Basil.

Vittore with little hesitation bounced out to meet Basileus, tail a smudge whirling in the air as the two brothers near collided. Basil nosed Vittore's neck, and the mafioso immediately returned the gesture, a sigh of relief, of the first happiness he had had since the disaster had struck.

There was so much he needed to tell his brother - Enrico, the cosca! About Father and Antonio... slowly, that happiness faded away, and he stepped back away from his brother. "Non pensavo che mi piacerebbe vedere di nuovo uno, fratello," he said softly. "Oh, Basileus - Tanto è successo! Non so da dove cominciare questa tragica storia."

"Speech" Italiano